images generously made available by the library of congress, manuscript division) [tr: ***] = transcriber note [hw: ***] = handwritten note slave narratives a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress illustrated with photographs washington volume iv georgia narratives part prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of georgia informants kendricks, jennie kilpatrick, emmaline kimbrough, frances king, charlie kinney, nicey larken, julia lewis, george mccommons, mirriam mccree, ed mccullough, lucy mcdaniel, amanda mcgruder, tom mcintosh, susan mckinney, matilda mcwhorter, william malone, mollie mason, charlie [tr: in the interview, aunt carrie mason] matthews, susan mays, emily mention, liza miller, harriet mitchell, mollie mobley, bob nix, fanny nix, henry ogletree, lewis orford, richard parkes, anna pattillio, g.w. [tr: in the interview, g.w. pattillo] pope, alec price, annie pye, charlie raines, charlotte randolph, fanny richards, shade roberts, dora rogers, ferebe rogers, henry rush, julia settles, nancy sheets, will shepherd, robert singleton, tom smith, charles [tr: in the interview, charlie tye smith] smith, georgia smith, mary smith, melvin smith, nancy smith, nellie smith, paul stepney, emeline styles, amanda transcriber's notes: [tr: the interview headers presented here contain all information included in the original, but may have been rearranged for readability. also, some ages and addresses have been drawn from blocks of information on subsequent interview pages. names in brackets were drawn from text of interviews.] [tr: some interviews were date-stamped; these dates have been added to interview headers in brackets. where part of date could not be determined -- has been substituted. these dates do not appear to represent actual interview dates, rather dates completed interviews were received or perhaps transcription dates.] [hw: dist ex-slave # ] whitley, - - driskell ex slave jennie kendricks [date stamp: may ] jennie kendricks, the oldest of children, was born in sheram, georgia in . her parents were martha and henry bell. she says that the first thing she remembers is being whipped by her mother. jennie kendricks' grandmother and her ten children lived on this plantation. the grandmother had been brought to georgia from virginia: "she used to tell me how the slave dealers brought her and a group of other children along much the same as they would a herd of cattle," said the ex-slave, "when they reached a town all of them had to dance through the streets and act lively so that the chances for selling them would be greater". when asked to tell about mr. moore, her owner, and his family jennie kendricks stated that although her master owned and operated a large plantation, he was not considered a wealthy man. he owned only two other slaves besides her immediate family and these were men. "in mr. moores family were his mother, his wife, and six children (four boys and two girls). this family lived very comfortably in a two storied weatherboard house. with the exception of our grandmother who cooked for the owner's family and slaves, and assisted her mistress with housework all the slaves worked in the fields where they cultivated cotton and the corn, as well as the other produce grown there. every morning at sunrise they had to get up and go to the fields where they worked until it was too dark to see. at noon each day they were permitted to come to the kitchen, located just a short distance in the rear of the master's house, where they were served dinner. during the course of the day's work the women shared all the men's work except plowing. all of them picked cotton when it was time to gather the crops. some nights they were required to spin and to help mrs. moore, who did all of the weaving. they used to do their own personal work, at night also." jennie kendricks says she remembers how her mother and the older girls would go to the spring at night where they washed their clothes and then left them to dry on the surrounding bushes. as a little girl jennie kendricks spent all of her time in the master's house where she played with the young white children. sometimes she and mrs. moore's youngest child, a little boy, would fight because it appeared to one that the other was receiving more attention from mrs. moore than the other. as she grew older she was kept in the house as a playmate to the moore children so she never had to work in the field a single day. she stated that they all wore good clothing and that all of it was made on the plantation with one exception. the servants spun the thread and mrs. moore and her daughters did all of the weaving as well as the making of the dresses that were worn on this particular plantation. "the way they made this cloth", she continued, "was to wind a certain amount of thread known as a "cut" onto a reel. when a certain number of cuts were reached they were placed on the loom. this cloth was colored with a dye made from the bark of trees or with a dye that was made from the indigo berry cultivated on the plantation. the dresses that the women wore on working days were made of striped or checked materials while those worn on sunday were usually white." she does not know what the men wore on work days as she never came in contact with them. stockings for all were knitted on the place. the shoes, which were the one exception mentioned above, were made by one bill jacobs, an elderly white man who made the shoes for all the plantations in the community. the grown people wore heavy shoes called "brogans" while those worn by the children were not so heavy and were called "pekers" because of their narrow appearance. for sunday wear, all had shoes bought for this purpose. mr. moore's mother was a tailoress and at times, when the men were able to get the necessary material, she made their suits. there was always enough feed for everybody on the moore plantation. mrs. moore once told jennie's mother to always see that her children had sufficient to eat so that they would not have to steal and would therefore grow up to be honorable. as the grandmother did all of the cooking, none of the other servants ever had to cook, not even on sundays or other holidays such as the fourth of july. there was no stove in this plantation kitchen, all the cooking was done at the large fireplace where there were a number of hooks called potracks. the pots, in which the cooking was done, hung from these hooks directly over the fire. the meals served during the week consisted of vegetables, salt bacon, corn bread, pot liquor, and milk. on sunday they were served milk, biscuits, vegetables, and sometimes chicken. jennie kendricks ate all of her meals in the master's house and says that her food was even better. she was also permitted to go to the kitchen to get food at any time during the day. sometimes when the boys went hunting everyone was given roast 'possum and other small game. the two male slaves were often permitted to accompany them but were not allowed to handle the guns. none of the slaves had individual gardens of their own as food sufficient for their needs was raised in the master's garden. the houses that they lived in were one-roomed structures made of heavy plank instead of logs, with planer [hw: ?] floors. at one end of this one-roomed cabin there was a large chimney and fireplace made of rocks, mud, and dirt. in addition to the one door, there was a window at the back. only one family could live in a cabin as the space was so limited. the furnishings of each cabin consisted of a bed and one or two chairs. the beds were well constructed, a great deal better than some of the beds the ex-slave saw during these days. regarding mattresses she said, "we took some tick and stuffed it with cotton and corn husks, which had been torn into small pieces and when we got through sewing it looked like a mattress that was bought in a store." light was furnished by lightwood torches and sometimes by the homemade tallow candles. the hot tallow was poured into a candle mold, which was then dipped into a pan of cold water, when the tallow had hardened, the finished product was removed. whenever there was sickness, a doctor was always called. as a child gussie was rather sickly, and a doctor was always called to attend to her. in addition to the doctor's prescriptions there was heart leaf tea and a warm remedy of garlic tea prepared by her grandmother. if any of the slaves ever pretended sickness to avoid work, she knows nothing about it. as a general rule, slaves were not permitted to learn to read or write, but the younger moore children tried to teach her to spell, read, and write. when she used to stand around mrs. moore when she was sewing she appeared to be interested and so she was taught to sew. every sunday afternoon they were all permitted to go to town where a colored pastor preached to them. this same minister performed all marriages after the candidates had secured the permission of the master. there was only one time when mr. moore found it necessary to sell any of his slaves. on this occasion he had to sell two; he saw that they were sold to another kind master. the whipping on most plantation were administered by the [hw: over]seers and in some cases punishment was rather severe. there was no overseer on this plantation. only one of mr. moore's sons told the field hands what to do. when this son went to war it became necessary to hire an overseer. once he attempted to whip one of the women but when she refused to allow him to whip her he never tried to whip any of the others. jennie kendricks' husband, who was also a slave, once told her his master was so mean that he often whipped his slaves until blood ran in their shoes. there was a group of men, known as the "patter-rollers", whose duty it was to see that slaves were not allowed to leave their individual plantations without passes which [hw: they] were supposed to receive from their masters. "a heap of them got whippings for being caught off without these passes," she stated, adding that "sometimes a few of them were fortunate enough to escape from the patter-rollers". she knew of one boy who, after having outrun the "patter-rollers", proceeded to make fun of them after he was safe behind his master's fence. another man whom the patter-rollers had pursued any number of times but who had always managed to escape, was finally caught one day and told to pray before he was given his whipping. as he obeyed he noticed that he was not being closely observed, whereupon he made a break that resulted in his escape from them again. the treatment on some of the other plantations was so severe that slaves often ran away, jennie kendricks told of one man [hw: who was] [tr: "being" crossed out] lashed [hw: and who] ran away but was finally caught. when his master brought him back he was locked in a room until he could be punished. when the master finally came to administer the whipping, lash had cut his own throat in a last effort to secure his freedom. he was not successful; his life was saved by quick action on the part of his master. sometime later after rough handling lash finally killed his master [hw: and] was burned at the stake for this crime. other slaves were more successful at escape, some being able to remain away for as long as three years at a time. at nights, they slipped to the plantation where they stole hogs and other food. their shelters were usually caves, some times holes dug in the ground. whenever they were caught, they were severely whipped. a slave might secure his freedom without running away. this is true in the case of jennie kendricks' grandfather who, after hiring his time out for a number of years, was able to save enough money with which to purchase himself from his master. jennie kendricks remembers very little of the talk between her master and mistress concerning the war. she does remember being taken to see the confederate soldiers drill a short distance from the house. she says "i though it was very pretty, 'course i did'nt know what was causing this or what the results would be". mr. moore's oldest sons went to war [hw: but he] himself did not enlist until the war was nearly over. she was told that the yankee soldiers burned all the gin houses and took all live stock that they saw while on the march, but no soldiers passed near their plantation. after the war ended and all the slaves had been set free, some did not know it, [hw: as] they were not told by their masters. [hw: a number of them] were tricked into signing contracts which bound them to their masters for several years longer. as for herself and her grandmother, they remained on the moore property where her grandmother finally died. her mother moved away when freedom was declared and started working for someone else. it was about this time that mr. moore began to prosper, he and his brother marvin gone into business together. according to jennie kendricks, she has lived to reach such a ripe old age because she has always been obedient and because she has always been a firm believer in god. [hw: dist ex-slave # ] ex-slave interview: emmaline kilpatrick, age born a slave on the plantation of judge william watson moore, white plains, (greene county) georgia by: sarah h. hall athens, ga. [date stamp: may ] one morning in october, as i finished planting hyacinth bulbs on my cemetery lot, i saw an old negro woman approaching. she was emmaline kilpatrick, born in , on my grandfather's plantation. "mawnin' miss sarah," she began, "ah seed yer out hyar in de graveyard, en i cum right erlong fer ter git yer ter read yo' aunt willie's birthday, offen her toomstone, en put it in writin' fer me." "i don't mind doing that for you, emmaline," i replied, "but why do you want to know my aunt's birthday?" "well," answered the old ex-slave, "i can't rightly tell mah age no udder way. my mammy, she tole me, i wuz bawned de same night ez miss willie wuz, en mammy allus tole me effen i ever want ter know how ole i is, jes' ask my white folks how ole miss willie is." when i had pencilled the birthdate on a scrap of paper torn from my note book and she had tucked it carefully away in a pocket in her clean blue checked gingham apron, emmaline began to talk of the old days on my grandfather's farm. "miss sarah, ah sho did love yo' aunt willie. we wuz chilluns growin' up tergedder on marse billie's place. you mought not know it, but black chilluns gits grown heap faster den white chilluns, en whilst us played 'round de yard, en orchards, en pastures out dar, i wuz sposed ter take care er miss willie en not let her git hurt, er nuthin' happen ter her." "my mammy say dat whan marse billie cum hom' frum de war, he call all his niggers tergedder en tell 'am dey is free, en doan b'long ter nobody no mo'. he say dat eny uf 'um dat want to, kin go 'way and live whar dey laks, en do lak dey wanter. howsome ebber, he do say effen enybody wants ter stay wid him, en live right on in de same cabins, dey kin do it, effen dey promise him ter be good niggers en mine him lak dey allus done." "most all de niggers stayed wid marse billie, 'ceppen two er thee brash, good fer nuthin's." standing there in the cemetery, as i listened to old emmaline tell of the old days, i could see cotton being loaded on freight cars at the depot. i asked emmaline to tell what she could remember of the days whan we had no railroad to haul the cotton to market. "well," she said, "fore dis hyar railroad wuz made, dey hauled de cotton ter de pint (she meant union point) en sold it dar. de pint's jes' 'bout twelve miles fum hyar. fo' day had er railroad thu de pint, marse billie used ter haul his cotton clear down ter jools ter sell it. my manny say dat long fo' de war he used ter wait twel all de cotton wuz picked in de fall, en den he would have it all loaded on his waggins. not long fo' sundown he wud start de waggins off, wid yo' unker anderson bossin' 'em, on de all night long ride towards jools. 'bout fo' in de mawnin' marse billie en yo' grammaw, miss margie, 'ud start off in de surrey, driving de bays, en fo' dem waggins git ter jools marse billie done cotch up wid em. he drive er head en lead em on ter de cotton mill in jools, whar he sell all his cotton. den him en miss margie, dey go ter de mill sto' en buy white sugar en udder things dey doan raise on de plantation, en load 'em on de waggins en start back home." "but emmaline," i interrupted, "sherman's army passed through jewels and burned the houses and destroyed the property there. how did the people market their cotton then?" emmaline scratched her head. "ah 'members somepin 'bout dat," she declared. "yassum, i sho' does 'member my mammy sayin' dat folks sed when de fed'rals wuz bunnin' up evvy thing 'bout jools, dey wuz settin' fire ter de mill, when de boss uv dem sojers look up en see er sign up over er upstairs window. hit wuz de mason's sign up day, kaze dat wuz de mason's lodge hall up over de mill. de sojer boss, he meks de udder sojers put out de fire. he say him er mason hisself en he ain' gwine see nobuddy burn up er masonic hall. dey kinder tears up some uv de fixin's er de mill wuks, but dey dassent burn down de mill house kaze he ain't let 'em do nuthin' ter de masonic hall. yar knows, miss sarah, ah wuz jes' 'bout two years ole when dat happen, but i ain't heered nuffin' 'bout no time when dey didden' take cotton ter jools ever year twel de railroad come hyar." "did yer ax me who mah'ed my maw an paw? why, marse billie did, cose he did! he wuz jedge moore, marse billie wuz, en he wone gwine hev no foolis'mant 'mongst 'is niggers. fo' de war en durin' de war, de niggers went ter de same church whar dare white folks went. only de niggers, dey set en de gallery." "marse billie made all his niggers wuk moughty hard, but he sho' tuk good keer uv 'em. miss margie allus made 'em send fer her when de chilluns wuz bawned in de slave cabins. my mammy, she say, ise 'bout de onliest slave baby miss margie diden' look after de bawnin, on dat plantation. when any nigger on dat farm wuz sick, marse billie seed dat he had medicine an lookin' atter, en ef he wuz bad sick marse billie had da white folks doctor come see 'bout 'im." "did us hev shoes? yas ma'am us had shoes. dat wuz all ole pegleg wuz good fer, jes ter mek shoes, en fix shoes atter dey wuz 'bout ter give out. pegleg made de evvy day shoes for marse billie's own chilluns, 'cept now en den marse billie fetched 'em home some sto' bought shoes fun jools." "yassum, us sho' wuz skeered er ghosts. dem days when de war won't long gone, niggers sho' wus skert er graveyards. mos' evvy nigger kep' er rabbit foot, kaze ghosties wone gwine bodder nobuddy dat hed er lef' hind foot frum er graveyard rabbit. dem days dar wuz mos' allus woods 'round de graveyards, en it uz easy ter ketch er rabbit az he loped outer er graveyard. lawsy, miss sarah, dose days ah sho' wouldn't er been standin' hyar in no graveyard talkin' ter ennybody, eben in wide open daytime." "en you ax wuz dey enny thing else uz wuz skert uv? yassum, us allus did git moughty oneasy ef er scritch owl hollered et night. pappy ud hop right out er his bed en stick de fire shovel en de coals. effen he did dat rat quick, an look over 'is lef' shoulder whilst de shovel gittin' hot, den maybe no no nigger gwine die dat week on dat plantation. en us nebber did lak ter fine er hawse tail hair en de hawse trough, kaze us wuz sho' ter meet er snake fo' long." "yassum, us had chawms fer heap er things. us got 'em fum er ole injun 'oman dat lived crost de crick. her sold us chawms ter mek de mens lak us, en chawms dat would git er boy baby, er anudder kind er chawms effen yer want er gal baby. miss margie allus scold 'bout de chawns, en mek us shamed ter wear 'em, 'cept she doan mine ef us wear asserfitidy chawms ter keep off fevers, en she doan say nuffin when my mammy wear er nutmeg on a wool string 'round her neck ter keep off de rheumatiz. "en is you got ter git on home now, miss sarah? lemme tote dat hoe en trowel ter yer car fer yer. yer gwine ter take me home in yer car wid yer, so ez i kin weed yer flower gyarden fo' night? yassum, i sho' will be proud ter do it fer de black dress you wo' las' year. ah gwine ter git evvy speck er grass outer yo' flowers, kaze ain' you jes' lak yo' grammaw--my miss margie." [hw: dist ex slave # ] j.r. jones frances kimbrough, ex-slave place of birth: on kimbrough plantation, harries county, near cataula, georgia date of birth: about present residence: - th avenue, columbus, georgia interviewed: august , [date stamp: may --] "aunt frances" story reveals that, her young "marster" was dr. jessie kimbrough--a man who died when she was about eighteen years of age. but a few weeks later, while working in the field one day, she saw "marse jessie's" ghost leaning against a pine "watchin us free niggers wuckin." when she was about twenty-two years of age, "a jealous nigger oman" "tricked" her. the "spell" cast by this "bad oman" affected the victim's left arm and hand. both became numb and gave her great "misery". a peculiar feature of this visitation of the "conjurer's" spite was: if a friend or any one massaged or even touched the sufferer's afflicted arm or hand, that person was also similarly stricken the following day, always recovering, however, on the second day. finally, "aunt" frances got in touch with a "hoodoo" doctor, a man who lived in muscogee county--about twenty-five miles distant from her. this man paid the patient one visit, then gave her absent treatment for several weeks, at the end of which time she recovered the full use of her arm and hand. neither ever gave her any trouble again. for her old-time "white fokes", "aunt" frances entertains an almost worshipful memory. also, in her old age, she reflects the superstitious type of her race. being so young when freedom was declared, emancipation did not have as much significance for "aunt" frances as it did for the older colored people. in truth, she had no true conception of what it "wuz all about" until several years later. but she does know that she had better food and clothes before the slaves were freed than she had in the years immediately following. she is deeply religious, as most ex-slaves are, but--as typical of the majority of aged negroes--associates "hants" and superstition with her religion. [hw: dist ex-slave # ] mary a. crawford re-search worker charlie king--ex-slave interviewed e. taylor street, griffin, georgia september , charlie was born in sandtown, (now woodbury) meriwether county, georgia, eighty-five or six years ago. he does not know his exact age because his "age got burned up" when the house in which his parents lived was burned to the ground. the old man's parents, ned and ann king, [tr: "were slaves of" crossed out] mr. john king, who owned a big plantation near sandtown [tr: "also about two hundred slaves" crossed out]. [tr: hw corrections are too faint to read.] charlie's parents were married by the "broom stick ceremony." the master and mistress were present at the wedding. the broom was laid down on the floor, the couple held each other's hands and stepped backward over it, then the master told the crowd that the couple were man and wife. this marriage lasted for over fifty years and they "allus treated each other right." charlie said that all the "niggers" on "ole master's place" had to work, "even chillun over seven or eight years of age." the first work that charlie remembered was "toting cawn" for his mother "to drap", and sweeping the yards up at the "big house". he also recalls that many times when he was in the yard at the "big house", "ole miss" would call him in and give him a buttered biscuit. the master and mistress always named the negro babies and usually gave them bible names. when the negroes were sick, "ole master" and "ole miss" did the doctoring, sometimes giving them salts or oil, and if [hw: a negro] refused it, they used the raw hide "whup." when a member of a negro family died, the master permitted all the negroes to stop work and go to the funeral. the slave was buried in the slave grave yard. sometimes a white minister read the bible service, but usually a negro preacher [hw: "officiated"]. the negroes on this plantation had to work from sun up till sun down, except saturday and sunday; those were free. the master blew on a big conch shell every morning at four o'clock, and when the first long blast was heard the lights "'gin to twinkle in every "nigger" cabin." charlie, chuckling, recalled that "ole master" blowed that shell so it could-a-been heard for five miles." some of the "niggers" went to feed the mules and horses, some to milk the cows, some to cook the breakfast in the big house, some to chop the wood, while others were busy cleaning up the "big house." when asked if he believed in signs, charlie replied: "i sho does for dis reason. once jest befo my baby brother died, ole screech owl, he done come and set up in the big oak tree right at the doah by de bed and fo' the next twelve hours passed, my brother was dead. screech owls allus holler 'round the house before death." the slaves always had plenty to eat and wear, and therefore did not know what it was to be hungry. the master planted many acres of cotton, corn, wheat, peas, and all kinds of garden things. every "nigger family was required to raise plenty of sweet potatoes, the master giving them a patch." "my 'ole master' trained his smartest 'niggers' to do certain kinds of work. my mother was a good weaver, and [hw: she] wove all the cloth for her own family, and bossed the weaving of all the other weavers on the plantation." charlie and all of his ten brothers and sisters helped to card and spin the cotton for the looms. sometimes they worked all night, charlie often going to sleep while carding, when his mother would crack him on the head with the carder handle and wake him up. each child had a night for carding and spinning, so they all would get a chance to sleep. every saturday night, the negroes had a "breakdown," often dancing all night long. about twelve o'clock they had a big supper, everybody bringing a box of all kinds of good things to eat, and putting it on a long table. on sunday, all the darkies had to go to church. sometimes the master had a house on his plantation for preaching, and sometimes the slaves had to go ten or twelve miles to preaching. when they went so far the slaves could use 'ole' master's' mules and wagons. charlie recalls very well when the yankees came through. the first thing they did when they reached 'ole master's' place was to break open the smokehouse and throw the best hams and shoulders out to the darkies, but as soon as the yankees passed, the white folks made the "niggers" take "all dey had'nt et up" back to the smokehouse. "yes, miss, we had plenty of liquor. ole master always kept kegs of it in the cellar and big 'jimmy-john's' full in the house, and every saturday night he'd give us darkies a dram, but nobody nevah seed no drunk nigger lak dey does now." charlie's mother used to give her "chillun" "burnt whiskey" every morning "to start the day off." this burnt whiskey gave them "long life". another thing that charlie recalls about the yankees coming through, was that they took the saddles off their "old sore back horses", turned them loose, and caught some of master's fine "hosses", threw the saddles over them and rode away. charlie said though "ole marster" "whupped" when it was necessary, but he was not "onmerciful" like some of the other "ole marsters" were, but the "paterolers would sho lay it on if they caught a nigger off his home plantation without a pass." the passes were written statements or permits signed by the darkies' owner, or the plantation overseer. charlie is very feeble and unable to work. the griffin relief association [tr: "furnishes him his sustenance" crossed out, "sees to him" or possibly "supports him" written in.] plantation life as viewed by ex-slave nicey kinney, age r.f.d. # athens, ga. written by: miss grace mccune athens edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' proj. res. & augusta, ga. sept. , a narrow path under large water oaks led through a well-kept yard where a profusion of summer flowers surrounded nicey kinney's two-story frame house. the porch floor and a large portion of the roof had rotted down, and even the old stone chimney at one end of the structure seemed to sag. the middle-aged mulatto woman who answered the door shook her head when asked if she was nicey kinney. "no, mam," she protested, "but dat's my mother and she's sick in bed. she gits mighty lonesome lyin' dar in de bed and she sho does love to talk. us would be mighty proud if you would come in and see her." nicey was propped up in bed and, although the heat of the september day was oppressive, the sick woman wore a black shoulder cape over her thick flannel nightgown; heavy quilts and blankets were piled close about her thin form, and the window at the side of her bed was tightly closed. not a lock of her hair escaped the nightcap that enveloped her head. the daughter removed an empty food tray and announced, "mammy, dis lady's come to see you and i 'spects you is gwine to lak her fine 'cause she wants to hear 'bout dem old days dat you loves so good to tell about." nicey smiled. "i'se so glad you come to see me," she said, "'cause i gits so lonesome; jus' got to stay here in dis bed, day in and day out. i'se done wore out wid all de hard wuk i'se had to do, and now i'se a aged 'oman, done played out and sufferin' wid de high blood pressur'. but i kin talk and i does love to bring back dem good old days a-fore de war." newspapers had been pasted on the walls of nicey's room. in one corner an enclosed staircase was cut off from the room by a door at the head of the third step; the space underneath the stair was in use as a closet. the marble topped bureau, two double beds, a couple of small tables, and some old chairs were all of a period prior to the current century. a pot of peas was perched on a pair of "firedogs" over the coals of a wood fire in the open fireplace. on a bed of red coals a thick iron pan held a large pone of cornbread, and the tantalizing aroma of coffee drew attention to a steaming coffeepot on a trivet in one corner of the hearth. nicey's daughter turned the bread over and said, "missy, i jus' bet you ain't never seed nobody cookin' dis way. us is got a stove back in de kitchen, but our somepin t'eat seems to taste better fixed dis 'way; it brings back dem old days when us was chillun and all of us was at home wid mammy." nicey grinned. "missy," she said, "annie--dat's dis gal of mine here--laughs at de way i laks dem old ways of livin', but she's jus' as bad 'bout 'em as i is, 'specially 'bout dat sort of cookin'; somepin t'eat cooked in dat old black pot is sho good. "marse gerald sharp and his wife, miss annie, owned us and, child, dey was grand folks. deir old home was 'way up in jackson county 'twixt athens and jefferson. dat big old plantation run plumb back down to de oconee river. yes, mam, all dem rich river bottoms was marse gerald's. "mammy's name was ca'line and she b'longed to marse gerald, but marse hatton david owned my daddy--his name was phineas. de david place warn't but 'bout a mile from our plantation and daddy was 'lowed to stay wid his fambly most evvy night; he was allus wid us on sundays. marse gerald didn't have no slaves but my mammy and her chillun, and he was sho mighty good to us. "marse gerald had a nice four-room house wid a hall all de way through it. it even had two big old fireplaces on one chimbly. no, mam, it warn't a rock chimbly; dat chimbly was made out of home-made bricks. marster's fambly had deir cookin' done in a open fireplace lak evvybody else for a long time and den jus' 'fore de big war he bought a stove. yes, mam, marse gerald bought a cook stove and us felt plumb rich 'cause dere warn't many folks dat had stoves back in dem days. "mammy lived in de old kitchen close by de big house 'til dere got to be too many of us; den marse gerald built us a house jus' a little piece off from de big house. it was jus' a log house, but marster had all dem cracks chinked tight wid red mud, and he even had one of dem franklin-back chimblies built to keep our little cabin nice and warm. why, child, ain't you never seed none of dem old chimblies? deir backs sloped out in de middle to throw out de heat into de room and keep too much of it from gwine straight up de flue. our beds in our cabin was corded jus' lak dem up at de big house, but us slept on straw ticks and, let me tell you, dey sho slept good atter a hard days's wuk. "de bestest water dat ever was come from a spring right nigh our cabin and us had long-handled gourds to drink it out of. some of dem gourds hung by de spring all de time and dere was allus one or two of 'em hangin' by de side of our old cedar waterbucket. sho', us had a cedar bucket and it had brass hoops on it; dat was some job to keep dem hoops scrubbed wid sand to make 'em bright and shiny, and dey had to be clean and pretty all de time or mammy would git right in behind us wid a switch. marse gerald raised all dem long-handled gourds dat us used 'stid of de tin dippers folks has now, but dem warn't de onliest kinds of gourds he growed on his place. dere was gourds mos' as big as waterbuckets, and dey had short handles dat was bent whilst de gourds was green, so us could hang 'em on a limb of a tree in de shade to keep water cool for us when us was wukin' in de field durin' hot weather. "i never done much field wuk 'til de war come on, 'cause mistess was larnin' me to be a housemaid. marse gerald and miss annie never had no chillun 'cause she warn't no bearin' 'oman, but dey was both mighty fond of little folks. on sunday mornin's mammy used to fix us all up nice and clean and take us up to de big house for marse gerald to play wid. dey was good christian folks and tuk de mostest pains to larn us chillun how to live right. marster used to 'low as how he had done paid $ for ca'line but he sho wouldn't sell her for no price. "evvything us needed was raised on dat plantation 'cept cotton. nary a stalk of cotton was growed dar, but jus' de same our clothes was made out of cloth dat mistess and my mammy wove out of thread us chillun spun, and mistess tuk a heap of pains makin' up our dresses. durin' de war evvybody had to wear homespun, but dere didn't nobody have no better or prettier dresses den ours, 'cause mistess knowed more'n anybody 'bout dyein' cloth. when time come to make up a batch of clothes mistess would say, 'ca'line holp me git up my things for dyein',' and us would fetch dogwood bark, sumach, poison ivy, and sweetgum bark. that poison ivy made the best black of anything us ever tried, and mistess could dye the prettiest sort of purple wid sweetgum bark. cop'ras was used to keep de colors from fadin', and she knowed so well how to handle it dat you could wash cloth what she had dyed all day long and it wouldn't fade a speck. "marster was too old to go to de war, so he had to stay home and he sho seed dat us done our wuk raisin' somepin t'eat. he had us plant all our cleared ground, and i sho has done some hard wuk down in dem old bottom lands, plowin', hoein', pullin' corn and fodder, and i'se even cut cordwood and split rails. dem was hard times and evvybody had to wuk. "sometimes marse gerald would be away a week at a time when he went to court at jefferson, and de very last thing he said 'fore he driv off allus was, 'ca'line, you and de chillun take good care of mistess.' he most allus fetched us new shoes when he come back, 'cause he never kept no shoemaker man on our place, and all our shoes was store-bought. dey was jus' brogans wid brass toes, but us felt powerful dressed up when us got 'em on, 'specially when dey was new and de brass was bright and shiny. dere was nine of us chillun, four boys and five gals. us gals had plain cotton dresses made wid long sleeves and us wore big sunbonnets. what would gals say now if dey had to wear dem sort of clothes and do wuk lak what us done? little boys didn't wear nothin' but long shirts in summertime, but come winter evvybody had good warm clothes made out of wool off of marse gerald's own sheep, and boys, even little tiny boys, had britches in winter. "did you ever see folks shear sheep, child? well, it was a sight in dem days. marster would tie a sheep on de scaffold, what he had done built for dat job, and den he would have me set on de sheep's head whilst he cut off de wool. he sont it to de factory to have it carded into bats and us chillun spun de thread at home and mammy and mistess wove it into cloth for our winter clothes. nobody warn't fixed up better on church days dan marster's niggers and he was sho proud of dat. "us went to church wid our white folks 'cause dere warn't no colored churches dem days. none of de churches 'round our part of de country had meetin' evvy sunday, so us went to three diffunt meetin' houses. on de fust sunday us went to captain crick baptist church, to sandy crick presbyterian church on second sundays, and on third sundays meetin' was at antioch methodist church whar marster and mistess was members. dey put me under de watchkeer of deir church when i was a mighty little gal, 'cause my white folks sho b'lieved in de church and in livin' for god; de larnin' dat dem two good old folks gimme is done stayed right wid me all through life, so far, and i aims to live by it to de end. i didn't sho 'nough jine up wid no church 'til i was done growed up and had left marse gerald; den i jined de cedar grove baptist church and was baptized dar, and dar's whar i b'longs yit. "marster was too old to wuk when dey sot us free, so for a long time us jus' stayed dar and run his place for him. i never seed none of dem yankee sojers but one time. marster was off in jefferson and while i was down at de washplace i seed 'bout men come ridin' over de hill. i was sho skeered and when i run and told mistess she made us all come inside her house and lock all de doors. dem yankee mens jus' rode on through our yard down to de river and stayed dar a little while; den dey turned around and rid back through our yard and on down de big road, and us never seed 'em no more. "soon atter dey was sot free niggers started up churches of dey own and it was some sight to see and hear 'em on meetin' days. dey would go in big crowds and sometimes dey would go to meetin's a fur piece off. dey was all fixed up in deir sunday clothes and dey walked barfoots wid deir shoes acrost deir shoulders to keep 'em from gittin' dirty. jus' 'fore dey got to de church dey stopped and put on deir shoes and den dey was ready to git together to hear de preacher. "folks don't know nothin' 'bout hard times now, 'specially young folks; dey is on de gravy train and don't know it, but dey is headed straight for 'struction and perdition; dey's gwine to land in dat burnin' fire if dey don't mind what dey's about. jus' trust in de lord, honey, and cast your troubles on him and he'll stay wid you, but if you turns your back on him, den you is lost, plumb gone, jus' as sho as shelled corn. "when us left marse gerald and moved nigh athens he got a old nigger named egypt, what had a big fambly, to live on his place and do all de wuk. old marster didn't last long atter us was gone. one night he had done let his farm hands have a big cornshuckin' and had seed dat dey had plenty of supper and liquor to go wid it and, as was de custom dem days, some of dem niggers got old marster up on deir shoulders and toted him up to de big house, singin' as dey went along. he was jus' as gay as dey was, and joked de boys. when dey put him down on de big house porch he told old mistess he didn't want no supper 'cept a little coffee and bread, and he strangled on de fust bite. mistess sont for de doctor but he was too nigh gone, and it warn't long 'fore he had done gone into de glory of de next world. he was 'bout years old when he died and he had sho been a good man. one of my nieces and her husband went dar atter marse gerald died and tuk keer of mistess 'til she went home to glory too. "mammy followed old mistess to glory in 'bout years. us was livin' on de johnson place den, and it warn't long 'fore me and george kinney got married. a white preacher married us, but us didn't have no weddin' celebration. us moved to de joe langford place in oconee county, but didn't stay dar but one year; den us moved 'crost de crick into clarke county and atter us farmed dar years, us moved on to dis here place whar us has been ever since. plain old farmin' is de most us is ever done, but george used to make some mighty nice cheers to sell to de white folks. he made 'em out of hick'ry what he seasoned jus' right and put rye split bottoms in 'em. dem cheers lasted a lifetime; when dey got dirty you jus' washed 'em good and sot 'em in de sun to dry and dey was good as new. george made and sold a lot of rugs and mats dat he made out of plaited shucks. most evvybody kep' a shuck footmat 'fore deir front doors. dem sunhats made out of shucks and bulrushes was mighty fine to wear in de field when de sun was hot. not long atter all ten of our chillun was borned, george died out and left me wid dem five boys and five gals. "some old witch-man conjured me into marryin' jordan jackson. dat's de blessed truth, honey; a fortune-teller is done told me how it was done. i didn't want to have nothin' to do wid jordan 'cause i knowed he was jus' a no 'count old drinkin' man dat jus' wanted my land and stuff. when he couldn't git me to pay him no heed hisself, he went to a old conjure man and got him to put a spell on me. honey, didn't you know dey could do dat back in dem days? i knows dey could, 'cause i never woulda run round wid no nigger and married him if i hadn't been witched by dat conjure business. de good lord sho punishes folks for deir sins on dis earth and dat old man what put dat spell on me died and went down to burnin' hell, and it warn't long den 'fore de spell left me. "right den i showed dat no 'count jordan jackson dat i was a good 'oman, a powerful sight above him, and dat he warn't gwine to git none of dis land what my chillun's daddy had done left 'em. when i jus' stood right up to him and showed him he warn't gwine to out whack me, he up and left me and i don't even use his name no more 'cause i don't want it in my business no way a t'all. jordan's done paid his debt now since he died and went down in dat big old burnin' hell 'long wid de old witch man dat conjured me for him. "yes, honey, de lord done put it on record dat dere is sho a burnin' place for torment, and didn't my marster and mistess larn me de same thing? i sho does thank 'em to dis day for de pains dey tuk wid de little nigger gal dat growed up to be me, tryin' to show her de right road to travel. oh! if i could jus' see 'em one more time, but dey can look down from de glory land and see dat i'se still tryin' to follow de road dat leads to whar dey is, and when i gits to dat good and better world i jus' knows de good lord will let dis aged 'oman be wid her dear marster and mistess all through de time to come. "trust god, honey, and he will lead you home to glory. i'se sho enjoyed talkin' to you, and i thanks you for comin'. i'se gwine to ax him to take good keer of you and let you come back to cheer up old nicey again." plantation life as viewed by an ex-slave julia larken, age meigs street athens, georgia written by: miss grace mccune athens edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, georgia julia's small three-room cottage is a servant house at the rear of a white family's residence. a gate through an old-fashioned picket fence led into a spacious yard where dense shade from tall pecan trees was particularly inviting after a long walk in the sweltering heat. an aged mulatto woman was seated on the narrow porch. her straight white hair was arranged in braids, and her faded print dress and enormous checked apron were clean and carefully patched. a pair of dark colored tennis shoes completed her costume. she arose, tall and erect, to greet her visitor. "yessum, dis here's julia larken," she said with a friendly smile. "come right in, chile, and set here and rest on my nice cool porch. i knows you's tired plumb out. you shouldn't be out walkin' 'round in dis hot sun--it ain't good for you. it'll make you have brain fever 'fore you knows it." when asked for the story of her life, julia replied: "lordy, chile, did you do all dis walkin', hot as it is today, jus' to hear dis old nigger talk? well, jus' let me tell you, dem days back yonder 'fore de war was de happiest time of my whole life. "i don't know much 'bout slavery, 'cause i was jus' a little gal when de war ended. i was borned in war times on marse payton sails' plantation, way off down in lincoln county. my ma was borned and bred right dar on dat same place. marster bought my daddy and his mammy from captain lemars, and dey tuk de name of sails atter dey come to live on his place. mammy's name was betsy sails and daddy was named sam'l. dey was married soon atter marster fetched daddy dar. "dere ain't no tellin' how big marster's old plantation was. his house set right on top of a high hill. his plantation road circled 'round dat hill two or three times gittin' from de big road to de top of de hill. dere was a great deep well in de yard whar dey got de water for de big house. marster's room was upstairs and had steps on de outside dat come down into de yard. on one side of his house was a fine apple orchard, so big dat it went all de way down de hill to de big road. "on de other side of de house was a large gyarden whar us raised evvything in de way of good veg'tables; dere was beans, corn, peas, turnips, collards, 'taters, and onions. why dey had a big patch of nothin' but onions. us did love onions. dere was allus plenty of good meat in marster's big old smokehouse dat stood close by de well. marster, he believed in raisin' heaps of meat. he had cows, hogs, goats, and sheep, not to mention his chickens and turkeys. "all de cloth for slaves' clothes was made at home. mammy was one of de cooks up at de big house, and she made cloth too. daddy was de shoe man. he made de shoes for all de folks on de plantation. "de log cabins what de slaves lived in was off a piece from de big house. dem cabins had rock chimblies, put together wid red mud. dere warn't no glass in de windows and doors of dem cabins--jus' plain old home-made wooden shutters and doors." julia laughed as she told of their beds. "us called 'em four posters, and dat's what dey was, but dey was jus' plain old pine posties what one of de men on de plantation made up. two posties at de head and two at de foot wid pine rails betwixt 'em was de way dey made dem beds. dere warn't no sto'-bought steel springs dem days, not even for de white folks, but dem old cord springs went a long ways towards makin' de beds comfortable and dey holped to hold de bed together. de four poster beds de white folks slept on was corded too, but deir posties warn't made out of pine. dey used oak and walnut and sometimes real mahogany, and dey carved 'em up pretty. some of dem big old posties to de white folkses beds was six inches thick. "slaves all et up at de big house in dat long old kitchen. i kin jus' see dat kitchen now. it warn't built on to de big house, 'cept it was at de end of a big porch dat went from it to de big house. a great big fireplace was 'most all de way 'cross one end of dat kitchen, and it had racks and cranes for de pots and pans and ovens but, jus' let me tell you, our marster had a cookstove too. yessum, it was a real sho' 'nough iron cookstove. no'm, it warn't 'zactly lak de stoves us uses now. it was jus' a long, low stove, widout much laigs, jus' flat on top wid eyes to cook on. de oven was at de bottom. mammy and grandma mary was mighty proud of dat stove, 'cause dere warn't nobody else 'round dar what had a cookstove so us was jus' plumb rich folks. "slaves didn't come to de house for dinner when dey was wukin' a fur piece off in de fields. it was sont to 'em, and dat was what kilt one of my brothers. whilst it was hot, de cooks would set de bucket of dinner on his haid and tell him to run to de field wid it fore it got cold. he died wid brain fever, and de doctor said it was from totin' all dem hot victuals on his haid. pore brudder john, he sho' died out, and ever since den i been skeered of gittin' too hot on top of de haid. "dere was twelve of mammy's chillun in all, countin' little peter who died out when he was a baby. de other boys was john, tramer, sam'l, george, and scott. de only one of my brothers left now is george, leastwise i reckon he's livin' yet. de last 'count i had of him he was in chicago, and he must be 'bout a hundred years old now. de gals was me and mary, 'merica, hannah, betsy, and emma. "'fore grandma mary got too old to do all de cookin', mammy wuked in de field. mammy said she allus woke up early, and she could hear marster when he started gittin' up. she would hurry and git out 'fore he had time to call 'em. sometimes she cotch her hoss and rid to the field ahead of de others, 'cause marster never laked for nobody to be late in de mornin'. one time he got atter one of his young slaves out in de field and told him he was a good mind to have him whupped. dat night de young nigger was tellin' a old slave 'bout it, and de old man jus' laughed and said: 'when marster pesters me dat way i jus' rise up and cuss him out.' dat young fellow 'cided he would try it out and de next time marster got atter him dey had a rukus what i ain't never gwine to forgit. us was all out in de yard at de big house, skeered to git a good breath when us heared marster tell him to do somepin, 'cause us knowed what he was meanin' to do. he didn't go right ahead and mind marster lak he had allus been used to doin'. marster called to him again, and den dat fool nigger cut loose and he evermore did cuss marster out. lordy, chile, marster jus' fairly tuk de hide off dat nigger's back. when he tried to talk to dat old slave 'bout it de old man laughed and said: 'shucks, i allus waits 'til i gits to de field to cuss marster so he won't hear me.' "marster didn't have but two boys and one of 'em got kilt in de war. dat sho'ly did hurt our good old marster, but dat was de onliest diffunce de war made on our place. when it was over and dey said us was free, all de slaves stayed right on wid de marster; dat was all dey knowed to do. marster told 'em dey could stay on jus' as long as dey wanted to, and dey was right dar on dat hill 'til marster had done died out and gone to glory. "us chillun thought hog killin' time wes de best time of all de year. us would hang 'round de pots whar dey was rendin' up de lard and all day us et dem good old browned skin cracklin's and ash roasted 'taters. marster allus kilt from to hogs at a time. it tuk dat much meat to feed all de folks dat had to eat from his kitchen. little chillun never had nothin' much to do 'cept eat and sleep and play, but now, jus' let me tell you for sho', dere warn't no runnin' 'round nights lak dey does now. not long 'fore sundown dey give evvy slave chile a wooden bowl of buttermilk and cornpone and a wooden spoon to eat it wid. us knowed us had to finish eatin' in time to be in bed by de time it got dark. "our homespun dresses had plain waisties wid long skirts gathered on to 'em. in hot weather chillun wore jus' one piece; dat was a plain slip, but in cold weather us had plenty of good warm clothes. dey wove cotton and wool together to make warm cloth for our winter clothes and made shoes for us to wear in winter too. marster evermore did believe in takin' good keer of his niggers. "i kin ricollect dat 'fore dere was any churches right in our neighborhood, slaves would walk and miles to church. dey would git up 'way 'fore dawn on meetin' day, so as to git dar on time. us wouldn't wear our shoes on dem long walks, but jus' went barfoots 'til us got nearly to de meetin' house. i jus' kin 'member dat, for chillun warn't 'lowed to try to walk dat fur a piece, but us could git up early in de mornin' and see de grown folks start off. dey was dressed in deir best sunday go-to-meetin' clothes and deir shoes, all shined up, was tied together and hung over deir shoulders to keep 'em from gittin' dust on 'em. [hw in margin: sunday clothing] men folks had on plain homespun shirts and jeans pants. de jeans what deir pants was made out of was homespun too. some of de 'omans wore homespun dresses, but most of 'em had a calico dress what was saved special for sunday meetin' wear. 'omans wore two or three petticoats all ruffled and starched 'til one or dem underskirts would stand by itself. dey went barfoots wid deir shoes hung over deir shoulders, jus' lak de mens, and evvy 'oman pinned up her dress and evvy one of her petticoats but one to keep 'em from gittin' muddy. dresses and underskirts was made long enough to touch de ground dem days. dey allus went off singin', and us chillun would be wishin' for de time when us would be old enough to wear long dresses wid starched petticoats and go to meetin'. us chillun tried our best to stay 'wake 'til dey got home so us could hear 'em talk 'bout de preachin' and singin' and testifyin' for de lord, and us allus axed how many had done jined de church dat day. "long 'fore i was old enough to make dat trip on foot, dey built a baptist church nearby. it was de white folkses church, but dey let deir own niggers join dar too, and how us chillun did love to play 'round it. no'm, us never broke out no windows or hurt nothin' playin' dar. us warn't never 'lowed to throw no rocks when us was on de church grounds. de church was up on top of a high hill and at de bottom of dat hill was de creek whar de white folks had a fine pool for baptizin'. dey had wooden steps to go down into it and a long wooden trough leadin' from de creek to fill up de pool whenever dere was baptizin' to be done. dey had real sermons in dat church and folks come from miles around to see dem baptizin's. white folks was baptized fust and den de niggers. when de time come for to baptize dem niggers you could hear 'em singin' and shoutin' a long ways off. "it jus' don't seem lak folks has de same sort of 'ligion now dey had dem days, 'specially when somebody dies. den de neighbors all went to de house whar de corpse was and sung and prayed wid de fambly. de coffins had to be made atter folks was done dead. dey measured de corpse and made de coffin 'cordin'ly. most of 'em was made out of plain pine wood, lined wid black calico, and sometimes dey painted 'em black on de outside. dey didn't have no 'balmers on de plantations so dey couldn't keep dead folks out long; dey had to bury 'em de very next day atter dey died. dey put de corpse in one wagon and de fambly rode in another, but all de other folks walked to de graveyard. when dey put de coffin in de grave dey didn't have no sep'rate box to place it in, but dey did lay planks 'cross de top of it 'fore de dirt was put in. de preacher said a prayer and de folks sung _harps from de tomb_. maybe several months later dey would have de funeral preached some sunday. "us had all sorts of big doin's at harvest time. dere was cornshuckin's, logrollin's, syrup makin's, and cotton pickin's. dey tuk time about from one big plantation to another. evvy place whar dey was a-goin' to celebrate tuk time off to cook up a lot of tasty eatments, 'specially to barbecue plenty of good meat. de marsters at dem diffunt places allus seed dat dere was plenty of liquor passed 'round and when de wuk was done and de niggers et all dey wanted, dey danced and played 'most all night. what us chillun laked most 'bout it was de eatin'. what i 'member best of all is de good old corn risin' lightbread. did you ever see any of it, chile? why, my mammy and grandma mary could bake dat bread so good it would jus' melt in your mouth. "mammy died whilst i was still little and daddy married again. i guess his second wife had a time wid all of us chillun. she tried to be good to us, but i was skeered of her for a long time atter she come to our cabin. she larnt me how to make my dresses, and de fust one i made all by myself was a long sight too big for me. i tried it on and was plumb sick 'bout it bein' so big, den she said; 'never mind, you'll grow to it.' let me tell you, i got dat dress off in a hurry 'cause i was 'most skeered to death for fear dat if i kept it on it would grow to my skin lak i thought she meant. [hw in margin: humor] i never put dat dress on no more for a long time and dat was atter i found out dat she jus' meant dat my dress would fit me atter i had growed a little more. "all us chillun used to pick cotton for marster, and he bought all our clothes and shoes. one day he told me and mary dat us could go to de store and git us a pair of shoes apiece. 'course us knowed what kind of shoes he meant for us to git, but mary wanted a fine pair of sunday shoes and dat's what she picked out and tuk home. me, i got brass-toed brogans lak marster meant for us to git. 'bout half way home mary put on her shoes and walked to de big house in 'em. when marster seed 'em he was sho' mad as a hornet, but it was too late to take 'em back to de store atter de shoes had done been wore and was all scratched up. marster fussed: 'blast your hide, i'm a good mind to thrash you to death.' mary stood dar shakin' and tremblin', but dat's all marster ever said to her 'bout it. us heared him tell mist'ess dat dat gal mary was a right smart nigger. "marster had a great big old bull dat was mighty mean. he had real long horns, and he could lift de fence railin's down one by one and turn all de cows out. evvy time he got out he would fight us chillun, so marster had to keep him fastened up in de stable. one day when us wanted to play in de stable, us turned old camel (dat was de bull) out in de pasture. he tuk down rails enough wid his horns to let de cows in marster's fine gyarden and dey et it all up. marster was wuss dan mad dat time, but us hid in de barn under some hay 'til he went to bed. next mornin' he called us all up to git our whuppin', but us cried and said us wouldn't never do it no more so our good old marster let us off dat time. "lak i done said before, i stayed on dar 'til marster died, den i married matthew hartsfield. lordy, chile, us didn't have no weddin'. i had on a new calico dress and matthew wore some new blue jeans breeches. de reverend hargrove, de white folks preacher, married us and nobody didn't know nothin' 'bout it 'til it was all over. us went to oglethorpe county and lived dar years 'fore matthew died. i wuked wid white folks dar 'til i married up wid ben larken and us come on here to athens to live. i have done some wuk for 'most all de white folks 'round here. ben's grandpappy was a miller on potts creek, nigh stephens, and sometimes ben used to have to go help him out wid de wuk, atter he got old and feeble. "dey's all gone now and 'cept for some nieces, i'm left all alone. i kin still mind de chillun and even do a little wuk. for dat i do give thanks to de good lord--dat he keeps me able to do some wuk. "goodbye chile," said julia, when her visitor arose to leave. "you must be more keerful 'bout walkin' 'round when de sun is too hot. it'll make you sick sho'. folks jus' don't know how to take de right sort of keer of deyselves dese days." [hw: dist. ex-slave # e.f. driskell / / ] [hw: george lewis] [date stamp: may - --] mr. george lewis was born in pensacola, florida december , . in addition to himself and his parents, sophie and charles lewis, there were thirteen other children; two of whom were girls. mr. lewis (geo.) was the third eldest child. although married mr. lewis' parents belonged to different owners. however, dr. brosenhan often allowed his servant to visit his wife on the plantation of her owner, mrs. caroline bright. in regard to work all of the members of the lewis clan fared very well. the father, who belonged to dr. brosenhan, was a skilled shipbuilder and he was permitted to hire himself out to those needing his services. he was also allowed to hire [hw: out] those children belonging to him who were old enough to work. he was only required to pay his master and the mistress of his children a certain percent of his earnings. on the bright plantation mrs. lewis served as maid and as part of her duties she had to help with the cooking. mr. lewis and his brothers and sisters were never required to do very much work. most of their time was spent in playing around in the yard of the big house. in answer to a query concerning the work requirements of the other slaves on this particular plantation mr. lewis replied "de sun would never ketch dem at de house. by de time it wus up dey had done got to de fiel'--not jes gwine. i've known men to have to wait till it wus bright enough to see how to plow without "kivering" the plants up. dey lef' so early in de mornings dat breakfus' had to be sent to dem in de fiel'. de chillun was de ones who carried de meals dere. dis was de first job dat i had. all de pails wus put on a long stick an' somebody hold to each end of de stick. if de fiel' hands was too far away fum de house at dinner time it was sent to dem de same as de breakfus'". all of the slaves on the plantation were awakened each morning by a bugle or a horn which was blown by the overseer. the same overseer gave the signal for dinner hour by blowing on the same horn. all were usually given one hour for dinner. none had to do any work after leaving the fields unless it happened to be personal work. no work other than the caring for the stock was required on sundays. a few years before the civil war mrs. bright married a dr. bennett ferrel and moved to his home in georgia (troupe county). mr. lewis states that he and his fellow slaves always had "pretty fair" food. before they moved to georgia the rations were issued daily and for the most part an issue consisted of vegetables, rice, beans, meat (pork), all kinds of fish and grits, etc. "we got good clothes too says mr. lewis. all of 'em was bought. all de chillun wore a long shirt until dey wus too big an' den dey was given pants an' dresses. de shoes wus made out of red leather an' wus called brogans. after we moved to georgia our new marster bought de cloth an' had all de clothes made on de plantation. de food wus "pretty fair" here too. we got corn bread an' biscuit sometimes--an' it was sometimes too--bacon, milk, all kinds of vegetables an' sicha stuff like dat. de flour dat we made de biscuits out of was de third grade shorts." the food on sunday was almost identical with that eaten during the week. however, those who desired to were allowed to hunt as much as they pleased to at night. they were not permitted to carry guns and so when the game was treed the tree had to be cut down in order to get it. it was in this way that the family larder was increased. "all in all", says mr. lewis, "we got everything we wanted excep' dere wus no money comin' for our work an' we couldn't go off de place unless we asked. if you wus caught off your plantation without a permit fum marster de paddy-rollers whupped you an' sent you home." the slaves living quarters were located in the rear of the "big house" (this was true of the plantation located in pensacola as well as the one in georgia). all were made of logs and, according to mr. lewis, all were substantially built. wooden pegs were used in the place of nails and the cracks left in the walls were sealed with mud and sticks. these cabins were very comfortable and only one family was allowed to a cabin. all floors were of wood. the only furnishings were the beds and one or two benches or bales which served as chairs. in some respects these beds resembled a scaffold nailed to the side of a house. others were made of heavy wood and had four legs to stand upon. for the most part, however, one end of the bed was nailed to the wall. the mattresses were made out of any kind of material that a slave could secure, burlap sacks, ausenberg, etc. after a large bag had been made with this material it was stuffed with straw. heavy cord running from side to side was used for the bed springs. the end of the cord was tied to a handle at the end of the bed. this pemitted the occupant to tighten the cord when it became loosened. a few cooking utensils completed the furnishings. all illumination was secured by means of the door and the open fire place. all of the slaves on the plantation were permitted to "frolic" whenever they wanted to and for as long a time as they wanted to. the master gave them all of the whiskey that they desired. one of the main times for a frolic was during a corn shucking. at each frolic there was dancing, fiddling, and eating. the next morning, however all had to be prepared to report as usual to the fields. all were required to attend church each sunday. the same church was used by the slave owners and their slaves. the owners attended church in the morning at eleven o'clock and the slaves attended at three o'clock. a white minister did all of the preaching. "de bigges' sermon he preached", says mr. lewis, "was to read de bible an' den tell us to be smart an' not to steal chickens, eggs, an' butter, fum our marsters." all baptising was done by this selfsame minister. when a couple wished to marry the man secured the permission of his intended wife's owner and if he consented, a broom was placed on the floor and the couple jumped over it and were then pronounced man and wife. there was not a great deal of whipping on the plantation of dr. ferrel but at such times all whippings were administered by one of the overseers employed on the plantation. mr. lewis himself was only whipped once and then by the doctor. this was just a few days before the slaves were freed. mr. lewis says that the doctor came to the field one morning and called him. he told him that they were going to be freed but that before he did free him he was going to let him see what it was like to be whipped by a white man, and he proceeded to paddle him with a white oak paddle. when there was serious illness the slaves had the attention of dr. ferrel. on other occasions the old remedy of castor oil and turpentine was administered. there was very little sickness then according to mr. lewis. most every family kept a large pot of "bitters" (a mixture of whiskey and tree barks) and each morning every member of the family took a drink from this bucket. this supposedly prevented illness. when the war broke out mr. lewis says that he often heard the old folks whispering among themselves at night. several times he saw the northern troops as well as the southern troops but he dos'nt know whether they were going or coming from the scene of the fighting. doctor ferrel joined the army but on three different occasions he deserted. before going to war dr. ferrel called mr. lewis to him and after giving him his favorite horse gave him the following "charge" "don't let the yankees get him". every morning mr. lewis would take the horse to the woods where he hid with him all day. on several occasions dr. ferrel slipped back to his home to see if the horse was being properly cared for. all of the other valuables belongings to the ferrels were hidden also. all of the slaves on the plantation were glad when they were told that they were free but there was no big demonstration as they were somewhat afraid of what the master might do. some of them remained on the plantation while others of them left as soon as they were told that they were free. several months after freedom was declared mr. lewis' father was able to join his family which he had not seen since they had moved to georgia. when asked his opinion of slavery and of freedom mr. lewis said that he would rather be free because to a certain degree he is able to do as he pleases, on the other hand he did not have to worry about food and shelter as a slave as he has to do now at times. interview with: mirriam mccommons, age augusta avenue athens, georgia written by: miss grace mccune research worker athens, georgia edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens john n. booth district supervisor augusta, georgia [date stamp: apr ] it was a bright sunny day when the interviewer stopped at the home of aunt merry, as she is called, and found her tending her old-fashioned flower garden. the old negress was tired and while resting she talked of days long passed and of how things have changed since she was "a little gal." "my pa wuz william young, and he belonged to old marse wylie young and later to young marse mack young, a son of old marster. pa wuz born in , and he died in . "ma wuz lula lumpkin, and she belonged to marse jack lumpkin. i forgits de year, but she wuz jus' years old when she died. ma's young mistis wuz miss mirriam lumpkin, and she wuz sho' good ter my ma. i 'members, 'cause i seed her lots of times. she married marse william nichols, and she ain't been dead many years. "i wuz born at steebens (stephens), georgia, in at seben 'clock in de mornin' on de th day of april. yassum, i got here in time for breakfast. dey named me mirriam young. when i wuz 'bout eight years old, us moved on de bowling green road dat runs to lexin'ton, georgia. us stayed dar 'til i wuz 'bout years old, den us moved to de old hutchins place. i wukked in de field wid my pa 'til i wuz 'bout 'leben years old. den ma put me out to wuk. i wukked for dollars a year and my schoolin'. den i nussed for marse george rice in hutchins, georgia. i think marse george and his twin sister stays in lexin'ton now. when i wuz twelve, i went to wuk for marse john i. callaway. ma hired me for de same pay, dollars a year and my schoolin'. "missus callaway sho' wuz good to me. sha larnt me my books--readin' and writin'--and sewin', knittin', and crochetin'. i still got some of de wuk dat she larnt me to do." at this point aunt merry proudly displayed a number of articles that she had crocheted and knitted. all were fashioned after old patterns and showed fine workmanship. "mistis larnt me to be neat and clean in evvything i done, and i would walk 'long de road a-knittin' and nebber miss a stitch. i just bet none of dese young folkses now days could do dat. dey sho' don't do no wuk, just run 'round all de time, day and night. i don't know what'll 'come of 'em, lessen dey change deir ways. "whilst i wuz still nussin' missis' little gal and baby boy dey went down to buffalo crick to stay, and dey give me a pretty gray mare. she wuz all mine and her name wuz lucy. "i tuk de chillun to ride evvy day and down at de crick, i pulled off dey clo'es and baptized 'em, in de water. i would wade out in de crick wid 'em, and say: 'i baptizes you in de name of de fadder and de son and de holy ghost.' den i would souse 'em under de water. i didn't know nobody wuz seein' me, but one mornin' missis axed me 'bout it and i thought she mought be mad but she just laughed and said dat hit mought be good for 'em, 'cause she 'spect dey needed baptizin', but to be keerful, for just on t'other side of de rock wuz a hole dat didn't have no bottom. "dere wuz just two things on de place dat i wuz 'fraid of, and one wuz de big registered bull dat marster had paid so much money for. he sho' wuz bad, and when he got out, us all stayed in de house 'til dey cotched 'im. marster had a big black stallion dat cost lots of money. he wuz bad too, but marster kept 'im shut up most of de time. de wust i ever wuz skeert wuz de time i wuz takin' de baby to ride horseback. when one of de nigger boys on de place started off on marster's horse, my mare started runnin' and i couldn't stop 'er. she runned plumb away wid me, and when de boy cotched us, i wuz holdin' de baby wid one hand and de saddle wid t'other. "i sho' did have a big time once when us went to atlanta. de place whar us stayed wuz 'bout four miles out, whar kirkwood is now, and it belonged to mrs. robert a. austin. she wuz a widder 'oman. she had a gal name' mary and us chillun used to play together. it wuz a pretty place wid great big yards, and de mostes' flowers. us used to go into atlanta on de six 'clock 'commodation, and come home on de two 'clock 'commodation, but evvythings changed now. "at de callaway place us colored folks had big suppers and all day dinners, wid plenty to eat--chicken, turkey, and 'possum, and all de hogs us wanted. but dere warnt no dancin' or fightin', 'cause old missis sho' didn't 'low dat. "i married when i wuz sebenteen. i didn't have no weddin'. i wuz just married by de preacher to albert mccommons, at hutchins. us stayed at steebens 'bout one year after us married and den come to athens, whar i stays now. i ain't never had but two chillun; dey wuz twins, one died, but my boy is wid me now. "i used to nuss miss calline davis, and she done got married and left here, but i still hears from 'er. she done married one of dem northern mens, mr. hope. i 'members one time whilst dey wuz visitin' i stayed wid 'em to nuss deir baby. one of mr. hope's friends from new york wuz wid 'em. when dey got to de train to go home, miss calline kissed me good-bye and de yankee didn't know what to say. miss calline say de yankees 'low dat southern folks air mean to us niggers and just beat us all de time. dey just don't know 'cause my white folkses wuz all good to me, and i loves 'em all." as the interviewer left, aunt merry followed her into the yard asking for a return visit and promising to tell more, "bout my good white folkses." plantation life as viewed by ed mccree, age reese street athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby [hw: (white)] athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens leila harris augusta and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & ed mccree's home was pointed out by a little albino negro girl about years old. the small front yard was gay with snapdragons, tiger lilies, dahlias, and other colorful flowers, and the two-story frame house, painted gray with white trimmings seemed to be in far better repair than the average negro residence. chewing on a cud of tobacco, ed answered the knock on his front door. "good evenin' lady," he said. "have a cheer on de porch whar it's cool." ed is about five feet, six inches in height, and on this afternoon he was wearing a blue striped shirt, black vest, gray pants and black shoes. his gray hair was topped by a soiled gray hat. nett, his wife, came hobbling out on the porch and sat down to listen to the conversation. at first the old man was reluctant to talk of his childhood experiences, but his interest was aroused by questioning and soon he began to eagerly volunteer his memories. he had just had his noon meal and now and then would doze a little, but was easily aroused when questions called him back to the subject. "i was borned in oconee county," he said, "jus' below watkinsville. my ma and pa was louisa and henry mccree, but old marster called pa 'sherm' for short. far as i ever heared, my ma and pa was borned and brung up right dar in oconee county. dere was six of us chillun: silas, lumpkin, bennie, lucy, babe, and me. babe, she was borned a long time atter de war. "little niggers, what was too young to wuk in de fields, toted water to de field hands and waited on de old 'omans what was too old to wuk in de craps. dem old 'omans looked atter de babies and piddled 'round de yards. "slave quarters was lots of log cabins wid chimlies of criss-crossed sticks and mud. pore white folks lived in houses lak dat too. our bed was made wid high posties and had cords, what run evvy which a-way, for springs. 'course dey had to be wound tight to keep dem beds from fallin' down when you tried to git in 'em. for mattresses, de 'omans put wheat straw in ticks made out of coarse cloth wove right dar on de plantation, and de pillows was made de same way. ole miss, she let her special favorite niggers, what wuked up at de big house, have feather mattresses and pillows. dem other niggers shined dey eyes over dat, but dere warn't nothin' dey could do 'bout it 'cept slip 'round and cut dem feather beds and pillows open jus' to see de feathers fly. kivver was 'lowanced out evvy year to de ones what needed it most. in dat way dere was allus good kivver for evvybody. "grandma liza b'longed to marse calvin johnson long 'fore marse john mccree buyed her. she was cook at de big house. grandpa charlie, he b'longed to marse charlie hardin, but atter him and grandma married, she still went by de name of mccree. "lawdy miss! who ever heared of folks payin' slaves to wuk? leastwise, i never knowed 'bout none of 'em on our place gittin' money for what dey done. 'course dey give us plenty of somepin' t'eat and clothes to wear, and den dey made us keep a-humpin' it. i does 'member seein' dem paper nickels, dimes, and quarters what us chillun played wid atter de war. us used to pretend us was rich wid all dat old money what warn't no good den. "'bout dem eatments, miss, it was lek dis, dere warn't no fancy victuals lak us thinks us got to have now, but what dere was, dere was plenty of. most times dere was poke sallet, turnip greens, old blue head collards, cabbages, peas, and 'taters by de wholesale for de slaves to eat and, onct a week, dey rationed us out wheat bread, syrup, brown sugar, and ginger cakes. what dey give chillun de most of was potlicker poured over cornbread crumbs in a long trough. for fresh meat, outside of killin' a shoat, a lamb, or a kid now and den, slaves was 'lowed to go huntin' a right smart and dey fotch in a good many turkles (turtles), 'possums, rabbits, and fish. folks didn't know what iron cookstoves was dem days. leastwise, our white folks didn't have none of 'em. all our cookin' was done in open fireplaces in big old pots and pans. dey had thick iron skillets wid heavy lids on 'em, and dey could bake and fry too in dem skillets. de meats, cornbread, biscuits, and cakes what was cooked in dem old skillets was sho' mighty good. "de cotton, flax, and wool what our clothes was made out of was growed, spun, wove, and sewed right dar on our plantation. marse john had a reg'lar seamster what didn't do nothin' else but sew. summertime us chillun wore shirts what looked lak nightgowns. you jus' pulled one of dem slips over your haid and went on 'cause you was done dressed for de whole week, day and night. wintertime our clothes was a heap better. dey give us thick jeans pants, heavy shirts, and brogan shoes wid brass toes. summertime us all went bar'foots. "old marster john mccree was sho' a good white man, i jus' tells you de truf, 'cause i ain't in for tellin' nothin' else. i done jus' plum forgot ole miss' fust name, and i can't git up de chilluns' names no way. i didn't play 'round wid 'em much nohow. dey was jus' little young chillun den anyhow. dey lived in a big old plank house--nothin' fine 'bout it. i 'members de heavy timbers was mortised together and de other lumber was put on wid pegs; dere warn't no nails 'bout it. dat's all i ricollects 'bout dat dere house right now. it was jus' a common house, i'd say. "dere was a thousand or more acres in dat old plantation. it sho' was a big piece of land, and it was plumb full of niggers--i couldn't say how many, 'cause i done forgot. you could hear dat bugle de overseer blowed to wake up de slaves for miles and miles. he got 'em up long 'fore sunup and wuked 'em in de fields long as dey could see how to wuk. don't talk 'bout dat overseer whuppin' niggers. he beat on 'em for most anything. what would dey need no jail for wid dat old overseer a-comin' down on 'em wid dat rawhide bull-whup? "if dey got any larnin', it was at night. dere warn't no school 'ouse or no church on dat plantation for niggers. slaves had to git a pass when dey wanted to go to church. sometimes de white preacher preached to de niggers, but most of de time a nigger wid a good wit done de preachin'. dat nigger, he sho' couldn't read nary a word out of de bible. at de baptizin's was when de nigger boys shined up to de gals. dey dammed up de crick to make de water deep enough to duck 'em under good and, durin' de service, dey sung: _it's de good old time religion_. "when folks died den, niggers for miles and miles around went to de funeral. now days dey got to know you mighty well if dey bothers to go a t'all. dem days folks was buried in homemade coffins. some of dem coffins was painted and lined wid cloth and some warn't. de onliest song i ricollects 'em singin' at buryin's was: _am i born to lay dis body down_? dey didn't dig graves lak dey does now. dey jus' dug straight down to 'bout five feet, den dey cut a vault to fit de coffin in de side of de grave. dey didn't put no boards or nothin' over de coffins to keep de dirt off. "'bout dem patterollers! well, you knowed if dey cotched you out widout no pass, dey was gwine to beat your back most off and send you on home. one night my pa 'lowed he would go to see his gal. all right, he went. when he got back, his cabin door was fastened hard and fast. he was a-climbin' in de window when de patterollers got to him. dey 'lowed: 'nigger, is you got a pass?' pa said: 'no sir.' den dey said: 'us can't beat you 'cause you done got home on your marster's place, but us is sho' gwine to tell your marster to whup your hide off. but old marster never tetched him for dat. "atter dey come in from de fields, dem niggers et deir supper, went to deir cabins, sot down and rested a little while, and den dey drapped down on de beds to sleep. dey didn't wuk none sadday atter dinner in de fields. dat was wash day for slave 'omans. de mens done fust one thing and den another. dey cleant up de yards, chopped wood, mended de harness, sharpened plow points, and things lak dat. sadday nights, old marster give de young folks passes so dey could go from one place to another a-dancin' and a-frolickin' and havin' a big time gen'ally. dey done most anything dey wanted to on sundays, so long as dey behaved deyselfs and had deir passes handy to show if de patterollers bothered 'em. "yessum, slaves sho' looked forward to christmas times. dere was such extra good eatin's dat week and so much of 'em. old marster had 'em kill a plenty of shoats, lambs, kids, cows, and turkeys for fresh meat. de 'omans up at de big house was busy for a week ahead cookin' peach puffs, 'tater custards, and plenty of cakes sweetened wid brown sugar and syrup. dere was plenty of home-made candy for de chilluns' santa claus and late apples and peaches had done been saved and banked in wheat straw to keep 'em good 'til christmas. watermelons was packed away in cottonseed and when dey cut 'em open on christmas dey, dey et lak fresh melons in july. us had a high old time for a week, and den on new year's day dey started back to wuk. "come winter, de mens had big cornshuckin's and dere was quiltin's for de 'omans. dere was a row of corn to be shucked as long as from here to milledge avenue. old marster put a gang of niggers at each end of de row and it was a hot race 'tween dem gangs to see which could git to de middle fust. dere was allus a big feast waitin' for 'em when de last ear of corn was shucked. 'bout dem quiltin's!" now lady, what would a old nigger man know 'bout somepin' dat didn't nothin' but 'omans have nothin' to do wid? "dem cotton pickin's was grand times. dey picked cotton in de moonlight and den had a big feast of barbecued beef, mutton, and pork washed down wid plenty of good whiskey. atter de feast was over, some of dem niggers played fiddles and picked banjoes for de others to dance down 'til dey was wore out. "when slaves got sick, our white folks was mighty good 'bout havin' 'em keered for. dey dosed 'em up wid oil and turpentine and give 'em teas made out of hoarhound for some mis'ries and bone-set for other troubles. most all the slaves wore a sack of assfiddy (asafetida) 'round deir necks all de time to keep 'em from gittin' sick. "it was a happy day for us slaves when news come dat de war was over and de white folks had to turn us 'loose. marster called his niggers to come up to de big house yard, but i never stayed 'round to see what he had to say. i runned 'round dat place a-shoutin' to de top of my voice. my folks stayed on wid old marster for 'bout a year or more. if us had left, it would have been jus' lak swappin' places from de fryin' pan to de fire, 'cause niggers didn't have no money to buy no land wid for a long time atter de war. schools was soon scattered 'bout by dem yankees what had done sot us free. i warn't big enough den to do nothin' much 'cept tote water to de field and chop a little cotton. "me and nettie freeman married a long time atter de war. at our weddin' i wore a pair of brown jeans pants, white shirt, white vest, and a cutaway coat. nettie wore a black silk dress what she had done bought from miss blanche rutherford. pears lak to me it had a overskirt of blue what was scalloped 'round de bottom." at this point, nettie, who had been an interested listener, was delighted. she broke into the conversation with: "ed, you sho' did take in dat dress and you ain't forgot it yit." "you is right 'bout dat, honey," he smilingly replied, "i sho' ain't and i never will forgit how you looked dat day." "miss blanche give me a pair of white silk gloves to wear wid dat dress," mused nettie. "us didn't have no sho' 'nough weddin'," continued ed. "us jus' went off to de preacher man's house and got married up together. i sho' is glad my nett is still a-livin', even if she is down wid de rheumatiz." "i'm glad i'm livin' too," nettie said with a chuckle. ed ignored the question as to the number of their children and nettie made no attempt to take further part in the conversation. there is a deep seated idea prevalent among old people of this type that if the "giver'ment folks" learn that they have able-bodied children, their pensions and relief allowances will be discontinued. soon ed was willing to talk again. "yessum," he said. "i sho' had ruther be free. i don't never want to be a slave no more. now if me and nett wants to, us can set around and not fix and eat but one meal all day long. if us don't want to do dat, us can do jus' whatsomever us pleases. den, us had to wuk whether us laked it or not. "lordy miss, i ain't never jined up wid no church. i ain't got no reason why, only i jus' ain't never had no urge from inside of me to jine. 'course, you know, evvybody ought to lissen to de services in de church and live right and den dey wouldn't be so skeered to die. miss, ain't you through axin' me questions yit? i is so sleepy, and i don't know no more to tell you. goodbye." [hw: dist. ex slave # ] ex-slave interview: lucy mccullough, age by: sarah h. hall athens, ga. [date stamp: may ] [tr: this first half of this interview was edited by hand to change many 'er' sounds to 'uh', for example, 'der' to 'duh', 'ter' to 'tuh'; as a single word, 'er' was also changed to 'a'.] "does ah 'member 'bout war time, en dem days fo' de war? yassum, ah sho' does. ah blong ter marse ned carter in walton county." "whut ah 'members mos' is duh onliest beatin' ah ebber got fum de overseer on marse ned's place. de hawgs wuz dyin' moughty bad wid cholry, en marse ned hed 'is mens drag evvy dead hawg off in de woods 'en bun 'em up ter keep de cholry fum spreadin' mongst de udder hawgs. de mens wuz keerless 'bout de fire, en fo' long de woods wuz on fire, en de way dat fire spread in dem dry grape vines in de woods mek it 'peer lak jedgment day tuh us chilluns. us run 'bout de woods lookin' at de mens fight de fire, en evvy time we see uh new place a-blaze we run dis way en dat way, twel fus' thing us knows, we is plum off marse ned's plantation, en us doan rightly know whar us is. us play 'roun' in de woods en arter while marse ned's overseer cum fine us, en he druv us back tuh de big house yahd en give evvy one uv us uh good beaten'. ah sho' wuz black en blue, en ah nebber did fuhgit en run offen marse ned's lan' no mo' lessen i hed uh pass." "mah mammy, she wuz cook at duh big house, en ah wuz raised dah in de kitchen en de back yahd at de big house. ah wuz tuh be uh maid fer de ladies in de big house. de house servants hold that dey is uh step better den de field niggers. house servants wuz niggah quality folks." ah mus' not a been mo' en thee uh fo' yeahs ole when miss millie cum out in de kitchen one day, en 'gin tuh scold my mammy 'bout de sorry way mammy done clean de chitlins. ah ain' nebber heard nobuddy fuss et my mammy befo'. little ez ah wuz, ah swell up en rar' back, en i sez tuh miss millie, "doan you no' mammy is boss uh dis hyar kitchen. you cyan' cum a fussin' in hyar." "miss millie, she jus laff, but mammy grab a switch en 'gin ticklin' my laigs, but miss millie mek her quit it." "who wuz miss millie? why, she wuz marse ned's wife." "whilst marse ned wuz 'way at de war, bad sojer mens cum thoo de country. miss millie done hyar tell dey wuz on de way, an she had de mens haul all marse ned's cotton off in de woods en hide it. de waggins wuz piled up high wid cotton, en de groun' wuz soft atter de rain. de waggins leff deep ruts in de groun', but none us folks on de plantation pay no heed ter dem ruts. when de sojer mens cum, dey see dem ruts en trail 'em right out dar in de woods ter de cotton. den dey sot fire ter de cotton en bun it all up. dey cum back ter de big house en take all de sweet milk in de dairy house, en help 'emselfs ter evvy thing in de smoke houses. den dey pick out de stronges' er marse ned's slave mens en take 'em 'way wid 'em. dey take evvy good horse marse ned had on de plantation. no ma'am, dey diden' bun nuffin ceppen' de cotton." "us wuz mo' skeered er patter-rollers den any thing else. patter-rollers diden' bodder folks much, lessen dey caught 'em offen dar marsters plantations en dey diden' hab no pass. one night en durin' de war, de patter-rollers cum ter our cabin, en i scrooge down under de kiver in de bed. de patter-roller man tho' de kiver offen mah face, en he see me blong dar, en he let me be, but ah wuz skeered plumb ter death. courtin' folks got ketched en beat up by de patter-rollers mo' den enny buddy else, kazen dey wuz allus slippen' out fer ter meet one er nudder at night." "when folks dat lived on diffunt plantations, en blonged ter diffunt marsters wanted ter git married, dey hed ter ax both dar marsters fus'. den effen dar marsters 'gree on it, dey let 'em marry. de mans marster 'ud give de man er pass so he cud go see his wife et night, but he sho' better be back on his own marsters farm when de bell ring evvy morning. de chilluns 'ud blong ter de marster dat own de 'oman." "black folks wuz heap smarter den dey is now. dem days de 'omans knowed how ter cyard, en spin, en weave de cloff, en dey made de close. de mens know how ter mek shoes ter wear den. black folks diden' hev ter go cole er hongry den, kaze dey marsters made 'em wuk en grow good crops, en den der marsters fed 'em plenty en tuk keer uv 'em." "black folks wuz better folks den dey is now. dey knowed dey hed ter be good er dey got beat. de gals dey diden't sho' dare laigs lak dey do now. cloff hed ter be made den, en hit wuz er heap mo' trouble ter mek er yahd er cloff, den it is ter buy it now, but 'omans en gals, dey stayed kivvered up better den. why, ah 'member one time my mammy seed me cummin' crost de yahd en she say mah dress too short. she tuk it offen me, en rip out de hem, en ravel at de aig' er little, en den fus' thing i knows, she got dat dress tail on ter de loom, en weave more cloff on hit, twel it long enuf, lak she want it." "long 'bout dat time dey wuz killin' hawgs on de plantation, en it wuz er moughty cole day. miss millie, she tell me fer ter tote dis quart er brandy out dar fer ter warm up de mens dat wuz er wukkin in de cole win'. 'long de way, ah keep er sippin' dat brandy, en time ah got ter de hawg killin' place ah wuz crazy drunk en tryin' ter sing. dat time 'twon't no overseer beat me. dem slave mens beat me den fo' drinkin' dat likker." "mah folks stayed on en wukked fo' marse ned long atter de war. when ah wuz mos' grown mah fam'ly moved ter logansville. no, ma'am, i ain't nebber been so free en happy es when i diden' hev ter worry 'bout whar de vittles en close gwine cum fum, en all ah had ter do wuz wuk evvy day lak mah whitefolks tole me." [hw: dist. (driskell) ex slave # ] amanda mcdaniel, yrs old ex-slave [date stamp: may ] among these few remaining persons who have lived long enough to tell of some of their experiences during the reign of "king slavery" in the united states is one mrs. amanda mcdaniel. as she sat on the porch in the glare of the warm october sun she presented a perfect picture of the old negro mammy commonly seen during the days of slavery. she smiled as she expectorated a large amount of the snuff she was chewing and began her story in the following manner: "i was born in watsonville, georgia in . my mother's name was matilda hale and my father was gilbert whitlew. my mother and father belonged to different master's, but the plantations that they lived on were near each other and so my father was allowed to visit us often. my mother had two other girls who were my half-sisters. you see--my mother was sold to the speculator in virginia and brought to georgia where she was sold to mr. hale, who was our master until freedom was declared. when she was sold to the speculator the two girls who were my half-sisters had to be sold with her because they were too young to be separated from their mother. my father, gilbert whitlew, was my mother's second husband. "mr. hale, our master, was not rich like some of the other planters in the community. his plantation was a small one and he only had eight servants who were all women. he wasn't able to hire an overseer and all of the heavy work such as the plowing was done by his sons. mrs. hale did all of her own cooking and that of the slaves too. in all mr. hale had eleven children. i had to nurse three of them before i was old enough to go to the field to work." when asked to tell about the kind of work the slaves had to do mrs. mcdaniel said: "our folks had to get up at four o'clock every morning and feed the stock first. by the time it was light enough to see they had to be in the fields where they hoed the cotton and the corn as well as the other crops. between ten and eleven o'clock everybody left the field and went to the house where they worked until it was too dark to see. my first job was to take breakfast to those working in the fields. i used buckets for this. besides this i had to drive the cows to and from the pasture. the rest of the day was spent in taking care of mrs. hale's young children. after a few years of this i was sent to the fields where i planted peas, corn, etc. i also had to pick cotton when that time came, but i never had to hoe and do the heavy work like my mother and sisters did." according to mrs. mcdaniel they were seldom required to work at night after they had left the fields but when such occasions did arise they were usually in the form of spinning thread and weaving cloth. during the winter months this was the only type of work that they did. on days when the weather was too bad for work out of doors they shelled the corn and peas and did other minor types of work not requiring too much exposure. nobody had to work on saturday afternoons or on sundays. it was on saturdays or at night that the slaves had the chance to do their own work such as the repairing of clothing, etc. on the hale plantation clothing was issued two times each year, once at the beginning of summer and again at the beginning of the winter season. on this first issue all were given striped dresses made of cotton material. these dresses were for wear during the week while dresses made of white muslin were given for sunday wear. the dye which was necessary in order to color those clothes worn during the week was made by boiling red dirt or the bark of trees in water. sometimes the indigo berry was also used. the winter issue consisted of dresses made of woolen material. the socks and stockings were all knitted. all of this wearing apparel was made by mrs. hale. the shoes that these women slaves wore were made in the nearby town at a place known as the tan yards. these shoes were called "brogans" and they were very crude in construction having been made of very stiff leather. none of the clothing that was worn on this plantation was bought as everything necessary for the manufacture of clothing was available on the premises. as has been previously stated, mrs. hale did all of the cooking on the plantation with the possible exception of sundays when the slaves cooked for themselves. during the week their diet usually consisted of corn bread, fat meat, vegetables, milk, and potliquor. the food that they ate on sunday was practically the same. all the food that they ate was produced in the master's garden and there was a sufficient amount for everyone at all times. there were two one-room log cabins in the rear of the master's house. these cabins were dedicated to slave use. mrs. mcdaniel says: "the floors were made of heavy wooden planks. at one end of the cabin was the chimney which was made out of dried mud, sticks, and dirt. on the side of the cabin opposite the door there was a window where we got a little air and a little light. our beds were made out of the same kind of wood that the floors were and we called them "bed-stilts." slats were used for springs while the mattresses were made of large bags stuffed with straw. at night we used tallow candles for light and sometimes fat pine that we called light-wood. as mrs. hale did all of our cooking we had very few pots and pans. in the winter months we used to take mud and close the cracks left in the wall where the logs did not fit close together." according to mrs. mcdaniel all the serious illnesses were handled by a doctor who was called in at such times. at other times mr. or mrs. hale gave them either castor oil or salts. sometimes they were given a type of oil called "lobelia oil." at the beginning of the spring season they drank various teas made out of the roots that they gathered in the surrounding woods. the only one that mrs. mcdaniel remembers is that which was made from sassafras roots. "this was good to clean the system," says mrs. mcdaniel. whenever they were sick they did not have to report to the master's house each day as was the case on some of the other plantations. there were never any pretended illnesses to avoid work as far as mrs. mcdaniel knows. on sunday all of the slaves on the hale plantation were permitted to dress in their sunday clothes and go to the white church in town. during the morning services they sat in the back of the church where they listened to the white pastor deliver the sermon. in the afternoon they listened to a sermon that was preached by a colored minister. mrs. mcdaniel hasn't the slightest idea of what these sermons were about. she remembers how marriages were performed, however, although the only one that she ever witnessed took place on one of the neighboring plantations. after a broom was placed on the ground a white minister read the scriptures and then the couple in the process of being married jumped over this broom. they were then considered as man and wife. whippings were very uncommon the the hale plantation. sometimes mr. hale had to resort to this form of punishment for disobedience on the part of some of the servants. mrs. mcdaniel says that she was whipped many times but only once with the cowhide. nearly every time that she was whipped a switch was used. she has seen her mother as well as some of the others punished but they were never beaten unmercifully. neither she or any of the other slaves on the hale plantation ever came in contact with the "paddie-rollers," whom they knew as a group of white men who went around whipping slaves who were caught away from their respective homes without passes from their masters. when asked about the buying and the selling of slaves mrs. mcdaniel said that she had never witnessed an auction at which slaves were being sold and that the only thing she knew about this was what she had been told by her mother who had been separated from her husband and sold in georgia. mr. hale never had the occasion to sell any of those slaves that he held. mrs. mcdaniel remembers nothing of the talk that transpired between the slaves or her owners at the beginning of the war. she says: "i was a little girl, and like the other children then, i didn't have as much sense as the children of today who are of the age that i was then. i do remember that my master moved somewhere near macon, georgia after general wheeler marched through. i believe that he did more damage than the yanks did when they came through. when my master moved us along with his family we had to go out of the way a great deal because general wheeler had destroyed all of the bridges. besides this he damaged a great deal of the property that he passed." continuing, mrs. mcdaniel said: "i didn't see any of the fighting but i did hear the firing of the cannons. i also saw any number of confederate soldiers pass by our place." mr. hale didn't join the army although his oldest son did. at the time that the slaves were freed it meant nothing in particular to mrs. mcdaniel, who says that she was too young to pay much attention to what was happening. she never saw her father after they moved away from watsonville. at any rate she and her mother remained in the service of mr. hale for a number of years after the war. in the course of this time mr. hale grew to be a wealthy man. he continued to be good to those servants who remained with him. after she was a grown woman mrs. mcdaniel left mr. hale as she was then married. mrs. mcdaniel says that she has reached such an old age because she has always taken care of herself, which is more than the young people of today are doing, she added as an after thought. dist. ex. slave # tom mcgruder, years old ex-slave by elizabeth watson, hawkinsville, georgia [date stamp: may ] tom mcgruder, one of the oldest living ex-slaves in pulaski county, was sitting on the porch of his son's home when we went in to see him. his grizzled old head began to nod a "good morning" and his brown face became wreathed in smiles when he saw us. he looked very small as he sat in a low straight chair by the door. his shirt and overalls were ragged but spotlessly clean. on his feet were heavy shoes that were kept free from dirt. his complexion was not black as some of the other members of his race but was a light brown. there were very few wrinkles in his face considering the fact that he was one hundred and two years old in june. he spoke in a quiet voice though somewhat falteringly as he suffers greatly from asthma. "were you born in this county, uncle tom?" we asked. "no mam, missus," he replied. "me and my mother and sister wuz brought from virginia to this state by the speculators and sold here. i was only about eighteen or twenty and i was sold for $ . my mother was given to one of old marster's married chillun. "you see, missus," he spoke again after a long pause. "we wuz put on the block just like cattle and sold to one man today and another tomorrow. i wuz sold three times after coming to this state." tom could tell us very little about his life on the large plantations because his feeble old mind would only be clear at intervals. he would begin relating some incident but would suddenly break off with, "i'd better leave that alone 'cause i done forgot." he remembered, however, that he trained dogs for his "whie folks," trained them to be good hunters as that was one of the favorite sports of the day. the last man to whom tom was sold was mr. jim mcgruder, of emanuel county. he was living in a small cabin belonging to mr. mcgruder, when he married. "i 'members", said tom, "that old marster and missus fixed up a lunch and they and their chillun brought it to my cabin. then they said, 'nigger, jump the broom' and we wuz married, 'cause you see we didn't know nothing 'bout no cer'mony." it was with mr. mcgruder that tom entered the army, working for him as his valet. "i wuz in the army for 'bout four years," tom said. "i fought in the battles at petersburg, virginia and chattanooga, tennessee. i looked after old marster's shoes and clothes. old marster, what he done he done well. he was kind to me and i guess better to me sometimes than i deserved but i had to do what he told me." "do you remember any of the old songs you used to sing?" we asked. "missus, i can't sing no mo'," he replied. but pausing for a few minutes he raised his head and sang in a quiet voice, the words and melody perfectly clear; "why do you wait, dear brother, oh, why do you tarry so long? your saviour is waiting to give you a place in his sanctified throng." plantation life as viewed by ex-slave susan mcintosh, age w. hancook avenue athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby federal writers' project athens, ga. edited by: sarah h. hall athens john n. booth augusta leila harris augusta april , [date stamp: may ] a driving rain sent the interviewer scurrying into the house of susan mcintosh who lives with her son, dr. andrew jones, at the corner of hancock avenue and billups street. susan readily gave her story: "they tell me i was born in november ," she said, "and i know i've been here a long time 'cause i've seen so many come and go. i've outlived 'most all of my folks 'cept my son that i live with now. honey, i've 'most forgot about slavery days. i don't read, and anyway there ain't no need to think of them times now. i was born in oconee county on judge william stroud's plantation. we called him marse billy. that was a long time before athens was the county seat. ma's name was mary jen, and pa was christopher harris. they called him chris for short. marster young l.g. harris bought him from marster hudson of elbert county and turned him over to his niece, miss lula harris, when she married marster robert taylor. marse robert was a son of general taylor what lived in the grady house before it belonged to mr. henry grady's mother. pa was coachman and house boy for miss lula. "marse billy owned ma, and marse robert owned pa, and pa, he come to see ma about once or twice a month. the taylor's, they done a heap of travellin' and always took my pa with 'em. oh! there was thirteen of us chillun, seven died soon after they was born, and none of 'em lived to git grown 'cept me. their names was nanette and ella, what was next to me; susan--thats me; isabelle, martha, mary, diana, lila, william, gus, and the twins what was born dead; and harden. he was named for a dr. harden what lived here then. "marse billy bought my gran'ma in virginia. she was part injun. i can see her long, straight, black hair now, and when she died she didn't have gray hair like mine. they say injuns don't turn gray like other folks. gran'ma made cloth for the white folks and slaves on the plantation. i used to hand her thread while she was weavin'. the lady what taught gran'ma to weave cloth, was mist'ess gowel, and she was a foreigner, 'cause she warn't born in georgia. she had two sons what run the factory between watkinsville and athens. my aunt, mila jackson, made all the thread what they done the weavin' with. gran'pa worked for a widow lady what was a simster (seamstress) and she just had a little plantation. she was mist'ess doolittle. all gran'pa done was cut wood, 'tend the yard and gyarden. he had rheumatism and couldn't do much. "there ain't much to tell about what we done in the slave quarters, 'cause when we got big enough, we had to work: nussin' the babies, totin' water, and helpin' gran'ma with the weavin', and such like. beds was driv to the walls of the cabin; foot and headboard put together with rails, what run from head to foot. planks was laid crossways and straw put on them and the beds was kivvered with the whitest sheets you ever seen. some made pallets on the floor. "no, ma'am, i didn't make no money 'til after freedom. i heard tell of ten and fifteen cents, but i didn't know nothing 'bout no figgers. i didn't know a nickel from a dime them days. "yes, ma'am, marse billy 'lowed his slaves to have their own gyardens, and 'sides plenty of good gyarden sass, we had milk and butter, bread and meat, chickens, greens, peas, and just everything that growed on the farm. winter and summer, all the food was cooked in a great big fireplace, about four feet wide, and you could put on a whole stick of cord wood at a time. when they wanted plenty of hot ashes to bake with, they burnt wood from ash trees. sweet potatoes and bread was baked in the ashes. seems like vittuls don't taste as good as they used to, when we cooked like that. 'possums, oh! i dearly love 'possums. my cousins used to catch 'em and when they was fixed up and cooked with sweet potatoes, 'possum meat was fit for a king. marse billy had a son named mark, what was a little bitty man. they said he was a dwarf. he never done nothing but play with the children on the plantation. he would take the children down to the crick what run through the plantation and fish all day. we had rabbits, but they was most generally caught in a box trap, so there warn't no time wasted a-huntin' for 'em. "in summer, the slave women wore white homespun and the men wore pants and shirts made out of cloth what looked like overall cloth does now. in winter, we wore the same things, 'cept marse billy give the men woolen coats what come down to their knees, and the women wore warm wraps what they called sacks. on sunday we had dresses dyed different colors. the dyes were made from red clay and barks. bark from pines, sweetgums, and blackjacks was boiled, and each one made a different color dye. the cloth made at home was coarse and was called 'gusta cloth. marse billy let the slaves raise chickens, and cows, and have cotton patches too. they would sell butter, eggs, chickens, brooms, made out of wheat straw and such like. they took the money and bought calico, muslin and good shoes, pants, coats and other nice things for their sunday clothes. marse billy bought leather from marster brumby's tanyard and had shoes made for us. they was coarse and rough, but they lasted a long time. "my marster was father-in-law of dr. jones long. marse billy's wife, miss rena, died long before i was born. their six children was all grown when i first knowed 'em. the gals was: miss rena, miss selena, miss liza, and miss susan. miss susan was dr. long's wife. i was named for her. there was two boys; marse john and marse mark. i done told you 'bout marse mark bein' a dwarf. they lived in a big old eight room house, on a high hill in sight of mars hill baptist church. marse billy was a great deacon in that church. yes, ma'am, he sho' was good to his negroes. i heard 'em say that after he had done bought his slaves by working in a blacksmith shop, and wearin' cheap clothes, like mulberry suspenders, he warn't goin' to slash his negroes up. the older folks admired mist'ess and spoke well of her. they said she had lots more property than marse billy. she said she wanted marse billy to see that her slaves was give to her children. i 'spose there was about a hundred acres on that plantation and marse billy owned more property besides. there was about fifty grown folks and as to the children, i just don't know how many there was. around the quarters looked like a little town. "marse billy had a overseer up to the time war broke out, then he picked out a reliable colored man to carry out his orders. sometimes the overseer got rough, then marse billy let him go and got another one. the overseer got us up about four or five o'clock in the morning, and dark brought us in at night. "jails! yes, ma'am, i ricollect one was in watkinsville. no, ma'am, i never saw nobody auctioned off, but i heard about it. men used to come through an buy up slaves for foreign states where there warn't so many. "well, i didn't have no privilege to learn to read and write, but the white lady what taught my gran'ma to weave, had two sons what run the factory, and they taught my uncles to read and write. "there warn't no church on the plantation, so we went to mars hill church. the white folks went in the mornings from nine 'til twelve and the slaves went in the evenings from three 'till about five. the white folks went in the front door and slaves used the back door. rev. bedford lankford, what preached to the white folks helped a negro, named cy stroud, to preach to the negroes. oh! yes, ma'am, i well remembers them baptizings. i believe in church and baptizing. "they buried the slaves on the plantation, in coffins made out of pine boards. didn't put them in two boxes lak dey does now, and dey warn't painted needer. "did you say patterollers? sho' i seen 'em, but they didn't come on our plantation, 'cause marse billy was good to his negroes and when they wanted a pass, if it was for a good reason, he give 'em one. didn't none of marse billy's slaves run off to no north. when marse billy had need to send news somewhere, he put a reliable negro on a mule and sent him. i sho' didn't hear about no trouble twixt white folks and negroes. "i tell you, honey, when the days work was over them slaves went to bed, 'cep' when the moon was out and they worked in their own cotton patches. on dark nights, the women mended and quilted sometimes. not many worked in the fields on saturday evenin's. they caught up on little jobs aroun' the lot; a mending harness and such like. on saturday nights the young folks got together and had little frolics and feasts, but the older folks was gettin' things ready for sunday, 'cause marse billy was a mighty religious man: we had to go to church, and every last one of the children was dragged along too. "we always had one week for christmas. they brought us as much of good things to eat as we could destroy in one week, but on new year's day we went back to work. no, ma'am, as i ricollect, we didn't have no corn shuckings or cotton pickings only what we had to do as part of our regular work. "the white folks mostly got married on wednesday or thursday evenin's. oh! they had fine times, with everything good to eat, and lots of dancing too. then they took a trip. some went to texas and some to chicago. they call chicago, the colored folks' new york now. i don't remember no weddings 'mongst the slaves. my cousin married on another plantation, but i warn't there. "where i was, there warn't no playing done, only 'mongst the little chillun, and i can't remember much that far back. i recall that we sung a little song, about: 'little drops of water little grains of sand, make the mighty ocean and the pleasant land.' "oh! yes, ma'am, marse billy was good to his slaves, when they got sick. he called in dr. jones long, dr. harden, and dr. lumpkin when they was real sick. there was lots of typhoid fever then. i don't know nothing about no herbs, they used for diseases; only boneset and hoarhound tea for colds and croup. they put penrile (pennyroyal) in the house to keep out flies and fleas, and if there was a flea in the house he would shoo from that place right then and there. "the old folks put little bags of assfiddy (assafoetida) around their chillun's necks to keep off measles and chickenpox, and they used turpentine and castor oil on chillun's gums to make 'em teethe easy. when i was living on milledge avenue, i had dr. crawford w. long to see about one of my babies, and he slit that baby's gums so the teeth could come through. that looked might bad to me, but they don't believe in old ways no more." she laughed and said: "no, ma'am, i don't know nothing about such low down things as hants and ghosts! rawhead and bloody bones, i just thought he was a skelerpin, with no meat on him. course lots of negroes believe in ghosts and hants. us chillun done lots of flightin' like chillun will do. i remember how little marse mark stroud used to take all the little boys on the plantation and teach 'em to play dixie on reeds what they called quills. that was good music, but the radio has done away with all that now. "i knowed i was a slave and that it was the war that sot me free. it was 'bout dinner time when marse billy come to the door and called us to the house. he pulled out a paper and read it to us, and then he said: 'you all are free, as i am.' we couldn't help thinking about what a good marster he always had been, and how old, and feeble, and gray headed he looked as he kept on a-talkin' that day. 'you all can stay on here with me if you want to,' he 'lowed, 'but if you do, i will have to pay you wages for your work.' "i never saw no yankees in athens, but i was in atlanta at mrs. winship's on peachtree street, when general sherman come to that town 'parin' his men for to go home. there was about two thousand in all, white and black. they marched up and down marietta street from three o'clock in the evening 'til seven o'clock next morning. then they left. i remember well that there warn't a house left standing in atlanta, what warn't riddled with shell holes. i was scared pretty nigh to death and i never want to leave home at no time like that again. but pa saw 'em soon after that in athens. they was a marching down broad street on their way to macon, and pa said it looked like a blue cloud going through. "ma and me stayed on with marse billy 'bout six months after the war ended before we come to town to live with pa. we lived right back of rock college and ma took in washin' for the folks what went to school there. no, ma'am i never saw no ku kluxers. me and ma didn't leave home at night and the white folks wouldn't let 'em git pa. "major knox brought three or four teachers to teach in a school for negroes that was started up here the first year after the war. major knox, he was left like a sort of justice of peace to get things to going smooth after the war. i went to school there about three months, then ma took sick, and i didn't go no more. my white teacher was miss sarah, and she was from chicago. "now and then the negroes bought a little land, and white folks gave little places to some negroes what had been good slaves for 'em. "i didn't take in about mr. abraham lincoln. a long time after the war, i heard 'em say he got killed. i knowed mr. jeff. davis was president of the confederacy. as for booker washington, i never saw him, but i heard his son whan he was here once and gave a musical of some sort at the congregational church. "i was a old gal when i married 'bout thirty or forty years after the war. i married george mcintosh. wedding clothes!" she chuckled, and said: "i didn't have many. i bought 'em second hand from mrs. ed. bond. they was nice though. the dress i married in was red silk. we had a little cake and wine; no big to do, just a little fambly affair. of our four chillun, two died young, and two lived to git grown. my daughter was a school teacher and she has been dead sometime. i stays wid my only living child. my husban' died a long time ago. "i cooked and washed for mr. prince hodgson for thirty years. miss mary franklin used to tell me 'bout all them strange places she had been to while she was paintin'. there never was nobody in this town could paint prettier pictures than miss mary's. "i'm glad slavery is over. i'm too old to really work anymore, but i'm like a fish going down the crick and if he sees a bug he will catch him if he can. "i joined the church 'cause i believe in the son of god. i know he is a forgiving god, and will give me a place to rest after i am gone from the earth. everybody ought to 'pare for the promised land, where they can live always after they are done with this world." after the interview, she said: "honey, this is the most i have talked about slavery days in twelve years; and i believe what i told you is right. of course, lots has faded from my mind about it now." district # adella s. dixon, macon, georgia matilda mckinney empire avenue, macon, georgia [date stamp: jul ] matilda mckinney was born in texas but was brought to southwest georgia, near albany, at an early age. her mother, amy dean, had eight children, of which aunt matilda is the eldest. the plantation on which they lived was owned by mr. milton ball, and it varied little in size or arrangement from the average one of that time. here was found the usual two-story white house finished with high columns and surrounded by trees. most of the negro mothers did field work, so it was necessary for others to care for the children. mr. ball handled this problem in the usual way. he established what would today be called a day nursery. each mother brought her offspring to the home of an elderly woman before leaving for her day's work. here, they were safely kept until their parents returned. the midday meal for everyone was prepared at the big house and the slaves were served from huge tubs of vegetables and pots of meat. "aunt" julia was responsible for the children's noon meal. when "aunt" matilda was old enough to do a little work, she was moved into the house where she swept floors, waited on the table, and fanned flies while a meal was being served. the adult females who lived in the house did most of the weaving and sewing. all the summer, garments were made and put away for winter use. two dresses of osnaburg were then given each person. the field hands, always considered an inferior group by the house servants, worked from sunup to sundown. when they returned from the fields they prepared supper for their families and many times had to feed the children in the dark, for a curfew horn was blown and no lights could be lighted after its warning note had sounded. there was very little visiting to or from the group which dwelt here, as the curfew hour was early. saturday varied a little from the other week days. the field work was suspended in the afternoon to allow the mothers time to wash their clothing. with sunset came the preparations for the weekly frolic. a fiddler furnished music while the dancers danced numerous square dances until a late hour. home remedies for illness were used much more extensively than any doctor's medicine. teas, compounded from sage, boneset, tansy, and mullen, usually sufficed for any minor sickness, and serious illness was rare. food was distributed on sunday morning. two-and-a-half pounds of meat, a quantity of syrup, and a peck of meal were given each adult for the week. a special ration for sunday alone was potatoes, buttermilk, and material for biscuits. each family had its own garden from which a supply of vegetables could always be obtained in season. the smaller children had additional delicacies, for they early learned that the house where produce was kept had holes in the floor which yielded peanuts, etc, when punched with a stick. "aunt" matilda was unable to give any information regarding the war, but remembers that her family remained at her former owner's plantation for some time after they were freed. she now lives with her granddaughter who takes excellent care of her. her long life is attributed to her habit of going to bed early and otherwise caring for herself properly. plantation life as viewed by ex-slave william mcwhorter, age w. broad street athens, georgia written by: mrs. sadie b. hornsby athens edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, ga. sept. , the rambling, one-story frame building where william mcwhorter makes his home with his cousin, sarah craddock, houses several families and is proudly referred to by the neighbors as "de 'partment house." william, better known as "shug," is a very black man of medium build. he wore a black slouch hat pulled well down over tangled gray hair, a dingy blue shirt, soiled gray pants, and black shoes. the smile faded from his face when he learned the nature of the visit. "i thought you was de pension lady 'comin' to fetch me some money," he said, "and 'stid of dat you wants to know 'bout slavery days. i'se disapp'inted. "mistess, it's been a long time since i was born on marse joe mcwhorter's plantation down in greene county and i was jus' a little fellow when slavery was done over wid. allen and martha mcwhorter was my ma and pa. pa, he was de carriage driver, and ma, she was a field hand. dey brought her here from oingebug (orangeburg), south carolina, and sold her to marse joe when she was jus' a little gal. me and annie, ella, jim, and tom was all de chillun in our fambly, and none of us warn't big enough to do no wuk to speak of 'fore de end of de big war. you see, mistess, it was lak dis; marse joe, he owned a old 'oman what didn't do nothin' 'cept stay at de house and look atter us chillun, and dat was one of dem plantations whar dere was sho a heap of slave chillun. "'bout our houses? mistess, i'se gwine to tell you de trufe, dem houses slaves had to live in, dey warn't much, but us didn't know no better den. dey was jus' one-room log cabins wid stick and dirt chimblies. de beds for slaves was home-made and was held together wid cords wove evvy which away. if you didn't tighten dem cords up pretty offen your bed was apt to fall down wid you. suggin sacks was sewed together to make our mattress ticks and dem ticks was filled wid straw. now, don't tell me you ain't heared of suggin sacks a-fore! dem was coarse sacks sort of lak de guano sacks us uses now. dey crowded jus' as many niggers into each cabin as could sleep in one room, and marriage never meant a thing in dem days when dey was 'rangin' sleepin' quarters for slaves. why, i knowed a man what had two wives livin' in de same cabin; one of dem 'omans had all boys and t'other one didn't have nothin' but gals. it's nigh de same way now, but dey don't live in de same house if a man's got two famblies. "i 'members dat my pa's ma, grandma cindy, was a field hand, but by de time i was old 'nough to take things in she was too old for dat sort of wuk and marster let her do odd jobs 'round de big house. de most i seed her doin' was settin' 'round smokin' her old corncob pipe. i was named for grandpa billy, but i never seed him. "mistess, does you know what you'se axin'? whar was slaves to git money whilst dey was still slaves? dere warn't but a few of 'em dat knowed what money even looked lak 'til atter dey was made free. "now, you is talkin' 'bout somepin sho 'nough when you starts 'bout dem victuals. marse joe, he give us plenty of sich as collards, turnips and greens, peas, 'taters, meat, and cornbread. lots of de cornbread was baked in pones on spiders, but ashcakes was a mighty go in dem days. marster raised lots of cane so as to have plenty of good syrup. my pa used to 'possum hunt lots and he was 'lowed to keep a good 'possum hound to trail 'em wid. rabbits and squirrels was plentiful and dey made mighty good eatin'. you ain't never seed sich heaps of fish as slaves used to fetch back atter a little time spent fishin' in de cricks and de river. "de kitchen was sot off from de big house a little piece, but old marster had a roof built over de walkway so fallin' weather wouldn't spile de victuals whilst dey was bein' toted from de kitchen in de yard to de dinin' room in de big house. i don't reckon you ever seed as big a fireplace as de one dey cooked on in dat old kitchen. it had plenty of room for enough pots, skillets, spiders, and ovens to cook for all de folks on dat plantation. no, mam, slaves never had no gardens of deir own; dey never had no time of deir own to wuk no garden, but old marster fed 'em from his garden and dat was big enough to raise plenty for all. "de one little cotton shirt dat was all chillun wore in summertime den warn't worth talkin' 'bout; dey called it a shirt but it looked more lak a long-tailed nightgown to me. for winter, our clothes was made of wool cloth and dey was nice and warm. mistess, slaves never knowed what sunday clothes was, 'cept dey did know dey had to be clean on sunday. no matter how dirty you went in de week-a-days, you had to put on clean clothes sunday mornin'. uncle john craddock made shoes for all de grown folks on our plantation, but chillun went barfoots and it never seemed to make 'em sick; for a fact, i b'lieves dey was stouter den dan dey is now. "marse joe mcwhorter and his wife, miss emily key, owned us, and dey was jus' as good to us as dey could be. mistess, you knows white folks had to make slaves what b'longed to 'em mind and be-have deyselfs in dem days or else dere woulda been a heap of trouble. de big fine house what marse joe and his fambly lived in sot in a cedar grove and woodville was de town nighest de place. oh! yes, mam, dey had a overseer all right, but i'se done forgot his name, and somehow i can't git up de names of marse joe's chillun. i'se been sick so long my mem'ry ain't as good as it used to be, and since i lost my old 'oman 'bout months ago, i don't 'spect i ever kin reckomember much no more. it seems lak i'se done told you my pa was marse joe's carriage driver. he driv de fambly whar-some-ever dey wanted to go. "i ain't got no idee how many acres was in dat great big old plantation, but i'se heared 'em say marse joe had to keep from to slaves, not countin' chillun, to wuk dat part of it dat was cleared land. dey told me, atter i was old enough to take it in, dat de overseer sho did drive dem slaves; dey had to be up and in de field 'fore sunup and he wuked 'em 'til slap, black dark. when dey got back to de big house, 'fore dey et supper, de overseer got out his big bull whip and beat de ones dat hadn't done to suit him durin' de day. he made 'em strip off deir clothes down to de waist, and evvywhar dat old bull whip struck it split de skin. dat was awful, awful! sometimes slaves dat had been beat and butchered up so bad by dat overseer man would run away, and next day aunt suke would be sho to go down to de spring to wash so she could leave some old clothes dar for 'em to git at night. i'se tellin' you, slaves sho did fare common in dem days. "my aunt mary b'longed to marse john craddock and when his wife died and left a little baby--dat was little miss lucy--aunt mary was nussin' a new baby of her own, so marse john made her let his baby suck too. if aunt mary was feedin' her own baby and miss lucy started cryin' marse john would snatch her baby up by the legs and spank him, and tell aunt mary to go on and nuss his baby fust. aunt mary couldn't answer him a word, but my ma said she offen seed aunt mary cry 'til de tears met under her chin. "i ain't never heared nothin' 'bout no jails in slavery time. what dey done den was 'most beat de life out of de niggers to make 'em be-have. ma was brung to bairdstown and sold on de block to marse joe long 'fore i was borned, but i ain't never seed no slaves sold. lordy, mistess, ain't nobody never told you it was agin de law to larn a nigger to read and write in slavery time? white folks would chop your hands off for dat quicker dan dey would for 'most anything else. dat's jus' a sayin', 'chop your hands off.' why, mistess, a nigger widout no hands wouldn't be able to wuk much, and his owner couldn't sell him for nigh as much as he could git for a slave wid good hands. dey jus' beat 'em up bad when dey cotched 'em studyin' readin' and writin', but folks did tell 'bout some of de owners dat cut off one finger evvy time dey cotch a slave tryin' to git larnin'. how-some-ever, dere was some niggers dat wanted larnin' so bad dey would slip out at night and meet in a deep gully whar dey would study by de light of light'ood torches; but one thing sho, dey better not let no white folks find out 'bout it, and if dey was lucky 'nough to be able to keep it up 'til dey larned to read de bible, dey kept it a close secret. "slaves warn't 'lowed to have no churches of dey own and dey had to go to church wid de white folks. dere warn't no room for chillun in de baptist church at bairdstown whar marse joe tuk his grown-up slaves to meetin', so i never did git to go to none, but he used to take my ma along, but she was baptized by a white preacher when she jined up wid dat church. de crick was nigh de church and dat was whar dey done de baptizin'. "none of our niggers never knowed enough 'bout de north to run off up dar. lak i done told you, some of 'em did run off atter a bad beatin', but dey jus' went to de woods. some of 'em come right on back, but some didn't; us never knowed whar dem what didn't come back went. show me a slavery-time nigger dat ain't heared 'bout paterollers! mistess, i 'clar to goodness, paterollers was de devil's own hosses. if dey cotched a nigger out and his marster hadn't fixed him up wid a pass, it was jus' too bad; dey most kilt him. you couldn't even go to de lord's house on sunday 'less you had a ticket sayin': 'dis nigger is de propity of marse joe mcwhorter. let him go.' "dere warn't never no let-up when it come to wuk. when slaves come in from de fields atter sundown and tended de stock and et supper, de mens still had to shuck corn, mend hoss collars, cut wood, and sich lak; de 'omans mended clothes, spun thread, wove cloth, and some of 'em had to go up to de big house and nuss de white folks' babies. one night my ma had been nussin' one of dem white babies, and atter it dozed off to sleep she went to lay it in its little bed. de child's foot cotch itself in marse joe's galluses dat he had done hung on de foot of de bed, and when he heared his baby cry marse joe woke up and grabbed up a stick of wood and beat ma over de head 'til he 'most kilt her. ma never did seem right atter dat and when she died she still had a big old knot on her head. "dey said on some plantations slaves was let off from wuk when de dinner bell rung on saddays, but not on our'n; dere warn't never no let-up 'til sundown on sadday nights atter dey had tended to de stock and et supper. on sundays dey was 'lowed to visit 'round a little atter dey had 'tended church, but dey still had to be keerful to have a pass wid 'em. marse joe let his slaves have one day for holiday at christmas and he give 'em plenty of extra good somepin t'eat and drink on dat special day. new year's day was de hardest day of de whole year, for de overseer jus' tried hisself to see how hard he could drive de niggers dat day, and when de wuk was all done de day ended off wid a big pot of cornfield peas and hog jowl to eat for luck. dat was s'posed to be a sign of plenty too. "cornshuckin's was a mighty go dem days, and folks from miles and miles around was axed. when de wuk was done dey had a big time eatin', drinkin', wrestlin', dancin', and all sorts of frolickin'. even wid all dat liquor flowin' so free at cornshuckin's i never heared of nobody gittin' mad, and marse joe never said a cross word at his cornshuckin's. he allus picked bright moonshiny nights for dem big cotton pickin's, and dere warn't nothin' short 'bout de big eats dat was waitin' for dem niggers when de cotton was all picked out. de young folks danced and cut up evvy chanct dey got and called deyselfs havin' a big time. "games? well, 'bout de biggest things us played when i was a chap was baseball, softball, and marbles. us made our own marbles out of clay and baked 'em in de sun, and our baseballs and softballs was made out of rags. "does i know anything 'bout ghosties? yes, mam, i sees ha'nts and ghosties any time. jus' t'other night i seed a man widout no head, and de old witches 'most nigh rides me to death. one of 'em got holt of me night 'fore last and 'most choked me to death; she was in de form of a black cat. mistess, some folks say dat to see things lak dat is a sign your blood is out of order. now, me, i don't know what makes me see 'em. "marse joe tuk mighty good keer of sick slaves. he allus called in a doctor for 'em, and kept plenty of castor ile, turpentine, and de lak on hand to dose 'em wid. miss emily made teas out of a heap of sorts of leaves, barks, and roots, sich as butterfly root, pine tops, mullein, catnip and mint leaves, feverfew grass, red oak bark, slippery ellum bark, and black gum chips. most evvybody had to wear little sacks of papaw seeds or of assyfizzy (asafetida) 'round deir necks to keep off diseases. "dey used to say dat a free nigger from de north come through de south and seed how de white folks was treatin' his race, den he went back up der and told folks 'bout it and axed 'em to holp do somepin' 'bout it. dat's what i heared tell was de way de big war got started dat ended in settin' slaves free. my folks said dat when de yankee sojers come through, miss emily was cryin' and takin' on to beat de band. she had all her silver in her apron and didn't know whar to hide it, so atter awhile she handed it to her cook and told her to hide it. de cook put it in de woodpile. de yankee mens broke in de smokehouse, brought out meat and lard, kilt chickens, driv off cows and hosses, but dey never found miss emily's silver. it was a long time 'fore our fambly left marse joe's place. "marse joe never did tell his niggers dey was free. one day one of dem yankee sojers rid through de fields whar dey was wukin' and he axed 'em if dey didn't know dey was as free as deir marster. dat yankee kept on talkin' and told em dey didn't have to stay on wid marse joe 'less dey wanted to, end dey didn't have to do nothin' nobody told 'em to if dey didn't want to do it. he said dey was deir own bosses and was to do as dey pleased from de time of de surrender. "schools was sot up for slaves not long atter dey was sot free, and a few of de old marsters give deir niggers a little land, but not many of 'em done dat. jus' as de niggers was branchin' out and startin' to live lak free folks, dem nightriders come 'long beatin', cuttin', and slashin' 'em up, but i 'spects some of dem niggers needed evvy lick dey got. "now, mistess, you knows all niggers would ruther be free, and i ain't no diffunt from nobody else 'bout dat. yes, mam, i'se mighty glad mr. abraham lincoln and jeff davis fit 'til dey sot us free. dat jeff davis ought to be 'shamed of hisself to want niggers kept in bondage; dey says dough, dat he was a mighty good man, and miss millie rutherford said some fine things 'bout him in her book what sarah read to me, but you can't 'spect us niggers to b'lieve he was so awful good. "me and rosa barrow had a pretty fair weddin' and a mighty fine supper. i don't ricollect what she had on, but i'se tellin' you she looked pretty and sweet to me. our two boys and three gals is done growed up and i'se got three grandchillun now. rosa, she died out 'bout months ago and i'se gwine to marry agin soon as i finds somebody to take keer of me. "i was happier de day i jined de church at sander's chapel, dan i'se been since. it was de joyfullest day of all my life, so far. folks ought to git ready for a better world dan dis to live in when dey is finished on dis earth, and i'se sho glad our good lord saw fit to set us free from sin end slavery. if he hadn't done it, i sho would have been dead long ago. yistidday i picked a little cotton to git me some bread, and it laid me out. i can't wuk no more. i don't know how de blessed lord means to provide for me but i feels sho he ain't gwine to let me perish." [hw: dist. : ex-slave # ] henrietta carlisle alberta minor re-search workers mollie malone--ex-slave route b, griffin, georgia interviewed september , [date stamp: may ] mollie was born on a plantation owned by mr valentine brook, near locust grove, georgia. mr. brook died before the war and his wife, "the widder brock", ran the plantation. slaves not needed on the home plantation were "hired out" to other land owners for from $ . to $ . a year. this was done the first of each year by an auction from a "horse block". when mollie was seven months old her mother, clacy brock, was "hired out" and she was taken care of by two old negroes, too old to work, and who did nothing but care for the little "niggers". mollie grew up with these children between the "big house" and the kitchen. when she was old enough she was "put to mind" the smaller children and if they did'nt behave she pinched them, but "when the 'ole miss found it out, she'd sure 'whup me'", she said. these children were fed cornbread and milk for breakfast and supper, and "pot licker" with cornbread for dinner. they slept in a large room on quilts or pallets. each night the larger children were given so many "cuts" to spin, and were punished if all weren't finished. the thread was woven into cloth on the loom and made into clothes by the slaves who did the sewing. there were no "store bought" clothes, and mollie was free before she ever owned a pair of shoes. clothes had to be furnished by the owner for the slaves he "hired out". mr. and mrs. brock had two daughters, margaret and mary anne, who led very quiet secluded lives. mollie remembers visits of the traveling preacher, who conducted services in a nearby church once a month. the slaves walked behind the white folks' carriages to and from the church, where they were seated in the rear during the services. if there were baptisms, the whites were baptized first, then the darkies. on this plantation the negroes were not allowed to engage in any frolics or attend social gatherings. they only knew christmas by the return of the hired out slaves, who came home for a week before the next auction. the young lady daughters of mr. and mrs. brock wore "drag tail" dresses, and mollie says the little negroes had to hold these long skirts off the ground whenever they were out doors, then spread them as they went into the house so they could "strut." the children were not allowed any education other than the "old miss" reading them the bible on sunday afternoons. the older negroes were not allowed to visit on other plantations often, but when they did go they had to have passes from their masters or the "patarolers" would whip them--if they were caught. hoar-hound and penny-royal were used for minor ailments, and "varnish" was put on cuts by the "ole miss". mollie doesn't remember ever seeing a doctor, other than a mid-wife, on the plantation. home made remedies for "palpitation of the heart" was to wear tied around the neck a piece of lead, pounded into the shape of the heart, and punched with nine holes, or to get some one "not kin to you", to tie some salt in a small bag and wear it over your heart. toothache was cured by smoking a pipe of "life everlasting", commonly called "rabbit tobacco". headaches were stopped by beating the whites of an egg stiff, adding soda and putting on a cloth, then tying around the head. mr. brock died before the war, consequently not having any men to go from the plantation, mollie knew very little about it. she remembers confederate soldiers "practicin" at locust grove, the nearest town, and one time the yankees came to the plantation and "took off" a horse mrs. brock had hidden in the swamp, also all the silver found buried. mollie knew nothing of the freedom of the slaves until her mother came to get her. for two years they "hired out" on a farm in butts county, where they worked in the fields. several times in later years mollie returned to the brock plantation to see "the ole miss" and the young misses. mrs. brock and her daughters, who had never married, died on the plantation where they had always lived. mollie's family "knocked around awhile", and then came to griffin where they have since made their home. she became a familiar figure driving an ox-cart on the streets and doing odd jobs for white families and leading a useful life in the community. besides her own family, mollie has raised fifteen orphaned negro children. she is approximately ninety years old, being "about growd" when the war ended. district two ex-slave interview aunt carrie mason milledgeville, georgia (baldwin county) written by: mrs. estelle g. burke research worker federal writers' project milledgeville, georgia edited by: john n. booth asst. district supervisor federal writers' project athens, georgia july , [date stamp: jul ] "howdy, miss, howdy. come on in. george is poly today. my grandchillun is doin' a little cleanin' up fer me 'cause us thinks george ain't got long on this earth an' us don' want de place ter be dirty an' all when he's gone." the home of aunt carrie and uncle george mason, a two-room cabin surrounded by a dirty yard, stands in a clearing. old tin cans, bottles, dusty fruit jars, and piles of rat-tail cotton from gutted mattresses littered the place. an immense sugarberry tree, beautifully proportioned, casts inviting shade directly in front of the stoop. it is the only redeeming feature about the premises. aunt carrie, feeble and gray haired, hobbled out in the yard with the aid of a stick. "have a seat, miss. dat cheer is all right. it won't fall down. don't git yo' feet wet in dat dirty water. my grandchillun is scourin' terday. effen yer want to, us'll set under de tree. dey's a cool breeze dar all de time. "you wants to fin' out my age an' all? law miss, i don' know how ole i is. george is nigh 'bout . i 'members my mammy said i wuz bawn a mont' or two 'fore freedom wuz 'clared. yas'um i rekymembers all 'bout de yankees. how cum i 'members 'bout dem an' de war wuz over den? i cain't tell yer dat, but i knows i 'members seein' 'em in de big road. it mought not uv been mister sherman's mens but mammy said de yankees wuz in de big road long after freedom wuz 'clared, and dey wuz down here gettin' things straight. dey wuz sho' in er mess atter de war! evvythin' wuz tore up an' de po' niggers didn't know which away to turn. "my mammy's name wuz catherine bass an' my pappy wuz ephriam butts. us b'longed ter mars' ben bass an' my mammy had de same name ez marster twell she ma'ied pappy. he b'longed ter somebody else 'til marster bought him. dey had ten chillun. no, mam, mammy didn't have no doctor," aunt carrie chuckled, "didn't nobody hardly have a doctor in dem days. de white folks used yarbs an' ole 'omans to he'p 'em at dat time. mammy had er ole 'oman whut lived on de place evvy time she had a little 'un. she had one evvy year too. she lost one. dat chile run aroun' 'til she wuz one year ole an' den died wid de disentery. "us had er right hard time in dem days. de beds us used den warn't like dese here nice beds us has nowadays. don't you laugh, berry, i knows dese beds us got now is 'bout to fall down," aunt carrie admonished her grandson when he guffawed at her statement, "you chilluns run erlong now an' git thoo' wid dat cleanin'." aunt carrie's spirits seemed dampened by berry's rude laugh and it was several minutes before she started talking again. "dese young folks don't know nuthin' 'bout hard times. us wukked in de ole days frum before sunup 'til black night an' us knowed whut wuk wuz. de beds us slep' on had roun' postes made outen saplins of hickory or little pine trees. de bark wuz tuk off an' dey wuz rubbed slick an' shiny. de sprangs wuz rope crossed frum one side uv de bed to de udder. de mattress wuz straw or cotton in big sacks made outen osnaberg or big salt sacks pieced tergether. mammy didn't have much soap an' she uster scrub de flo' wid sand an' it wuz jes ez white. yas mam, she made all de soap us used, but it tuk a heap. we'uns cooked in de ashes an' on hot coals, but de vittals tasted a heap better'n dey does nowadays. mammy had to wuk in de fiel' an' den cum home an' cook fer marster an' his fambly. i didn' know nuthin' 'bout it 'till atter freedom but i hyearn 'em tell 'bout it. "mammy an' pappy stayed on marster's plantation 'til a year or mo' atter dey had dey freedom. marster paid 'em wages an' a house ter stay in. he didn't hav' many slaves, 'bout , i reckon. my brothers wuz berry, dani'l, ephriam, tully, bob, lin, an' george. de yuthers i disremembers, caze dey lef' home when dey wuz big enough to earn dey livin' an' i jes don't recollec'. "conjur' woman! law miss, i aims ter git ter hebem when i dies an' i show don't know how ter conjur' nobody. no mam, i ain't never seed no ghost. i allus pray to de lord dat he spar' me dat trouble an' not let me see nary one. no good in folks plunderin' on dis earth atter dey leave here de fus time. go 'way, dog." a spotted hound, lean and flop-eared was scratching industriously under aunt carrie's chair. it was a still summer day and the flies droned ceaselessly. a well nearby creaked as the dripping bucket was drawn to the top by a granddaughter who had come in from the field to get a cool drink. aunt carrie watched the girl for a moment and then went back to her story. "effen my mammy or pappy ever runned away from marster, i ain't heered tell uv it, but mammy said dat when slaves did run away, dey wuz cotched an' whupped by de overseer. effen a man or a 'oman kilt another one den dey wuz branded wid er hot i'on. er big s wuz put on dey face somewhars. s stood fer 'slave, 'an' evvybody knowed dey wuz er mudderer. marster din't have no overseer; he overseed hisself. "why is george so white? 'cause his marster wuz er white genemun named mister jimmie dunn. his mammy wuz er cullud 'oman name' frances mason an' his marster wuz his paw. yas mam, i see you is s'prised, but dat happ'ned a lots in dem days. i hyeared tell of er white man what would tell his sons ter 'go down ter dem nigger quarters an' git me mo' slaves.' yas mam, when george wuz borned ter his mamny, his pappy wuz er white man an' he made george his overseer ez soon ez he wuz big e'nuf ter boss de yuther slaves. i wish he wuz able to tell yer 'bout it, but since he had dat las' stroke he ain't been able ter talk none." aunt carrie took an old clay pipe from her apron pocket and filled it with dry scraps of chewing tobacco. after lighting it she puffed quietly and seemed to be meditating. finally she took it from her mouth and continued. "i ain't had no eddication. i 'tended school part of one term but i wuz so skairt of my teacher that i couldn't larn nuthin'. he wuz a ole white man. he had been teachin' fer years an' years, but he had a cancer an' dey had done stopped him frum teachin' white chillun'. his name wuz mister bill greer. i wuz skairt 'cause he was a white man. no mam, no white man ain't never harmed me, but i wuz skairt of him enyhow. one day he says to me, 'chile i ain't goin to hurt yer none 'cause i'm white.' he wuz a mighty good ole man. he would have larned us mo' but he died de nex' year. mammy paid him ten cents a mont' a piece fer all us chillun. de boys would wuk fer dey money but i wuz the onliest gal an' mammy wouldn't let me go off de plantation to make none. whut i made dar i got, but i didn't make much 'til atter i ma'ied. "law honey, does yer want to know 'bout my ma'ige? well, i wuz years ole an' i had a preacher to ma'y me. his name wuz andrew brown. in dem days us allus waited 'til de time of year when us had a big meetin' or at christmus time. den effen one of us wanted ter git mai'ed, he would perform de weddin' atter de meetin' or atter chris'mus celebratin'. i had er bluish worsted dress. i mai'ed in jannywerry, right atter chris'mus. at my mai'ge us had barbecue, brunswick stew, an' cake. de whole yard wuz full uv folks. "mammy wuz a 'ligous 'oman an' de fust day of chris'mus she allus fasted ha'f a day an' den she would pray. atter dat evvybody would hav' eggnog an' barbecue an' cake effen dey had de money to buy it. mammy said dat when dey wuz still slaves marster allus gived 'em chris'mus, but atter dey had freedom den dey had ter buy dey own rations. us would have banjer playin' an' dance de pijen-wing and de shuffle-toe. "no mam, george's pa didn' leave him no lan' when he died. us went ter another farm an' rented when de mai'ge wuz over. george's pa warn't dead, but he didn't offer to do nuthin' fer us. "yas'um, i'se had eight chilluns of my own. us ain' never had no lan' us could call our'n. us jes moved from one farm ter another all our days. this here lan' us is on now 'longs ter mr. cline. my son an' his chillun wuks it an' dey give us whut dey kin spare. de red cross lady he'ps us an' us gits along somehow or nother." works progress administration harry l. hopkins, administrator ellen s. woodward, assistant administrator henry s. alsberg, director of the federal writers' project plantation life interview with: susan matthews, age madison street, macon, georgia written by: ruth h. sanford, macon, georgia edited by: annie a. rose, macon, georgia susan matthews is an intelligent old negress, very tall and weighing close to two hundred pounds. her eyes were bright, her "store-bought" teeth flashed in a smile as she expressed her willingness to tell us all she remembered "'bout ole times." in a tattered, faded print dress, a misshapen hat and ragged shoes, she sat enjoying the sunshine on the porch while she sewed on an underskirt she was making for herself from old sugar sacks. her manner was cheerful; she seemed to get genuine enjoyment from the interview and gave us a hearty invitation to come to see her again. "i was jes a chile" she began, "when de white folks had slaves. my ma an her chillen wuz the onliest slaves my marster and mistis had. my pa belonged to some mo white folks that lived 'bout five miles from us. my marster and mistis were poor folks. they lived in a white frame house; it wuz jes a little house that had 'bout five rooms, i reckon. the house had a kitchen in the backyard and the house my ma lived wuz in the back yard too, but i wuz raised in my mistis' house. i slept in her room; slep' on the foot of her bed to keep her feets warm and everwhere my mistis went i went to. my marster and mistis wuz sho good to us an we loved 'em. my ma, she done the cooking and the washing fer the family and she could work in the fields jes lak a man. she could pick her three hundred pounds of cotton or pull as much fodder as any man. she wuz strong an she had a new baby mos' ev'y year. my marster and mistis liked for to have a lot of chillen 'cause that helped ter make 'em richer." i didn't have much time fer playin' when i wus little cause i wuz allus busy waitin' on my mistis er taking care of my little brothers and sisters. but i did have a doll to play with. it wuz a rag doll an my mistis made it fer me. i wuz jes crazy 'bout that doll and i learned how to sew making clothes fer it. i'd make clothes fer it an wash an iron 'em, and it wasn't long 'fo i knowed how to sew real good, an i been sewing ever since. my white folks wern't rich er tall but we always had plenty of somep'n to eat, and we had fire wood to keep us warm in winter too. we had plenty of syrup and corn bread, and when dey killed a hog we had fine sausage an chitlin's, an all sorts of good eating. my marster and the white an collored boys would go hunting, and we had squirrels an rabbits an possums jes lots of time. yessum, we had plenty; we never did go hongry. "does i remember 'bout the yankees coming?, yes ma'am, i sho does. the white chillen an us had been looking fer 'em and looking fer 'em. we wanted 'em to come. we knowed 'twould be fun to see 'em. and sho 'nuf one day i was out in de front yard to see and i seed a whole passel of men in blue coats coming down de road. i hollered "here come de yankees". i knowed 'twuz dem an my mistis an my ma an ev'y body come out in the front yard to see 'em. the yankees stopped an the leading man with the straps on his shoulders talked to us an de men got water outen de well. no'm, they didn't take nothing an they hurt nothing. after a while they jes went on down the road; they sho looked hot an dusty an tired. "after de war wuz over my pa, he comed up to our house an got my ma an all us chillen an carries us down to his marster's place. i didn't want ter go cause i loved my mistis an she cried when we left. my pa's ole marster let him have some land to work on shares. my pa wuz a hard worker an we helped him an in a few years he bought a little piece of land an he owned it till he died. 'bout once er twice a year we'd all go back ter see our mistis. she wuz always glad to see us an treated us fine. "after de war a white woman started a school fer nigger chillen an my pa sent us. this white lady wuz a ole maid an wuz mighty poor. she an her ma lived by dereselves, i reckon her pa had done got kilt in de war. i don't know 'bout that but i knows they wuz mighty poor an my pa paid her fer teaching us in things to eat from his farm. we didn't never have no money. i loved to go to school; i had a blue back speller an i learned real quick but we didn't get ter go all the time. when there wuz work ter do on the farm we had ter stop an do it. "times warn't no better after de war wuz over an dey warnt no wuss. we wuz po before de war an we wuz po after de war. but we allus had somep'n to wear and plenty to eat an we never had no kick coming. "i never did get married. i'se a old maid nigger, an they tells me you don't see old maid niggers. how come i ain't married i don't know. seems like when i was young i seed somep'n wrong with all de mens that would come around. then atter while i wuz kinder ole an they didn't come around no mo. jes' last week a man come by here what used to co't me. he seed me settin here on the porch an i says 'come on in an set a while', an he did. so maybe, i ain't through co'tin, maybe i'll get married yet." here she laughed gleefully. when asked which she preferred freedom or slavery she replied, "well, being free wuz all right while i wuz young but now i'm old an i wish i b'longed to somebody cause they would take keer of me an now i ain't got nobody to take keer of me. the government gives me eight dollars a month but that don't go fer enough. i has er hard time cause i can't git around an work like i used to." [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] alberta minor re-search worker emily mays east solomon street, griffin, georgia interviewed [date stamp: may ] emily was born in on the billy stevens plantation in upson county. her mother, betsy wych, was born at hawkinsville, georgia, and sold to mr. billy stevens. the father, peter wych, was born in west virginia. a free man, he was part indian and when driving a team of oxen into virginia for lime, got into the slave territory, was overtaken by a "speculator" and brought to georgia where he was sold to the wyches of macon. he cooked for them at their hotel, "the brown house" for a number of years, then was sold "on the block" to mr. stevens of upson county. betsy was sold at this same auction. betsy and peter were married by "jumping the broomstick" after mr. stevens bought them. they had sixteen children, of which emily is the next to the last. she was always a "puny", delicate child and her mother died when she was about seven years old. she heard people tell her father that she "wasn't intented to be raised" 'cause she was so little and her mother was "acomin' to get her soon." hearing this kind of remarks often had a depressing effect upon the child, and she "watched the clouds" all the time expecting her mother and was "bathed in tears" most of the time. after the war, peter rented a "patch" from mr. kit parker and the whole family worked in the fields except emily. she was not big enough so they let her work in the "big house" until mrs. parker's death. she helped "'tend" the daughter's babies, washed and ironed table napkins and waited on them "generally" for which she can't remember any "pay", but they fed and clothed her. her older sister learned to weave when she was a slave, and helped sew for the soldiers; so after freedom she continued making cloth and sewing for the family while the others worked in the fields. [buttons were made from dried gourds.] they lived well, raising more on their patch than they could possibly use and selling the surplus. for coffee they split and dried sweet potatoes, ground and parched them. the only education emily received was at the "sugar hill" sunday school. they were too busy in the spring for social gatherings, but after the crops were harvested, they would have "corn shuckings" where the negroes gathered from neighboring farms and in three or four days time would finish at one place then move on to the next farm. it was quite a social gathering and the farm fed all the guests with the best they had. the prayer meetings and "singings" were other pleasant diversions from the daily toil. after mrs. parker's death emily worked in her father's fields until she was married to aaron mays, then she came to griffin where she has lived ever since. she is years old and has cooked for "white folks" until she was just too old to "see good", so she now lives with her daughter. interview with liza mention beech island, s.c. written and edited by: leila harris and john n. booth federal writers' project augusta, georgia march , "come right in. have a seat. i'll be glad to tell you anything i can 'bout dem early days", said liza mention. "course i warn't born till de second year atter freedom, so i don't 'member nothin' 'bout all dat fightin' durin' de war. i'se sho' glad i warn't born in slavery from what i heared 'em tell 'bout dem patterollers ketchin' and beatin' up folks." liza's house, a -room hut with a narrow front porch, stands in a peaceful spot on the edge of the wilson plantation at beech island, south carolina. a metal sign on the door which revealed that the property is protected by a theft insurance service aroused wonder as to what liza had that could attract a burglar. the bedroom was in extreme disorder with clothing, shoes, bric-a-brac, and just plain junk scattered about. the old negress had been walking about the sunshiny yard and apologized for the mess by saying that she lived alone and did as she pleased. "folks says i oughtn't to stay here by myself," she remarked, "but i laks to be independent. i cooked years for de wilson fambly and dey is gonna let me have dis house free 'til i die 'cause i ain't able to do no work." liza's close-fitting hat pinned her ears to her head. she wore a dress that was soiled and copiously patched and her worn out brogans were several sizes too large. ill health probably accounts for this untidiness for, as she expressed it, "when i gits up i hate to set down and when i sets down, i hates to git up, my knees hurts me so," however, her face broke into a toothless grin on the slightest provocation. "i wuz born up on de reese's place in mcduffie county near thomson, georgia. when i wuz chillun us didn't know nothin' 'bout no wuk," she volunteered. "my ma wuz a invalis (invalid) so when i wuz years old she give me to her sister over here at mr. ed mcelmurray's place to raise. i ain't never knowed who my pa wuz. us chaps played all de time wid white chillun jus' lak dey had all been niggers. chillun den didn't have sense lak dey got now; us wuz satisfied jus' to play all de time. i 'members on sundays us used to take leaves and pin 'em together wid thorns to make usselves dresses and hats to play in. i never did go to school none so i don't know nothin' 'bout readin' and writin' and spellin'. i can't spell my own name, but i think it begins wid a m. hit's too late to study 'bout all dat now 'cause my old brain couldn't learn nothin'. hit's done lost most all of what little i did know. "back in dem times, folkses cooked on open fireplaces in winter time and in summer dey built cook stands out in de yard to set de spiders on, so us could cook and eat outdoors. dere warn't no stoves nowhar. when us wuz hard up for sompin' green to bile 'fore de gyardens got goin' good, us used to go out and git wild mustard, poke salad, or pepper grass. us et 'em satisfactory and dey never kilt us. i have et heaps of kinds of diffunt weeds and i still eats a mess of poke salad once or twice a year 'cause it's good for you. us cooked a naked hunk of fat meat in a pot wid some corn dumplin's. "de grown folks would eat de meat and de chilluns would sit around on de floor and eat de potlikker and dumplin's out of tin pans. us enjoyed dat stuff jus' lak it had been pound cake. "dances in dem days warn't dese here huggin' kind of dances lak dey has now. dere warn't no big apple nor no little apple neither. us had a house wid a raised flatform (platform) at one end whar de music-makers sot. dey had a string band wid a fiddle, a trumpet, and a banjo, but dere warn't no guitars lak dey has in dis day. one man called de sets and us danced de cardrille (quadrille) de virginia reel, and de -hand cortillion. when us made syrup on de farm dere would always be a candy pullin'. dat homemade syrup made real good candy. den us would have a big time at corn shuckin's too. "i don't believe in no conjuration. ain't nobody never done nothin' to me but i have seed people dat other folks said had been hurt. if somebody done somethin' to me i wouldn't know whar to find a root-worker to take it off and anyways i wouldn't trust dem sort of folks 'cause if dey can cyore you dey can kill you too. "i'se a member of de silver bluff baptist church, and i been goin' to sunday school dar nearly ever since i can 'member. you know dey say dat's de oldest nigger church in de country. at fust a white man come from savannah and de church wuz built for his family and dey slaves. later dere wuz so many colored members de white folks come out and built another house so de niggers could have de old one. when dat ole church wuz tore down, de colored folks worshipped for a long time in a goat house and den in a brush arbor. "some folks calls it de dead river church 'cause it used to be near dead river and de baptisin' wuz done dar for a long time. i wuz baptised dar myself and i loves de old spot of ground. i has tried to be a good church member all my life but it's hard fer me to get a nickel or a dime for preacher money now." when asked if people in the old days got married by jumping over a broom she made a chuckling sound and replied: "no, us had de preacher but us didn't have to buy no license and i can't see no sense in buyin' a license nohow, 'cause when dey gits ready to quit, dey just quits." liza brought an old bible from the other room in which she said she kept the history of the old church. there were also pictures from some of her "white folks" who had moved to north carolina. "my husband has been daid for years," she asserted, "and i hasn't a chile to my name, nobody to move nothin' when i lays it down and nobody to pick nothin' up. i gets along pretty well most of de time though, but i wishes i could work so i would feel more independent." district two ex-slave interview aunt harriet miller toccoa, georgia (stephens county) written by: mrs. annie lee newton research worker federal writers' project athens, georgia edited by: john n. booth asst. district supervisor federal writers' project athens, georgia july , aunt harriet miller, a chipper and spry indian half-breed, thinks she is about years old. it is remarkable that one so old should possess so much energy and animation. she is tall and spare, with wrinkled face, bright eyes, a kindly expression, and she wears her iron grey hair wound in a knob in the manner of a past generation. aunt harriet was neatly dressed as she had just returned from a trip to cornelia to see some of her folks. she did not appear at all tired from the trip, and seemed glad to discuss the old days. "my father," said aunt harriet, "was a cherokee indian named green norris, and my mother was a white woman named betsy richards. you see, i am mixed. my mother give me to mr. george naves when i was three years old. he lived in de mountains of south carolina, just across de river. he didn't own his home. he was overseer for de jarretts, old man kennedy jarrett. honey, people was just like dey is now, some good and some bad. mr. naves was a good man. dese here jarretts was good to deir slaves but de ----s was mean to deirs. my whitefolks tried to send me to school but de whitefolks wouldn't receive me in deir school on account of i was mixed, and dere warn't no colored school a t'all, nowhere. some of de white ladies taught deir slaves. yes'm, some of 'em did. now, miss sallie jarrett, dat was mrs. bob jarrett's daughter, used to teach 'em some. "slaves had half a day off on saturday. dey had frolics at night, quiltings, dances, corn-shuckings, and played de fiddle. dey stayed in de quarters sunday or went to church. dey belonged to de same church wid de whitefolks. i belonged to old liberty baptist church. de back seats was whar de slaves set. dey belonged to de same church just like de whitefolks, but i wasn't with 'em much." as a child, aunt harriet associated with white people, and played with white children, but when she grew up, had to turn to negroes for companionship. "if slaves stayed in deir places dey warn't never whipped or put in chains. when company come i knowed to get out doors. i went on to my work. i was treated all right. i don't remember getting but three whippings in my life. old mistis had brown sugar, a barrel of sugar setting in de dinin' room. she'd go off and she'd come back and ask me 'bout de sugar. she'd get after me 'bout it and i'd say i hadn't took it, and den when she turned my dress back and whipped me i couldn't hardly set down. she whipped me twice 'bout the sugar and den she let me alone. 'twasn't de sugar she whipped me 'bout, but she was trying to get me to tell de truth. yes'm, dat was de best lesson dat ever i learned, to tell de truth, like david. "i had a large fambly. lets see, i had ten chillun, two of 'em dead, and i believes 'bout grand-chillun. i could count 'em. last time i was counting de great-grandchillun dere was but some have come in since den. maggie has chillun. maggie's husband is a farmer and dey lives near eastonallee. lizzie, her husband is dead and she lives wid a daughter in chicago, has chillun. den media has two. her husband, hillary campbell, works for de govemint, in washington. lieutenant has six; he farms. robert has six; robert is a regular old farmer and sunday school teacher. davey has four, den luther has seven, and dat leaves jim, my baby boy. he railroads and i lives wid him. jim is . he ain't got no chillun. my husband, judge miller, been dead years. he's buried at tugalo. dis old lady been swinging on a limb a long time and she going to swing off from here some time. i'm near about a hundred and i won't be here long, but when i go, i wants to go in peace wid everybody. "i don't know. i'd be 'feard to say dere ain't nothing in voo-doo. some puts a dime in de shoe to keep de voo-doo away, and some carries a buckeye in de pocket to keep off cramp and colic. dey say a bone dey finds in de jawbone of a hog will make chillun teethe easy. when de slaves got sick, de whitefolks looked after 'em. de medicines for sickness was nearly all yerbs. dey give boneset for colds, made tea out of it, and acheing joints. butterfly root and slippery elm bark was to cool fever. willow ashes is good for a corn, poke root for rheumatism, and a syrup made of mullein, honey, and alum for colds. dey use barks from dogwood, wild cherry, and clack haws, for one thing and another. i'll tell you what's good for pizen-oak, powdered alum and sweet cream. beat it if it's lump alum, and put it in sweet cream, not milk, it has to be cream. dere's lots of other remedies and things, but i'm getting so sap-skulled and i'm so old i can't remember. yes'm, i've got mighty trifling 'bout my remembrance. "once some indians camped on de river bottoms for three or four years, and we'd go down; me, and anne, and genia, nearly every saturday, to hear 'em preach. we couldn't understand it. dey didn't have no racket or nothing like colored folks. dey would sing, and it sounded all right. we couldn't understand it, but dey enjoyed it. dey worked and had crops. dey had ponies, pretty ponies. nobody never did bother 'em. dey made baskets out of canes, de beautifulest baskets, and dey colored 'em wid dyes, natchel dyes. "indian woman wore long dresses and beads. deir hair was plaited and hanging down de back, and deir babyes was tied on a blanket on de back. mens wore just breeches and feathers in deir hats. i wish you could have seen 'em a cooking. dey would take corn dough, and den dey'd boil birds, make sort of long, not round dumplings, and drop 'em in a pot of hot soup. we thought dat was terrible, putting dat in de pot wid de birds. dey had blow-guns and dey'd slip around, and first thing dey'd blow, and down come a bird. dey'd kill a squirrel and ketch fish wid deir blow guns. dem guns was made out of canes 'bout eight feet long, burned out at de j'ints for de barrel. dey put in a arrow what had thistles on one end to make it go through quick and de other end sharp. "yes honey, i believes in hants. i was going 'long, at nine o'clock one night 'bout the denham fill and i heard a chain a rattling 'long de cross-ties. i couldn't see a thing and dat chain just a rattling as plain as if it was on dis floor. back, since the war, dere was a railroad gang working 'long by dis fill, and de boss, captain wing, whipped a convict. it killed him, and de boss throwed him in de fill. i couldn't see a thing, and dat chain was just rattling right agai' de fill where dat convict had been buried. i believes de lord took keer of me dat night and i hope he keeps on doing so." [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] folklore alberta minor re-search worker mollie mitchell, ex negro slave east chappell street griffin, georgia august , [date stamp: may ] mollie mitchell, a white haired old darkey, years old was born on the newt woodard plantation. it is the old jackson road near beulah church. until she was years old she helped about the house running errands for her "missus", "tendin' babies", "sweeping the yard", and "sich." at she was put in the fields. the first day at work she was given certain rows to hoe but she could not keep in the row. the master came around twice a day to look at what they had done and when it was not done right, he whipped them. "seems like i got whipped all day long," she said. one time when mollie was about years old, she was real sick, the master and missus took her to the bathing house where there was "plenty of hot water." they put her in a tub of hot water then took her out, wrapped her in blankets and sheets and put her in cold water. they kept her there or days doing that until they broke her fever. whenever the negroes were sick, they always looked after them and had a doctor if necessary. at christmas they had a whole week holiday and everything they wanted to eat. the negroes lived a happy carefree life unless they "broke the rules." if one lied or stole or did not work or did not do his work right or stayed out over the time of their pass, they were whipped. the "pass" was given them to go off on saturday. it told whose "nigger" they were and when they were due back, usually by o'clock sunday afternoon or monday morning. "the patta-roll" (patrol) came by to see your pass and if you were due back home, they would give you a whippin'!" mollie was years old when the master came out in the fields and told them they were as free as he was. her family stayed with him. he gave them a horse or mule, their groceries and a "patch to work", that they paid for in about three years time. before the war whenever his slaves reached years, the master set them free and gave them a mule, cow and a "patch". mollie can remember her grandmother and grandfather getting theirs. when mollie married ( years old), she moved to her husband's farm. she had children. she had to "spin the cloth" for their clothes, and did any kind of work, even the men's work too. out of herbs she made syrup for worms for her children. with the barks of different trees she made the spring tonic and if their "stomachs was wrong", she used red oak bark. when she was younger, she would "dream a dream" and see it "jes' as clear" next morning and it always came true, but now since she's aged her dreams are "gone away" by next morning. when she was a little girl, they made them go to sunday school and taught them out of a "blue back speller". after freedom, they were sent to day school "some". the "little missus" used to teach her upstairs after they were supposed to be in bed. she's been a member of the methodist church since she was years old. mollie's husband was always a farmer and he always planted by the moon. potatoes, turnips and things that grow under the ground were planted in the dark of the moon while beans and peas and things that develope on top the ground were planted in the light of the moon. she said she couldn't remember many superstitions but she knew a rabbit's foot was tied round your neck or waist for luck and a crowing hen was bad luck, so bad that they killed them and "put 'em in the pot" whenever they found one. when you saw a cat washing its face, it was going to rain sure. mollie is quite wrinkled, has thinning white hair, very bad teeth but fairly active physically and her mind is moderately clear. elizabeth watson bob mobley, ex-slave, aged about pulaski county, georgia ( ) [date stamp: jul ] when recently interviewed, this aged colored man--the soul of humbleness and politeness--and long a resident of pulaski county, sketched his life as follows (his language reconstructed): "i was the seventh child of the eleven children born to robert and violet hammock, slaves of mr. henry mobley of crawford county. my parents were also born in crawford county. my master was well-to-do: he owned a great deal of land and many negroes. macon was our nearest trading town--and mr. mobley sold his cotton and did his trading there, though he sent his children to school at knoxville (crawford county). my mother was the family cook, and also superintended the cooking for many of the slaves. we slaves had a good time, and none of us were abused or mistreated, though young negroes were sometimes whipped--when they deserved it. grown negro men, in those days, wore their hair long and, as a punishment to them for misconduct (etc.), the master cut their hair off. i was raised in my master's house--slept in his room when i was a small boy, just to be handy to wait on him when he needed anything. if a slave became sick, a doctor was promptly called to attend him. my mother was also a kind of doctor and often rode all over the plantation to dose ailing negroes with herb teas and home medicines which she was an adept in compounding. in cases of [hw: minor] illness, she could straighten up the sick in no time. before the war started, i took my young master to get married, and we were certainly dressed up. you have never seen a nigger and a white man as dressed up as we were on that occasion. an aunt of mine was head weaver on our plantation, and she bossed the other women weavers and spinners. two or three seamstresses did all the sewing. in winter time we slaves wore wool, which had been dyed before the cloth was cut. in summer we wore light goods. we raised nearly every thing that we ate, except sugar and coffee, and made all the shoes and clothes worn on the place, except the white ladies' silks, fine shawls, and slippers, and the men's broadcloths and dress boots. my young master went to the war, but his father was too old to go. when we heard that the yankees were coming, old mister refugeed to dooly county--where he bought a new farm, and took his negroes with him. but the new place was so poor that, right after the war closed, he moved back to his old plantation. i stayed with mr. henry for a long time after freedom, then came to hawkinsville to work at the carpenter's trade. and i did pretty well here until i fell off a house several years ago, since which time i haven't been much good--not able to do hardly any work at all." now old, feeble, and physically incapacitated, "uncle" bob lives with a stepdaughter--a woman of --who, herself, is failing fast. both are supported mainly by pulaski county and the federal government. [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] folklore mary a. crawford re-search worker fanny nix--ex-slave interviewed [date stamp: may ] fanny was born in slavery and was "a great big girl" when the slaves were freed but does not know her exact age, however, she thinks that she was "at least twelve when the war broke out." according to this method of estimating her age, fanny is about eighty-seven. the old woman's parents were john arnold and rosetta green, who were married 'away befo de wah' by steppin' over the broom' in the presence of "old marse," and a lot of colored friends. fanny does not know where her parents were born, but thinks that they were born in upson county near thomaston, georgia, and knows that she and her two brothers and other sister were. fanny and her family were owned by judge jim green. judge green had a hundred or so acres of land fanny 'reckon', and between twenty-five and seventy-five slaves. "the marster was just as good as he could be to all the slaves, and especially to the little chillun." "the judge did not 'whup' much--and used a peach tree limb and done it hisself. there wuzn't no strop at marse green's big house." rosetta green, the mother of fanny, "cooked and washed for judge green for yeahs and yeahs." fanny "found her mammy a cookin' at the big house the fust thing she knowed." as fanny grew up, she was trained by "ole miss" to be a house girl, and did "sech wuk" as churning, minding the flies "offen de table when de white folks et, gwine backards and forads to de smoke-house for my mammy." she recalls that when she "minded the flies offen the table she allus got plenty of biscuits and scraps o' fried chicken the white folks left on their plates." "but," fanny added with a satisfied smile, "marse green's darkies never wanted for sumpin t'eat, case he give 'em a plenty, even molasses all dey wanted." fanny and her mammy always ate in "de missis kitchen." "yes," said fanny, "i remembers when de yankees come through, it tickled us chillun and skeered us too! dey wuz mo'n a hundred, miss, riding mighty po' ole wore out hosses. all de men wanted wuz sumpin' t'eat and some good hosses. de men poured into de smokehouse and de kitchen (here fanny had to laugh again) an how dem yankee mens did cut and hack "ole marse's" best hams! after dey et all dey could hol' dey saddled up "ole marse's" fine hosses an' away dey rid!" when asked why the white folks did not hide the horses out in the swamps or woods, fanny replied, "case, dey didn't have time. dem yankees pounced down like hawks after chickens!" "ole marse jost did have time to 'scape to de woods hisself." the judge was too old to go to the war. john arnold, fanny's daddy, was owned by mr. john arnold on an adjoining plantation to judge greene, and when he and fanny's mother were married, john was allowed to visit rosetta each week-end. of course he had to carry a pass from his "marster." john and rosetta "never lived together year in and year out," according to fanny's statement, "till long after freedom." fanny relates that judge green's slaves all went to "meetin" every sunday in the white folks church. the darkies going in the after-noon and the white people going in the forenoon. the white preacher ministered to both the white and colored people. if the negroes were sick and needed mo [hw: den] "old marse" knowed what to give em, he "sont the white folk's doctor." "you see, miss," said old fanny with pride, "i wuz owned by big white folks." she tells that judge green had two young sons (not old enough to fight) and three daughters, 'jest little shavers, so high', (here fanny indicated from three, to four or five feet at intervals, to indicate small children's height,) then added, "we allus said, 'little miss peggy', 'little miss nancy', and 'little missz jane', and 'young marse jim' and 'little marster bob'". "did you ever forget to speak to the children in that way?" the interviewer asked. "no, miss, we sho didn't, we knowed better dan to fergit!" fanny is very feeble in every way, voice is weak and her step most uncertain, but she is straight of figure, and was ripping up smoking tobacco sacks with which her daughter is to make 'a purty bed spread'. fanny and her husband, another ex-slave, live with fanny's daughter. the daughter supports her mother. [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] mary a. crawford re-search worker henry nix--ex-slave e. slaton ave. griffin, georgia interviewed september , [date stamp: may ] [tr: numerous handwritten changes were made in this interview. where a word appears in brackets after a hw entry, it was replaced by that handwritten entry. all numbers were originally spelled out.] henry nix was born march , in upson county, about miles from barnesville, georgia. [hw: his] [henry's] parents were john nix and catherine willis, who were not married, because as henry reports, john nix was an overseer on the plantation of mr. jasper willis, "and when marster found out what kind of man john nix was he (nix) had to skip out." when henry "was a good sized boy, his mother married a darky man", and other children were born, boys and a girl. henry loved his mother very much and [hw: says] relates that on her death bed she told him who his father was, and [tr: "also told him" crossed out] how to live so as not to get into trouble, and, [hw: due to her advice] that he has never been in jail nor in any meanness of any kind [tr: "due to what she told him" crossed out]. mr. jasper willis, [tr: "who was" crossed out] henry's owner, lived on a large plantation of about three hundred acres in upson county, [hw: and] [mr. willis] owned only about or slaves as well as henry can remember. the old man considers mr. willis "the best marster that a darky ever had," saying that he "sho" made his darkies work and mind, but he never beat them or let the patter-role do it, though sometimes he did use a switch on 'em". henry recalls that he received "a sound whuppin onct, 'case he throwed a rock at one o' marse jasper's fine cows and broke her laig!" when asked if mr. willis had the slaves taught to read and write, henry hooted at the idea, saying emphatically, "no, mam, 'ole marse' wuz sho hard about dat. he said 'niggers' wuz made by de good lawd to work, and onct when my uncle stole a book and wuz a trying to learn how to read and write, marse jasper had the white doctor take off my uncle's fo' finger right down to de 'fust jint'. marstar said he fixed dat darky as a sign fo de res uv 'em! no, miss, we wuzn't larned!" mr. willis allowed his slaves from saturday at noon till monday morning as a holiday, and then they always had a week for christmas. all of the negroes went to meeting on sunday afternoon in the white people's church and were served by the white minister. henry says that they had a "circuit doctor" on his marster's place and the doctor came around regularly at least every two weeks, "case marster paid him to do so and [hw: he] 'xamined evah darky big and little on dat plantation." one time henry recalls that he "had a turrible cowbunkle" on the back of his neck and 'marse' had the doctor to cut it open. henry knowed better den to holler and cut up, too, when it was done. the old man remembers going to war with his young master and remaining with him for the two years he was in service. they were in richmond when the city surrendered to grant and soon after that the young master was killed in the fight at tumlin gap. henry hardly knows how he got back to "ole marster" but is thankful he did. after freedom, [hw: al]most all of mr. willis' darkies stayed on with him but henry "had to act smart and run away." he went over into alabama and managed "to keep [tr: "his" crossed out] body and soul together somehow, for several years and then [tr: "he" crossed out] went back to "ole marster." henry is well and rather active for his or years and likes to work. he has a job now cleaning off the graves at the white cemetery but he and his wife depend mainly [hw: for support] on their son [tr: "for support" crossed out], who lives just across the street from them. [hw: dist. ] mary a. crawford re-search worker lewis ogletree--ex-slave e. tinsley street griffin, georgia august , [date stamp: may ] [tr: numerous handwritten changes were made in this interview. where a word appears in brackets after a hw entry, it was replaced by that handwritten entry.] lewis ogletree was born on the plantation of mr. fred crowder of spalding county, georgia [hw: ga], near griffin. [hw: he] [lewis] does not know exactly when he was born, but says that [tr: "he knows that" crossed out] he was maybe years old at the end of the war in ' . this would make him now. mr. crowder was the owner of a large number of slaves and among them was lettie crowder, [tr: "(married an ogletree) the" crossed out] housekeeper and head servant in the home of mr. fred crowder. lettie was lewis' mother. lewis remembers standing inside the picket fence with a lot of other little pick-a-ninnies watching for sherman's army, and when the yankees got close enough to be heard plainly, they hid in the bushes or under the house. the yankees poured into the yard and into the house, making lettie open the smoke-house and get them mr. crowder's best whiskey and oftentimes they made her cook them a meal of ham and eggs. mr. crowder, lettie's master, was ill during the war, having a cancer on his left hand. lewis reports that mr. crowder was a very hard master but a good one saying, "that it wasn't any use for the "patty-role" (the patrol) to come to marse crowder's, 'cause he would not permit him to "tech one of his darkies." mrs. crowder, the "ole mistis", had died just before the war broke out and mr. crowder lived alone with his house servants. there were two young sons in the war. the oldest son, col. crowder, was in virginia. lewis said that his master whipped him only once and that was for stealing. one day when the old master was taking a nap, lewis "minding off the flies" and thinking his "marster" asleep slipped over to the big table and snatched some candy. just as he picked up a lump, (it was "rock candy,") "wham! old [hw: marster] [mastah] had me, and when he got through, well, lewis, didn't steal anymore candy nor nothin'." "mastah nevah took no foolishness from his darkies." lewis remembers very clearly when mr. crowder gave his darkies their freedom. "mastah sont me and my mammy out to the cabin to tell all de darkies to come up to de "big house". when they got there, there were so many that [hw: they] [some] were up on the porch, on the steps and all over the yard." "mr. crowder stood up on the porch and said, "you darkies are all free now. you don't belong to me no more. now pack up your things and go on off." my lord! how them darkies did bawl! and most of them did not leave ole mastah." [richard orford, age around ] the following version of slavery was told by mr. richard orford of brown avenue in south atlanta. mr. orford is large in statue and although years of age he has a very active mind as well as a good sense of humor. mr. orford was born in pike county, georgia (near the present site of griffin) in . his master's name was jeff orford. mr. orford describes him as follows: "marster wus a rich man an' he had 'bout slaves--'course dat was'nt so many 'cause some of de folks 'round dere had and . he had plenty of land too--i don't know how many acres. he raised everything he needed on de plantation an' never had to buy nothing. i 'members when de yankees come through--ol' marster had 'bout barrels of whiskey hid in de smokehouse--dat wus de fust time i ever got drunk." "besides hisself an' his wife ol' marster had two boys an' nine girls". continuing, mr. orford said: "my ma did'nt have many chillun--jus' ten boys an' nine girls. i went to work in marster's house when i wus five years old an' i stayed dere 'till i wus thirty-five. de fust work i had to do wus to pick up chips, feed chickens, an' keep de yard clean. by de time i wus eight years old i wus drivin' my missus in de carriage." "all de rest of de slaves wus fiel' hands. dey spent dere time plowing an' takin' care of de plantation in general. dere wus some who split rails an' others who took care of de stock an' made de harness--de slaves did everything dat needed to be done on de plantation. everybody had to git up 'fore daybreak an' even 'fore it wus light enuff to see dey wus in de fiel' waitin' to see how to run a furrow. 'long 'bout nine o'clock breakfus' wus sent to de fiel' in a wagon an' all of 'em stopped to eat. at twelve o'clock dey stopped again to eat dinner. after dat dey worked 'till it wus to dark to see. women in dem days could pick five-hundred pounds of cotton a day wid a child in a sack on dere backs." "when de weather wus too bad to work in de fiel' de hands cribed an' shucked corn. if dey had any work of dere own to do dey had to do it at night". according to mr. orford there was always sufficient food on the orford plantation for the slaves. all cooking was done by one cook at the cook house. in front of the cook house were a number of long tables where the slaves ate their meals when they came in from the fields. those children who were too young to work in the fields were also fed at this house but instead of eating from the tables as did the grown-ups they were fed from long troughs much the same as little pigs. each was given a spoon at meal time and then all of the food was dumped into the trough at the same time. the week day diet for the most part consisted of meats and vegetables--"sometimes we even got chicken an' turkey"--says mr. orford. coffee was made by parching meal or corn and then boiling it in water. none of the slaves ever had to steal anything to eat on the orford plantation. all of the clothing worn on this plantation was made there. some of the women who were too old to work in the fields did the spinning and the weaving as well as the sewing of the garments. indigo was used to dye the cloth. the women wore callico dresses and the men wore ansenberg pants and shirts. the children wore a one piece garment not unlike a slightly lengthened dress. this was kept in place by a string tied around their waists. there were at least ten shoemakers on the plantation and they were always kept bust [tr: busy?] making shoes although no slave ever got but one pair of shoes a year. these shoes were made of very hard leather and were called brogans. in the rear of the master's house was located the slave's quarters. each house was made of logs and was of the double type so that two families could be accommodated. the holes and chinks in the walls were daubed with mud to keep the weather out. at one end of the structure was a large fireplace about six feet in width. the chimney was made of dirt. as for furniture mr. orford says: "you could make your own furniture if you wanted to but ol' marster would give you a rope bed an' two or three chairs an' dat wus all. de mattress wus made out of a big bag or a tickin' stuffed wid straw--dat wus all de furniture in any of de houses." "in dem days folks did'nt git sick much like dey do now, but when dey did de fust thing did fer 'em wus to give 'em blue mass. if dey had a cold den dey give 'em blue mass pills. when dey wus very sick de marster sent fer de doctor." "our ol' marster wus'nt like some of de other marsters in de community--he never did do much whuppin of his slaves. one time i hit a white man an' ol' marster said he was goin' to cut my arm off an' dat wus de las' i heard of it. some of de other slaves useter git whuppins fer not workin' an' fer fightin'. my mother got a whuppin once fer not workin'. when dey got so bad ol' marster did'nt bother 'bout whuppin' 'em--he jes' put 'em on de block an' en' sold 'em like he would a chicken or somethin'. slaves also got whuppins when dey wus caught off the plantation wid out a pass--de paddie-rollers whupped you den. i have knowed slaves to run away an' hide in de woods--some of 'em even raised families dere." "none of us wus allowed to learn to read or to write but we could go to church along wid de white folks. when de preacher talked to de slaves he tol' 'em not to steal fum de marster an' de missus 'cause dey would be stealing fum dere selves--he tol' 'em to ask fer what dey wanted an' it would be givven to 'em." when sherman marched through georgia a number of the slaves on the orford plantation joined his army. however, a large number remained on the plantation even after freedom was declared. mr. orford was one of those who remained. while the yankee soldiers were in the vicinity of the orford plantation mr. orford, the owner of the plantation, hid in the woods and had some of the slaves bring his food, etc. to him. mr. orford was thirty-five years of age when he left the plantation and at that time he married a twelve year old girl. since that time he has been the father of twenty-three children, some of whom are dead and some of whom are still alive. ex-slave interview anna parkes, age strong street athens, georgia written by: sarah h. hall federal writers' project athens, georgia edited by: john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, georgia anna parkes' bright eyes sparkled as she watched the crowd that thronged the hallway outside the office where she awaited admittance. a trip to the downtown section is a rare event in the life of an year old negress, and, accompanied by her daughter, she was making the most of this opportunity to see the world that lay so far from the door of the little cottage where she lives on strong street. when asked if she liked to talk of her childhood days before the end of the civil war, she eagerly replied: "'deed, i does." she was evidently delighted to have found someone who actually wanted to listen to her, and proudly continued: "dem days sho' wuz sompin' to talk 'bout. i don't never git tired of talkin' 'bout 'em. paw, he wuz olmstead lumpkin, and ma wuz liza lumpkin, and us b'longed to jedge joe henry lumpkin. us lived at de lumpkin home place on prince avenue. i wuz born de same week as miss callie cobb, and whilst i don't know z'ackly what day i wuz born, i kin be purty sho' 'bout how many years ole i is by axin' how ole miss callie is. fust i 'members much 'bout is totin' de key basket 'round 'hind ole miss when she give out de vittals. i never done a gawd's speck of work but dat. i jes' follered 'long atter ole miss wid 'er key basket. "did dey pay us any money? lawsy, lady! what for? us didn't need no money. ole marster and ole miss all time give us plenty good sompin' teat, and clo'es, and dey let us sleep in a good cabin, but us did have money now and den. a heap of times us had nickles and dimes. dey had lots of comp'ny at ole marster's, and us allus act mighty spry waitin' on 'em, so dey would 'member us when dey lef'. effen it wuz money dey gimme, i jes' couldn't wait to run to de sto' and spend it for candy." "what else did you buy with the money?", she was asked. "nuffin' else," was the quick reply. "all a piece of money meant to me dem days, wuz candy, and den mo' candy. i never did git much candy as i wanted when i wuz chillun." here her story took a rambling turn. "you see i didn't have to save up for nuffin'. ole marster and ole miss, dey took keer of us. dey sho' wuz good white folkses, but den dey had to be good white folkses, kaze ole marster, he wuz jedge lumpkin, and de jedge wuz bound to make evvybody do right, and he gwine do right his own self 'fore he try to make udder folkses behave deyselvs. ain't nobody, nowhar, as good to dey negroes as my white folkses wuz." "who taught you to say 'negroes' so distinctly?" she was asked. "ole marster," she promptly answered, "he 'splained dat us wuz not to be 'shamed of our race. he said us warn't no 'niggers'; he said us wuz 'negroes', and he 'spected his negroes to be de best negroes in de whole land. "old marster had a big fine gyarden. his negroes wukked it good, and us wuz sho' proud of it. us lived close in town, and all de negroes on de place wuz yard and house servants. us didn't have no gyardens 'round our cabins, kaze all of us et at de big house kitchen. ole miss had flowers evvywhar 'round de big house, and she wuz all time givin' us some to plant 'round de cabins. "all de cookin' wuz done at de big house kitchen, and hit wuz a sho' 'nough big kitchen. us had two boss cooks, and lots of helpers, and us sho' had plenny of good sompin' teat. dat's de gawd's trufe, and i means it. heap of folkses been tryin' to git me to say us didn't have 'nough teat and dat us never had nuffin' fittin' teat. but ole as i is, i cyan' start tellin' no lies now. i gotter die fo' long, and i sho' wants to be clean in de mouf and no stains or lies on my lips when i dies. our sompin' teat wuz a heap better'n what us got now. us had plenny of evvything right dar in de yard. chickens, ducks, geese, guineas, tukkeys, and de smoke'ouse full of good meat. den de mens, dey wuz all time goin' huntin', and fetchin' in wild tukkeys, an poddiges, and heaps and lots of 'possums and rabbits. us had many fishes as us wanted. de big fine shads, and perch, and trouts; dem wuz de fishes de jedge liked mos'. catfishes won't counted fittin' to set on de jedges table, but us negroes wuz 'lowed to eat all of 'em us wanted. catfishes mus' be mighty skace now kaze i don't know when ever i is seed a good ole river catfish a-flappin' his tail. dey flaps dey tails atter you done kilt 'em, and cleaned 'em, and drap 'em in de hot grease to fry. sometimes dey nigh knock de lid offen de fryin' pan. "ole marster buyed bill finch down de country somewhar', and dey called him 'william' at de big house. he wuz de tailor, and he made clo'es for de young marsters. william wuz right smart, and one of his jobs wuz to lock up all de vittals atter us done et much as us wanted. all of us had plenny, but dey won't nuffin' wasted 'round ole marster's place. "ole miss wuz young and pretty dem days, and ole marster won't no old man den, but us had to call 'em 'ole miss,' and 'ole marster,' kaze dey chilluns wuz called 'young marster' and 'young mistess' f'um de very day dey wuz born." when asked to describe the work assigned to little negroes, she quickly answered: "chilluns didn't do nuffin'. grownup negroes done all de wuk. all chilluns done wuz to frolic and play. i wuz jes' 'lowed ter tote de key basket kaze i wuz all time hangin' 'round de big house, and wanted so bad to stay close to my ma in de kitchen and to be nigh ole miss. "what sort of clo'es did i wear in dem days? why lady, i had good clo'es. atter my little mistesses wore dey clo'es a little, ole miss give 'em to me. ma allus made me wear clean, fresh clo'es, and go dressed up good all de time so i'd be fittin' to carry de key basket for ole miss. some of de udder slave chilluns had homemade shoes, but i allus had good sto'-bought shoes what my young mistess done outgrowed, or what some of de comp'ny gimme. comp'ny what had chilluns 'bout my size, gimme heaps of clo'es and shoes, and some times dey didn't look like dey'd been wore none hardly. "ole marster sho' had lots of negroes 'round his place. deir wuz aunt charlotte, and aunt julie, and de two cooks, and adeline, and mary, and edie, and jimmy. de mens wuz charlie, and floyd, and william, and daniel. i disremembers de res' of 'em. "ole marster never whipped none of his negroes, not dat i ever heared of. he tole 'em what he wanted done, and give 'em plenny of time to do it. dey wuz allus skeert effen dey didn't be smart and do right, dey might git sold to some marster dat would beat 'em, and be mean to 'em. us knowed dey won't many marsters as good to dey slaves as ole marster wuz to us. us would of most kilt ourself wukkin', fo' us would of give him a reason to wanna git rid of us. no ma'am, ole marster ain't never sold no slave, not whilst i kin 'member. us wuz allus skeert dat effen a negro git lazy and triflin' he might git sold. "no negro never runned away f'um our place. us didn't have nuffin' to run f'um, and nowhar to run to. us heared of patterollers but us won't 'fraid none kaze us knowed won't no patteroller gwine tech none of jedge lumpkin's negroes. "us had our own negro church. i b'lieves dey calls it foundry street whar de ole church wuz. us had meetin' evvy sunday. sometimes white preachers, and sometimes negro preachers done de preachin'. us didn't have no orgin or pianny in church den. de preacher hysted de hymns. no ma'am, i cyan' 'member no songs us sung den dat wuz no diffunt f'um de songs now-a-days, 'ceppen' dey got orgin music wid de singin' now. us had c'lections evvy sunday in church den, same as now. ole marster give us a little change for c'lection on sunday mawnin' kaze us didn't have no money of our own, and he knowed how big it made us feel ter drap money in de c'lection plate. us meferdis had our baptizin's right dar in de church, same as us does now. and 'vival meetin's. dey jes' broke out any time. out on de plantations dey jes' had 'vival meetin's in layin'-by times, but here in town us had 'em all durin' de year. ole marster used ter say: 'mo' 'vivals, better negroes.' "evvybody oughter be good and jine de church, but dey sho' oughtn't to jine effen dey still gwine to act like satan. "us chillun would git up long 'fore day chris'mas mawnin'. us used ter hang our stockin's over de fire place, but when chris'mas mawnin' come dey wuz so full, hit would of busted 'em to hang 'em up on a nail, so dey wuz allus layin' on ma's cheer when us waked up. us chillun won't 'lowed to go 'round de big house early on chris'mas mawnin' kaze us mought 'sturb our white folkses' rest, and den dey done already seed dat us got plenny santa claus in our own cabins. us didn't know nuffin' 'bout new years day when i wuz chillun. "when any of his negroes died ole marster wuz mighty extra good. he give plenny of time for a fun'ral sermon in de afternoon. most of da fun'rals wuz in de yard under de trees by de cabins. atter de sermon, us would go 'crost de hill to de negro buyin' ground, not far f'um whar our white folkses wuz buried. "us never bothered none 'bout booker washin'ton, or mister lincum, or none of dem folkses 'way off dar kaze us had our raisin' f'um de lumpkins and dey's de bes' folkses dey is anywhar'. won't no mister lincum or no booker washin'ton gwine to help us like ole marster and us knowed dat good and plenny. "i cyan' 'member much 'bout playin' no special games 'ceppin' 'ole hundud.' us would choose one, and dat one would hide his face agin' a tree whilst he counted to a hundud. den he would hunt for all de others. dey done been hidin' whilst he wuz countin'. us larned to count a-playin' 'ole hundud'. "no ma'am, us never went to no school 'til atter de war. den i went some at night. i wukked in de day time atter freedom come. my eyes bothered me so i didn't go to school much. "yes ma'am, dey took mighty good care of us effen us got sick. ole marster would call in doctor moore or doctor carleton and have us looked atter. de 'omans had extra good care when dey chilluns comed. 'til freedom come, i wuz too little to know much 'bout dat myself, but ma allus said dat negro 'omans and babies wuz looked atter better 'fore freedom come dan dey ever wuz anymo'. "atter de war wuz over, a big passel of yankee mens come to our big house and stayed. dey et and slept dar, and dey b'haved powerful nice and perlite to all our white folkses, and dey ain't bother jedge lumpkin's servants none. but den evvybody allus b'haved 'round jedge lumpkin's place. ain't nobody gwine to be brash 'nough to do no devilment 'round a jedges place. "hit was long atter de war 'fo' i married. i cyan' 'member nuffin' 'bout my weddin' dress. 'pears like to me i been married mos' all of my life. us jes' went to de preacher man's house and got married. us had eight chillun, but dey is all dead now 'ceppin' two; one son wukkin' way off f'um here, and my daughter in athens. "i knows i wuz fixed a heap better fo' de war, than i is now, but i sho' don't want no slav'ry to come back. it would be fine effen evvy negro had a marster like jedge lumpkin, but dey won't all dat sort." anna leaned heavily on her cane as she answered the knock on the front door when we visited her home. "come in," she invited, and led the way through her scrupulously tidy house to the back porch. "de sun feels good," she said, "and it sorter helps my rheumatiz. my rheumatiz been awful bad lately. i loves to set here whar i kin see dat my ole hen and little chickens don't git in no mischief." a small bucket containing chicken food was conveniently at hand, so she could scatter it on the ground to call her chickens away from depredations on the flowers. a little mouse made frequent excursions into the bucket and helped himself to the cracked grains in the chicken food. "don't mind him," she admonished, "he jes' plays 'round my cheer all day, and don't bother nuffin'." "you didn't tell anything about your brothers and sisters when you talked to me before," her visitor remarked. "well, i jes' couldn't 'member all at onct, but atter i got back home and rested up, i sot here and talked ter myself 'bout old times. my brudder charles wuz de coachman what drove ole marster's carriage, and anudder brudder wuz willie, and one wuz floyd. my sisters wuz jane and harriet. 'pears like to me dey wuz more of 'em, but some how i jes' cyan' 'member no more 'bout 'em. my husband wuz grant parkes and he tuk care of de gyardens and yards for de lumpkins. "i had one chile named caline, for ole miss. she died a baby. my daughter fannie done died long time ago, and my daughter liza, she wuks for a granddaughter of ole miss. i means, liza wuks for mister eddie lumpkin's daughter. i done plum clear forgot who mister eddie's daughter married. "i jes' cyan' recollec' whar my boy, floyd, stays. you oughter know, lady, hits de town whar de president lives. yes ma'am, washin'ton, dats de place whar my floyd is. i got one more son, but i done plum forgot his name, and whar he wuz las' time i heared f'um him. i don't know if he's livin' or dead. it sho' is bad to git so old you cyan' tell de names of yo' chilluns straight off widout havin' to stop and study, and den you cyan' allus 'member. "i done been studyin' 'bout da war times, and i 'members dat ole marster wuz mighty troubled 'bout his negroes when he heared a big crowd of yankee sojers wuz comin' to athens. folkses done been sayin' de yankees would pick out de bes' negroes and take 'em 'way wid 'em, and dere wuz a heap of talk 'bout de scandlous way dem yankee sojers been treatin' negro 'omans and gals. 'fore dey got here, ole marster sent mos' of his bes' negroes to augusta to git 'em out of danger f'um de fed'rals. howsome-ever de negroes dat he kept wid' 'im won't bothered none, kaze dem fed'rals 'spected de jedge and didn't do no harm 'round his place. "in augusta, i stayed on greene street wid a white lady named mrs. broome. no ma'am, i nebber done no wuk. i jes' played and frolicked, and had a good time wid mrs. broome's babies. she sho' wuz good to me. ma, she wukked for a negro 'oman named mrs. kemp, and lived in de house wid her. "ole marster sont for us atter de war wuz over, and us wuz mighty proud to git back home. times had done changed when us got back. mos' of ole marster's money wuz gone, and he couldn't take keer of so many negroes, so ma moved over near de gun fact'ry and started takin' in washin'. "de wust bother negroes had dem days wuz findin' a place to live. houses had to be built for 'em, and dey won't no money to build 'em wid. "one night, jes' atter i got in bed, some mens come walkin' right in ma's house widout knockin'. i jerked de kivver up over my head quick, and tried to hide. one of de mens axed ma who she wuz. ma knowed his voice, so she said: 'you knows me mister blank,' (she called him by his sho' 'nuff name) 'i'm liza lumpkin, and you knows i used to b'long to jedge lumpkin.' de udders jes' laughed at him and said: 'boy, she knows you, so you better not say nuffin' else.' den anudder man axed ma how she wuz makin' a livin'. ma knowed his voice too, and she called him by name and tole him us wuz takin' in washin' and livin' all right. dey laughed at him too, and den anudder one axed her sompin' and she called his name when she answered him too. den de leader say, 'boys, us better git out of here. these here hoods and robes ain't doin' a bit of good here. she knows ev'ry one of us and can tell our names.' den dey went out laughin' fit to kill, and dat wuz de onliest time de ku kluxers ever wuz at our house, leastways us s'posed dey wuz ku kluxers. "i don't 'member much 'bout no wuk atter freedom 'ceppin' de wash tub. maw larned me how to wash and iron. she said: 'some day i'll be gone f'um dis world, and you won't know nuffin' 'bout takin' keer of yo'self, lessen you larn right now.' i wuz mighty proud when i could do up a weeks washin' and take it back to my white folkses and git sho' 'nuff money for my wuk. i felt like i wuz a grown 'oman den. it wuz in dis same yard dat ma larned me to wash. at fust ma rented dis place. there wuz another house here den. us saved our washin' money and bought de place, and dis is de last of three houses on dis spot. evvy cent spent on dis place wuz made by takin' in washin' and de most of it wuz made washin' for mister eddie lumpkin's family. "heaps of udder negroes wuz smart like ma, and dey got along all right. dese days de young folkses don't try so hard. things comes lots easier for 'em, and dey got lots better chances dan us had, but dey don't pay no 'tention to nuffin' but spendin' all dey got, evvy day. boys is wuss'en gals. long time ago i done give all i got to my daughter. she takes keer of me. effen de roof leaks, she has it looked atter. she wuks and meks our livin'. i didn't want nobody to show up here atter i die and take nuffin' away f'um her. "i ain' never had no hard times. i allus been treated good and had a good livin'. course de rheumatiz done got me right bad, but i is still able to git about and tend to de house while my gal is off at wuk. i wanted to wash today, but i couldn't find no soap. my gal done hid de soap, kaze she say i'se too old to do my own washin' and she wanter wash my clo'es herse'f." in parting, the old woman said rather apologetically, "i couldn't tell you 'bout no sho' 'nuff hard times. atter de war i wukked hard, but i ain't never had no hard times". [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] "a talk with g.w. pattillo--ex-slave" [hw: age ] submitted by minnie b. ross typed by: j.c. russell - - [date stamp: may ] [tr: in informants list, g.w. pattillio] in the shelter provided by the department of public welfare, lives an old negro, g.w. pattillo, who was born in spaulding county, griffin, ga., in the year . his parents, harriett and jake pattillo, had twelve children, of whom he was the second youngest. their master was mr. t.j. ingram. however, they kept the name of their old master, mr. pattillo. master ingram, as he was affectionately called by his slaves, was considered a "middle class man," who owned acres of land, with one family of slaves, and was more of a truck farmer than a plantation owner. he raised enough cotton to supply the needs of his family and his slaves and enough cattle to furnish food, but his main crops were corn, wheat, potatoes and truck. with a few slaves and a small farm, master ingram was very lenient and kind to his slaves and usually worked with them in the fields. "we had no special time to begin or end the work for the day. if he got tired he would say, 'alright, boys, let's stop and rest,' and sometimes we didn't start working until late in the day." pattillo's mother was cook and general house servant, so well thought of by the ingram family that she managed the house as she saw fit and planned the meals likewise. young pattillo was considered a pet by everyone and hung around the mistress, since she did not have any children of her own. his job was to hand her the scissors and thread her needles. "i was her special pet," said pattillo, "and my youngest brother was the master's special pet." mr. and mrs. ingram never punished the children, nor allowed anyone but their parents to do so. if the boy became unruly, mrs. ingram would call his mother and say, "harriett, i think g.w. needs to be taken down a button hole lower." the master's house, called the "big house," was a two-story frame structure consisting of rooms. although not a mansion, it was fairly comfortable. the home provided for pattillo's family was a three-room frame house furnished comfortably with good home-made furniture. pattillo declared that he had never seen anyone on the ingram plantation punished by the owner, who never allowed the "paterrollers" to punish them either. master ingram placed signs at different points on his plantation which read thus: "paterrollers, fishing and hunting prohibited on this plantation." it soon became known by all that the ingram slaves were not given passes by their owner to go any place, consequently they were known as "old ingram's free niggers." master ingram could not write, but would tell his slaves to inform anyone who wished to know, that they belonged to j.d. ingram. "once," said pattillo, "my brother willis, who was known for his gambling and drinking, left our plantation and no one knew where he had gone. as we sat around a big open fire cracking walnuts, willis came up, jumped off his horse and fell to the ground. directly behind him rode a 'paterroller.' the master jumped up and commanded him to turn around and leave his premises. the 'paterroller' ignored his warning and advanced still further. the master then took his rifle and shot him. he fell to the ground dead and master ingram said to his wife, 'well, lucy, i guess the next time i speak to that scoundrel he will take heed.' the master then saddled his horse and rode into town. very soon a wagon came back and moved the body." the cotton raised was woven into cloth from which their clothing was made. "we had plenty of good clothing and food," pattillo continued. "the smokehouse was never locked and we had free access to the whole house. we never knew the meaning of a key." master ingram was very strict about religion and attending church. it was customary for everyone to attend the o'clock prayer services at his home every night. the bible was read by the mistress, after which the master would conduct prayer. children as well as grownups were expected to attend. on sundays, everybody attended church. separate churches were provided for the negroes, with white and colored preachers conducting the services. white deacons were also the deacons of the colored churches and a colored man was never appointed deacon of a church. only white ministers were priviliged to give the sacrament and do the baptizing. their sermons were of a strictly religious nature. when a preacher was unable to read, someone was appointed to read the text. the preacher would then build his sermon from it. of course, during the conference period, colored as well as white ministers were privileged to make the appointments. the negroes never took up collections but placed their money in an envelope and passed it in. it was their own money, earned with the master's consent, by selling apples, eggs, chickens, etc. concerning marriages, pattillo believes in marriages as they were in the olden days. "ef two people felt they wuz made for each other, they wuz united within themselves when they done git the master's 'greement, then live together as man and wife, an' that was all. now, you got to buy a license and pay the preacher." loss of life among slaves was a calamity and if a doctor earned a reputation for losing his patients, he might as well seek a new community. often his downfall would begin by some such comment as, "dr. brown lost old man ingram's nigger john. he's no good and i don't intend to use him." the value of slaves varied, from $ to $ , , depending on his or her special qualifications. tradesmen such as blacksmiths, shoe makers, carpenters, etc., were seldom sold under $ , . rather than sell a tradesman slave, owners kept them in order to make money by hiring them out to other owners for a set sum per season. however, before the deal was closed the lessee would have to sign a contract which assured the slave's owner that the slave would receive the best of treatment while in possession. pattillo remembers hearing his parents say the north and south had disagreed and abraham lincoln was going to free the slaves. although he never saw a battle fought, there were days when he sat and watched the long line of soldiers passing, miles and miles of them. master ingram did not enlist but remained at home to take care of his family and his possessions. after the war ended, master ingram called his slaves together and told them of their freedom, saying, "mr. lincoln whipped the south and we are going back to the union. you are as free as i am and if you wish to remain here you may. if not, you may go any place you wish. i am not rich but we can work together here for both our families, sharing everything we raise equally." pattillo's family remained there until . some owners kept their slaves in ignorance of their freedom. others were kind enough to offer them homes and help them to get a start. after emancipation, politics began to play a part in the lives of ex-slaves, and many were approached by candidates who wanted to buy their votes. pattillo tells of an old ex-slave owner named greeley living in upson county who bought an ex-slaves vote by giving him as payment a ham, a sack of flour and a place to stay on his plantation. after election, he ordered the ex-slave to get the wagon, load it with his possessions and move away from his plantation. astonished, the old negro asked why. "because," replied old greeley, "if you allow anyone to buy your vote and rob you of your rights as a free citizen, someone could hire you to set my house on fire." pattillo remebers slavery gratefully and says he almost wishes these days were back again. ex-slave interview alec pope, age rockspring street athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby federal writers' project athens, ga. edited by: sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project augusta, ga. april , [date stamp: may ] alec lives with his daughter, ann whitworth. when asked if he liked to talk about his childhood days, he answered: "yes ma'am, but is you one of dem pension ladies?" the negative reply was an evident disappointment to alec, but it did not hinder his narrative: "well, i wuz born on de line of clarke and oglethorpe counties, way down de country. celia and willis pope wuz my ma and pa. lawdy! mist'ess, i don't know whar dey come f'um; 'peers lak pa's fust marster wuz named pope. dat's de onlies' last name i ever ricollec' us havin'. "dere wuz a passel of us chillun. my sisters wuz sallie, phebie ann, nelia, and millie. my brudders wuz anderson, osborn, george, robert, squire, jack, and willis. willis wuz named for pa and us nicknamed 'im tuck. "de slave quarters wuz little log houses scattered here and dar. some of 'em had two rooms on de fust flo' and a loft up 'bove whar de boys most genially slep' and de gals slep' downstairs. i don't 'member nothin' t'all 'bout what us done 'cept scrap lak chilluns will do. "oh! i ain't forgot 'bout dem beds. dey used cords for springs, and de cords run f'um head to foot; den dey wove 'em 'cross de bed 'til dey looked lak checks. wheat straw wuz sewed up in ticks for mattresses. when you rolled 'round on one of dem straw mattresses, de straw crackled and sounded lak rain. no ma'am, i don't know nothin' t'all 'bout my gran'pa and gran'ma. "i wuz de reg'lar water boy, and i plowed some too. 'course dere wuz so many on dat plantation it tuk more'n one boy to tote de water. money? dis nigger couldn't git no money in dem days. "us sho' had plenty somepin' t'eat, sich as meat, and cornbread, and good old wheat bread what wuz made out of seconds. dere wuz lots of peas, corn, cabbage, irish 'tatoes, sweet 'tatoes, and chickens, sometimes. yes ma'am, sometimes. i laks coffee, but us niggers didn't have much coffee. dat wuz for de white folkses at de big house. cookin' wuz done in de fireplace in great big spiders. some of de biggest of de spiders wuz called ovens. dey put coals of fire underneath and more coals on top of de lid. ma baked bread and 'taters in de ashes. in winter she put de dough in a collard leaf so it wouldn't burn. in summer green corn shucks wuz wrapped 'round de dough 'stid of collard leaves. all de fish and 'possums and rabbits us had wuz cotch right dar on old marster's place, 'cause if one of our niggers got cotch offen our place hit wuz jes' too bad. i sho' does love 'possum, and us had lots of 'em, 'cause my brudder used to ketch 'em by de wholesale wid a dog he had, and dat same dog wuz a powerful good rabbit hound too. "us had pretty good clothes most all de year 'round. in summer, shirts, and pants wuz made out of coarse cotton cloth. sometimes de pants wuz dyed gray. winter time us had better clothes made out of yarn and us allus had good sunday clothes. 'course i wuz jes' a plow boy den and now i done forgot lots 'bout how things looked. our shoes wuz jes' common brogans, no diff'unt on sunday, 'ceppin' de nigger boys what wuz shinin' up to de gals cleaned up deir shoes dat day. "our marster wuz mr. mordecai ed'ards. well, he wuz pretty good--not too good. he tried to make you do right, but if you didn't he would give you a good brushin'. miss martha, old marster's old 'oman, warn't good as old marster, but she done all right. dey had a heap of chillun: miss susan, miss mary, miss callie, miss alice, and it 'peers to me lak dere wuz two mo' gals, but i can't 'call 'em now. den dere wuz some boys: marse billy, marse jim, marse john, marse frank, and marse howard. marse frank ed'ards lives on milledge avenue now. "old marster and old mist'ess lived in a great big fine house what looked to me lak one of dese big hotels does now. marse jack ed'ards wuz de fust overseer i can ricollec'. he wuz kin to old marster. marster had two or three mo' overseers at diff'unt times, but i don't ricollec' dey names. dere wuz two car'iage drivers. henry driv de gals 'round and albert wuz old mist'ess' driver. old marster had his own hoss and buggy, and most of de time he driv for hisself, but he allus tuk a little nigger boy namad jordan 'long to help him drive and to hold de hoss. "lawdy! mist'ess, i couldn't rightly say how many acres wuz in dat plantation. i knowed he had two plantations wid fine houses on 'em. he jes' had droves and droves of niggers and when dey got scattered out over de fields, dey looked lak blackbirds dere wuz so many. you see i wuz jes' a plow boy and didn't know nothin' 'bout figgers and countin'. "de overseer got us up 'bout four o'clock in de mornin' to feed de stock. den us et. us allus stopped off by dark. mist'ess dere's a old sayin' dat you had to brush a nigger in dem days to make 'em do right. dey brushed us if us lagged in de field or cut up de cotton. dey could allus find some fault wid us. marster brushed us some time, but de overseer most gen'ally done it. i 'members dey used to make de 'omans pull up deir skirts and brushed 'em wid a horse whup or a hickory; dey done de mens de same way 'cept dey had to take off deir shirts and pull deir pants down. niggers sho' would holler when dey got brushed. "jails! yes ma'am, dey had 'em way down in lexin'ton. you know some niggers gwine steal anyhow, and dey put 'em in dere for dat mostly. i didn't never see nobody sold or in chains. de only chains i ever seed wuz on hosses and plows. "mist'ess, niggers didn't have no time to larn to read in no bible or nothin' lak dat in slav'ry time. us went to church wid de white folkses if us wanted to, but us warn't 'bleeged to go. de white folkses went to church at cherokee corner. dere warn't no special church for niggers 'til long atter de war when dey built one out nigh de big road. "some of de niggers run away to de nawth--some dey got back, some dey didn't. dem patterollers had lots of fun if dey cotch a nigger, so dey could brush 'im to hear 'im holler. de onlies' trouble i ever heard 'bout twixt de whites and blacks wuz when a nigger sassed a white man and de white man shot 'im. h'it served dat nigger right, 'cause he oughta knowed better dan to sass a white man. de trouble ended wid dat shot. "de most niggers ever done for a good time wuz to have little parties wid heaps of fidlin' and dancin'. on sunday nights dey would have prayer meetin's. dem patterollers would come and break our prayer meetin's up and brush us if dey cotch us. "chris'mas wuz somepin' else. us had awful good times den, 'cause de white folkses at de big house give us plenty of goodies for chris'mas week and us had fidlin' and dancin'. us would ring up de gals and run all 'round 'em playin' dem ring-'round-de-rosie games. us had more good times at corn shuckin's, and old marster allus had a little toddy to give us den to make us wuk faster. "oh! no ma'am, i don't 'member nothin' 'bout what us played when i wuz a little chap, and if i ever knowed anything 'bout rawhead and bloody bones and sich lak i done plumb forgot it now. but i do know old marster and old mist'ess sho' wuz powerful good when dey niggers got sick. dey put a messenger boy on a mule and sont 'im for dr. hudson quick, 'cause to lose a nigger wuz losin' a good piece of property. some niggers wore some sort of beads 'round deir necks to keep sickness away and dat's all i calls to mind 'bout dat charm business. "i wuz jes' a plow boy so i didn't take in 'bout de surrender. de only thing i ricollects 'bout it wuz when old marster told my pa and ma us wuz free and didn't belong to him no more. he said he couldn't brush de grown folks no more, but if dey wanted to stay wid 'im dey could, and dat he would brush dey chilluns if dey didn't do right. ma told 'im he warn't gwine brush none of her chilluns no more. "us lived wid old marster 'bout a year, den pa moved up on de big road. buy land? no ma'am, niggers didn't have no money to buy no land wid 'til dey made it. i didn't take in 'bout mr. lincoln, only dat thoo' him us wuz sot free. i heard 'em say mr. davis wuz de president of de south, and 'bout booker washin'ton some of de niggers tuk him in, but i didn't bodder 'bout him. "lawdy! mist'ess, i didn't marry de fust time 'til long atter de war, and now i done been married three times. i had a awful big weddin' de fust time. de white man what lived on de big road not far f'um us said he never seed sich a weddin' in his life. us drunk and et, and danced and cut de buck most all night long. most all my chilluns is dead. i b'lieve my fust wife had or chilluns. i know i had a passel fust and last; and jes' to tell you de trufe, dere jes' ain't no need to stop and try to count de grand chilluns. all three of my wives done daid and i'm lookin' for anudder one to take keer of me now. "why did i jine de church? 'cause i jes' think evvybody oughta jine if dey wanna do right so'se dey can go to heben. i feels lak a diff'unt man since i done jined and i knows de lord has done forgive me for all my sins. "mist'ess ain't you thoo' axin' me questions yit? anyhow i wuz thinkin' you wuz one of dem pension ladies." when he was told that the interview was completed, alec said: "i sho' is glad, 'cause i feels lak takin' a little nap atter i eat dese pecans what i got in my pocket. goodbye mist'ess." [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] whitley, driskell - - slavery as witnessed by annie price [date stamp: may ] mrs. annie price was born in spaulding county, georgia october , . although only a mere child when freedom was declared she is able to relate quite a few events in her own life as well as some of the experiences of other slaves who lived in the same vicinity as she. her mother and father abe and caroline were owned by a young married couple named kennon. (when this couple were married abe and caroline had been given as wedding presents by the bride's and the groom's parents). besides her parents there four brothers and five sisters all of whom were younger than she with one exception. the first thing that she remembers of her mother is that of seeing her working in the "marster's" kitchen. mr. kennon was described as being a rather young man who was just getting a start in life. his family consisted of his wife and about five children. he was not a mean individual. the plantation on which he lived was a small one, having been given to him by his father (whose plantation adjoined) in order to give him a start. mr. kennon owned one other slave besides mrs. price and her family while his father owned a large number some of whom he used to lend to the younger mr. kennon. cotton and all kinds of vegetables were raised. there was also some live stock. as mr. kennon owned only a few slaves it was necessary for these few persons to do all of the work. says mrs. price: "my mother had to do everything from cultivating cotton to cooking." the same was true of her father and the other servant. before the break of day each morning they were all called to prepare for the day's work. mrs. price then told how she has seen the men of her plantation and those of the adjoining one going to the fields at this unearthly hour eating their breakfast while sitting astride the back of a mule. after her mother had finished cooking and cleaning the house she was sent to the field to help the men. when it was too dark to see all field hands were permitted to return to their cabins. this same routine was followed each day except sundays when they were permitted to do much as they pleased. when the weather was too bad for field work they shelled corn and did other types of work not requiring too much exposure. holidays were unheard of on the kennon plantation. as a little slave girl the only work that mrs. price ever had to do was to pick up chips and bark for her mother to cook with. the rest of the time was spent in playing with the "marster's" little girls. "the servants on our plantation always had a plenty of clothes," continued mrs. price, "while those on the plantation next to ours (mrs. kennon's father) never had enough, especially in the winter." this clothing was given when it was needed and not at any specified time as was the case on some of the other plantations in that community. all of these articles were made on the plantation and the materials that were mostly used were homespun (which was also woven on the premises) woolen goods, cotton goods and calico. it has been mentioned before that the retinue of servants was small in number and so for this reason all of them had a reasonable amount of those clothes that had been discarded by the master and the mistress. after the leather had been cured it was taken to the tannery where crude shoes called "twenty grands" were made. these shoes often caused the wearer no little amount of discomfort until they were thoroughly broken in. for bedding, homespun sheets were used. the quilts and blankets were made from pieced cotton material along with garments that were unfit for further wear. whenever it was necessary to dye any of these articles a type of dye made by boiling the bark from trees was used. in the same manner that clothing was plentiful so was there always enough food. when mrs. price was asked if the slaves owned by mr. kennon were permitted to cultivate a garden of their own she stated that they did'nt need to do this because of the fact that mr. kennon raised everything that was necessary and they often had more than enough. their week-day diet usually consisted of fried meat, grits, syrup and corn bread for breakfast; vegetables, pot liquor or milk, and corn bread for dinner; and for supper there was milk and bread or fried meat and bread. on sunday they were given a kind of flour commonly known as the "seconds" from which biscuits were made. "sometimes", continued mrs. price, "my mother brought us the left-overs from the master's table and this was usually a meal by itself". in addition to this mr. kennon allowed hunting as well as fishing and so on many days there were fish and roast 'possum. food on the elder mr. kennon plantation was just as scarce as it was plentiful on his son's. when asked how she knew about this mrs. price told how she had seen her father take meat from his master's smoke house and hide it so that he could give it to those slaves who invaribly slipped over at night in search of food. the elder mr. kennon had enough food but he was too mean to see his slaves enjoy themselves by having full stomachs. all cooking on mrs. price's plantation was done by her mother. all of the houses on the kennon plantation were made of logs including that of mr. kennon himself. there were only two visible differences in the dwelling places of the slaves and that of mr. kennon and there were ( ) several rooms instead of the one room allowed the slaves and ( ) weatherboard was used on the inside to keep the weather out while the slaves used mud to serve for this purpose. in these crude one-roomed houses (called stalls) there was a bed made of some rough wood. rope tied from side to side served as the springs for the mattress which was a bag filled with straw and leaves. there were also one or two boxes which were used as chairs. the chimney was made of rocks and mud. all cooking was done here at the fireplace. mrs. price says; "even old marster did'nt have a stove to cook on so you know we did'nt." the only available light was that furnished by the fire. only one family was allowed to a cabin so as to prevent overcrowding. in addition to a good shingle roof each one of these dwellings had a board floor. all floors were of dirt on the plantation belonging to the elder mr. kennon. a doctor was employed to attend to those persons who were sick. however he never got chance to practice on the kennon premises as there was never any serious illness. minor cases of sickness were usually treated by giving the patient a dose of castor oil or several doses of some form of home made medicine which the slaves made themselves from roots that they gathered in the woods. in order to help keep his slaves in good health mr. kennon required them to keep the cabins they occupied and their surroundings clean at all times. mrs. price said that the slaves had very few amusements and as far as she can remember she never saw her parents indulge in any form of play at all. she remembers, however, that on the adjoining plantation the slaves often had frolics where they sang and danced far into the night. these frolics were not held very often but were usually few and far between. as there was no church on the plantation mr. kennon gave them a pass on sundays so that they could attend one of the churches that the town afforded. the sermons they heard were preached by a white preacher and on rare occasions by a colored preacher. whenever the colored pastor preached there were several white persons present to see that [hw: no] doctrine save that laid down by them should be preached. all of the marrying on both plantations [tr: duplicate section removed here] was done by a preacher. it has been said that a little learning is a dangerous thing and this certainly was true as far as the slaves were concerned, according to mrs. price. she says: "if any of us were ever caught with a book we would get a good whipping." because of their great fear of such a whipping none of them ever attempted to learn to read or to write. as a general rule mrs. price and the other nembers of her family were always treated kindly by the kennon family. none of them were ever whipped or mistreated in any way. mrs. price says that she has seen slaves on the adjoining plantation whipped until the blood ran. she describes the sight in the following manner. "the one to be whipped was tied across a log or to a tree and then his shirt was dropped around his waist and he was lashed with a cow hide whip until his back was raw." whippings like these were given when a slave was unruly or disobedient or when he ran away. before a runaway slave could be whipped he had to be caught and the chief way of doing this was to put the blood hounds (known to the slaves as "nigger hounds") on the fugitive's trail. mrs. price once saw a man being taken to his master after he had been caught by the dogs. she says that his skin was cut and torn in any number of places and he looked like one big mass of blood. her father once ran away to escape a whipping.(this was during the civil war), and he was able to elude the dogs as well as his human pursuers. when asked about the final outcome of this escape mrs. price replied that her father remained in hiding until the war was over with and then he was able to show himself without any fear. she has also seen slaves being whipped by a group of white men when her parents said were the "paddie-rollers". it was their duty to whip those slaves who were caught away from their respective plantations without a "pass", she was told. according to mrs. price the jails were built for the "white folks". when a slave did something wrong his master punished him. she does'nt remember anything about the beginning of the civil war neither did she understand its significance until mr. kennon died as a result of the wounds that he received while in action. this impressed itself on her mind indelibly because mr. kennon was the first dead person she had ever seen. the yankee troops did'nt come near their plantation and so they had a plenty of food to satisfy their needs all during the war. even after the war was over there was still a plenty of all the necessities of life. when mrs. kennon informed them that they were free to go or to stay as they pleased, her father, who had just come out of hiding, told mrs. kennon that he did not want to remain on the plantation any longer than it was necessary to get his family together. he said that he wanted to get out to himself so that he could see how it felt to be free. mrs. price says that as young as she was she felt very happy because the yoke of bondage was gone and she knew that she could have a privelege like everybody else. and so she and her family moved away and her father began farming for himself. his was prosperous until his death. after she left the plantation of her birth she lived with her father until she became a grown woman and then she married a mr. price who was also a farmer. mrs. price believes that she has lived to reach such a ripe old age because she has always served god and because she always tried to obey those older than she. [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] a few facts of slavery by charlie pye--ex-slave [date stamp: may -- --] the writer was much surprised to learn that the person whom she was about to interview was nine years old when the civil war ended. his youthful appearance at first made her realize that probably he was not an ex-slave after all. very soon she learned differently. another surprise followed the first in that his memory of events during that period was very hazy. the few facts learned are related as follows: mr. charlie pye was born in columbus, ga., and was the ninth child of his parents, tom pye and emmaline highland. tom pye, the father, belonged to volantine pye, owner of a plantation in columbus, ga. known as the lynch and pye plantation. mr. pye's mistress was miss mary ealey, who later married a mr. watts. miss ealey owned a large number of slaves, although she did not own a very large plantation. quite a few of her slaves were hired out to other owners. the workers on the plantation were divided into two or more groups, each group having a different job to do. for instance, there were the plow hands, hoe hands, log cutters, etc. mr. pye's mother was a plow hand and besides this, she often had to cut logs. mr. pye was too young to work and spent most of his time playing around the yards. houses on the ealey plantation were built of pine poles after which the cracks were filled with red mud. most of these houses consisted of one room; however, a few were built with two rooms to accommodate the larger families. the beds, called "bunks" by mr. pye were nailed to the sides of the room. roped bottoms covered with a mattress of burlap and hay served to complete this structure called a bed. benches and a home made table completed the furnishings. there were very few if any real chairs found in the slave homes. the houses and furniture were built by skilled negro carpenters who were hired by the mistress from other slave owners. a kind slave owner would allow a skilled person to hire his own time and keep most of the pay which he earned. plenty of food was raised on the ealey plantation, but the slave families were restricted to the same diet of corn meal, syrup, and fat bacon. children were fed "pot likker", milk and bread from poplar troughs, from which they ate with wooden spoons. grown-ups ate with wooden forks. slaves were not allowed to raise gardens of their own, although mr. pye's uncle was given the privilege of owning a rice patch, which he worked at night. in every slave home was found a wooden loom which was operated by hands and feet, and from which the cloth for their clothing was made. when the work in the fields was finished women were required to come home and spin one cut (thread) at night. those who were not successful in completing this work were punished the next morning. men wore cotton shirts and pants which were dyed different colors with red oak bark, alum and copper. copper produced an "indigo blue color." "i have often watched dye in the process of being made," remarked mr. pye. mr. pye's father was a shoemaker and made all shoes needed on the plantation. the hair was removed from the hides by a process known as tanning. red oak bark was often used for it produced an acid which proved very effective in tanning hides. slaves were given shoes every three months. to see that everyone continued working an overseer rode over the plantation keeping check on the workers. if any person was caught resting he was given a sound whipping. mr. pye related the following incident which happened on the ealey plantation. "a young colored girl stopped to rest for a few minutes and my uncle stopped also and spoke to her. during this conversation the overseer came up and began whipping the girl with a "sapling tree." my uncle became very angry and picked up an axe and hit the overseer in the head, killing him. the mistress was very fond of my uncle and kept him hid until she could "run him." running a slave was the method they used in sending a slave to another state in order that he could escape punishment and be sold again. you were only given this privilege if it so happened that you were cared for by your mistress and master." overseers on the ealey plantation were very cruel and whipped slaves unmercifully. another incident related by mr. pye was as follows: "my mother resented being whipped and would run away to the woods and often remained as long as twelve months at a time. when the strain of staying away from her family became too great, she would return home. no sooner would she arrive than the old overseer would tie her to a peach tree and whip her again. the whipping was done by a "nigger driver," who followed the overseer around with a bull whip; especially for this purpose. the largest man on the plantation was chosen to be the "nigger driver." "every slave had to attend church, although there were no separate churches provided for them. however, they were allowed to occupy the benches which were placed in the rear of the church. to attend church on another plantation, slaves had to get a pass or suffer punishment from the "pader rollers." (patrollers) "we didn't marry on our plantation", remarked mr. pye. after getting the consent of both masters the couple jumped the broom, and that ended the so called ceremony. following the marriage there was no frolic or celebration. "sometimes quilting parties were held in the various cabins on the plantation. everyone would assist in making the winter bed covering for one family one night and the next night for some other family, and so on until everyone had sufficient bed covering. "a doctor was only called when a person had almost reached the last stages of illness. illness was often an excuse to remain away from the field. "blue mass pills", castor oil, etc. were kept for minor aches and pains. when a slave died he was buried as quickly as a box could be nailed together. "i often heard of people refugeeing during the civil war period," remarked mr. pye. "in fact, our mistress refugeed to alabama trying to avoid meeting the yanks, but they came in another direction. on one occasion the yanks came to our plantation, took all the best mules and horses, after which they came to my mother's cabin and made her cook eggs for them. they kept so much noise singing, "i wish i was in dixie" that i could not sleep. after freedom we were kept in ignorance for quite a while but when we learned the truth my mother was glad to move away with us." "immediately after the war ex-slave families worked for one-third and one-fourth of the crops raised on different plantations. years later families were given one-half of the crops raised." mr. pye ended the interview by telling the writer that he married at the age of years and was the father of two children, one of whom is living. he is a baptist, belonging to mount zion church, and has attended church regularly and believes that by leading a clean, useful life he has lengthened his days on this earth. during his lifetime mr. pye followed railroad work. recently, however, he has had to give this up because of his health. [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] subject: charlotte raines--oglethorpe co. district: w.p.a. no. research worker: john n. booth date: january , [date stamp: jan ] [date stamp: may ] aunt charlotte raines, well up in the seventies at the time of her death some years ago, was an excellent example of the type of negro developed by the economic system of the old south. when i could first remember, charlotte was supreme ruler of the kitchen of my home. thin to emaciation and stooped almost to the point of having a hump on her back she was yet wiry and active. her gnarled old hands could turn out prodigous amounts of work when she chose to extend herself. her voice was low and musical and she seldom raised it above the ordinary tone of conversation; yet when she spoke other colored people hastened to obey her and even the whites took careful note of what she said. her head was always bound in a snow-white turban. she wore calico or gingham print dresses and white aprons and these garments always appeared to be freshly laundered. charlotte seldom spoke unless spoken to and she would never tell very much about her early life. she had been trained as personal maid to one of her ex-master's daughters. this family, (that of swepson h. cox) was one of the most cultured and refined that lexington, in oglethorpe county, could boast. aunt charlotte never spoke of her life under the old regime but she had supreme contempt for "no count niggers that didn't hav' no white folks". she was thrifty and frugal. having a large family, most of her small earnings was spent on them. however, she early taught her children to scratch for themselves. two of her daughters died after they had each brought several children into the world. charlotte thought they were being neglected by their fathers and proceeded to take them "to raise myse'f". these grand children were the apple of her eye and she did much more for them than she had done for her own children. the old woman had many queer ways. typical of her eccentricities was her iron clad refusal to touch one bite of food in our house. if she wished a dish she was preparing tasted to see that it contained the proper amount of each ingredient she would call some member of the family, usually my grandmother, and ask that he or she sample the food. paradoxically, she had no compunctions about the amount of food she carried home for herself and her family. strange as it may seem, charlotte was an incorrigible rogue. my mother and my grandmother both say that they have seen her pull up her skirts and drop things into a flour sack which she always wore tied round her waist just for this purpose. i myself have seen this sack so full that it would bump against her knee. she did not confine her thefts to food only. she would also take personal belongings. another servant in the household once found one of aunt charlotte's granddaughters using a compact that she had stolen from her young mistress. the servant took the trinket away from the girl and returned it to the owner but nothing was ever said to aunt charlotte although every one knew she had stolen it. one year when the cherry crop was exceptionally heavy, grandmother had charlotte make up a huge batch of cherry preserves in an iron pot. while charlotte was out of the kitchen for a moment she went in to have a look at the preserves and found that about half of them had been taken out. a careful but hurried search located the missing portion hidden in another container behind the stove. grandmother never said a word but simply put the amount that had been taken out back in the pot. charlotte never permitted anyone to take liberties with her except uncle daniel, the "man of all work" and another ex-slave. daniel would josh her about some "beau" or about her over-fondness for her grandchildren. she would take just so much of this and then with a quiet "g'long with you", she would send him on about his business. once when he pressed her a bit too far she hurled a butcher knife at him. charlotte was not a superstitious soul. she did not even believe that the near-by screech of an owl was an omen of death. however, she did have some fearful and wonderful folk remedies. when you got a bee sting charlotte made daniel spit tobacco juice on it. she always gave a piece of fat meat to babies because this would make them healthy all their lives. her favorite remedy was to put a pan of cold water under the bed to stop "night sweats." in her last years failing eye-sight and general ill health forced her to give up her active life. almost a complete shut-in, she had a window cut on the north side of her room so she could "set and see whut went on up at mis' molly's" (her name for my grandmother). she was the perfect hostess and whenever any member of our family went to see how she did during those latter days she always served locust beer and cookies. once when i took her a bunch of violets she gave me an old coin that she had carried on her person for years. mother didn't want me to take it because charlotte's husband had given it to her and she set great store by it. however, the old woman insisted that i be allowed to keep the token arguing it would not be of use to her much longer anyway. she died about a month later and in accordance with her instructions her funeral was conducted like "white folk's buryin'", that is without the night being filled with wailing and minus the usual harangue at the church. even in death charlotte still thought silence golden. [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] subject: fanny randolph--ex-slave jefferson, georgia research worker: mrs. mattie b. roberts editor: john n. booth supervisor: miss velma bell district: w.p.a. no. date: march , [date stamp: may ] perhaps the oldest ex-slave living today is found in jefferson, georgia. fanny randolph is a little old wrinkled-faced woman, but at the time of our visit she was very neat in a calico dress and a white apron with a bandanna handkerchief around her head. we saw her at the home of a niece with whom she lives, all of her own family being dead. her room was tidy, and she had a bright log fire burning in the wide old fire place. she readily consented to talk about slavery times. "honey, i doan know how ole i is, but i'se been here er long time and i'se been told by folks whut knows, dat i'se, maybe, mo' dan er hunderd years ole. i 'members back er long time befo' de war. my mammy and daddy wuz bofe slaves. my daddy's name wuz daniel white an' my mammy's name befo' she married wuz sarah moon, she b'longed ter marse bob moon who lived in jackson county over near whar winder is now. he wuz er big landowner an' had lots uv slaves." "when i wuz 'bout nine years ole, marse bob tuk me up ter de "big house" ter wait on ole mistis. i didn't hav' much ter do, jes' had ter he'p 'er dress an' tie 'er shoes an' run eroun' doin' errands fur 'er. yer know, in dem times, de white ladies had niggers ter wait on 'em an' de big niggers done all de hard wuk 'bout de house an' yard." "atter some years my mammy an' daddy bofe died, so i jes' stayed at de "big house" an' wukked on fer marse bob an' ole mistis." "atter i growed up, us niggers on marse bob's plantation had big times at our corn shuckin's an' dances. us 'ud all git tergether at one uv de cabins an us 'ud have er big log fire an' er room ter dance in. den when us had all shucked corn er good while ever nigger would git his gal an' dey would be some niggers over in de corner ter play fer de dance, one wid er fiddle an' one ter beat straws, an' one wid er banjo, an' one ter beat bones, an' when de music 'ud start up (dey gener'ly played 'billy in de low grounds' or 'turkey in de straw') us 'ud git on de flo'. den de nigger whut called de set would say: 'all join hands an' circle to de lef, back to de right, swing corners, swing partners, all run away!' an' de way dem niggers feets would fly!" "bye an' bye de war come on, an' all de men folks had ter go an' fight de yankees, so us wimmen folks an' chillun had er hard time den caze us all had ter look atter de stock an' wuk in de fiel's. den us 'ud hear all 'bout how de yankees wuz goin' aroun' an' skeerin' de wimmen folks mos' ter death goin' in dey houses an' making de folks cook 'em stuff ter eat, den tearin' up an' messin' up dey houses an' den marchin' on off." "den when ole mistis 'ud hear de yankees wuz comin' she'd call us niggers en us 'ud take all de china, silver, and de joolry whut b'longed ter ole miss an' her family an' dig deep holes out b'hind de smoke-house or under de big house, en bury h'it all 'tell de yankees 'ud git by." "dem wuz dark days, but atter er long time de war wuz over an' dey tole us us wuz free, i didn't want ter leave my white folks so i stayed on fer sometime, but atter while de nigger come erlong whut i married. his name wuz tom randolph an' befo' de war he b'longed ter marse joshua randolph, who lived at jefferson, so den us moved ter jefferson. us had thirteen chillun, but dey's all daid now an' my ole man is daid too, so i'se here all by my se'f an' ef h'it warn't fer my two nieces here, who lets me liv' wid 'em i doan know whut i'd do." "i'se allus tried ter do de right thin' an' de good lawd is takin' keer uv me fer his prophet say in de good book, 'i'se been young and now am ole, yet i'se nebber seed de righteous fersaken ner his seed beggin' bread!' so i ain't worryin' 'bout sumpin' ter eat, but i doan want ter stay here much longer onless h'its de good lawds will." asked if she was superstitious, she said: "well when i wuz young, i reckin' i wuz, but now my pore ole mine is jes so tired and h'it doan wuk lak h'it uster, so i never does think much 'bout superstition, but i doan lak ter heer er "squinch owl" holler in de night, fer h'it sho is a sign some uv yore folks is goin' ter die, en doan brin' er ax froo de house onless yer take h'it back de same way yer brung h'it in, fer dat 'ill kill de bad luck." when asked if she believed in ghosts or could "see sights" she said: "well, miss, yer know if yer is borned wid er veil over yer face yer can see sights but i has never seed any ghosts er sight's, i warn't born dat way, but my niece, here has seed ghostes, en she can tell yer 'bout dat." when we were ready to leave we said, "well, aunt fanny, we hope you live for many more years." she replied: "i'se willin' ter go on livin' ez long ez de marster wants me ter, still i'se ready when de summons comes. de good lawd has allus giv' me grace ter liv' by, an' i know he'll giv' me dyin' grace when my time comes." [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] alberta minor re-search worker shade richards, ex-slave east solomon street griffin, georgia september , [date stamp: may ] shade richards was born january , on the jimpson neals plantation below zebulon in pike county. his father, alfred richards had been brought from africa and was owned by mr. williams on an adjoining plantation. his mother, easter richards was born in houston county but sold to mr. neal. shade being born on the plantation was mr. neal's property. he was the youngest of children. his real name was "shadrack" and the brother just older than he was named "meshack". sometimes the mothers named the babies but most of the time the masters did. mr. neal did shade's "namin'". shade's father came two or three times a month to see his family on mr. neal's plantation always getting a "pass" from his master for "niggers" didn't dare go off their own plantation without a "pass". before the war shade's grandfather came from africa to buy his son and take him home, but was taken sick and both father and son died. shade's earliest recollections of his mother are that she worked in the fields until "she was thru' bornin' chillun" then she was put in charge of the milk and butter. there were or cows to be milked twice a day and she had to have or other women helpers. mr. neal had several plantations in different localities and his family did not live on this one in pike county but he made regular visits to each one. it had no name, was just called "neal's place." it consisted of thirteen hundred acres. there were always two or three hundred slaves on the place, besides the ones he just bought and sold for "tradin'". he didn't like "little nigger men" and when he happened to find one among his slaves he would turn the dogs on him and let them run him down. the boys were not allowed to work in the fields until they were years old, but they had to wait on the hands, such as carrying water, running back to the shop with tools and for tools, driving wagons of corn, wheat etc. to the mill to be ground and any errands they were considered big enough to do. shade worked in the fields when he became years old. this plantation was large and raised everything--corn, wheat, cotton, "taters", tobacco, fruit, vegetables, rice, sugar cane, horses, mules, goats, sheep, and hogs. they kept all that was needed to feed the slaves then sent the surplus to savannah by the "curz". the stage took passengers, but the "curz" was or wagons that took the farm surplus to savannah, and "fetched back things for de house." mr. neal kept or hounds that had to be cooked for. he was "rich with plenty of money" always good to his slaves and didn't whip them much, but his son, "mr. jimmy, sure was a bad one". sometimes he'd use the cow hide until it made blisters, then hit them with the flat of the hand saw until they broke and next dip the victim into a tub of salty water. it often killed the "nigger" but "mr. jimmy" didn't care. he whipped shade's uncle to death. when the "hog killin' time come" it took nigger men a week to do it. the sides, shoulders, head and jowls were kept to feed the slaves on and the rest was shipped to savannah. mr. neal was good to his slaves and gave them every saturday to "play" and go to the "wrestling school". at xmas they had such a good time, would go from house to house, the boys would fiddle and they'd have a drink of liquor at each house. the liquor was plentiful for they bought it in barrels. the plantations took turn about having "frolics" when they "fiddled and danced" all night. if it wasn't on your own plantation you sure had to have a "pass". when a slave wanted to "jine the church" the preacher asked his master if he was a "good nigger", if the master "spoke up for you", you were "taken in," but if he didn't you weren't. the churches had a pool for the baptist preachers to baptize in and the methodist preacher sprinkled. mr. neal "traded" with dr. by the year and whenever the slaves were hurt or sick he had to come "tend" to them. he gave the families their food by the month, but if it gave out all they had to do was to ask for more and he always gave it to them. they had just as good meals during the week as on sunday, any kind of meat out of the smoke house, chickens, squabs, fresh beef, shoats, sheep, biscuits or cornbread, rice, potatoes, beans, syrup and any garden vegetables. sometimes they went fishing to add to their menu. the single male slaves lived together in the "boy house" and had just as much as others. there were a lot of women who did nothing but sew, making work clothes for the hands. their sunday clothes were bought with the money they made off the little "patches" the master let them work for themselves. mr. jimmy took shade to the war with him. shade had to wait on him as a body servant then tend to the two horses. bullets went through shade's coat and hat many times but "de lord was takin' care" of him and he didn't get hurt. they were in the battle of appomatox and "at the surrenderin'," april , , but the "evidence warn't sworn out until may , so that's when the niggers celebrate emancipation." shade's brother helped lay the r.r. from atlanta to macon so the confederate soldiers and ammunition could move faster. in those days a negro wasn't grown until he was regardless of how large he was. shade was "near 'bout" grown when the war was over but worked for mr. neal four years. his father and mother rented a patch, mule and plow from mr. neal and the family was together. at first they gave the niggers only a tenth of what they raised but they couldn't get along on it and after a "lot of mouthin' about it" they gave them a third. that wasn't enough to live on either so more "mouthin" about it until they gave them a half, "and thats what they still gits today." when the slaves went 'courtin' and the man and woman decided to get married, they went to the man's master for permission then to the woman's master. there was no ceremony if both masters said "alright" they were considered married and it was called "jumpin' the broomstick." signs were "more true" in the olden days than now. god lead his people by dreams then. one night shade dreamed of a certain road he used to walk over often and at the fork he found a lead pencil, then a little farther on he dreamed of a purse with $ . in it. next day he went farther and just like the dream he found the pocketbook with $ . in it. shade now works at the kincaid mill no. , he makes sacks and takes up waste. he thinks he's lived so long because he never eats hot food or takes any medicine. "people takes too much medicine now days" he says and when he feels bad he just smokes his corn cob pipe or takes a chew of tobacco. dora roberts dora roberts was born in and was a slave of joseph maxwell of liberty county. the latter owned a large number of slaves and plantations in both liberty and early counties. during the war "salem" the plantation in liberty county was sold and the owner moved to early county where he owned two plantations known as "nisdell" and "rosedhu". today, at years of age, aunt dora is a fine specimen of the fast disappearing type of ante-bellum negro. her shrewd dark eyes glowing, a brown paper sack perched saucily on her white cottony hair, and puffing contentedly on an old corn cob pipe, the old woman began her recital what happened during plantation days. "dey is powerful much to tell ob de days ob slabry, chile, an' it come to me in pieces. dis story ain't in no rotation 'cause my mind it don't do dat kinda function, but i tell it as it come ta me. de colored folks had dey fun as well as dey trials and tribulations, 'cause dat sat'day nigh dance at de plantation wuz jist de finest ting we wanted in dem days. all de slabes fum de udder plantation dey cum ta our barn an' jine in an' if dey had a gal on dis plantation dey lob, den dat wuz da time dey would court. dey would swing to de band dat made de music. my brother wuz de captain ob de quill band an' dey sure could make you shout an' dance til you quz [tr: wuz?] nigh 'bout exhausted. atta findin' ya gal ta dat dance den you gits passes to come courtin' on sundays. den de most ob dom dey wants git married an' dey must den git de consent fum de massa ceremonies wuz read ober dem and de man git passes fo' de week-end ta syat [tr: stay?] wid his wife. but de slabes dey got togedder an' have dem jump over de broom stick an' have a big celebration an' dance an' make merry 'til morning and it's time fo' work agin. "we worked de fields an' kep' up de plantation 'til freedom. ebry wednesday de massa come visit us an look ober de plantation ta see dat all is well. he talk ta de obersheer an' find out how good de work is. we lub de massa an' work ha'd fo' him. "ah kin 'member dat wednesday night plain as it wuz yesterday. it seems lak de air 'round de quarters an' de big house filled wid excitement; eben de wind seem lak it wuz waitin' fo' som'ting. de dogs an' de pickaninnies dey sleep lazy like 'gainst de big gate waitin' fo' de crack ob dat whip which wuz de signal dat julius wuz bringin' de master down de long dribe under de oaks. chile, us all wuz happy knowin' date de fun would start. "all of a sudden you hear dem chilluns whoop, an' de dogs bark, den de car'age roll up wid a flourish, an' de coachman dressed in de fines' git out an' place de cookie try on de groun'. den dey all gadder in de circle an' fo' dey git dey supply, dey got ta do de pigeon wing. "chile, you ain't neber seen sich flingin' ob de arms an' legs in yo' time. dem pickaninnies dey had de natural born art ob twistin' dey body any way dey wish. dat dere ting dey calls truckin' now an' use to be chimmy, ain't had no time wid de dancin' dem chilluns do. dey claps dey hands and keep de time, while dat old brudder ob mine he blows de quills. massa he would allus bring de big tray ob 'lasses cookies fo' all de chilluns. fast as de tray would empty, massa send ta de barrel fo' more. de niggers do no work dat day, but dey jist celebrate. "atta de war broke out we wuz all ca'yhed up to de plantation in early county to stay 'til atta de war. de day de mancipation wuz read dey wuz sadness an' gladness. de ole massa he call us all togedder an' wid tears in his eyes he say--'you is all free now an' you can go jist whar you please. i hab no more jurisdiction ober you. all who stay will be well cared for.' but de most ob us wanted to come back to de place whar we libed befo'--liberty county. "so he outfitted de wagons wid horses an' mules an' gib us what dey wuz ob privisions on de plantation an' sent us on our way ta de ole plantation in liberty county. dare wuz six horses ta de wagons. 'long de way de wagons broke down 'cause de mules ain't had nothin' ta eat an' most ob dem died. we git in sich a bad fix some ob de people died. when it seem lak we wuz all gwine die, a planter come along de road an' he stopped ta find out what wuz de matter. wan he heard our story an' who our master wuz he git a message to him 'bout us. "it seem lak de good lord musta answered de prayers ob his chillun fo' 'long way down de road we seed our massa comin' an' he brung men an' horses to git us safely ta de ole home. when he got us dare, i neber see him no more 'cause he went back up in early county an' atta i work dere at de plantation a long time den i come ta de city whyah my sister be wid one ob my master's oldest daughters--a mrs. dunwodies[tr: ?? first letter of name not readable], who she wuz nursin' fo'. "an' dat's 'bout all dey is ta tell. when i sits an' rocks here on de porch it all comes back ta me. seems sometimes lak i wuz still dere on de plantation. an' it seem lak it's mos' time fo' de massa ta be comin' ta see how tings are goin'." written by ruth chitty research worker district # rewritten by velma bell ex-slave interview: aunt ferebe rogers baldwin county milledgeville, ga. more than a century lies in the span of memory of "aunt ferebe" rogers. the interviewers found her huddled by the fireside, all alone while her grandaughter worked on a wpa project to make the living for them both. in spite of her years and her frail physique, her memory was usually clear, only occasionally becoming too misty for scenes to stand out plainly. her face lighted with a reminiscent smile when she was asked to "tell us something about old times." "i 'members a whole heap 'bout slav'ey times. law, honey, when freedom come i had five chillen. five chillen and ten cents!" and her crackled laughter was spirited. "dey says i'm a hundred and eight or nine years old, but i don't think i'm quite as old as dat. i knows i'se over a hundred, dough. "i was bred and born on a plantation on brier creek in baldwin county. my ole marster was mr. sam hart. he owned my mother. she had thirteen chillen. i was de oldest, so i tuck devil's fare. "my daddy was a ole-time free nigger. he was a good shoe-maker, and could make as fine shoes and boots as ever you see. but he never would work till he was plumb out o' money--den he had to work. but he quit jes' soon as he made a little money. mr. chat morris (he had a regular shoe shop)--he offered him studdy work makin' boots and shoes for him. was go'n' pay him $ . a year. but he wouldn't take it. was too lazy. de ole-time free niggers had to tell how dey make dey livin', and if dey couldn't give satisfaction 'bout it, dey was put on de block and sold to de highest bidder. most of 'em sold for years for $ . my daddy brought $ . when he was sold for three or four years. "i was on de block twice myself. when de old head died dey was so many slaves for de chillen to draw for, we was put on de block. mr. john baggett bought me den; said i was a good breedin' 'oman. den later, one de young hart marsters bought me back. "all de slaves had diff'unt work to do. my auntie was one de weavers. old miss had two looms goin' all de time. she had a old loom and a new loom. my husband made de new loom for old miss. he was a carpenter and he worked on outside jobs after he'd finished tasks for his marster. he use to make all de boxes dey buried de white folks and de slaves in, on de hart and golden plantations. dey was pretty as you see, too. "i was a fiel' han' myself. i come up twix' de plow handles. i warn't de fastes' one wid a hoe, but i didn't turn my back on nobody plowin'. no, _mam_. "my marster had over a thousand acres o' land. he was good to us. we had plenty to eat, like meat and bread and vegetables. we raised eve'ything on de plantation--wheat, corn, potatoes, peas, hogs, cows, sheep, chickens--jes' eve'ything. "all de clo'es was made on de plantation, too. dey spun de thread from cotton and wool, and dyed it and wove it. we had cutters and dem dat done de sewin'. i still got de fus' dress my husband give me. lemme show it to you." gathering her shawl about her shoulders, and reaching for her stick, she hobbled across the room to an old hand-made chest. "my husband made dis chis' for me." raising the top, she began to search eagerly through the treasured bits of clothing for the "robe-tail muslin" that had been the gift of a long-dead husband. one by one the garments came out--her daughter's dress, two little bonnets all faded and worn ("my babies' bonnets"), her husband's coat. "and dat's my husband's mother's bonnet. it use to be as pretty a black as you ever see. it's faded brown now. it was dyed wid walnut." the chest yielded up old cotton cards, and horns that had been used to call the slaves. finally the "robe-tail muslin" came to light. the soft material, so fragile with age that a touch sufficed to reduce it still further to rags, was made with a full skirt and plain waist, and still showed traces of a yellow color and a sprigged design. "my husband was kinchen rogers. his marster was mr. bill golden, and he live 'bout fo' mile from where i stayed on de hart plantation." "aunt ferebe, how did you meet your husband?" "well, you see, us slaves went to de white folks church a-sunday. marster, he was a prim'tive baptis', and he try to keep his slaves from goin' to other churches. we had baptisin's fust sundays. back in dem days dey baptised in de creek, but at de windin' up o' freedom, dey dug a pool. i went to church sundays, and dat's where i met my husband. i been ma'ied jes' one time. he de daddy o' all my chillen'. (i had fifteen in all.)" "who married you, aunt ferebe. did you have a license?" "who ever heered a nigger havin' a license?" and she rocked with high-pitched laughter. "young marster was fixin' to ma'y us, but he got col' feet, and a nigger by name o' enoch golden ma'ied us. he was what we called a 'double-headed nigger'--he could read and write, and he knowed so much. on his dyin' bed he said he been de death o' many a nigger 'cause he taught so many to read and write. "me and my husband couldn't live together till after freedom 'cause we had diffunt marsters. when freedom come, marster wanted all us niggers to sign up to stay till chris'man. bless, yo' soul, i didn't sign up. i went to my husband! but he signed up to stay wid his marster till chris'man. after dat we worked on shares on de hart plantation; den we farmed fo'-five years wid mr. bill johnson." "aunt ferebe, are these better times, or do you think slavery times were happier?" "well, now, you ax me for de truth, didn't you?--and i'm goin' to tell yo' de truth. i don't tell no lies. yes, mam, dese has been better times to me. i think hit's better to work for yourself and have what you make dan to work for somebody else and don't git nuttin' out it. slav'ey days was mighty hard. my marster was good to us (i mean he didn't beat us much, and he give us plenty plain food) but some slaves suffered awful. my aunt was beat cruel once, and lots de other slaves. when dey got ready to beat yo', dey'd strip you' stark mother naked and dey'd say, 'come here to me, god damn you! come to me clean! walk up to dat tree, and damn you, hug dat tree! den dey tie yo' hands 'round de tree, den tie yo' feets; den dey'd lay de rawhide on you and cut yo' buttocks open. sometimes dey'd rub turpentine and salt in de raw places, and den beat you some mo'. oh, hit was awful! and what could you do? dey had all de 'vantage of you. "i never did git no beatin' like dat, but i got whuppin's--plenty o' 'em. i had plenty o' devilment in me, but i quit all my devilment when i was ma'ied. i use to fight--fight wid anything i could git my han's on. "you had to have passes to go from one plantation to 'nother. some de niggers would slip off sometime and go widout a pass, or maybe marster was busy and dey didn't want to bother him for a pass, so dey go widout one. in eve'y dee-strick dey had 'bout twelve men dey call patterollers. dey ride up and down and aroun' looking for niggers widout passes. if dey ever caught you off yo' plantation wid no pass, dey beat you all over. "yes'm, i 'member a song 'bout-- 'run, nigger, run, de patteroller git you, slip over de fence slick as a eel, white man ketch you by de heel, run, nigger run!'" no amount of coaxing availed to make her sing the whole of the song, or to tell any more of the words. "when slaves run away, dey always put de blood-hounds on de tracks. marster always kep' one hound name' rock. i can hear 'im now when dey was on de track, callin', 'hurrah, rock, hurrah, rock! ketch 'im!' "dey always send rock to fetch 'im down when dey foun' 'im. dey had de dogs trained to keep dey teef out you till dey tole 'em to bring you down. den de dogs 'ud go at yo' th'oat, and dey'd tear you to pieces, too. after a slave was caught, he was brung home and put in chains. "de marsters let de slaves have little patches o' lan' for deyse'ves. de size o' de patch was 'cordin' to de size o' yo' family. we was 'lowed 'bout fo' acres. we made 'bout five hundred pounds o' lint cotton, and sol' it at warrenton. den we used de money to buy stuff for chris'man." "did you have big times at christmas, aunt ferebe?" "chris'man--huh!--chris'man warn't no diffunt from other times. we used to have quiltin' parties, candy pullin's, dances, corn shuckin's, games like thimble and sich like." aunt ferebe refused to sing any of the old songs. "no, mam, i ain't go'n' do dat. i th'oo wid all dat now. yes, mam, i 'members 'em all right, but i ain't go'n' sing 'em. no'm, nor say de words neither. all dat's pas' now. "course dey had doctors in dem days, but we used mostly home-made medicines. i don't believe in doctors much now. we used sage tea, ginger tea, rosemary tea--all good for colds and other ail-ments, too. "we had men and women midwives. dr. cicero gibson was wid me when my fus' baby come. i was twenty-five years old den. my baby chile seventy-five now." "auntie, did you learn to read and write?" "no, _mam_, i'd had my right arm cut off at de elbow if i'd a-done dat. if dey foun' a nigger what could read and write, dey'd cut yo' arm off at de elbow, or sometimes at de shoulder." in answer to a query about ghosts, she said--"no, mam, i ain't seed nuttin' like dat. folks come tellin' me dey see sich and sich a thing. i say hit's de devil dey see. i ain't seed nuttin' yit. no'm, i don't believe in no signs, neither." "do you believe a screeeh owl has anything to do with death?" "yes, mam, 'fo' one my chillen died, squinch owl come to my house ev'ey night and holler. after de chile die he ain't come no mo'. cows mooin' or dogs howlin' after dark means death, too. "no, man, i don't believe in no cunjurs. one cunjur-man come here once. he try his bes' to overcome me, but he couldn't do nuttin' wid me. after dat, he tole my husband he couldn't do nuttin' to me, 'cause i didn't believe in him, and dem cunjur-folks can't hurt you less'n you believes in 'em. he say he could make de sun stan' still, and do wonders, but i knowed dat warn't so, 'cause can't nobody stop de sun 'cep' de man what made hit, and dat's god. i don't believe in no cunjurs. "i don't pay much 'tention to times o' de moon to do things, neither. i plants my garden when i gits ready. but bunch beans does better if you plants 'em on new moon in ap'il. plant butterbeans on full moon in ap'il--potatoes fus' o' march. "when de war broke out de damn yankees come to our place dey done eve'ything dat was bad. dey burn eve'ything dey couldn't use, and dey tuck a heap o' corn. marster had a thousand bushels de purtiest shucked corn, all nice good ears, in de pen at de house. dey tuck all dat. marster had some corn pens on de river, dough, dey didn't find. i jes' can't tell you all dey done. "how come i live so long, you say?--i don't know--jes' de goodness o' de lawd, i reckon. i worked hard all my life, and always tried to do right." [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] henry rogers of washington-wilkes by minnie branham stonestreet washington-wilkes georgia [date stamp: may ] henry rogers of washington-wilkes is known by almost every one in the town and county. to the men around town he is "deacon", to his old friends back in hancock county (georgia) where he was born and reared, he is "brit"; to everybody else he is "uncle henry", and he is a friend to all. for forty-one years he has lived in washington-wilkes where he has worked as waiter, as lot man, and as driver for a livery stable when he "driv drummers" around the country anywhere they wanted to go and in all kinds of weather. he is proud that he made his trips safely and was always on time. then when automobiles put the old time livery stables out of business he went to work in a large furniture and undertaking establishment where he had charge of the colored department. finally he decided to accept a job as janitor and at one time was janitor for three banks in town. he is still working as janitor in two buildings, despite his seventy-three years. uncle henry's "book learning" is very limited, but he has a store of knowledge gathered here and there that is surprising. he uses very little dialect except when he is excited or worried. he speaks of his heart as "my time keeper". when he promises anything in the future he says, "please the lord to spare me", and when anyone gets a bit impatient he bids them, "be paciable, be paciable". dismal is one of his favorite words but it is always "dism". when he says "now, i'm tellin' yer financially" or "dat's financial", he means that he is being very frank and what he is saying is absolutely true. regarded highly as the local weather prophet, uncle henry gets up every morning before daybreak and scans the heavens to see what kind of weather is on its way. he guards all these "signs" well and under no consideration will he tell them. they were given to him by someone who has passed on and he keeps them as a sacred trust. if asked, upon making a prediction, "how do you know?" uncle henry shakes his wise old head and with a wave of the hand says, "dat's all right, you jess see now, it's goin' ter be dat way". and it usually is! seventy-three years ago "last gone june" uncle henry was born in the mt. zion community in hancock county (georgia), seven miles from sparta. his mother was molly navery hunt, his father, jim rogers. they belonged to mr. jenkins hunt and his wife "miss rebecca". henry was the third of eight children. he has to say about his early life: "yassum, i wuz born right over there in hancock county, an' stayed there 'til the year when mrs. riley come fer me to hep' her in the hotel here in washington an' i been here ev'ry since. i recollects well living on the hunt plantation. it wuz a big place an' we had fifteen or twenty slaves"--(the "we" was proudly possessive)--"we wuz all as happy passel o' niggers as could be found anywhere. aunt winnie wuz the cook an' the kitchen wuz a big old one out in the yard an' had a fireplace that would 'commodate a whole fence rail, it wuz so big, an' had pot hooks, pots, big old iron ones, an' everything er round to cook on. aunt winnie had a great big wooden tray dat she would fix all us little niggers' meals in an' call us up an' han' us a wooden spoon apiece an' make us all set down 'round the tray an' eat all us wanted three times ev'ry day. in one corner of the kitchen set a loom my mother use to weave on. she would weave way into the night lots of times. "the fust thing i 'members is follerin' my mother er 'round. she wuz the housegirl an' seamstress an' everywhere she went i wuz at her heels. my father wuz the overseer on the hunt place. we never had no hard work to do. my fust work wuz 'tendin' the calves an' shinin' my master's shoes. how i did love to put a sunday shine on his boots an' shoes! he called me his nigger an' wuz goin' ter make a barber out o' me if slavery had er helt on. as it wuz, i shaved him long as he lived. we lived in the quarters over on a high hill 'cross the spring-branch from the white peoples' house. we had comfortable log cabins an' lived over there an' wuz happy. ole uncle alex hunt wuz the bugler an' ev'ry mornin' at : o'clock he blowed the bugle fer us ter git up, 'cept sunday mornin's, us all slept later on sundays. "when i wuz a little boy us played marbles, mumble peg, an' all sich games. the little white an' black boys played together, an' ev'ry time 'ole miss' whipped her boys she whipped me too, but nobody 'cept my mistess ever teched me to punish me. "i recollects one sadday night ole uncle aaron hunt come in an' he must er been drinkin' or sumpin' fer he got ter singin' down in the quarters loud as he could 'go tell marse jesus i done done all i kin do', an' nobody could make him hush singin'. he got into sich er row 'til they had ter go git some o' the white folks ter come down an' quiet him down. dat wuz the only 'sturbance 'mongst the niggers i ever 'members. "i wuz so little when the war come on i don't member but one thing 'bout it an' that wuz when it wuz over with an' our white mens come home all de neighbors, the simpsons, the neals, the allens all living on plantations 'round us had a big dinner over at my white peoples', the hunts, an' it sho wuz a big affair. ev'rybody from them families wuz there an' sich rejoicin' i never saw. i won't forgit that time. "i allus been to church. as a little boy my folks took me to ole mt zion. we went to the white peoples' church 'til the colored folks had one of they own. the white folks had services in mt zion in the mornings an' the niggers in the evenin's." when a colored person died back in the days when uncle henry was coming on, he said they sat up with the dead and had prayers for the living. there was a mr. beman in the community who made coffins, and on the hunt place old uncle aaron hunt helped him. the dead were buried in home-made coffins and the hearse was a one horse wagon. "when i wuz a growin' up" said uncle henry, "i wore a long loose shirt in the summer, an' in the winter plenty of good heavy warm clothes. i had 'nits an' lice' pants an' hickory stripe waists when i wuz a little boy. all these my mother spun an' wove the cloth fer an' my mistess made. when i wuz older i had copperas pants an' shirts." uncle henry has many signs but is reluctant to tell them. finally he was prevailed upon to give several. what he calls his "hant sign" is: "if you runs into hot heat sudden, it is a sho sign hants is somewheres 'round." when a rooster comes up to the door and crows, if he is standing with his head towards the door, somebody is coming, if he is standing with his tail towards the door, it is a sign of death, according to uncle henry. it is good luck for birds to build their nests near a house, and if a male red bird comes around the woodpile chirping, get ready for bad weather for it is on its way. uncle henry is a pretty good doctor too, but he doesn't like to tell his remedies. he did say that life everlasting tea is about as good thing for a cold as can be given and for hurts of any kind there is nothing better than soft rosin, fat meat and a little soot mixed up and bound to the wound. he is excellent with animals and when a mule, dog, pig or anything gets sick his neighbors call him in and he doctors them and usually makes them well. as for conjuring, uncle henry has never known much about it, but he said when he was a little fellow he heard the old folks talk about a mixture of devil's snuff and cotton stalk roots chipped up together and put into a little bag and that hidden under the front steps. this was to make all who came up the steps friendly and peacable even if they should happen to be coming on some other mission. after the war the rogers family moved from the hunts' to the alfriend plantation adjoining. as the alfriends were a branch of the hunt family they considered they were still owned as in slavery by the same "white peoples". they lived there until uncle henry moved to washington-wilkes in . christmas was a great holiday on the plantation. there was no work done and everybody had a good time with plenty of everything good to eat. easter was another time when work was laid aside. a big church service took place sunday and on monday a picnic was attended by all the negroes in the community. there were fourth of july celebrations, log rollings, corn shuckings, house coverings and quilting parties. in all of these except the fourth of july celebration it was a share-the-work idea. uncle henry grew a bit sad when he recalled how "peoples use ter be so good 'bout hep'in' one 'nother, an' now dey don't do nothin' fer nobody lessen' dey pays 'em." he told how, when a neighbor cleared a new ground and needed help, he invited all the men for some distance around and had a big supper prepared. they rolled logs into huge piles and set them afire. when all were piled high and burning brightly, supper was served by the fire light. sometimes the younger ones danced around the burning logs. when there was a big barn full of corn to be shucked the neighbors gladly gathered in, shucked the corn for the owner, who had a fiddler and maybe some one to play the banjo. the corn was shucked to gay old tunes and piled high in another barn. then after a "good hot supper" there was perhaps a dance in the cleared barn. when a neighbor's house needed covering, he got the shingles and called in his neighbors and friends, who came along with their wives. while the men worked atop the house the women were cooking a delicious dinner down in the kitchen. at noon it was served amid much merry making. by sundown the house was finished and the friends went home happy in the memory of a day spent in toil freely given to one who needed it. all those affairs were working ones, but uncle henry told of one that marked the end of toil for a season and that was the fourth of july as celebrated on the hunt and alfriend plantations. he said: "on the evenin' of the third of july all plows, gear, hoes an' all sich farm tools wuz bro't in frum the fields an' put in the big grove in front o' the house where a long table had been built. on the fo'th a barbecue wuz cooked, when dinner wuz ready all the han's got they plows an' tools, the mules wuz bro't up an' gear put on them, an' den ole uncle aaron started up a song 'bout the crops wuz laid by an' res' time had come, an' everybody grabbed a hoe er sumpin', put it on they shoulder an' jined the march 'round an' round the table behind uncle aaron singin' an' marchin', uncle aaron linin' off the song an' ev'ry body follerin' him. it wuz a sight to see all the han's an' mules er goin' 'round the table like that. den when ev'ry body wuz might nigh 'zausted, they stopped an' et a big barbecue dinner. us use ter work hard to git laid by by de fo'th so's we could celebrate. it sho' wuz a happy time on our plantations an' the white peoples enjoyed it as much as us niggers did. "us use ter have good times over there in hancock county", continued uncle henry. ev'rybody wuz so good an' kind ter one 'nother; 't'ain't like that now--no mam, not lak it use ter be. why i 'members onst, when i fust growed up an' wuz farmin' fer myself, i got sick way long up in the spring, an' my crop wuz et up in grass when one evenin' mr. harris--(he wuz overseein' fer mr. treadwell over on the next plantation to the alfriends)--come by. i wuz out in the field tryin' ter scratch 'round as best i could, mr. harris say: 'brit, you in de grass mighty bad.' i say: 'yassir, i is, but i been sick an' couldn't hep' myself, that's how come i so behind.' he say: 'look lak you needs hep'.' 'yassir,' i says, 'but i ain't got nobody to work but me.' dat's all he said. well sir, the nex' mornin' by times over comes mr. harris wid six plows an' eight hoe han's an' they give me a whole day's work an' when they finished that evenin' they want a sprig of grass in my crop; it wuz clean as this floor, an' i'se tellin' yer the truth. dat's the way peoples use ter do, but not no mo'--everybody too selfish now, an' they think ain't nobody got responsibilits (responsibilities) but them." speaking of his early life uncle henry continued: "when i growed up i broke race horses fer white mens an' raced horses too, had rooster fights an' done all them kind o' things, but i 'sought 'ligion an' found it an' frum that day to this i ain't never done them things no mo'. when i jined the church i had a game rooster named 'ranger' that i had won ev'ry fight that i had matched him in. peoples come miles ter see ranger fight; he wuz a warhorse game. after i come to be a member of the church i quit fightin' ranger so mr. sykes come over an' axed me what i would take fer him, i told him he could have him--i warn't goin' to fight wid him any mo'. he took him an' went over three states, winnin' ev'ry fight he entered him in an' come home wid fifteen hundred dollars he made on ranger. he give me fifty dollars, but i never wanted him back. ranger wuz a pet an' i could do anything wid 'im. i'd hold out my arm an' tell him to come up an' he'd fly up on my arm an' crow. he'd get on up on my haid an' crow too. one rainy day 'fore i give him away he got in the lot an' kilt three turkeys an' a gobbler fer my mistess. she got mighty mad an' i sho wuz skeered 'til marse took mine an' ranger's part an' wouldn't let her do nothin' wid us." forty-seven years ago uncle henry married annie tiller of hancock county. they had four children, three of whom are living. about his courtship and marriage he has to say: "i wuz at sunday school one sunday an' saw annie fer the fust time. i went 'round where she wuz an' wuz made 'quainted with her an' right then an' there i said to myself, 'she's my gal'. i started goin' over to see her an' met her folks. i liked her pa an ma an' i would set an' talk with them an' 'pear not to be payin' much 'tention to annie. i took candy an' nice things an' give to the family, not jest to her. i stood in with the ole folks an' 't'warn't long 'fore me an' annie wuz married." uncle henry said he took annie to sparta to his pastor's home for the marriage and the preacher told him he charged three dollars for the ceremony. "but i tole him i warnt goin' to give him but er dollar an' a half 'cause i wuz one of his best payin' members an' he ought not to charge me no more than dat. an' i never paid him no mo' neither, an' dat wuz er plenty." though he is crippled in his "feets" he is hale and hearty and manages to work without missing a day. he is senior steward in his church and things there go about like he says even though he isn't a preacher. all the members seem to look to him for "consulation an' 'couragement". in all his long life he has "never spoke a oath if i knows it, an' i hates cussin'." he speaks of his morning devotions as "havin' prayers wid myself". his blessing at mealtime is the same one he learned in his "white peoples'" home when he was a little boy: "we humbly thank thee, our heavenly father, for what we have before us." uncle henry says: "i loves white peoples an' i'm a-livin' long 'cause in my early days dey cared fer me an' started me off right--they's my bes' frien's." [hw: dist. e.f. driskell / / julia rush, ex-slave years old] [tr: the beginning of each line on the original typewritten pages for this interview is very faint, and some words have been reconstructed from context. questionable entries are followed by [??]; words that could not be deciphered are indicated by [--].] mrs. julia rush was born in on saint simons island, georgia. mrs. rush, her mother, and three sisters were the property of a frenchman named colonel de binien, a very wealthy land owner. mrs. rush does not remember her father as he was sold away from his family when she was a baby. as a child mrs. rush served as playmate to one of the colonel's daughters and so all that she had to do was to play from morning till night. when she grew older she started working in the kitchen in the master's house. later she was sent to the fields where she worked side by side with her mother and three sisters from sunup until sundown. mrs. rush says that she has plowed so much that she believes she can "outplow" any man. instead of the white overseer usually found on plantations the colonel used one of the slaves to act as foreman of the field hands. he was known to the other slaves as the "nigger driver" and it was he who awakened all every morning. it was so dark until torch lights had to be used to see by. those women who had babies took them along to the field in a basket which they placed on their heads. all of the hands were given a certain amount of work to perform each day and if the work was not completed a whipping might be forthcoming. breakfast was sent to the field to the hands and if at dinner time they were not too far away from their cabins they were permitted to go home[??]. at night they prepared their own meals in their individual cabins. all food on the colonel's plantation was issued daily from the corn house. each person was given enough corn to make a sufficient amount of bread for the day when ground. then they went out and dug their potatoes from the colonel's garden. no meat whatsoever was issued. it was up to the slaves to catch fish, oysters, and other sea food for their meat supply. all those who desired to were permitted to raise chickens, watermelons and vegetables. there was no restriction on any as to what must be done with the produce so raised. it could be sold or kept for personal consumption. colonel de binien always saw that his slaves had sufficient clothing. in the summer months the men were given two shirts, two pairs of pants, and two pairs of underwear. all of these clothes were made of cotton and all were sewed on the plantation. no shoes were worn in the summer. the women were given two dresses, two underskirts, and two pairs of underwear. when the winter season approached another issue of clothes was given. at this time shoes were given. they were made of heavy red leather and were known as "brogans". the slave quarters on the plantation were located behind the colonel's cabin[??]. all were made of logs. the chinks in the walls were filled with mud to keep the weather out. the floors were of wood in order to protect the occupants from the dampness. the only furnishings were a crude bed and several benches. all cooking was done at the large fireplace in the rear of the one room. when colonel de binion's [tr: earlier, de binien] wife died he divided his slaves among the children. mrs. rush was given to her former playmate who was at the time married and living in carrollton, georgia. she was very mean and often punished her by beating her on her forearm for the slightest offence. at other times she made her husband whip her (mrs. rush) on her bare back with a cowhide whip. mrs. rush says that her young mistress thought that her husband was being intimate with her and so she constantly beat and mistreated her. on one occasion all of the hair on her head (which was long and straight) was cut from her head by the young mistress. for a while mrs. rush worked in the fields where she plowed and hoed the crops along with the other slaves. later she worked in the master's house where she served as maid and where she helped with the cooking. she was often hired out to the other planters in the vicinity. she says that she liked this because she always received better treatment than she did at her own home. these persons who hired her often gave her clothes as she never received a sufficient amount from her own master. the food was almost the same here as it had been at the other plantation. at the end of each week she and her fellow slaves were given a "little bacon, vegetables, and some corn meal."[hw: ?] this had to last for a certain length of time. if it was all eaten before the time for the next issue that particular slave had to live as best he or she could. in such an emergency the other slaves usually shared with the unfortunate one. there was very little illness on the plantation where mrs. rush lived. practically the only medicine ever used was castor oil and turpentine. some of the slaves went to the woods and gathered roots and herbs from which they made their own tonics and medicines. according to mrs. rush the first of the month was always sale day for slaves and horses. she was sold on one of those days from her master in carrollton to one mr. morris, who lived in newman, ga. mr. morris paid $ . for her. she remained with him for a short while and was later sold to one mr. ray who paid the price of $ . . both of these masters were very kind to her, but she was finally sold back to her former master, mr. archibald burke of carrollton, ga. mrs. rush remembers that none of the slaves were allowed away from their plantation unless they held a pass from their master. once when she was going to town to visit some friends she was accosted by a group of "paddle-rollers" who gave her a sound whipping when she was unable to show a pass from her master. mrs. rush always slept in her masters' houses after leaving colonel de binien. when she was in carrollton her young mistress often made her sleep under the house when she was angry with her. after the war was over with and freedom was declared mr. burke continued to hold mrs. rush. after several unsuccessful attempts she was finally able to escape. she went to another part of the state where she married and started a family of her own. because of the cruel treatment that she received at the hands of some of her owners[??] mrs. rush says that the mere thought of slavery makes her blood boil. then there are those, under whom she served, who treated her with kindness, whom she holds no malice against. as far as mrs. rush knows the war did very little damage to mr. burke. he did not enlist as a soldier. [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] [hw: good ghost story on page .] [hw: "revolution drummer" parts very good.] ex-slave interview nancy settles, ex-slave, age wheeler road (richmond county) augusta, georgia by: (mrs.) margaret johnson augusta, georgia [date stamp: may ] nancy settles was born miles from edgefield in south carolina on the plantation of mr. berry cochran. until about five months ago, nancy had been bed-ridden for three years. her speech is slow, and at times it is difficult to understand her, but her mind is fairly clear. her eyes frequently filled with tears, her voice becoming so choked she could not talk. "my marster and missis, my husban' and eight of my chaps done lef me. de lawd mus be keepin' me here fur some reason. dis here chile is all i got lef'." the "chile" referred to was a woman about . "my fust chap was born in slavery. me and my husband lived on diffunt plantashuns till after freedom come. my ma and my pa lived on diffunt places too. my pa uster come evy sadday evenin' to chop wood out uv de wood lot and pile up plenty fur ma till he come agin. on wensday evenin', pa uster come after he been huntin' and bring in possum and coon. he sho could get 'em a plenty. "ma, she chop cotton and plow, and i started choppin' cotton when i wuz twelve years old. when i was a gal i sure wuz into plenty devilment." "what kind of devilment?" "lawdy miss, evy time i heayd a fiddle, my feets jes' got to dance and dancin' is devilment. but i ain't 'lowed to dance nothin' but de six-handed reel. "i uster take my young misses to school ev'y day, but de older misses went to boadin' school and come home ev'y friday an' went back on monday. no ma'am, i never learn to read and write but i kin spell some." "nancy, did you go out at night and were you ever caught by the patrol?" "no, ma'am, i never wuz caught by de patterol; my pa wuz the one i was scart uv." "did you always have enough to eat, and clothes to wear?" "yes ma'am, marster put out a side uv meat and a barrul o' meal and all uv us would go and git our rations fur de week." "suppose some one took more than his share, and the supply ran short." "lawd ma'am, we knowed better'n to do dat kinder thing. eve'ybody, had er garden patch an' had plenty greens and taters and all dat kinder thing. de cloth fur de slave close wuz all made on the place and missis see to mekkin' all de close we wear." "my missis died endurin' of de war, but marster he live a long time. yes, ma'am, we went to church an to camp meetin' too. we set up in de galley, and ef dey too many uv us, we set in de back uv de church. camp meetin' wuz de bes'. before missis died i wuz nussin' my young miss baby, and i ride in de white foke's kerrage to camp meetin' groun' and carry de baby. lawdy, i seen de white folks and de slaves too shoutin' an gittin' 'ligion plenty times." "nancy, were the slaves on your place ever whipped?" "yes'm sometimes when de wouldn' mine, but marster allus whip 'em hissef, he ain't let nobody else lay er finger on his slaves but him. i heayd 'bout slaves been whipped but i tink de wuz whipped mostly cause de marsters _could_ whip 'em." "nancy do you know any ghost stories, or did you ever see a ghost?" "no, ma'am, i ain't never see a ghos' but i heayd de drum!" "what drum did you hear--war drums?" "no, ma'am de drum de little man beats down by rock crick. some say he is a little man whut wears a cap and goes down the crick beating a drum befo' a war. he wuz a revolushun drummer, and cum back to beat the drum befo' de war. but some say you can hear de drum 'most any spring now. go down to the crick and keep quiet and you hear brrr, brrr, bum hum, louder and louder and den it goes away. some say dey hav' seen de little man, but i never seen him, but i heayd de drum, 'fo de war, and ater dat too. there was a white man kilt hisself near our place. he uster play a fiddle, and some time he come back an play. i has heayd him play his fiddle, but i ain't seen him. some fokes say dey is seen him in the wood playin' and walkin' 'bout." "nancy i am glad you are better than you were the last time i came to see you." "yes, ma'am, i is up now. i prayed to god and tell him my trouble and he helped me get about again. this po chile uv mine does what she kin to pay de rent and de welfare gives us a bit to eat but i sho do need er little wood, cause we is back on de rent and my chile jes scrap 'bout to pick up trash wood and things to burn." plantation life as viewed by ex-slave will sheets, age w. broad street athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens leila harris and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project augusta, georgia [date stamp: may ] old will sheets readily complied with the request that he tell of his experiences during slavery days. "no'm i don't mind, its been many a long day since anybody axed me to talk 'bout things dat far back, but i laks to have somebody to talk to 'cause i can't git 'bout no more since i los' both of my footses, and i gits powerful lonesome sometimes. "i was borned in oconee county, not far f'um whar bishop is now. it warn't nothin' but a cornfield, way back in dem times. ma was jane southerland 'fore she married my pa. he was tom sheets. lawsy miss! i don't know whar dey cone f'um. as far as i knows, dey was borned and raised on deir marsters' plantations. dar was seven of us chilluns. i was de oldes'; james, joe, speer, charlie, and ham was my brudders, and my onlies' sister was frances. "you ax me 'bout my gram'ma and gram'pa? i can't tell you nothin' t'all 'bout 'em. i jus' knows i had 'em and dat's all. you see ma was a house gal and de mos' i seed of her was when she come to de cabin at night; den us chilluns was too sleepy to talk. soon as us et, us drapped down on a pallet and went fast asleep. niggers is a sleepyheaded set. "i was a water boy, and was 'spected to tote water f'um de spring to de house, and to de hands in de fiel'. i helped mandy, one of de colored gals, to drive de calves to de pasture and i toted in a little wood and done little easy jobs lak dat. lawsy miss! i never seed no money 'til atter de war. if i had a had any money what could i have done wid it, when i couldn't leave dat place to spend it? "dare ain't much to tell 'bout what little nigger chillun done in slavery days. dem what was big enough had to wuk, and dem what warn't, played, slep' and scrapped. little niggers is bad as game chickens 'bout fightin'. de quarters whar us lived was log cabins chinked wid mud to keep out de rain and wind. chimblies was made out of fiel' rock and red clay. i never seed a cabin wid more dan two rooms in it. "beds warn't fancy dem days lak dey is now; leastwise i didn't see no fancy ones. all de beds was corded; dey had a headboard, but de pieces at de foot and sides was jus' wide enough for holes to run de cords thoo', and den de cords was pegged to hold 'em tight. nigger chillun slep' on pallets on de flo'. "marse jeff southerland was a pore man, but he fed us all us could eat sich as turnips, cabbages, collards, green corn, fat meat, cornbread, 'taters and sometimes chicken. yes ma'am, chicken dinners was sorter special. us didn't have 'em too often. de cookin' was all done at de big house in a open fireplace what had a rack crost it dat could be pulled out to take de pots off de fire. 'fore dey started cookin', a fire was made up ready and waitin'; den de pots of victuals was hung on de rack and swung in de fireplace to bile. baking was done in skillets. us cotched rabbits three and four at a time in box traps sot out in de plum orchard. sometimes us et 'em stewed wid dumplin's and some times dey was jus' plain biled, but us laked 'em bes' of all when dey was fried lak chickens. "oh! dem 'possums! how i wisht i had one right now. my pa used to ketch or of 'em a winter. atter dey married, ma had to stay on wid marse jeff and pa was 'bliged to keep on livin' wid marster marsh sheets. his marster give him a pass so dat he could come and stay wid ma at night atter his wuk was done, and he fetched in de 'possums. dey was baked in de white folkses kitchen wid sweet 'tatoes 'roun' 'em and was barbecued sometimes. us had fishes too what was mighty good eatin'. dere warn't but one gyarden on de plantation. "slave chillun didn't wear nothin' in summer but shirts what looked lak gowns wid long sleeves. gals and boys was dressed in de same way when dey was little chaps. in winter us wore shirts made out of coarse cloth and de pants and little coats was made out of wool. de gals wore wool dresses." he laughed and said: "on sunday us jus' wore de same things. did you say shoes? lawsy miss! i was eight or nine 'fore i had on a pair of shoes. on frosty mornin's when i went to de spring to fetch a bucket of water, you could see my feet tracks in de frost all de way dar and back. "miss carrie, my mist'ess, was good as she knowed how to be. marse and mist'ess had two gals and one boy, miss anna, miss callie, and marster johnny. "marse jeff was a good man; he never whupped and slashed his niggers. no ma'am, dere warn't nobody whupped on marse jeff's place dat i knows 'bout. he didn't have no overseer. dere warn't no need for one 'cause he didn't have so many slaves but what he could do de overseein' his own self. marse jeff jus' had 'bout four mens and four 'oman slaves and him and young marse johnny wukked in de fiel' 'long side of de niggers. dey went to de fiel' by daybreak and come in late at night. "when marse jeff got behind wid his crop, he would hire slaves f'um other white folkses, mostly f'um pa's marster, dat's how pa come to know my ma. "dere was 'bout a hunderd acres in our plantation countin' de woods and pastures. dey had 'bout three or four acres fenced in wid pine poles in a plum orchard. dat's whar dey kep' de calves. "dere was a jail at watkinsville, but marse jeff never had none of his slaves put in no jail. he didn't have so many but what he could make 'em behave. i never seed no slaves sold, but i seed 'em in a wagon passin' by on deir way to de block. marse jeff said dey was takin' 'em a long ways off to sell 'em. dat's why dey was a-ridin'. "miss anna larned ma her a.b.c's. she could read a little, but she never larned to write. "slaves went to de white folkses church if dey went a t'all. i never could sing no tune. i'se lak my ma; she warn't no singer. dat's how come i can't tell you 'bout de songs what dey sung den. i 'members de fus' time i seed anybody die; i was 'bout eight years old, and i was twelve 'fore i ever seed a funeral. no ma'am, us chilluns didn't go to no baptizin's--ma went, but us didn't. "didn't none of marse jeff's niggers run off to no north, but i heared of a nigger what did on de place whar my pa was at. de only thing i knowed what might a made him run to de north was dat niggers thought if dey got dar dey would be in heb'en. dem patterollers was somepin' else. i heared folkses say dey would beat de daylights mos' out of you if dey cotched you widout no pass. us lived on de big road, and i seed 'em passin' mos' anytime. i mos' know dere was plenty trouble twixt de niggers and de white folkses. course i never heared tell of none, but i'm sho' dere was trouble jus' de same," he slyly remarked. "marse jeff wukked dem few niggers so hard dat when dey got to deir cabins at night dey was glad to jus' rest. dey all knocked off f'um wuk sadday at o'clock. de 'omans washed, patched, and cleaned up de cabins, and de mens wukked in dey own cotton patches what marse jeff give 'em. some niggers wouldn't have no cotton patch 'cause dey was too lazy to wuk. but dey was all of 'em right dar sadday nights when de frolickin' and dancin' was gwine on. on sundays dey laid 'round and slep'. some went to church if dey wanted to. marster give 'em a pass to keep patterollers f'um beatin' 'em when dey went to church. "us chilluns was glad to see chris'mas time come 'cause us had plenty to eat den; sich as hogshead, backbones, a heap of cake, and a little candy. us had apples what had been growed on de place and stored away special for chris'mas. marse jeff bought some lallahoe, dat was syrup, and had big old pones of lightbread baked for us to sop it up wid. what us laked best 'bout chris'mas was de good old hunk of cheese dey give us den and de groundpeas. don't you know what groundpeas is? dem's goobers (peanuts). such a good time us did have, a-parchin' and a-eatin' dem groundpeas! if dere was oranges us didn't git none. marse jeff give de grown folkses plenty of liquor and dey got drunk and cut de buck whilst it lasted. new year's day was de time to git back to wuk. "marse jeff was sich a pore man he didn't have no corn shuckin's on his place, but he let his niggers go off to 'em and he went along hisself. dey had a big time a-hollerin' and singin' and shuckin' corn. atter de shuckin' was all done dere was plenty to eat and drink--nothin' short 'bout dem corn shuckin's. "when slaves got sick, dey didn't have no doctor dat i knowed 'bout. miss carrie done de doctorin' herself. snake root tea was good for colds and stomach mis'ries. dey biled rabbit tobacco, pine tops, and mullein together; tuk de tea and mixed it wid 'lasses; and give it to us for diffunt ailments. if dey done dat now, folkses would live longer. ma put asafiddy (asafetida) sacks 'round our necks to keep off sickness. "ma said us was gwine to be free. marse jeff said us warn't, and he didn't tell us no diffunt 'til 'bout chris'mas atter de war was done over wid in april. he told us dat us was free, but he wanted us to stay on wid him, and didn't none of his niggers leave him. dey all wukked de same as dey had before dey was sot free only he paid 'em wages atter de war. "i 'members dem yankees comin' down de big road a-stealin' as dey went 'long. dey swapped deir bags of bones for de white folkses good fat hosses. i never seed so many pore hosses at one time in my life as dey had. dem yankees stole all da meat, chickens, and good bedclothes and burnt down de houses. dey done devilment aplenty as dey went 'long. i 'members marse jeff put one of his colored mens on his hoss wid a coffeepot full of gold and sont him to de woods. atter dem yankees went on he sont for him to fetch back de gold and de fine hoss what he done saved f'um de sojer mens. "i heared tell of dem ku kluxers, but i never seed 'em. lawsy miss! what did niggers have to buy land wid 'til atter dey wukked long enough for to make some money? warn't no schoolin' done 'round whar us lived. i was years old 'fore i ever sot foots in a schoolhouse. de nearest school was at shady grove. "it was a long time atter de war 'fore i married. us didn't have no weddin'; jus' got married. my old 'oman had on a calico dress--i disremembers what color. she looked good to me though. us had chilluns in all; four died. i got grandchillun and one great grandchild. none of 'em has jobs to brag 'bout; one of 'em larned to run a store. "i think mr. lincoln was a great man, 'cause he sot us free. when i thinks back, it warn't no good feelin' to be bound down lak dat. mr. president davis wanted us to stay bound down. no ma'am, i didn't lak dat mr. davis atter i knowed what he stood for. 'course dere is plenty what needs to be bound down hard and fast so dey won't git in no trouble. but for me i trys to behave myself, and i sho' had ruther be free. i guess atter all it's best dat slavery days is over. 'bout dat booker washin'ton man, de niggers what tuk him in said he done lots of good for his race, and i reckon he did. "somepin' 'nother jus' made me jine de church. i wanted to do better'n what i was doin'. de lord says it's best for folkses to be 'ligious. "no ma'am, i don't 'spect to live as long as my ma lived, 'cause dese legs of mine since i done los' both of my footses wid blood pizen atter gangreen sot in, sho' gives me a passel of trouble. but de lord is good to me and no tellin' how long i'se gwine to stay here. miss, you sho' tuk me way back yonder, and i laks to talk 'bout it. yes, ma'am, dat's been a long time back." robert shepherd, age arch street athens, georgia written by: grace mccune [hw: (white)] athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens leila harris augusta and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & robert lives in a small house so old and in such bad repair that a strong wind would no doubt tumble it down. large holes in the roof can be plainly seen from the gateway. the neat yard, filled with old-fashioned flowers, is enclosed by a makeshift fence of rusty wire sagging to the ground in places, and the gate rocks on one hinge. there was some evidence that a porch had extended across the front of the cottage, but it is entirely gone now and large rocks serve as steps at the doorway. knocks and calls at the front of the house were unanswered and finally robert was found working in his garden behind the house. he is a tiny old man, and his large sun hat made him seem smaller than he actually was. he wore a clean but faded blue shirt and shabby gray pants much too large for him. his shoes, bound to his feet with strips of cloth, were so much too large that it was all he could do to shuffle along. he removed his hat and revealed white hair that contrasted with his black face, as he smiled in a friendly way. "good morning, missy! how is you?" was his greeting. despite his advanced age, he keeps his garden in excellent condition. not a blade of grass was to be seen. asked how he managed to keep it worked so efficiently he proudly answered: "well miss, i jus' wuks in it some evvy day dat comes 'cept sundays and, when you keeps right up wid it dat way, it ain't so hard. jus' look 'round you! don't you see i got de bestest beans and squashes, 'round here, and down under dem 'tater vines, i kin tell you, dem roots is jus' full of 'taters. my old marster done larnt me how to gyarden. he allus made us raise lots of gyarden sass such as: beans, peas, roas'in' ears, collards, turnip greens, and ingons (onions). for a fact, dere was jus' 'bout all de kinds of veg'tables us knowed anything 'bout dem days right dar in our marster's big old gyarden. dere was big patches of 'taters, and in dem wheatfields us growed enough to make bread for all de folks on dat dere plantation. us sho' did have plenty of mighty good somepin t'eat. "i would ax you to come in and set down in my house to talk," he said, "but i don't 'spect you could climb up dem dere rocks to my door, and dem's all de steps i got." when robert called to his daughter, who lived next door, and told her to bring out some chairs, she suggested that the interview take place on her porch. "it's shady and cool on my porch," she said, "and pa's done been a-diggin' in his garden so long he's plum tuckered out; he needs to set down and rest." after making her father comfortable, she drew up a bucket of water from the well at the edge of the porch and, after he had indulged in a long drink of the fresh water, he began his story. "i was borned on marster joe echols' plantation in oglethorpe county, 'bout miles from lexin'ton, georgy. mammy was cynthia echols 'fore she married up wid my daddy. he was peyton shepherd. atter pappy and mammy got married, old marse shepherd sold pappy to marse joe echols so as dey could stay together. "marse joe, he had three plantations, but he didn't live on none of 'em. he lived in lexin'ton. he kept a overseer on each one of his plantations and dey had better be good to his niggers, or else marse joe would sho' git 'em 'way from dar. he never 'lowed 'em to wuk us too hard, and in bad or real cold weather us didn't have to do no outside wuk 'cept evvyday chores what had to be done, come rain or shine, lak milkin', tendin' de stock, fetchin' in wood, and things lak dat. he seed dat us had plenty of good somepin t'eat and all de clothes us needed. us was lots better off in dem days dan us is now. "old marster, he had so many niggers dat he never knowed 'em all. one day he was a-ridin' 'long towards one of his plantations and he met one of his slaves, named william. marse joe stopped him and axed him who he was. william said: 'why marster, i'se your nigger. don't you know me?' den marster, he jus' laughed and said: 'well, hurry on home when you gits what you is gwine atter.' he was in a good humor dat way most all de time. i kin see him now a-ridin' dat little hoss of his'n what he called button, and his little fice dog hoppin' 'long on three legs right side of de hoss. no ma'am, dere warn't nothin' de matter wid' dat little dog; walkin' on three legs was jus' his way of gittin' 'round. "marster never let none of de slave chillun on his plantation do no wuk 'til dey got fifteen--dat was soon 'nough, he said. on all of his plantations dere was one old 'oman dat didn't have nothin' else to do but look atter and cook for de nigger chillun whilst dey mammies was at wuk in de fields. aunt viney tuk keer of us. she had a big old horn what she blowed when it was time for us to eat, and us knowed better dan to git so fur off us couldn't hear dat horn, for aunt viney would sho' tear us up. marster had done told her she better fix us plenty t'eat and give it to us on time. dere was a great long trough what went plum 'cross de yard, and dat was whar us et. for dinner us had peas or some other sort of veg'tables, and cornbread. aunt viney crumbled up dat bread in de trough and poured de veg'tables and pot-likker over it. den she blowed de horn and chillun come a-runnin' from evvy which away. if us et it all up, she had to put more victuals in de trough. at nights, she crumbled de cornbread in de trough and poured buttermilk over it. us never had nothin' but cornbread and buttermilk at night. sometimes dat trough would be a sight, 'cause us never stopped to wash our hands, and 'fore us had been eatin' more dan a minute or two what was in de trough would look lak de red mud what had come off of our hands. sometimes aunt viney would fuss at us and make us clean it out. "dere was a big sand bar down on de crick what made a fine place to play, and wadin' in de branches was lots of fun. us frolicked up and down dem woods and had all sorts of good times--anything to keep away from aunt viney 'cause she was sho' to have us fetchin' in wood or sweepin' de yards if us was handy whar she could find us. if us was out of her sight she never bothered 'bout dem yards and things. us was skeered to answer dat horn when us got in marster's 'bacco. he raised lots of 'bacco and rationed it out to mens, but he never 'lowed chillun to have none 'til dey was big enough to wuk in de fields. us found out how to git in his 'bacco house and us kept on gittin' his 'bacco 'fore it was dried out 'til he missed it. den he told aunt viney to blow dat horn and call up all de chillun. i'se gwine to whup evvy one of 'em, he would 'clare. atter us got dere and he seed dat green 'bacco had done made us so sick us couldn't eat, he jus' couldn't beat us. he jus' laughed and said: 'it's good enough for you.' "aunt martha, she done de milkin' and helped aunt nancy cook for de slaves. dey had a big long kitchen up at de big house whar de overseer lived. de slaves what wuked in de field never had to do deir own cookin'. it was all done for 'em in dat big old kitchen. dey cooked some of de victuals in big old washpots and dere was sho' a plenty for all. all de cookin' was done in big fireplaces what had racks made inside to hang pots on and dey had big old ovens for bakin', and thick iron skillets, and long-handled fryin' pans. you jus' can't 'magine how good things was cooked dat way on de open fire. nobody never had no better hams and other meat dan our marster kept in dem big old smokehouses, and his slaves had meat jus' lak white folks did. dem cooks knowed dey had to cook a plenty and have it ready when it was time for de slaves to come in from de fields. miss ellen, she was the overseer's wife, went out in de kitchen and looked over evvything to see that it was all right and den she blowed de bugle. when de slaves heared dat bugle, dey come in a-singin' from de fields. dey was happy 'cause dey knowed miss ellen had a good dinner ready for 'em. "de slave quarters was long rows of log cabins wid chimblies made out of sticks and red mud. dem chimblies was all de time ketchin' fire. dey didn't have no glass windows. for a window, dey jus' cut a openin' in a log and fixed a piece of plank 'cross it so it would slide when dey wanted to open or close it. doors was made out of rough planks, beds was rough home-made frames nailed to de side of de cabins, and mattresses was coarse, home-wove ticks filled wid wheat straw. dey had good home-made kivver. dem beds slept mighty good. "dere warn't many folks sick dem days, 'specially 'mongst de slaves. when one did die, folks would go or miles to de buryin'. marster would say: 'take de mules and wagons and go but, mind you, take good keer of dem mules.' he never seemed to keer if us went--fact was, he said us ought to go. if a slave died on our place, nobody went to de fields 'til atter de buryin'. marster never let nobody be buried 'til dey had been dead hours, and if dey had people from some other place, he waited 'til dey could git dar. he said it warn't right to hurry 'em off into de ground too quick atter dey died. dere warn't no undertakers dem days. de homefolks jus' laid de corpse out on de coolin' board 'til de coffin was made. lordy miss! ain't you never seed one of dem coolin' boards? a coolin' board was made out of a long straight plank raised a little at de head, and had legs fixed to make it set straight. dey wropt 'oman corpses in windin' sheets. uncle squire, de man what done all de wagon wuk and buildin' on our place, made coffins. dey was jus' plain wood boxes what dey painted to make 'em look nice. white preachers conducted de funerals, and most of de time our own marster done it, 'cause he was a preacher hisself. when de funeral was done preached, dey sung _harps from de tomb_, den dey put de coffin in a wagon and driv slow and keerful to de graveyard. de preacher prayed at de grave and de mourners sung, _i'se born to die and lay dis body down_. dey never had no outside box for de coffin to be sot in, but dey put planks on top of de coffin 'fore dey started shovellin' in de dirt. "fourth sundays was our meetin' days, and evvybody went to church. us went to our white folks' church and rid in a wagon 'hind deir car'iage. dere was two baptist preachers--one of 'em was mr. john gibson and de other was mr. patrick butler. marse joe was a methodist preacher hisself, but dey all went to de same church together. de niggers sot in de gallery. when dey had done give de white folks de sacrament, dey called de niggers down from de gallery and give dem sacrament too. church days was sho' 'nough big meetin' days 'cause evvybody went. dey preached three times a day; at eleven in de mornin', at three in de evenin', and den again at night. de biggest meetin' house crowds was when dey had baptizin', and dat was right often. dey dammed up de crick on sadday so as it would be deep enough on sunday, and dey done de baptizin' 'fore dey preached de three o'clock sermon. at dem baptizin's dere was all sorts of shoutin', and dey would sing _roll jordan, roll_, _de livin' waters_, and _lord i'se comin' home_. "when de craps was laid by and most of de hardest wuk of de year done up, den was camp-meetin' time, 'long in de last of july and sometimes in august. dat was when us had de biggest times of all. dey had great big long tables and jus' evvything good t'eat. marster would kill five or six hogs and have 'em carried dar to be barbecued, and he carried his own cooks along. atter de white folks et dey fed de niggers, and dere was allus a plenty for all. marster sho' looked atter all his niggers good at dem times. when de camp-meetin' was over, den come de big baptizin': white folks fust, den niggers. one time dere was a old slave 'oman what got so skeered when dey got her out in de crick dat somebody had to pull her foots out from under her to git her under de water. she got out from dar and testified dat it was de devil a-holdin' her back. "de white ladies had nice silk dresses to wear to church. slave 'omans had new calico dresses what dey wore wid hoopskirts dey made out of grapevines. dey wore poke bonnets wid ruffles on 'em and, if de weather was sort of cool, dey wore shawls. marster allus wore his linen duster. dat was his white coat, made cutaway style wid long tails. de cloth for most all of de clothes was made at home. marse joe raised lots of sheep and de wool was used to make cloth for de winter clothes. us had a great long loom house whar some of de slaves didn't do nothin' but weave cloth. some cyarded bats, some done de spinnin', and dere was more of 'em to do de sewin'. miss ellen, she looked atter all dat, and she cut out most of de clothes. she seed dat us had plenty to wear. sometimes marster would go to de sewin' house, and mist'ess would tell him to git on 'way from dar and look atter his own wuk, dat her and aunt julia could run dat loom house. marster, he jus' laughed den and told us chillun what was hangin' round de door to jus' listen to dem 'omans cackle. oh, but he was a good old boss man. "us had water buckets, called piggens, what was made out of cedar and had handles on de sides. sometimes us sawed off little vinegar kegs and put handles on 'em. us loved to drink out of gourds. dere was lots of gourds raised evvy year. some of 'em was so big dey was used to keep eggs in and for lots of things us uses baskets for now. dem little gourds made fine dippers. "dem cornshuckin's was sho' 'nough big times. when us got all de corn gathered up and put in great long piles, den de gittin' ready started. why dem 'omans cooked for days, and de mens would git de shoats ready to barbecue. marster would send us out to git de slaves from de farms 'round about dar. "de place was all lit up wid light'ood-knot torches and bonfires, and dere was 'citement a-plenty when all de niggers got to singin' and shoutin' as dey made de shucks fly. one of dem songs went somepin lak dis: 'oh! my haid, my pore haid, oh! my pore haid is 'fected.' dere warn't nothin' wrong wid our haids--dat was jus' our way of lettin' our overseer know us wanted some likker. purty soon he would come 'round wid a big horn of whiskey, and dat made de 'pore haid' well, but it warn't long 'fore it got wuss again, and den us got another horn of whiskey. when de corn was all shucked den us et all us could and, let me tell you, dat was some good eatin's. den us danced de rest of de night. "next day when us all felt so tired and bad, marster he would tell us 'bout stayin' up all night, but mist'ess tuk up for us, and dat tickled old marster. he jus' laughed and said: 'will you listen to dat 'oman?' den he would make some of us sing one of dem songs us had done been singin' to dance by. it goes sort of lak dis: 'turn your pardner 'round! steal 'round de corner, 'cause dem johnson gals is hard to beat! jus' glance 'round and have a good time! dem gals is hard to find!' dat's jus' 'bout all i can ricollect of it now. "us had big 'possum hunts, and us sho' cotched a heap of 'em. de gals cooked 'em wid 'taters and dey jus' made your mouth water. i sho' wish i had one now. rabbits was good too. marster didn't 'low no huntin' wid guns, so us jus' took dogs when us went huntin'. rabbits was kilt wid sticks and rocks 'cept when a big snow come. dey was easy to track to dey beds den, and us could jus' reach in and pull 'em out. when us cotch 'nough of 'em, us had big rabbit suppers. "de big war was 'bout over when dem yankees come by our place and jus' went through evvything. dey called all de slaves together and told 'em dey was free and didn't b'long to nobody no more, and said de slaves could take all dey wanted from de smokehouses and barns and de big house, and could go when and whar dey wanted to go. dey tried to hand us out all de meat and hams, but us told 'em us warn't hongry, 'cause marster had allus done give us all us wanted. when dey couldn't make none of us take nothin', dey said it was de strangest thing dey had done ever seed, and dat dat man echols must have sho' been good to his niggers. "when dem yankees had done gone off marster come out to our place. he blowed de bugle to call us all up to de house. he couldn't hardly talk, 'cause somebody had done told him dat dem yankees couldn't talk his niggers into stealin' nothin'. marster said he never knowed 'fore how good us loved him. he told us he had done tried to be good to us and had done de best he could for us and dat he was mighty proud of de way evvy one of us had done 'haved ourselfs. he said dat de war was over now, and us was free and could go anywhar us wanted to, but dat us didn't have to go if us wanted to stay dar. he said he would pay us for our wuk and take keer of us if us stayed or, if us wanted to wuk on shares, he would 'low us to wuk some land dat way. a few of dem niggers drifted off, but most of 'em stayed right dar 'til dey died." a sad note had come into robert's voice and he seemed to be almost overcome by the sorrow aroused by his reminiscences. his daughter was quick to perceive this and interrupted the conversation: "please lady," she said. "pa's too feeble to talk any more today. can't you let him rest now and come back again in a day or two? maybe he will be done 'membered things he couldn't call back today." the front door was open when robert's house was next visited, and a young girl answered the knock. "come in," she said. the little house was as dilapidated in the interior as it was on the outside. bright june sunshine filtered through the many gaps in the roof arousing wonder as to how the old man managed to remain inside this house during heavy rains. the room was scrupulously clean and neat. in it was a very old iron bed, a dresser that was minus its mirror, two chairs, and a table, all very old and dilapidated. the girl laughed when she called attention to a closet that was padlocked. "dat's whar grandpa keeps his rations," she said, and then volunteered the information: "he's gone next door to stay wid ma, whilst i clean up his house. he can't stand no dust, and when i sweeps, i raises a dust." the girl explained a inch square aperture in the door, with a sliding board fastened on the inside by saying: "dat's grandpa's peep-hole. he allus has to see who's dar 'fore he unfastens his door." robert was sitting on the back porch and his daughter was ironing just inside the door. both seemed surprised and happy to see the interviewer and the daughter placed a comfortable chair for her as far as the dimensions of the small porch would permit from the heat of the charcoal bucket and irons. remembering that his earlier recollections had ended with the close of the civil war, robert started telling about the days "atter freedom had done come." "me, i stayed right on dar 'til atter marster died. he was sick a long, long time, and one morning old mist'ess, she called to me. 'robert,' she said, 'you ain't gwine to have no marster long, 'cause he's 'bout gone.' i called all de niggers up to de big house and when dey was all in de yard, mist'ess, she said: 'robert, you been wid us so long, you kin come in and see him 'fore he's gone for good.' when i got in dat room i knowed de lord had done laid his hand on my good old marster, and he was a-goin' to dat home he used to preach to us niggers 'bout, and it 'peared to me lak my heart would jus' bust. when de last breath was done gone, i went back out in de yard and told de other niggers, and dere was sho' cryin' and prayin' 'mongst 'em, 'cause all of 'em loved marster. dat was sho' one big funeral. mist'ess said she wanted all of marster's old slaves to go, 'cause he loved 'em so, and all of us went. some what had done been gone for years come back for marster's funeral. "next day, atter de funeral was over, mist'ess, she said: 'robert, i want you to stay on wid me 'cause you know how he wanted his wuk done.' den mist'ess' daughter and her husband, mr. dickenson, come dar to stay. none of de niggers laked dat mr. dickenson and so most of 'em left and den, 'bout years atter marster died, mist'ess went to 'lanta (atlanta) to stay wid another of her daughters, and she died dar. when mist'ess left, i left too and come on here to athens, and i been here ever since. "dere warn't much town here den, and 'most all 'round dis here place was woods. i wuked 'bout a year for mr. john mccune's fambly on de old pitner place, den i went to wuk for mr. manassas b. mcginty. he was a cyarpenter and built most of de fine houses what was put up here dem days. i got de lumber from him to build my house. dere warn't but two other houses 'round here den. my wife, julie, washed for de white folks and helped 'em do deir housewuk. our chillun used to come bring my dinner. us had dem good old red peas cooked wid side meat in a pot in de fireplace, and ashcake to go wid 'em. dat was eatin's. julie would rake out dem coals and kivver 'em wid ashes, and den she would wrop a pone of cornbread dough in collard or cabbage leaves and put it on dem ashes and rake more ashes over it. you had to dust off de bread 'fore you et it, but ashcake was mighty good, folks what lived off of it didn't git sick lak dey does now a-eatin' dis white flour bread all de time. if us had any peas left from dinner and supper, julie would mash 'em up right soft, make little cakes what she rolled in corn meal, and fry 'em for breakfast. dem sausage cakes made out of left-over peas was mighty fine for breakfast. "when de chillun started out wid my dinner, julie allus made two of 'em go together and hold hands all de way so dey wouldn't git lost. now, little chillun jus' a few years old goes anywhar dey wants to. folks don't look atter dey chillun lak dey ought to, and t'ain't right. den, when night come, chillun went right off to bed. now, dey jus' runs 'round 'most all night, and it sho' is a-ruinin' dis young genrayshun (generation). dey don't take no keer of deirselfs. my own grandchillun is de same way. "i left mr. mcginty and went to wuk for mr. bloomfield in de mill. mr. bill dootson was our boss, and he was sho' a good man. dem was good times. i wuked inside de mill and 'round de yard too, and sometimes dey sont me to ride de boat wid de cotton or sometimes wid cloth, whatever dey was sendin'. dere was two mills den. one was down below de bridge on oconee street, and de old check factory was t'other side of de bridge on broad street. dey used boats to carry de cotton and de cloth from one mill to de other. "missy, can you b'lieve it? i wuked for ¢ a day and us paid for our home here. dey paid us off wid tickets what us tuk to de commissary to git what us needed. dey kept jus' evvything dat anybody could want down dar at de comp'ny store. so us raised our nine chillun, give 'em plenty to eat and wear too and a good roof over deir haids, all on ¢ a day and what julie could make wukin' for de white folks. 'course things warn't high-priced lak dey is now, but de main diff'unce is dat folks didn't have to have so many kinds of things to eat and wear den lak dey does now. dere warn't nigh so many ways to throw money 'way den. "dere warn't so many places to go; jus' church and church spreads, and sundays, folks went buggy ridin'. de young niggers, 'specially dem what was a-sparkin', used to rent buggies and hosses from mr. selig bernstein. he kept a big livery stable den and he had a hoss named buckskin. dat was de hoss what evvybody wanted 'cause he was so gentle and didn't skeer de 'omans and chilluns. mr. bernstein is a-livin' yit, and he is sho' a good man to do business wid. missy, dere was lots of good white folks den. most of dem old ones is done passed on. one of de best of 'em was mr. robert chappell. he done passed on, but whilst he lived he was mighty good to evvybody and de colored folks sho' does miss him. he b'lieved in helpin' 'em and he give 'em several churches and tried his best to git 'em to live right. if mr. robert chappell ain't in heb'en, dere ain't no use for nobody else to try to git dar. his granddaughter married jedge matthews, and folks says she is most as good as her granddaddy was." robert chuckled when he was asked to tell about his wedding. "miss," he said, "i didn't have no sho' 'nough weddin'. me and julie jus' jumped over de broom in front of marster and us was married. dat was all dere was to it. dat was de way most of de slave folks got married dem days. us knowed better dan to ax de gal when us wanted to git married. us jus' told our marster and he done de axin'. den, if it was all right wid de gal, marster called all de other niggers up to de big house to see us jump over de broom. if a slave wanted to git married to somebody on another place, den he told marster and his marster would talk to de gal's marster. whatever dey 'greed on was all right. if neither one of 'em would sell one of de slaves what wanted to git married, den dey let 'em go ahead and jump over de broom, and de man jus' visited his wife on her marster's place, mostly on wednesday and sadday nights. if it was a long piece off, he didn't git dar so often. dey had to have passes den, 'cause de patterollers would git 'em sho' if dey didn't. dat meant a thrashin', and dey didn't miss layin' on de stick, when dey cotch a nigger. "dese days, de boys and gals jus' walks off and don't say nothin' to nobody, not even to dey mammies and daddies. [tr: written in margin: "elopement"] now take dis daughter of mine--callie is her name--she runned away when she was 'bout seventeen. dat day her mammy had done sont her wid de white folks' clothes. she had on brass-toed brogan shoes, a old faded cotton dress dat was plum up to her knees,--dem days, long dresses was stylish--and she wore a old bonnet. she was totin' de clothes to mrs. reese and met up wid dat davenport boy. dey traips'd up to de courthouse, got a license, and was married 'fore me and julie knowed nothin' 'bout it. julie sho' did light out from hyar to go git callie. she brung her back and kept her locked up in de house a long time 'fore she would let her live wid dat nigger. "us had our troubles den, but dey warn't lak de troubles us has now. now, it seems lak dem was mighty good days back when arch street was jus' a path through de woods. julie, she's done been gone a long time, and all of our chillun's daid 'cept three, and two of 'em is done gone up north. jus' me and my callie and de grandchillun is all dat's left here. soon i'se gwine to be 'lowed to go whar julie is and i'se ready any time, 'cause i done been here long 'nough." when the visitor arose to take her departure robert said: "good-bye missy, come back to see me and callie again 'cause us laked your 'pearments (appearance) de fust time you was here. jus' trust in de lord, miss, and he will take keer of you wharever you is." plantation life, as viewed by an ex-slave tom singleton, ex-slave, age athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby research worker federal writers' project athens, georgia edited by: leila harris editor federal writers' project augusta, georgia [date stamp: apr ] uncle tom lives alone in a one room cabin, about two and one half miles from town, on loop-de-loop road, not far from the brooklyn section of athens. he states that he lives alone because: "i wuz raised right and de niggers dis day and time ain't had no raisin'. i just can't be bothered wid havin' 'em 'round me all de time. dey ain't my sort of folkses." uncle tom says he will be years old on may th of this year, but many believe that he is much older. when asked if he felt like talking about his experiences and observances while he was a slave, he said: "i don't know, missie; i got a pow'ful hurtin' in my chest, and i'm too old to 'member much, but you ax me what you want to know and i'll try to tell you. i wuz born in lumpkin county on marster joe singleton's place. my ma wuz named nancy early, and she belonged to marster joe early what lived in jackson county. my pa's name wuz joe singleton. i don't 'member much 'bout my brothers and sisters. ma and pa had chillun. some of deir boys wuz me and isaac, jeff, moses, and jack; and deir gals wuz: celia, laura, dilsey, patsey, frankie, and elinor. dese wuz de youngest chillun. i don't 'member de fust ones. i don't ricollect nothin' t'all 'bout my grandma and grandpa, cause us wuz too busy to talk in de daytime, and at night us wuz so whupped out from hard wuk us just went off to sleep early and never talked much at no time. all i knows 'bout 'em is dat i heared folkses say my gran'pa wuz years old when he died. folkses don't live dat long now-a-days. "de slave quarters wuz in rows and had two rooms and a shed. dey had beds made out of poles fastened together wid pegs and 'cross 'em wuz laid de slats what dey spread de wheat straw on. us had good kivver 'cause our marster wuz a rich man and he believed in takin' keer of his niggers. some put sheets dat wuz white as snow over de straw. dem sheets wuz biled wid home-made soap what kept 'em white lak dat. udder folkses put quilts over de straw. at de end of de slave quarters wuz de barns and cow sheds, and a little beyond dem wuz de finest pasture you ever seed wid clear water a-bubblin' out of a pretty spring, and runnin' thoo' it. dar's whar dey turned de stock to graze when dey warn't wukkin' 'em." when tom was asked if he ever made any money, a mischievous smile illumined his face. "yes ma'am, you see i plowed durin' de day on old marster's farm. some of de white folks what didn't have many niggers would ax old marster to let us help on dey places. us had to do dat wuk at night. on bright moonshiny nights, i would cut wood, fix fences, and sich lak for 'em. wid de money dey paid me i bought sunday shoes and a sunday coat and sich lak, cause i wuz a nigger what always did lak to look good on sunday. "yes ma'am, us had good clo'es de year 'round. our summer clothes wuz white, white as snow. old marster said dey looked lak linen. in winter us wore heavy yarn what de women made on de looms. one strand wuz wool and one wuz cotton. us wore our brogan shoes evvy day and sunday too. marster wuz a merchant and bought shoes from de tanyard. howsomever, he had a colored man on his place what could make any kind of shoes. "lawdy! missie, us had evvythin' to eat; all kinds of greens, turnips, peas, 'tatoes, meat and chickens. us wuz plumb fools 'bout fried chicken and chicken stew, so marster 'lowed us to raise plenty of chickens, and sometimes at night us niggers would git together and have a hee old time. no ma'am, us didn't have no gyardens. us didn't need none. old marster give us all de vittuls us wanted. missie, you oughta seed dem big old iron spiders what dey cooked in. 'course de white folkses called 'em ovens. de biscuits and blackberry pies dey cooked in spiders, dey wuz somethin' else. oh! don't talk 'bout dem 'possums! makes me hongry just to think 'bout 'em. one night when pa and me went 'possum huntin', i put a 'possum what us cotched in a sack and flung it 'cross my back. atter us started home dat 'possum chewed a hole in de sack and bit me square in de back. i 'member my pa had a little dog." here he stopped talking and called a little black and white dog to him, and said: "he wuz 'bout de size of dis here dog, and pa said he could natchelly jus' make a 'possum de way he always found one so quick when us went huntin'." the old man sighed, and looking out across the field, continued: "atter slav'ry days, niggers turned dey chilluns loose, an' den de 'possums an' rabbits most all left, and dere ain't so many fishes left in de rivers neither." tom could not recall much about his first master: "i wuz four year old when marster dr. joe singleton died. all i 'members 'bout him; he wuz a big man, and i sho' wuz skeered of him. when he cotch us in de branch, he would holler at us and say: 'come out of dar 'fore you git sick.' he didn't 'low us to play in no water, and when, he hollered, us lit a rag. dere wuz 'bout a thousand acres in marse joe's plantation, he owned a gold mine and a copper mine too. old marster owned 'bout niggers in all. he bought an' sold niggers too. when old marster wanted to send news, he put a nigger on a mule an' sont de message. "atter marse joe died, old mist'ess run de farm 'bout six years. mist'ess' daughter, miss mattie, married marster fred lucas, an' old mist'ess sold her share in de plantation den. my pa, my sister, an' me wuz sold on de block at de sheriff's sale. durin' de sale my sister cried all de time, an' pa rubbed his han' over her head an' face, an' he said: 'don't cry, you is gwine live wid young miss mattie.' i didn't cry none, 'cause i didn't care. marse fred bought us, an' tuk us to athens to live, an' old mist'ess went to live wid her chilluns. "marse fred didn't have a very big plantation; jus' 'bout or acres i guess, an' he had 'bout niggers. he didn't have no overseer. my pa wuz de one in charge, an' he tuk his orders from marse fred, den he went out to de farm, whar he seed dat de niggers carried 'em out. pa wuz de carriage driver too. it wuz his delight to drive for marster and mist'ess. "marster and mist'ess had eight chillun: miss mattie, miss mary, miss fannie, miss senie, mr. dave, mr. joe, mr. frank and mr. freddy. dey lived in a big house, weather-boarded over logs, an' de inside wuz ceiled. "marster an' mist'ess sho' wuz good to us niggers. us warn't beat much. de onliest nigger i 'member dey whupped wuz cicero. he wuz a bad boy. my marster never did whup me but onct. mist'ess sont me up town to fetch her a spool of thread. i got to playin' marbles an' 'fore i knowed it, it wuz dinner time. when i got home, mist'ess wuz mad sno' 'nough. marster cotch me an' wore me out, but mist'ess never touched me. i seed niggers in de big jail at watkinsville an' in de calaboose in athens. yes ma'am! i seed plenty of niggers sold on de block in watkinsville. i ricollects de price of one nigger run up to $ , . all de sellin' wuz done by de sheriffs an' de slave marsters. "marster fred lucas sold his place whar he wuz livin' in town to major cook, an' moved to his farm near princeton factory. atter major cook got kilt in de war, marse fred come back to town an' lived in his house again. "no ma'am, dey warn't no schools for niggers in slav'ry time. mist'ess' daughters went to lucy cobb. celia, my sister, wuz deir nurse, an' when all our little missies got grown, celia wuz de house gal. so when our little missies went to school dey come home an' larnt celia how to read an' write. 'bout two years atter freedom, she begun to teach school herself. "us had our own churches in town, an' de white folkses furnished our preachers. once dey baptised in de river below de check factory; white folkses fust, and niggers last. "oh! dem patterrollers! dey wuz rough mens. i heared 'em say dey would beat de stuffin' out of you, if dey cotch you widout no pass. "yes ma'am! dar always wuz a little trouble twixt de white folkses an' niggers; always a little. heaps of de niggers went nawth. i wuz told some white men's livin' in town hyar helped 'em git away. my wife had six of 'er kinfolkses what got clean back to africa, an' dey wrote back here from dar. "us had parties an' dances at night. sometimes mist'ess let celia wear some of de little missies' clo'es, 'cause she wanted her to outshine de other nigger gals. dey give us a week at christmas time, an' christmas day wuz a big day. dey give us most evvythin': a knot of candy as big as my fist, an' heaps of other good things. at corn shuckin's old marster fotched a gallon keg of whiskey to de quarters an' passed it 'round. some just got tipsy an' some got low down drunk. de onliest cotton pickin' us knowed 'bout wuz when us picked in de daytime, an' dey warn't no good time to dat. a nigger can't even sing much wid his head all bent down pickin' cotton. "folkses had fine times at weddin's dem days. dar wuz more vittuls dan us could eat. now dey just han' out a little somethin'. de white folkses had a fine time too. dey let de niggers git married in deir houses. if it wuz bad weather, den de weddin' wuz most genully in de hall, but if it wuz a pretty day, dey married in de yard. "i can't 'member much 'bout de games us played or de songs us sung. a few of de games wuz marbles, football, an' town ball. 'bout dem witches, i don't know nothin'. some of de folkses wore a mole foot 'roun' dey neck to keep bad luck away: some wore a rabbit's foot fer sharpness, an' it sholy did fetch sharpness. i don't know nothin' 'tall 'bout rawhead and bloody bones, but i heared tell he got atter mist'ess' chillun an' made 'em be good. dey wuz pow'ful skeert of 'im. "old marster an' mist'ess looked atter deir niggers mighty well. when dey got sick, de doctor wuz sont for straight away. yes ma'am, dey looked atter 'em mighty well. holly leaves an' holly root biled together wuz good for indigestion, an' blackgum an' blackhaw roots biled together an' strained out an' mixed wid whiskey wuz good for diffunt mis'ries. some of de niggers wore little tar sacks 'roun' dey necks to keep de fever 'way. "yes ma'am.' i wuz in de war 'bout two years, wid young marster joe lucas. i waited on him, cooked for him, an' went on de scout march wid him, for to tote his gun, an' see atter his needs. i wuz a bugger in dem days! "i 'members i wuz standin' on de corner of jackson street when dey said freedom had come. dat sho' wuz a rally day for de niggers. 'bout a thousand in all wuz standin' 'roun' here in athens dat day. yes ma'am, de fust time de yankees come thoo' dey robbed an' stole all dey could find an' went on to monroe. next to come wuz de gyards to take charge of de town, an' dey wuz s'posed to set things to goin' right. "atter de war i stayed on wid marse fred, an' wukked for wages for six years, an' den farmed on halves wid him. some of de niggers went on a buyin' spree, an' dey bought land, hand over fist. some bought eight an' nine hundred acres at a time." when asked to tell about his wedding, a merry twinkle shone in his eyes: "lawdy, missie, dis ole nigger nebber married 'til long atter de war. us sho' did cut up jack. us wuz too old to have any chillun, but us wuz so gay, us went to evvy dance 'til 'bout six years ago. she died den, an' lef' me all by myse'f. "dat mr. abyham lincoln wuz a reg'lar nigger god. us b'lieved dat mr. jeff. davis wuz all right too. booker washin'ton give a speech here onct, an' i wuz dar, but de niggers made sich a fuss over him i couldn't take in what he said." asked what he thinks about slavery, now that it is over, he replied: "i think it is all right. god intended it. de white folks run de injuns out, but dey is comin' back for sho'. god said every nation shall go to deir own land 'fore de end. "i just jined de church right lately. i had cut de buck when i wuz a young chap, and god has promised us two places, heb'en an' hell. i thinks it would be scand'lous for anybody to go to hell, so i 'cided to jine up wid de crowd goin' to heb'en." after the interview, he called to a little negro boy that had wandered into the house: "moses! gimme a drink of water! fotch me a chaw of 'bacco, missie done tuck me up de crick, down de branch, now she's a gwine 'roun'. hurry! boy, do as i say, gimme dat water. nigger chillun, dis day an' time, is too lazy to earn deir bread. i wuz sorry to see you come, missie 'cause my chest wuz a hurtin' so bad, but now i'se sorry to see you go." out of breath, he was silent for a moment, then grinned and said: "i wuz just lookin' at de injun on dis here nickle, you done gimme. he looks so happy! good-bye, missie, hurry an' come back! you helped dis old nigger lots, but my chest sho' do hurt." [hw: dist. ex slave ] mary a. crawford re-search worker charlie tye smith, ex-slave east solomon avenue, griffin, georgia september , [date stamp: may ] charlie tye smith was born in henry county, near locust grove, georgia, on june , (as nearly as he can tell). his mother kept his age for him and had him tell it to her over and over when he was a little boy. the old fellow is well and rather alert, despite his eighty-six years. mr. jim smith, of henry county, was charlie's owner and according to charlie's version, "sho wuz a mighty good marster". mr. smith owned a large plantation, and also "around one hundred and fifty, to two hundred darkies". charlie recalls that the slaves were well treated, seldom "whupped", and never "onmercifully". "ole miss", too, [hw: was] "powerful good" to the darkies, most especially to the "chillun." the old man related the following incident in proof of miss nancy's goodness. about every two weeks "ole miss" would have "ole uncle jim" bake "a whole passel of ginger cakes and tote 'em down to the cabins and jest pitch 'em out by de handfuls to de chillun!" the old man smiled broadly as he concluded the ginger cake story and said, "charlie allus got his share. miss nancy seed to that, kase i wuz one of ole miss's best little darkies". the interviewer inquired as to how so many ginger cakes could have been baked so easily, and he replied that "ole marse" had a big rock-oven down at the spring about like what they boil syrup cane juice in today. the slaves on "marse jim's" place were allowed about four holidays a year, and a week at christmas, to frolic. the amusements were dancing ("the break-down"), banjo playing, and quill blowing. sometimes when the "patarol" was in a good humor, he would take about twenty-five or thirty "niggers" and go fishing at night. this kind of fishing was mostly seining, and usually "they got plenty o' fish". charlie, true to his race, is quite superstitious and on many occasions "went into the cow lot on christmas night and found the cows down on their knees 'a-lowin". he also witnessed the "sun shoutin" on christmas morning and "made sho" to get up jest in time to see the sun as it first "showed itself." here charlie did some very special gesticulating to illustrate. the negroes were required to go to church on sunday. they called it "gwine to meetin'", often leaving at sun up and walking ten or twelve miles to the meeting house, staying all day and late into the night. if "ole marse" happened to be in a good humor on sunday, he would let the darkies use the "waggins" and mules. the little "niggers" never went to meetin' as they were left at home to take care of the house and "nuss" the babies. there were no sunday schools in those days. when the grown folks got back late in the night, they often "had to do some tall knocking and banging to get in the house--'cause the chillun were so dead asleep, and layin' all over the floor". when asked if the slaves wouldn't be awfully tired and sleepy the next morning after they stayed up so late, he replied that they were "sho tired" but they had better turn out at four o'clock when ole marse "blowed the horn!" they [tr: then?] he added with a chuckle, "the field was usually strowed with niggers asleep in the cotton rows when they knocked off for dinner". "no, miss, the marster never give us no money (here he laughed), for we didn't need none. there wasn't nothing to buy, and we had plenty to eat and wear". "yes, mr. jim and miss nancy believed in whuppin' and kep the raw hide hanging by the back door, but none o' mr. jim's niggers evah got beat till dey bled". charlie tye recalls vividly when the yankees passed through and graphically related the following incident. "the yankees passed through and caught "ole marse" jim and made him pull off his boots and run bare-footed through a cane brake with half a bushel of potatoes tied around his neck; then they made him put his boots back on and carried him down to the mill and tied him to the water post. they were getting ready to break his neck when one of master's slaves, "ole peter smith", asked them if they intended to kill "marse jim", and when they said "yes", peter choked up and said, "well, please, suh, let me die wid ole marse! well, dem yankees let ole marse loose and left! yes, missy, dat's de truf 'case i've heered my daddy tell it many's the time!" charlie is not working at all now as he is too old and is supported by the griffin relief association. for forty-five years he served as janitor in the various public schools of griffin. plantation life, as viewed by an ex-slave georgia smith, age augusta ave. athens, georgia written by: miss grace mccune research worker federal writers' project athens, georgia edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall editor federal writers' project athens, georgia wpa residency no. april , the cold, rainy, and altogether disagreeable weather on the outside was soon forgotten when the interviewer was admitted to the neat little home of aunt georgia smith and found the old woman enjoying the cheerful warmth of her blazing fire. aunt georgia appeared to be quite feeble. she was not only willing, but eager to talk of her experiences, and explained that her slow and rather indistinct articulation is one of the several bad after effects of her recent stroke of paralysis. "my pappy was blackstone smith, and he b'longed to marse jeb smith. my mammy was nancy chappell, owned by mistus peggie chappell. "i stayed wid my mammy on mistus chappell's plantation in oglethorpe county, near old antioch church. w'en i was 'bout five or six years ole my mammy died. den my pappy done come an' got me, an' i was to stay wid 'im on marster smith's place. dey was good to me dar, but i warn't satisfied, an' i cried for old mistus. "i'd jes' go 'roun' snifflin', an' not eatin' nuffin', an' one day w'en us was pickin' peaches, marster smith tole my pappy he better take dat chile back to her old mistus, 'fo' she done git sick fer sho'. "hit was de next day w'en dey ax me did i want to see old mistus an' i jes' cry an' say, 'yassum.' den marster say: 'blackstone, hitch a mule to dat wagon, an' take dat chile right back to her old mistus.' i tell 'em i can walk, but dey made me ride in de wagon, an' i sho' was glad i was goin' back home. "i seed old mistus 'fo' i got dar, an' jumped out of de wagon an' run to 'er. w'en she seed me, she jes' grabbed me, an' i thought she was a laughin', but when i seed dat she was cryin', i tole 'er not to cry, dat i warn't goin' to leave 'er no mo'. "mistus sho' was good to me, but she was good to all 'er niggers, an' dey all loved 'er. us allus had plenny of evvything, she made us wear plenny of good warm clo'es, an' us wo'e flannel petticoats when hit was cole weather. chillun don't wear 'nuff clo'es dese days to keep 'em warm, an nuffin' on deir legs. hits a wonder dey doan' freeze. "i diden' stay at de quarters with de udder niggers. mistus kep' me in de big 'ouse wid 'er, an' i slep' on a cotton mattress on de floor by de side of 'er bed. she had a stick dat she used to punch me wid w'en she wannid somepin' in de night, an' effen i was hard to wake, she sho' could punch wid dat stick. "mistus diden' ever have us niggers whipped 'lessen it jes' had to be done. an' if us chilluns was bad, fussin' an' fightin', mistus would git 'er a stick, but us would jes' run an' hide, an' mistus would forgit all 'bout it in jes' a little w'ile. "marster was dead, an' us had a overseer, but he was good to us jes' lak' mistus was. hit was a big old plantation, wid lots of niggers. w'en de overseer would try to larn de chilluns to plow an' dey diden' want to larn, dey would jes' play 'roun'. sometimes dey snuck off to de udder side of de fiel' an' hunnid for lizards. dey would hold a lizard's head wid a stick, an' spit 'bacco juice in 'is mouf an' turn 'im loose. de 'bacco juice would make de lizard drunk, and he would run 'roun' an' 'roun'. dey would cotch snakes, kill dem an' hang de skins on trees so hit would rain an' dey wouldn't have to wuk in de fiel'. "de quarters was built away f'um de big 'ouse. dey was cabins made of logs an' dey all had dey own gardens whar dey raised all kinds of vegetables an' allus had plenny of hog meat. de cookin' was done on a big fireplace an' in brick ovens. 'taters was baked in de ashes, an' dey sho' was good. "dey had big times huntin' an' fishin' w'en de wuk was over. dey cotch lots of 'possums, an' had big 'possum suppers. de 'possums was roasted with plenny of 'taters, butter an' red pepper. us would eat an' dance most of de night w'en us had a 'possum supper. "de rabbits was so bad in de gardens dat dey tuk white rags an' tied 'em on sticks stuck up in de ground. rabbits woulden' come 'roun' den, cyaze dey was 'fraid of dem white rags flyin' on de sticks. "mistus b'lieved in lookin' atter her niggers w'en dey was sick. she would give 'em medicine at home. candy an' tea, made wid ho'e houn' an' butterfly root tea was good for worms; dewberry wine, lak'wise dewberry root tea was good for de stomach ache; samson snake root an' poplar bark tea was good medicine for coles an' so'e th'oats, an' w'en you was in pain, de red pepper bag would sho' help lots sometimes. if de homemade medicine diden' cyore 'em, den mistus sont for de doctor. "slaves went to de white folkses chu'ch an' sot up in de gallery. dey stayed all day at chu'ch, an' had big dinners on de groun'. dem was sho' 'nough good dinners. us had big times on meetin' days. "our slaves had prayer meetin' twict a week in deir quarters, 'til dey got 'roun' to all de cabins den dey would start over again. dey prayed an' sung all de old songs, and some of 'em as i 'member are: 'roll jordan roll,'--'better mind how you step on de cross,'--'cause you ain' gon 'er be here long,'--'tell de story bye an' bye,'--'all god's chilluns are a gatherin' home,' an' 'we'll understand better bye an' bye.' dey really could sing dem old songs. mistus would let me go to dem cabin prayer meetin's an' i sho' did enjoy 'em. "w'en slaves died dey jes' tuk 'em off an buried 'em. i doan' 'member 'em ever havin' a funeral, 'til way atter freedom done come an' niggers got dey own chu'ches. "i 'member one night dey had a quiltin' in de quarters. de quilt was up in de frame, an' dey was all jes' quiltin' an' singin', 'all god's chilluns are a gatherin' home,' w'en a drunk man wannid to preach, an' he jumped up on de quilt. hit all fell down on de flo', an' dey all got fightin' mad at 'im. dey locked 'im in de smokehouse 'til mornin', but dey diden' nobody tell mistus nuffin' 'bout it. "us chilluns had to pick peas; two baskets full 'fo' dinner an' two 'fo' night, an' dey was big baskets too. i 'member dere was a white widow 'oman what lived near our place, an' she had two boys. mistus let dem boys pick 'em some peas w'en us would be pickin', an' us would run 'em off, cause us diden' lak' po' white trash. but mistus made us let 'em pick all dey wannid. "i was 'bout twelve years old w'en freedom come, an' was big 'nough to wait on mistus good den. i 'member how i used to run to de spring wid a little tin bucket w'en she wannid a fresh drink of water. "mos' of de slaves stayed with mistus atter freedom come, 'cause dey all loved her, an' dey diden' have no place to go. mistus fed 'em jes' lak' she had allus done and paid 'em a little money too. us diden' never have no fussin' an' fightin' on our place, an' de ku klux klan never come 'roun' dar, but de niggers had to have a ticket if dey lef' de place on sunday. dat was so de paddyrollers woulden' whip 'em if dey cotch 'em. "all de niggers on de udder places, called us free niggers long 'fo' freedom come, 'cause we diden' have no whippin' post, an' if any of us jes' had to be whipped, mistus would see dat dey warn't beat bad 'nough to leave no stripes. "my pappy left de old smith plantation, soon atter he got 'is freedom, an' went to augusta, georgia whar he died in jes' 'bout two years. "i waked up one mornin' an' heered mistus makin' a funny fuss. she was tryin' to git up an' pullin' at her gown. i was plum skeert an' i runned atter some of de udder folkses. dey come a runnin' but she never did speak no mo', an' diden' live but jes' a few hours longer. de white folkses made me go to 'er funeral. dere sho' was a big crowd of folkses dar, 'cause evvybody loved mistus; she was so good to evvybody. dey diden' preach long, mos'ly jes' prayed an' sung mistus' favorite songs: 'all god's chillun are a gatherin' home,' and', 'we'll understand bye an' bye.' "i lef' de old place not long atter mistus died, 'cause hit was too lonesome dar an' i missed her so much, i come to town an' jes' wukked for white folkses. i doan' 'member all of 'em. but i cain' wuk no mo' now, an' hit woan' be so long 'til i see my old mistus again, an' den i can still wait on her, an' we woan' have to part no mo'." [hw: dist. ex slave ] ex-slave interview: mary smith spruce street augusta, georgia (richmond county) by: (mrs.) margaret johnson editor fed. writer's proj. augusta, georgia [date stamp: may ] such a hovel, such squalor it would be hard to imagine. only first hand observation could be a reliable witness to such conditions. into a tiny room was squeezed a double and a single bed with a passage-way barely wide enough to walk between the two beds. the door from the small porch could be opened only enough to allow one to enter, as the head on the single bed was against it. a small fire burned in the open fire place. an old man, ragged but respectful, and two old women were sitting in the room, one on a broken chair, the other on an empty nail keg. as we entered the room one of the old women got up, took a badly clipped and handleless teacup from the hearth and offered it to a girl lying in the single bed, in a smother of dirty quilts. mary was a squat figure, her head tied up in a dirty towel, her dress ragged and dirty, and much too small for her abundant figure. she welcomed us telling us the "po chile was bad sick" but she would talk to us. as the door of the lean-to kitchen was open, it offered a breath of outside air, even though polluted with the garbage scattered on the ground, and the odors from chickens, cats and dogs meandering about. mary's round face was unwrinkled, but the wisps of wool showing beneath her "head rag" were grey, and her eyes were rheumy with age. she was entirely toothless and her large tongue rolled ceaselessly in her mouth, chewing nothing. her articulation necessarily was very poor. "i wus seven yeres old when freedum cum. my ma and pa belonged to mr. mcnorrell of burke county. miss sally was a good lady and kind to evebody. my marster was a good man cuz he was a preacher, i never member him whuppin' anybody. i 'members slavry, yes mam, i 'members all the slaves' meals wus cooked in de yard, in big pots hung up on hooks on a iron bar. the fust wurk i ever done wus to push fire wood under dem pots. mostly i stayed home and minded de baby. my ma uster pin a piece of fat back on my dres' before she went to de fiel' and when de baby cry i tek him up and let 'em suck 'em. my brudder you see sittin' in dere, he de baby i uster mine. my pa wuz the blacksmith on the plantashun, and he mek all de plows and tings like dat. my ma tek me to de fiel when i wuz 'bout sever yeres ole and teach me to chop cotton, i don't member what happen when freedom come, tings wuz 'bout de same, fur as we chillun knowed." elizabeth watson m.g. / / melvin smith, ex-slave, years [date stamp: jul ] "yes'm, i show does 'member all 'about my white folks an' th' war 'cause i was twenty-four year ole when th' war was over. i was born in an' that makes me 'bout eighty-seven now, don't it?" old melvin smith sat back in his chair with a smile of satisfaction on his face. he was seated on the narrow porch of his little cabin with the bright sunshine beaming down upon him. but his blind eyes could not notice the glare from the sun. his wife and daughter appeared from around the corner of the house and took their places near him to hear again the story that they had heard many times before. "my white folks lived in beaufort, south ca'lina, an' that's whar i was born," melvin continued. "my old miss, i called her miss mary, took care of me 'till i was eight year old. then she give me back to my ma. you see, it was this a-way. my ma an' pa was sold in beaufort; i don't know whar they come from before that. when i was born miss mary took me in th' big house with her an' thar i stayed, jest like i told you, 'till i was eight. old miss jest wanted me to be in th' room with her an' i slep' on a pallet right near her bed. in the daytime i played in th' yard an' i pick up chips for old miss. then when i got most big enuff to work she give me back to my ma. "then i live in a cabin like the rest of th' niggers. th' quarters was stretched out in a line behind marse jim's house. ever' nigger fam'ly had a house to theyselves. me an' my pa an' ma, they names was nancy an' henry smith, live in a cabin with my sisters. they names was saphronia an' annie. we had beds in them cabins made out of cypress. they looked jest like they do now. ever'body cooked on th' fire place. they had pots an' boilers that hung over th' fire an' we put th' vittles in thar an' they cooked an' we et 'em. 'course we never et so much in th' cabin 'cause ever mornin' th' folks all went to th' field. ma an' pa was field hands an' i worked thar too when i got big enuff. saphronia an' annie, they worked to th' big house. all th' nigger chillun stayed all day with a woman that was hired to take care of them." when asked about the kind of food they ate, melvin replied: "we had enuff for anybody. th' vittles was cooked in great big pots over th' fire jest like they was cookin' for stock. peas in this pot, greens in that one. corn-bread was made up an' put back in th' husks an' cooked in th' ashes. they called that a ash cake. well, when ever'thing was done th' vittles was poured in a trough an' we all et. we had spoons cut out of wood that we et with. thar was a big lake on th' plantation whar we could fish an' they show was good when we had 'em for supper. sometimes we go huntin' an' then we had possum an' squirrel to eat. th' possums was best of all." melvin was asked to tell something about his master's family. "old marster was name jim farrell an' his wife was miss mary. they had three chillun name mary, jim an' martha. they live in a big white house sot off from th' road 'bout two an' a half mile from beaufort. marster was rich i reckon 'cause he had 'bout a sixteen horse farm an' a whole hoodle of niggers. if you measured 'em it would a-been several cowpens full. heap of them niggers worked in marster's house to wait on th' white folks. they had a heap of comp'ny so they had to have a heap of niggers. marster was good to his niggers but he had a overseer that was a mean man. he beat th' niggers so bad that marster showed him th' road an' told him to git. then th' boss an' his son looked after th' hands theyselves 'till they could git another one. that overseer's name was jimmy. "ever' mornin' at four clock th' overseer blowed a conchshell an' all us niggers knowed it was time to git up an' go to work. sometimes he blowed a bugle that'd wake up the nation. ever'body worked from sunup 'till sundown. if we didn't git up when we was s'posed to we got a beatin'. marster'd make 'em beat the part that couldn't be bought." melvin chuckled at his own sly way of saying that the slaves were whipped through their clothes. "in the summertime," he continued, "we wore shirts that come down to here." melvin measured to his ankle. "in the wintertime we wore heavy jeans over them shirts an' brogan shoes. they made shoes on the plantation but mine was store-bought. marster give us all the vittles an' clothes we needed. he was good to ever'body. i 'member all the po' white trash that lived near us. marster all time send 'em meat an' bread an' help 'em with they crop. some of 'em come from goldsboro, north ca'lina to git a crop whar we lived. they was so sorry they couldn't git no crop whar they come frum, so they moved near us. sometimes they even come to see the niggers an' et with us. we went to see them, too, but we had more to eat than them. they was sorry folks." after a pause, melvin asked: "did you ever hear how the niggers was sold? they was put on a stage on the courthouse square an' sold kinder like they was stock. the prettiest one got the biggest bid. they said that they was a market in north ca'lina but i never see'd it. the ones i saw was jest sold like i told you. then they went home with they marsters. if they tried to run away they sont the hounds after them. them dogs would sniff around an' first news you knowed they caught them niggers. marster's niggers run away some but they always come back. they'd hear that they could have a better time up north so they think they try it. but they found out that they wasn't no easy way to live away from marster. he always took 'em back, didn't beat 'em nor nothin'. i run away once myself but i never went nowhere." melvin's long body shook with laughter as he thought of his prank. he shifted in his chair and then began: "i was 'bout sixteen an' i took a notion i was grown. so i got under the house right under marster's dinin' room an' thar i stayed for three months. nobody but the cook knowed whar i was. they was a hole cut in the floor so ever' day she lifted the lid an' give me something to eat. ever' day i sneaked out an' got some water an' walked about a bit but i never let nobody see me. i jest got biggety like chillun does now. when i got ready to come out for good i went 'way round by the barn an' come up so nobody know whar i been. ol' miss was standin' in the yard an' she spy me an' say, 'jim," she always call all us niggers jim 'cause that was marster's name. she say, "jim, whar you been so long?' i say, 'i been to mr. jones's workin' but i don't like the way they treat me. you all treats me better over here so i come back home.' i say, 'you ain't gonna whip me is you, miss?' ol' miss say, 'no, i ain't gonna whip you this time but if you do such a thing again i'm gonna use all the leather on this place on you." so i went on 'bout my business an' they never bothered me." melvin was asked about the church he attended. to this he replied: "the niggers had a church in the bush arbor right thar on the place. preacher sam bell come ever' sunday mornin' at ten clock an' we sot thar an' listened to him 'till 'leven thirty. then we tear home an' eat our dinner an' lie round till four-thirty. we'd go back to church an' stay 'bout hour an' come home for supper. the preacher was the onliest one that could read the bible. when a nigger joined the church he was baptized in the creek near the bush arbor." and in a low tone he began to speak the words of the old song though he became somewhat confused. "lord, remember all thy dying groans, and then remember me. while others fought to win the prize and sailed through bloody sea. "through many dangers, toils an' snares, i have already come. i once was lost but now am found, was blind but now i see." "i've knowed that song for a long time. i been a member of the church for sixty year." when asked about the war, melvin became somewhat excited. he rose feebly to his feet and clasped his walking stick as if it were a gun. "i see'd the yankee soldiers drill right thar in front of our house," he said. "they'd be marchin' 'long this way (melvin stumblingly took a few steps across the porch) an' the cap'n say, 'right' an' they turn back this here way." melvin retraced his steps to illustrate his words. "cap'n say, 'aim' an' they aim." he lifted his stick and aimed. "cap'n say, 'fire' an' they fire. i see'd 'em most ever' day. ol' marster was a cap'n in our army. i hear big guns a-boomin' all a-time an' the sights i did see! streets jest runnin' with blood jest like it was water. here lay a man on this side with his legs shot off; on that thar side they was a man with his arms shot off. some of them never had no head. it was a terrible sight. i wasn't scared 'cause i knowed they wouldn't hurt me. them yankees never bothered nothin' we had. i hear some folks say that they stole they vittles but they never bothered ours 'cause they had plenty of they own. after the war marster called us together an' say, 'you is free an' can go if you want to' an' i left, so that's all i know." a few days later a second visit was made to melvin. this time he was on the inside of his little cabin and was all alone. he came forward, a broad smile on his face, when he heard familiar voices. "i been thinkin' 'bout what i told you an' i b'lieve that's 'bout all i 'member," he said. then he was asked if he remembered any days when the slaves did not have to work. "yes'm," was the reply. "we never worked on christmas or the fourth of july. marster always give us big sacks of fruit an' candy on christmas an' a barbecue the fourth of july. we never worked none new year's day, neither. we jest sot around an' et chicken, fish an' biscuit. durin' the week on wednesday an' thursday night we had dances an' then they was a lot of fiddlin' an' banjo playin'. we was glad to see days when we never had to work 'cause then we could sleep. it seem like the niggers had to git up soon's they lay down. marster was good to us but the overseer was mean. he wan't no po' white trash; he was up-to-date but he like to beat on niggers." when asked if he has been happier since he was freed, he replied: "in a sense the niggers is better off since freedom come. ol' marster was good an' kind but i like to be free to go whar i please. back then we couldn't go nowhar 'less we had a pass. we don't have no overseer to bother us now. it ain't that i didn't love my marster but i jest likes to be free. jest as soon as marster said i didn't b'long to nobody no more i left an' went to tallahassee. mr. charlie pearce come an' wanted some hands to work in orange groves an' fish for him so that's what i done. he took a whole crew. while we was down thar miss carrie standard, a white lady, had a school for the colored folks. 'course, my ol' miss had done taught me to read an' write out of the old blue back webster but i had done forgot how. miss carrie had 'bout fifteen in her class. "i stayed in tallahassee three years an' that's whar i married the first time. i was jest romancin' about an' happened to see ca'line harris so i married her. that was a year after the war. we never had no preacher but after we been goin' together for such a long time folks say we married. we married jest like the colored folks does now. when i left tallahassee i moved to another place in florida, thirteen mile from thomasville, ga. i stay thar 'bout thirty-seven year. my first wife died an' i married another. the second one lived twenty-one year an' i married again. the one what's livin' now is my third one. in she had a baby that was born with two lower teeth. it never lived but a year. in all, i've had twenty-three chillun. they most all lives in florida an' i don't know what they doin' or how many chillun they got. i got four gran'-chillun livin' here." melvin was asked to tell what he knew of the ku klux klan. he answered: "i don't know nothin' 'bout that, i hear somethin' 'bout it but i never b'lieved in it. i b'lieve in h'ants, though. i ain't never see'd one but i'se heard 'em. when you walkin' 'long an' a twig snaps an' you feel like you want to run an' your legs won't move an' your hair feels like it's goin' to rise off your head, that's a ha'nt after you. that sho is the evil sperrit. an' if you ain't good somethin' bad'll happen to you." when asked why he joined the church, he replied: "so many people is tryin' to live on flowery beds of ease that the world is in a gamblin' position an' if it wasn't for the christian part, the world would be destroyed. they ask god for mercy an' he grants it. when they git in trouble they can send a telegram wire an' git relief from on high." plantation life as viewed by ex-slave nancy smith, age about plum street athens, georgia written by: grace mccune athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & nancy smith was in bed when the interviewer called. the aged negress appeared to be quite feeble but, even though she was alone in the house, her head was tied up in a snowy white cloth and the sickroom was neat and clean. the bowl of fresh flowers on her bedside table was no gayer than nancy's cheerful chuckle as she repeated the doctor's instructions that she must stay in bed because of a weak heart. "lawsy chile," she said, "i ain't dead yit." nancy stated that the grandson who lives with her has been preparing breakfast and cleaning the room since she has been bedridden, and that a niece who lives nearby comes in occasionally during the day to look after her. asked if she felt strong enough to talk about the old plantation days, she answered: "i jus' loves to talk 'bout old times, and i spends a lot of dis lonesome time here by myself jus' a-studyin' 'bout dem days. but now listen, chile, and understand dis. i warn't no plantation negro. our white folks was town folks, dey was. my mammy and daddy was julia and jack carlton. dey belonged to old marster, dr. joe carlton, and us lived right here in town in a big white house dat had a upstairs and a downstairs in it. our house stood right whar de courthouse is now. marster had all dat square and his mother, mist'ess bessie carlton, lived on de square de other side of marse joe's. his office was on de corner whar de georgia (georgian) hotel is now, and his hoss stable was right whar da cain's boardin' house is. honey, you jus' ought to have seed marse joe's hoss stable for it sho' was a big one. "no mam, i don't know 'zactly how old i is. i was born 'fore de war, and marse joe kept de records of all of us and evvything, but somehow dem books got lost. folks said i was 'bout de age of marse joe's son, dr. willie. marster had three boys: dr. joe, jr., dr. willie, and dr. jimmie, and dere was one little mist'ess. she was miss julia. us all played 'round in de yard together. "daddy, he was de car'iage driver. he driv marse joe 'round, 'cept when mist'ess wanted to go somewhar. den daddy driv de coach for her, and marse joe let another boy go wid him. "de biggest, bestest fireplace up at de big house was in de kitchen whar mammy done de cookin'. it had a great wide hearth wid four big swingin' racks and four big old pots. two of de ovens was big and two was little. dat was better cookin' 'rangements and fixin's dan most of de other white folks in dis town had den. when dat fire got good and hot and dere was plenty of ashes, den mammy started cookin' ash cakes and 'taters. one of mammy's good ash-roasted 'taters would be awful good right now wid some of dat good old home-made butter to go wid it. marster allus kept jus' barrels and barrels of good old home-made 'lasses sirup, 'cause he said dat was what made slave chilluns grow fast and be strong. folks don't know how to have plenty of good things to eat lak us had den. jus' think of marse joe's big old plantation down nigh de georgia railroad whar he raised our somepin' t'eat: vegetables sich as green corn, 'taters, cabbages, onions, collards, turnip greens, beans, peas--more than i could think up all day--and dere was plenty of wheat, rye, and corn for our bread. "out dar de pastur's was full of cows, hogs and sheep, and dey raised lots of chickens and turkeys on dat farm. dey clipped wool from dem sheep to weave wid de cotton when dey made cloth for our winter clothes. "marster had a overseer to look atter his plantation, but us chillun in town sho'ly did love to be 'lowed to go wid him or whoever went out dar when dey needed somepin' at de big house from de farm. dey needed us to open and shut gates and run errands, and whilest dey was gittin' up what was to be took back to town, us would run 'round seein' evvything us could. "honey, de clothes us wore den warn' t lak what folks has now. little gals jus' wore slips cut all in one piece, and boys didn't wear nothin' but long shirts 'til dey was big enough to wuk in de fields. dat was summertime clothes. in winter, dey give us plenty of warm clothes wid flannel petticoats and brass-toed shoes. grown-up negroes had dresses what was made wid waisties and skirts sewed together. dey had a few gathers in de skirts, but not many. de men wore homespun britches wid galluses to hold 'em up. white folks had lots better clothes. mist'ess' dresses had full, ruffled skirts and, no foolin', her clothes was sho'ly pretty. de white menfolks wore plain britches, but dey had bright colored coats and silk vests dat warn't lak de vests de men wears now. dem vests was more lak fancy coats dat didn't have no sleeves. some folks called 'em 'wescoats.' white chillun never had no special clothes for sunday. "miss julia used to make me sweep de yard wid a little brushbroom and i had to wear a bonnet den to keep dust out of my hair. dat bonnet was ruffled 'round de front and had staves to hold de brim stiff, but in de back it didn't have no ruffle; jus' de bottom of de crown what us called de bonnet tail. dem bonnets looked good enough in front but mighty bob-tailed in de back. "dey used to have big 'tracted meetin's in pierce's chapel nigh foundry street and hancock avenue, and us was allus glad for dem meetin' times to come. through de week dey preached at night, but when sunday come it was all day long and dinner on de ground. pierce's chapel was a old fashioned place, but you forgot all 'bout dat when brother thomas got in de pulpit and preached dem old time sermons 'bout how de devil gwine to git you if you don't repent and be washed in de blood of de lamb. de call to come up to de mourner's bench brought dem negroes jus' rollin' over one another in de 'citement. soon dey got happy and dere was shoutin' all over de place. some of 'em jus' fell out. when de 'tracted meetin' closed and de baptizin' dey come, dat was de happiest time of all. most of de time dere was a big crowd for brother thomas to lead down into de river, and dem negroes riz up out of de water a-singin': _lord, i'm comin' home_, _whar de healin' waters flow_, _roll, jordan roll_, _all god's chillun got wings_, and sich lak. you jus' knowed dey was happy. "no mam, i don't 'member much 'bout folks dyin' in dem days 'cause i never did love to go 'round dead folks. de first corpse i ever seed was marse joe's boy, young marse jimmy. i was skeered to go in dat room 'til i had done seed him so peaceful lak and still in dat pretty white casket. it was a sho' 'nough casket, a mighty nice one; not lak dem old home-made coffins most folks was buried in. hamp thomas, a colored man dat lived right below us, made coffins for white folks and slaves too. some of dem coffins was right nice. dey was made out of pine mostly, and sometimes he painted 'em and put a nice linin' over cotton paddin'. dat made 'em look better dan de rough boxes de porest folks was buried in. mammy said dat when slaves died out on de plantation day wropped de 'omans in windin' sheets and laid 'em on coolin' boards 'til de coffins was made, dey put a suit of homespun clothes on de mens when dey laid 'em out. dey jus' had a prayer when dey buried plantation slaves, but when de crops was laid by, maybe a long time atter de burial, dey would have a white man come preach a fun'ral sermon and de folks would all sing: _harps (hark) from de tomb_ and _callin' god's chillun home_. "dere warn't no patterollers in town, but slaves had to have passes if dey was out atter : o'clock at night or de town marshal would put a fine on 'em if dey couldn't show no pass. "de fust i knowed 'bout de war was when marse joe's brother, marse bennie carlton, left wid de other sojers and pretty soon he got kilt. i was little den, and it was de fust time i had ever seed our mist'ess cry. she jus' walked up and down in de yard a-wringin' her hands and cryin'. 'poor benny's been killed,' she would say over and over. "when dem yankee sojers come, us warn't much skeered 'cause marse joe had done told us all 'bout 'em and said to spect 'em 'fore long. sho' 'nough, one day dey come a-lopin' up in marse joe's yard. dey had dem old blue uniforms on and evvy one of 'em had a tin can and a sack tied to his saddle. marster told us dey kept drinkin' water in dem cans and dey called 'em canteens. de sacks was to carry deir victuals in. dem fellows went all through out big house and stole whatever dey wanted. dey got all of mist'ess' best silver 'cause us didn't have no time to hide it atter us knowed dey was nigh 'round de place. dey tuk all de somepin' t'eat dere was in de big house. when dey had done et all dey wanted and tuk evvything else dey could carry off, dey called us negroes up 'fore deir captain, and he said all of us was free and could go any time and anywhar us wanted to go. dey left, and us never seed 'em in dat yard no more. marse joe said all of us dat wanted to could stay on wid him. none of us had nowhar else to go and 'sides nobody wanted to go nowhar else, so evvy one of marse joe's negroes stayed right on wid him dat next year. us warn't skeered of dem kluxers (ku klux klan) here in town, but dey was right bad out on de plantations. "'bout de time i was old enough to go to school, daddy moved away from marse joe's. us went over to de other side of de river nigh whar de old check mill is. dey had made guns dar durin' de war, and us chillun used to go and look all through dat old mill house. us played 'long de river banks and went swimmin' in de river. dem was de good old days, but us never realized it den. "i never went to school much, 'cause i jus' couldn't seem to larn nothin'. our teachers said i didn't have no talent for book larnin'. school was taught in pierce's chapel by a negro man named randolph, and he sho'ly did make kids toe da mark. you had better know dem lessons or you was gwine to git fanned out and have to stay in atter school. us got out of school evvy day at : o'clock. dat was 'cause us was town chillun. i was glad i didn't live in de country 'cause country schools kept de chillun all day long. "it was sort of funny to be able to walk out and go in town whenever us wanted to widout gittin' marster's consent, but dere warn't nothin' much to go to town for 'less you wanted to buy somepin. a few stores, mostly on broad street, de town hall, and de fire hall was de places us headed for. us did love to hang 'round whar dat fire engine was, 'cause when a fire broke out evvybody went, jus' evvybody. folks would form lines from de nearest cisterns and wells and pass dem buckets of water on from one to another 'til dey got to de man nighest de fire. "soon as i was big enough, i went to wuk for white folks. dey never paid me much in cash money, but things was so much cheaper dan now dat you could take a little cash and buy lots of things. i wukked a long time for a yankee fambly named palmer dat lived on oconee street right below de old michael house, jus' 'fore you go down de hill. dey had two or three chillun and i ain't never gwine to forgit de day dat little miss eunice was runnin' and playin' in de kitchen and fell 'gainst de hot stove. all of us was skeered most to death 'cause it did seem den lak her face was plumb ruint, and for days folks was 'most sho' she was gwine to die. atter a long, long time miss eunice got well and growed up to be a fine school teacher. some of dem scars still shows on her face. "me and sam smith got married when i was . no chile, us didn't waste no money on a big weddin' but i did have a right pretty weddin' dress. it was nice and new and was made out of white silk. my sister was a-cookin' for mrs. white at dat time, and dey had a fine two-room kitchen in de back yard set off from de big house. my sister lived in one of dem rooms and cooked for de whites in de other one. mrs. white let us git married in her nice big kitchen and all de white folks come out from de big house to see brother thomas tie de knot for us. den me and sam built dis very same house whar you is a-settin', and i done been livin' here ever since. "us was livin' right here when dey put on dem fust new streetcars. little bitty mules pulled 'em 'long and sometimes dey had a right hard time draggin' dem big old cars through mud and bad weather. now and den day got too frisky and run away; dat was when dem cars would rock and roll and you wished you could git off and walk. most of de time dem little mules done good and us was jus' crazy 'bout ridin' on de streetcars." when nancy tired of talking she tactfully remarked: "i spects i better git quiet and rest now lak de doctor ordered, but i'm mighty glad you come, and i hopes you'll be back again 'fore long. most folks don't take up no time wid old wore-out negroes. good-bye, missy." plantation life as viewed by ex-slave nellie smith, age w. hancock avenue athens, georgia written by: miss grace mccune athens edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta georgia september , large pecan trees shaded the small, well-kept yard that led to nellie smith's five-room frame house. the front porch of her white cottage was almost obscured by a white cloud of fragrant clematis in full blossom, and the yard was filled with roses and other flowers. a small mulatto woman sat in the porch swing, a walking stick across her lap. her straight, white hair was done in a prim coil low on the neck, and her print dress and white apron were clean and neat. in answer to the visitor's inquiry, she smiled and said: "this is nellie smith. won't you come in out of the hot sun? i just knows you is plumb tuckered out. walkin' around in this hot weather is goin' to make you sick if you don't be mighty careful. "'scuse me for not gittin' up. i can't hardly make it by myself since i fell and got hurt so bad. my arm was broke and it looks lak my old back never will stop hurtin' no more. our doctor says i'll have to stay bandaged up this way two or three weeks longer, but i 'spects that's on account of my age. you know old folks' bones don't knit and heal quick lak young folks' and, jus' let me tell you, i've done been around here a mighty long time. are you comfortable, child? wouldn't you lak to have a glass of water? i'll call my daughter; she's back in the kitchen." nellie rapped heavily on the floor with her walking stick, and a tall, stout, mulatto in a freshly laundered house frock made her appearance. "this is my daughter, amanda," said nellie, and, addressing her off-spring, she continued: "bring this lady a drink of water. she needs it after walkin' 'way out here in this hot sun." ice tinkled in the glass that the smiling amanda offered as she inquired solicitously if there was anything else she could do. amanda soon went back to her work and nellie began her narrative. "lordy, honey, them days when i was a child, is so far back that i don't s'pect i can 'member much 'bout 'em. i does love to talk about them times, but there ain't many folks what keers anything 'bout listening to us old folks these days. if you don't mind we'll go to my room where it'll be more comfortable." amanda appeared again, helped nellie to her room, and placed her in a large chair with pillows to support the broken arm. amanda laughed happily when she noticed her mother's enthusiasm for the opportunity to relate her life story. "mother likes that," she said, "and i'm so glad you asked her to talk about those old times she thinks so much about. i'll be right back in the kitchen ironing; if you want anything, just call me." nellie now began again: "i was born right near where the coordinate college is now; it was the old weir place then. i don't know nothin' 'bout my daddy, but my mother's name was harriet weir, and she was owned by marster jack weir. he had a great big old plantation then and the homeplace is still standin', but it has been improved and changed so much that it don't look lak the same house. as marse jack's sons married off he give each one of 'em a home and two slaves, but he never did sell none of his slaves, and he told them boys they better not never sell none neither. "slaves slept in log cabins what had rock chimblies at the end. the rocks was put together with red clay. all the slaves was fed at the big house kitchen. the fireplace, where they done the cookin', was so big it went 'most across one end of that big old kitchen. it had long swingin' cranes to hang the pots on, and there was so many folks to cook for at one time that often there was five or six pots over the fire at the same time. them pots was large too--not lak the little cookin' vessels we use these days. for the bakin', they had all sizes of ovens. now child, let me tell you, that was good eatin'. folks don't take time enough to cook right now; they are always in too big a hurry to be doin' something else and don't cook things long enough. back in dem days they put the vegetables on to cook early in the mornin' and biled 'em 'til they was good and done. the biggest diffunce i see is that folks didn't git sick and stay sick with stomach troubles then half as much as they does now. when my grandma took a roast out of one of them old ovens it would be brown and juicy, with lots of rich, brown gravy. sweet potatoes baked and browned in the pan with it would taste mighty fine too. with some of her good biscuits, that roast meat, brown gravy, and potatoes, you had food good enough for anybody. i just wish i could taste some more of it one more time before i die. "why, child, two of the best cake-makers i ever knew used them old ovens for bakin' the finest kinds of pound cakes and fruit cakes, and evvybody knows them cakes was the hardest kinds to bake we had in them days. aunt betsey cole was a great cake-baker then. she belonged to the hulls, what lived off down below here somewhere but, when there was to be a big weddin' or some 'specially important dinner in athens, folks 'most always sent for aunt betsey to bake the cakes. aunt laura mccrary was a great cake-maker too; she baked the cake for president taft when he was entertained at mrs. maggie welch's home here. "in them days you didn't have to be runnin' to the store evvy time you wanted to cook a extra good meal; folks raised evvything they needed right there at home. they had all the kinds of vegetables they knowed about then in their own gardens, and there was big fields of corn, rye, and wheat. evvy big plantation raised its own cows for plenty of milk and butter, as well as lots of beef cattle, hogs, goats, and sheep. 'most all of 'em had droves of chickens, geese, and turkeys, and on our place there were lots of peafowls. when it was goin' to rain them old peafowls set up a big holler. i never knew rain to fail after them peafowls started their racket. "all our clothes and shoes was home-made, and i mean by that they growed the cotton, wool, and cattle and made the cloth and leather on the plantation. summer clothes was made of cotton homespun, and cotton and wool was wove together for winter clothin'. marse jack owned a man what he kept there to do nothin' but make shoes. he had another slave to do all the carpenterin' and to make all the coffins for the folks that died on the plantation. that same carpenter made 'most all the beds the white folks and us slaves slept on. them old beds--they called 'em teesters--had cords for springs; nobody never heard of no metal springs them days. they jus' wove them cords criss-cross, from one side to the other and from head to foot. when they stretched and sagged they was tightened up with keys what was made for that purpose. "jus' look at my room," nellie laughed. "i saw you lookin' at my bed. it was made at wood's furniture shop, right here in athens, and i've had it ever since i got married the first time. take a good look at it, for there ain't many lak it left." nellie's pride in her attractively furnished room was evident as she told of many offers she has had for this furniture, but she added: "i want to keep it all here to use myself jus' as long as i live. shucks, i done got plumb off from what i was tellin' you jus' ravin' 'bout my old furniture and things. "my mother died when i was jus' a little girl and she's buried in the old family graveyard on the weir place, but there are several other slaves buried there and i don't know which grave is hers. grandma raised me, and i was jus' gittin' big enough to handle that old peafowl-tail fly brush they used to keep the flies off the table when we were set free. "it wasn't long after the war when the yankees come to athens. folks had to bury or hide evvything they could, for them yankees jus' took anything they could git their hands on, 'specially good food. they would catch up other folks' chickens and take hams from the smokehouses, and they jus' laughed in folks' faces if they said anything 'bout it. they camped in the woods here on hancock avenue, but of course it wasn't settled then lak it is now. i was mighty scared of them yankees and they didn't lak me neither. one of 'em called me a little white-headed devil. "one of my aunts worked for a northern lady that they called mrs. meeker, who lived where the old barrow home is now. evvy summer when she went back up north she would leave my aunt and uncle to take care of her place. it was right close to the yankees' camp, and the soldiers made my aunt cook for them sometimes. i was livin' with her then, and i was so scared of 'em that i stayed right by her. she never had to worry 'bout where i was them days, for i was right by her side as long as the yankees was hangin' 'round athens. my uncle used to say that he had seen them yankees ride to places and shoot down turkeys, then make the folks that owned them turkeys cook and serve 'em. folks used to talk lots 'bout the yankees stoppin' a white 'oman on the street and takin' her earrings right out of her ears to put 'em on a negro 'oman; i never saw that, i jus' heard it. "after the war was over grandpa bought one of the old slave cabins from marse jack and we lived there for a long time; then we moved out to rock spring. i was about eight or nine years old then, and they found out i was a regular tomboy. the woods was all 'round rock spring then, and i did have a big time climbin' them trees. i jus' fairly lived in 'em durin' the daytime, but when dark come i wanted to be as close to grandpa as i could git. "one time, durin' those days at rock spring, i wanted to go to a fourth of july celebration. those celebrations was mighty rough them days and grandpa didn't think that would be a good place for a decent little girl, so he didn't want me to go. i cried and hollered and cut up something awful. grandma told him to give me a good thrashin' but grandpa didn't lak to do that, so he promised me i could go to ride if i wouldn't go to that celebration. that jus' tickled me to death, for i did lak to ride. grandpa had two young mules what was still wild, and when he said i could ride one of 'em grandma tried hard to keep me off of it, for she said that critter would be sure to kill me, but i was so crazy to go that nobody couldn't tell me nothin'. auntie lent me her domino coat to wear for a ridin' habit and i sneaked and slipped a pair of spurs, then grandpa put a saddle on the critter and helped me to git up on him. i used them spurs, and then i really went to ride. that mule showed his heels straight through them woods and way on out in the country. i couldn't stop him, so i jus' kept on kickin' him with them spurs and didn't have sense to know that was what was makin' him run. i thought them spurs was to make him mind me, and all the time i was i lammin' him with the spurs i was hollerin': 'stop! oh, stop!' when i got to where i was too scared to kick him with the spurs or do nothin' 'cept hang on to that saddle, that young mule quit his runnin' and trotted home as nice and peaceable as you please. i never did have no more use for spurs. "grandpa used to send me to phinizy's mill to have corn and wheat ground. it would take all day long, so they let me take a lunch with me, and i always had the best sort of time when i went to mill. uncle isham run the mill then and he would let me think i was helpin' him. then, while he helped me eat my lunch, he would call me his little 'tomboy gal' and would tell me about the things he used to do when he was 'bout my age. "my first schoolin' was in old pierce's chapel that set right spang in the middle of hancock avenue at foundry street. our teacher was a yankee man, and we were mighty surprised to find out that he wasn't very hard on us. we had to do something real bad to git a whippin', but when we talked or was late gittin' to school we had to stand up in the back of the schoolroom and hold up one hand. pierce's chapel was where the colored folks had preachin' then--preachin' on sunday and teachin' on week days, all in the same buildin'. a long time before then it had been the white folks' church, and preacher pierce was the first one to preach there after it was built, so they named it for him. when the white folks built them a new church they gave the old chapel to the colored folks, and, honey, there was some real preachin' done in that old place. me, i was a methodist, but i was baptized just lak the baptists was down there in the oconee river. "me and my first husband was too young to know what we was doin' when we got married, but our folks give us a grand big weddin'. i think my weddin' cake was 'bout the biggest one i ever saw baked in one of them old ovens in the open fireplace. they iced it in white and decorated it with grapes. a shoat was cooked whole and brought to the table with a big red apple in his mouth. you know a shoat ain't nothin' but a young hog that's done got bigger than a little pig. we had chicken and pies and just evvything good that went to make up a fine weddin' supper. "our weddin' took place at night, and i wore a white dress made with a tight-fittin' waist and a long, full skirt that was jus' covered with ruffles. my sleeves was tight at the wrists but puffed at the shoulders, and my long veil of white net was fastened to my head with pretty flowers. i was a mighty dressed up bride. the bridegroom wore a real dark-colored cutaway coat with a white vest. we did have a swell weddin' and supper, but there wasn't no dancin' 'cause we was all good church folks. "we was so young we jus' started out havin' a good time and didn't miss nothin' that meant fun and frolic. we was mighty much in love with each other too. it didn't seem long before we had three children, and then one night he was taken sick all of a sudden and didn't live but a little while. soon as he was taken sick i sent for the doctor, but my husband told me then he was dyin' fast and that he wasn't ready to die. he said: 'nellie, here we is with these three little children and neither one of us had been fit to raise 'em. now i've got to leave you and you will have to raise one of 'em, but the other two will come right on after me.'" for several moments nellie was still and quiet; then she raised her head and said: "honey, it was jus' lak he said it would be. he was gone in jus' a little while and it wasn't two weeks 'fore the two youngest children was gone lak their daddy. i worried lots after my husband and babies was taken. i wanted to be saved to raise my little girl right, and i was too proud to let anybody know how troubled i was or what it was all about, so i kept it to myself. i lost weight, i couldn't sleep, and was jus' dyin' away with sin. i would go to church but that didn't git me no relief. "one day a dear, good white lady sent for me to come to the hotel where she was stayin'. she had been a mighty good friend to me for a long, long time, and i had all the faith in the world in her. she told me that she had a good job for me and wanted me to take it because it would let me keep my little girl with me. she said her best friend's maid had died and this friend of hers needed someone to work for her. 'i want you to go there and work for her,' said the white lady, 'for she will be good to you and your child. i've already talked with her about it.' "i took her advice and went to work for mrs. r.l. bloomfield whose husband operated the old check mill. honey, mrs. bloomfield was one of god's children and one of the best folks i have ever known. right away she told her cook: 'amanda, look after nellie good 'cause she's too thin.' it wasn't long before mrs. bloomfield handed me a note and told me to take it to dr. carlton. when he read it he laughed and said; 'come on nellie, i've got to see what's wrong with you.' i tried to tell him i wasn't sick, but he examined me all over, then called to see mrs. bloomfield and told her that i didn't need nothin' but plenty of rest and to eat enough good food. bless her dear old heart, she done evvything she could for me, but there wasn't no medicine, rest, or food that could help the trouble that was wearin' me down then. "soon they started a revival at our church. one night i wanted to go, but aunt amanda begged me not to, for she said i needed to go to bed and rest; later she said she would go along with me to hear that preachin'. honey, i never will forgit that night. the text of the sermon was: 'come unto me all you weary and heavy laden, and i will give you rest.' when they began callin' the mourners to come up to the mourners' bench something seemed to be jus' a-pullin' me in that direction, but i was too proud to go. i didn't think then i ever could go to no mourners' bench or shout. after a while they started singin' _almost persuaded_, and i couldn't wait; i jus' got up and run to that blessed mourners' bench and i prayed there. honey, i shouted too, for i found the blessed lord that very night and i've kept him right with me ever since. i don't aim to lose him no more. aunt amanda was most nigh happy as i was and, from that night when the burden was lifted from my heart, i begun gittin' better. "i worked on for mrs. bloomfield 'til i got married again, and then i quit work 'cept for nursin' sick folks now and then. i made good money nursin' and kept that up 'til i got too old to work outside my own family. "my second husband was scott smith. we didn't have no big, fancy weddin' for i had done been married and had all the trimmin's one time. we jus' had a nice quiet weddin' with a few close friends and kinfolks invited. i had on a very pretty, plain, white dress. again i was blessed with a good husband. scott fixed up that nice mantelpiece you see in this room for me, and he was mighty handy about the house; he loved to keep things repaired and in order. best of all, he was jus' as good to my little girl as he was to the girl and boy that were born to us later. all three of my children are grown and married now, and they are mighty good to their old mother. one of my daughters lives in new york. "soon after we married, we moved in a big old house called the old white place that was jus' around the corner from here on pope street. people said it was haunted, and we could hear something walkin' up and down the stairs that sounded lak folks. to keep 'em from bein' so scared, i used to try to make the others believe it was jus' our big newfoundland dog, but one night my sister heard it. she got up and found the dog lyin' sound asleep on the front porch, so it was up to me to find out what it was. i walked up the stairs without seein' a thing, but, honey, when i put my foot on that top step such a feelin' come over me as i had never had before in all my life. my body trembled 'til i had to hold tight to the stair-rail to keep from fallin', and i felt the hair risin' up all over my head. while it seemed like hours before i was able to move, it was really only a very few seconds. i went down those stairs in a hurry and, from that night to this day, i have never hunted ghosts no more and i don't aim to do it again, never. "i've been here a long time, honey. when them first street lights was put up and lit, athens was still mostly woods. them old street lights would be funny to you now, but they was great things to us then, even if they wasn't nothin' but little lanterns what burned plain old lamp-oil hung out on posts. the old town hall was standin' then right in the middle of market (washington) street, between lumpkin and pulaski streets. the lowest floor was the jail, and part of the ground floor was the old market place. upstairs was the big hall where they held court, and that was where they had so many fine shows. whenever any white folks had a big speech to make they went to that big old room upstairs in town hall and spoke it to the crowd. "you is too young to remember them first streetcars what was pulled by little bitsy texas mules with bells around their necks. hearing them bells was sweet music to us when they meant we was goin' to git a ride on them streetcars. some folks was too precise to say 'streetcars'; they said 'horsecars', but them horsecars was pulled through the streets by mules, so what's the diffunce? sometimes them little mules would mire up so deep in the mud they would have to be pulled out, and sometimes, when they was feelin' sassy and good, they would jus' up and run away with them streetcars. them little critters could git the worst tangled up in them lines." here nellie laughed heartily. "sometimes they would even try to climb inside the cars. it was lots of fun ridin' them cars, for you never did know what was goin' to happen before you got back home, but i never heard of no real bad streetcar accidents here." nellie now began jumping erratically from one subject to another. "did you notice my pretty flowers and ferns on the front porch?" she asked. "i jus' know you didn't guess what i made them two hangin' baskets out of. them's the helmets that my son and my son-in-law wore when they was fightin' in the world war. i puts my nicest flowers in 'em evvy year as a sort of memorial to the ones that didn't git to fetch their helmets back home. yes mam, i had two stars on my service flag and, while i hated mighty bad that there had to be war, i wanted my family to do their part. "honey, old nellie is gittin' a little tired, but jus' you listen to this: i went to meetin' one night to hear the first 'oman preacher that ever had held a meetin' in this town. she was meanin' to preach at a place out on rock spring street, and there was more folks there than could git inside that little old weather-boarded house. the place was packed and jammed, but me and scott managed to git in. when i saw an old hardshell baptist friend of mine in there, i asked her how come she was at this kind of meetin'. 'curiosity, my child,' she said, 'jus' plain old curiosity.' the 'oman got up to preach and, out of pure devilment, somebody on the outside hollered; 'the house is fallin' down.' now child, i know it ain't right to laugh at preachin's of any sort, but that was one funny scene. evvybody was tryin' to git out at one time; such cryin', prayin', and testifyin' to the lord i ain't never heard before. the crowd jus' went plumb crazy with fright. i was pushed down and trampled over in the rush before scott could git me out; they mighty near killed me." the old woman stopped and laughed until the tears streamed down her face. "you know, honey," she said, when she could control her voice sufficiently to resume her story, "niggers ain't got no sense at all when they gits scared. when they throwed one gal out of a window, she called out: 'thank you, lord,' for the poor thing thought the lord was savin' her from a fallin' buildin'. poor old martha holbrook,"--the sentence was not finished until nellie's almost hysterical giggles had attracted her daughter who came to see if something was wrong--"martha holbrook," nellie repeated, "was climbin' backwards out of a window and her clothes got fastened on a nail. she slipped on down and there she was with her legs kickin' around on the outside and the rest of her muffled up in her clothes. it looked lak her clothes was jus' goin' to peel off over her head. it took the menfolks a long time to git her uncaught and out of that predicament in the window. pretty soon the folks began to come to their senses and they found there wasn't nothin' wrong with the house 'cept that some doors and windows had been torn out by the crowd. they sho did git mad, but nobody seemed to know who started that ruction. my old hardshell baptist friend came up then and said: 'curiosity brought us here, and curiosity like to have killed the cat.'" seeing that nellie was tired, the visitor prepared to leave. "goodbye and god bless you," were the old woman's farewell words. at the front door amanda said: "i haven't heard my mother laugh that way in a long, long time, and i jus' know she is goin' to feel more cheerful after this. thank you for givin' her this pleasure, and i hope you can come back again." ex-slave interview with paul smith, age china street athens, georgia written by: miss grace mccune athens edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens mrs. leila harris augusta and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, georgia paul smith's house stands on china street, a narrow rutted alley deriving its name from the large chinaberry tree that stands at one end of the alley. large water oaks furnish ample shade for the tidy yard where an old well, whose bucket hanging from a rickety windlass frame, was supplying water for two negro women, who were leaning over washtubs. as they rubbed the clothes against the washboards, their arms kept time to the chant of _lord i'se comin' home_. paul and two negro men, barefooted and dressed in overalls rolled to their knees, were taking their ease under the largest tree, and two small mulatto children were frolicking about with a kitten. as the visitor approached, the young men leaped to their feet and hastened to offer a chair and paul said: "howdy-do, missy, how is you? won't you have a cheer and rest? i knows you is tired plumb out. dis old sun is too hot for folkses to be walkin' 'round out doors," turning to one of the boys he continued: "son, run and fetch missy some fresh water; dat'll make her feel better. jus' how far is you done walked?" asked paul. then he stopped one of the women from the washing and bade her "run into the house and fetch a fan for missy." paul is a large man, and a fringe of kinky white hair frames his face. his manner is very friendly for, noticing that the visitor was looking with some curiosity at the leather bands that encircled his wrists, the old man grinned. "dem's jus' to make sho' dat i won't have no rheumatiz," he declared. "mind if i cuts me a chaw of 'baccy? i'se jus' plumb lost widout no 'baccy." paul readily agreed to give the story of his life. "i can't git over it, dat you done walked way out here from de courthouse jus' to listen to dis old nigger talk 'bout dem good old days. "mammy belonged to marse jack ellis, and he owned de big old ellis plantation in oglethorpe county whar i was borned. marse jack give mammy to his daughter, young miss matt, and when her and marse nunnally got married up, she tuk my mammy 'long wid her. mistess hah'iet (harriet) smith owned my daddy. him and mammy never did git married. my granddaddy and grandmammy was owned by marse jim stroud of oconee county, and i dug de graves whar bofe of 'em's buried in mars hill graveyard. "all i knows 'bout slavery time is what i heared folkses say, for de war was most over when i was borned, but things hadn't changed much, as i was raised up. "i warn't but 'bout years old when young miss matt tuk my mammy off, and she put me out 'cause she didn't want me. missy, dey was sho good to me. marse jack's wife was mistess lizzie. she done her best to raise me right, and de ways she larnt me is done stayed wid me all dese years; many's de time dey's kept old paul out of trouble. no mam, i ain't never been in no jailhouse in all my days, and i sho ain't aimin' to de nothin' to make 'em put me dar now. "in dem days, when chillun got big enough to eat, dey was kept at de big house, 'cause deir mammies had to wuk off in de fields and old miss wanted all de chillun whar she could see atter 'em. most times dere was a old slave 'oman what didn't have nothin' else to do 'cept take keer of slave chillun and feed 'em. pickaninnies sho had to mind too, 'cause dem old 'omans would evermore lay on de switch. us et out of wooden trays, and for supper us warn't 'lowed nothin' but bread and milk. "long as us was little, us didn't have to wuk at nothin' 'cept little jobs lak pickin' up chips, bringin' in a little wood, and sometimes de biggest boys had to slop de hogs. long 'bout de fust of march, dey tuk de pants 'way from all de boys and give 'em little shirts to wear from den 'til frost. yes mam, dem shirts was all us boys had to wear in summer 'til us was big enough to wuk in de fields. gals jus' wore one piece of clothes in summertime too; dey wore a plain cotton dress. all our clothes, for summer and winter too, was made right dere on dat plantation. dey wove de cloth on de looms; plain cotton for summer, and cotton mixed wid a little wool for winter. dere was a man on de plantation what made all our brogans for winter. marster made sho us had plenty of good warm clothes and shoes to keep us warm when winter come. "folkses raised deir livin', all of it, at home den. dey growed all sorts of gyarden truck sech as corn, peas, beans, sallet, 'taters, collards, ingons, and squashes. dey had big fields of grain. don't forgit dem good old watermillions; niggers couldn't do widout 'em. marster's old smokehouse was plumb full of meat all de time, and he had more cows, hogs, sheep, goats, chickens, turkeys, geese, and de lak, dan i ever larnt how to count. dere warn't no runnin' off to de sto' evvy time dey started cookin' a company meal. "dem home-made cotton gins was mighty slow. us never seed no fast sto'-bought gins dem days. our old gins was turned by a long pole what was pulled around by mules and oxen, and it tuk a long time to git de seeds out of de cotton dat way. i'se seed 'em tie bundles of fodder in front of de critters so dey would go faster tryin' to git to de fodder. dey grez dem gins wid homemade tar. de big sight was dem old home-made cotton presses. when dem old mules went round a time or two pullin' dat heavy weight down, dat cotton was sho pressed. "us chillun sho did lak to see 'em run dat old gin, 'cause 'fore dey ever had a gin marster used to make us pick a shoe-full of cotton seeds out evvy night 'fore us went to bed. now dat don't sound so bad, missy, but did you ever try to pick any seeds out of cotton? "course evvybody cooked on open fireplaces dem days, and dat was whar us picked out dem cotton seeds, 'round dat big old fireplace in de kitchen. all de slaves et together up dar at de big house, and us had some mighty good times in dat old kitchen. slave quarters was jus' little one room log cabins what had chimblies made of sticks and red mud. dem old chimblies was all de time a-ketchin' on fire. de mud was daubed 'twixt de logs to chink up de cracks, and sometimes dey chinked up cracks in de roof wid red mud. dere warn't no glass windows in dem cabins, and dey didn't have but one window of no sort; it was jus' a plain wooden shutter. de cabins was a long ways off from de big house, close by de big old spring whar de wash-place was. dey had long benches for de wash-tubs to set on, a big old oversize washpot, and you mustn't leave out 'bout dat big old battlin' block whar dey beat de dirt out of de clothes. dem niggers would sing, and deir battlin' sticks kept time to de music. you could hear de singin' and de sound of de battlin' sticks from a mighty long ways off. "i ain't never been to school a day in all my life. my time as chillun was all tuk up nussin' mistess' little chillun, and i sho didn't never git nary a lick 'bout dem chillun. mistess said dat a white 'oman got atter her one time 'bout lettin' a little nigger look atter her chillun, and dat 'oman got herself told. i ain't never uneasy 'bout my chillun when paul is wid 'em,' mistess said. when dey started to school, it was my job to see dat dey got dere and when school was out in de evenin', i had to be dere to fetch dem chillun back home safe and sound. school didn't turn out 'til four o'clock den, and it was a right fur piece from dat schoolhouse out to our big house. us had to cross a crick, and when it rained de water would back up and make it mighty bad to git from one side to t'other. marster kept a buggy jus' for us to use gwine back and forth to school. one time atter it had done been rainin' for days, dat crick was so high i was 'fraid to try to take mistess' chillun crost it by myself, so i got a man named blue to do de drivin' so i could look atter de chillun. us pulled up safe on de other side and den dere warn't no way to git him back to his own side. i told him to ride back in de buggy, den tie de lines, and de old mule would come straight back to us by hisself. blue laughed and said dere warn't no mule wid dat much sense, but he soon seed dat i was right, cause dat old mule come right on back jus' lak i said he would. "us chillun had good times back den, yes mam, us sho did. some of our best times was at de old swimmin' hole. de place whar us dammed up de crick for our swimmin' hole was a right smart piece off from de big house. us picked dat place 'cause it had so many big trees to keep de water shady and cool. one sunday, when dere was a big crowd of white and colored chillun havin' a big time splashin' 'round in de water, a white man what lived close by tuk all our clothes and hid 'em way up at his house; den he got up in a tree and hollered lak evvything was atter him. lawsy, miss, us chillun all come out of dat crick skeered plumb stiff and run for our clothes. dey was all gone, but dat never stopped us for long. us lit out straight for dat man's house. he had done beat us gitting dar, and when us come runnin' up widout no clothes on, he laughed fit to kill at us. atter while he told us he skeered us to keep us from stayin' too long in de crick and gittin' drownded, but dat didn't slow us up none 'bout playing in de swimmin' hole. "talkin' 'bout being skeered, dere was one time i was skeered i was plumb ruint. missy, dat was de time i stole somepin' and didn't even know i was stealin'. a boy had come by our place dat day and axed me to go to de shop on a neighbor's place wid him. mistess 'lowed me to go, and atter he had done got what he said he was sont atter, he said dat now us would git us some apples. he was lots bigger dan me, and i jus' s'posed his old marster had done told him he could git some apples out of dat big old orchard. missy, i jus' plumb filled my shirt and pockets wid dem fine apples, and us was havin' de finest sort of time when de overseer cotch us. he let me go, but dat big boy had to wuk seven long months to pay for dat piece of foolishment. i sho didn't never go nowhar else wid dat fellow, 'cause my good old mistess said he would git me in a peck of trouble if i did, and i had done larn't dat our mistess was allus right. "times has sho done changed lots since dem days; chillun warn't 'lowed to run 'round den. when i went off to church on a sunday, i knowed i had to be back home not no later dan four o'clock. now chillun jus' goes all de time, whar-some-ever dey wants to go. dey stays out most all night sometimes, and deir mammies don't never know whar dey is half de time. 'tain't right, missy, folkses don't raise deir chillun right no more; dey don't larn 'em to be 'bejient and don't go wid 'em to church to hear de word of de lawd preached lak dey should ought to. "fore de war, colored folkses went to de same church wid deir white folkses and listened to de white preacher. slaves sot way back in de meetin'-house or up in a gallery, but us could hear dem good old sermons, and dem days dey preached some mighty powerful ones. all my folkses jined de baptist church, and dr. john mell's father, dr. pat mell, baptized evvy one of 'em. course i growed up to be a baptist too lak our own white folkses. "slaves had to wuk hard dem days, but dey had good times too. our white folkses looked atter us and seed dat us had what-some-ever us needed. when talk come 'round 'bout havin' separate churches for slaves, our white folkses give us deir old meetin'-house and built deyselfs a new one, but for a long time atter dat it warn't nothin' to see white folkses visitin' our meetin's, cause dey wanted to help us git started off right. one old white lady--us called her aunty peggy--never did stop comin' to pray and sing and shout wid us 'til she jus' went off to sleep and woke up in de better world. dat sho was one good 'oman. "some of dem slaves never wanted no 'ligion, and dey jus' laughed at us cause us testified and shouted. one day at church a good old 'oman got right 'hind a nigger dat she had done made up her mind she was gwine to see saved 'fore dat meetin' ended. she drug 'im up to de mourner's bench. he 'lowed he never made no prep'ration to come in dis world and dat he didn't mean to make none to leave it. she prayed and prayed, but dat fool nigger jus' laughed right out at her. finally de 'oman got mad. 'laugh if you will,' she told dat man, 'de good lawd is gwine to purge out your sins for sho, and when you gits full of biles and sores you'll be powerful glad to git somebody to pray for you. dat ain't all; de same good lawd is gwine to lick you a thousand lashes for evvy time you is done made fun of dis very meetin'.' missy, would you believe it, it warn't no time 'fore dat man sickened and died right out wid a cancer in his mouf. does you 'member dat old sayin' 'de ways of de lawd is slow but sho?' "corpses was washed good soon atter de folkses died and deir clothes put on 'em, den dey was laid on coolin' boards 'til deir coffins was made up. why missy, didn't you know dey didn't have no sto'-bought coffins dem days? dey made 'em up right dere on de plantation. de corpse was measured and de coffin made to fit it. sometimes dey was lined wid black calico, and sometimes dey painted 'em black on de outside. dere warn't no undytakers den, and dere warn't none of dem vaults to set coffins in neither; dey jus' laid planks crost de top of a coffin 'fore de dirt was piled in de grave. "when dere was a death 'round our neighborhood, evvybody went and paid deir 'spects to de fambly of de dead. folkses set up all night wid de corpse and sung and prayed. dat settin' up was mostly to keep cats offen de corpse. cats sho is bad atter dead folks; i'se heared tell dat dey most et up some corpses what nobody warn't watchin'. when de time come to bury de dead, dey loaded de coffin on to a wagon, and most times de fambly rode to de graveyard in a wagon too, but if it warn't no fur piece off, most of de other folkses walked. dey started singin' when dey left de house and sung right on 'til dat corpse was put in de grave. when de preacher had done said a prayer, dey all sung: _i'se born to die and lay dis body down_. dat was 'bout all dere was to de buryin', but later on dey had de funeral sermon preached in church, maybe six months atter de buryin'. de white folkses had all deir funeral sermons preached at de time of de buryin'. "yes mam, i 'members de fust money i ever wuked for. marster paid me cents a day when i got big enough to wuk, and dat was plumb good wages den. when i got to whar i could pick more'n a hunnerd pounds of cotton in one day he paid me more. i thought i was rich den. dem was good old days when us lived back on de plantation. i 'members dem old folkses what used to live 'round lexin'ton, down in oglethorpe county. "when us warn't out in de fields, us done little jobs 'round de big house, de cabins, barns, and yards. us used to holp de older slaves git out whiteoak splits, and dey larnt us to make cheer bottoms and baskets out of dem splits. de best cheer bottoms what lasted de longest was dem what us made wid red ellum withes. dem old shuck bottoms was fine too; dey plaited dem shucks and wound 'em 'round for cheer bottoms and footsmats. de 'omans made nice hats out of shucks and wheat straw. dey plaited de shucks and put 'em together wid plaits of wheat straw. dey warn't counted much for sunday wear, but dey made fine sun hats. "whilst us was all a-wukin' away at house and yard jobs, de old folkses would tell us 'bout times 'fore us was borned. dey said slave dealers used to come 'round wid a big long line of slaves a-marchin' to whar dere was gwine to be a big slave sale. sometimes dey marched 'em here from as fur as virginny. old folkses said dey had done been fetched to dis country on boats. dem boats was painted red, real bright red, and dey went plumb to africa to git de niggers. when dey got dere, dey got off and left de bright red boats empty for a while. niggers laks red, and dey would git on dem boats to see what dem red things was. when de boats was full of dem foolish niggers, de slave dealers would sail off wid 'em and fetch 'em to dis country to sell 'em to folkses what had plantations. dem slave sales was awful bad in some ways, 'cause sometimes dey sold mammies away from deir babies and famblies got scattered. some of 'em never knowed what 'comed of deir brudders and sisters and daddies and mammies. "i seed dem yankees when dey come, but i was too little to know much about what dey done. old folkses said dey give de athens people smallpox and dat dey died out right and left, jus' lots of 'em. 'fore dey got rid of it, dey had to burn up beds and clothes and a few houses. dey said dey put lake brown and clarence bush out in de swamp to die, but dey got well, come out of dat swamp, and lived here for years and years. "granddaddy told us 'bout how some slaves used to rum off from deir marsters and live in caves and dugouts. he said a man and a 'oman run away and lived for years in one of dem places not no great ways from de slave quarters on his marster's place. atter a long, long time, some little white chillun was playin' in de woods one day and clumb up in some trees. lookin' out from high up in a tree one of 'em seed two little pickaninnies but he couldn't find whar dey went. when he went back home and told 'bout it, evvybody went to huntin' 'em, s'posin' dey was lost chillun. dey traced 'em to a dugout, and dere dey found dem two grown slaves what had done run away years ago, and dey had done had two little chillun born in dat dugout. deir marster come and got 'em and tuk 'em home, but de chillun went plumb blind when dey tried to live out in de sunlight. dey had done lived under ground too long, and it warn't long 'fore bofe of dem chillun was daid. "dem old slavery-time weddin's warn't lak de way folkses does when dey gits married up now; dey never had to buy no license den. when a slave man wanted to git married up wid a gal he axed his marster, and if it was all right wid de marster den him and de gal come up to de big house to jump de broomstick 'fore deir white folkses. de gal jumped one way and de man de other. most times dere was a big dance de night dey got married. "if a slave wanted to git married up wid a gal what didn't live on dat same plantation he told his marster, den his marster went and talked to de gal's marster. if bofe deir marsters 'greed den dey jumped de broomstick; if neither one of de marsters wouldn't sell to de other one, de wife jus' stayed on her marster's place and de husband was 'lowed a pass what let him visit her twict a week on wednesday and sadday nights. if he didn't keep dat pass to show when de patterollers cotch him, dey was more'n apt to beat de skin right off his back. dem patterollers was allus watchin' and dey was awful rough. no mam, dey never did git to beat me up. i out run 'em one time, but i evermore did have to make tracks to keep ahead of 'em. "us didn't know much 'bout folkses bein' kilt 'round whar us stayed. sometimes dere was talk 'bout devilment a long ways off. de mostest troubles us knowed 'bout was on de jim smith plantation. dat sho was a big old place wid a heap of slaves on it. dey says dat fightin' didn't 'mount to nothin'. marse jim smith got to be mighty rich and he lived to be an old man. he died out widout never gittin' married. folkses said a nigger boy dat was his son was willed heaps of dat propity, but folkses beat him out of it and, all of a sudden, he drapped out of sight. some says he was kilt, but i don't know nothin' 'bout dat. "now missy, how come you wants to know 'bout dem frolics us had dem days? most of 'em ended up scandlous, plumb scandlous. at harvest season dere was cornshuckin's, wheat-thrashin's, syrup-cookin's, and logrollin's. all dem frolics come in deir own good time. cornshuckin's was de most fun of 'em all. evvybody come from miles around to dem frolics. soon atter de wuk got started, marster got out his little brown jug, and when it started gwine de rounds de wuk would speed up wid sich singin' as you never heared, and dem niggers was wuking in time wid de music. evvy red ear of corn meant an extra swig of liquor for de nigger what found it. when de wuk was done and dey was ready to go to de tables out in de yard to eat dem big barbecue suppers, dey grabbed up deir marster and tuk him to de big house on deir shoulders. when de supper was et, de liquor was passed some more and dancin' started, and sometimes it lasted all night. folkses sometimes had frolics what dey called fairs; dey lasted two or three days. wid so much dancin', eatin', and liquor drinkin' gwine on for dat long, lots of fightin' took place. it was awful. dey cut on one another wid razors and knives jus' lak dey was cuttin' on wood. i 'spects i was bad as de rest of 'em 'bout dem razor fights, but not whar my good old mist'ess could larn 'bout it. i never did no fightin' 'round de meetin'-house. it was plumb sinful de way some of dem niggers would git in ruckuses right in meetin' and break up de services. "brudder bradberry used to come to our house to hold prayermeetin's, but lawsey, missy, dat man could eat more dan any nigger i ever seed from dat day to dis. when us knowed he was a-comin' mistess let us cook up heaps of stuff, enough to fill dat long old table plumb full, but dat table was allus empty when he left. yes mam, he prayed whilst he was dere, but he et too. dem prayers must'a made him mighty weak. "marster joe campbell, what lived in our settlement, was sho a queer man. he had a good farm and plenty of most evvything. he would plant his craps evvy year and den, missy, he would go plumb crazy evvy blessed year. folkses would jine in and wuk his craps out for him and, come harvest time, dey had to gather 'em in his barns, cause he never paid 'em no mind atter dey was planted. when de wuk was all done for him, marster joe's mind allus come back and he was all right 'til next crap-time. i told my good old marster dat white man warn't no ways crazy; he had plumb good sense, gittin' all dat wuk done whilst he jus' rested. marster was a mighty good man, so he jus' grinned and said 'paul, us mustn't jedge nobody.' "when marster moved here to athens i come right 'long wid 'im. us started us a wuk-shop down on dis same old oconee river, close by whar oconee street is now. dis was mostly jus' woods. dere warn't none of dese new-fangled stock laws den, and folkses jus' fenced in deir gyardens and let de stock run evvywhar. dey marked hogs so evvybody would know his own; some cut notches in de ears, some cut off de tails or marked noses, and some put marks on de hoof part of de foots. mr. barrow owned 'bout acres in woods spread over oconee hill, and de hogs made for dem woods whar dey jus' run wild. cows run out too and got so wild dey would fight when dey didn't want to come home. it warn't no extra sight den to see folkses gwine atter deir cows on mules. chickens run out, and folkses had a time findin' de aigs and knowin' who dem aigs b'longed to. most and gen'ally finders was keepers far as aigs was consarnt but, in spite of all dat, us allus had plenty, and mistess would find somepin' to give folkses dat needed to be holped. "when us come to athens de old georgy railroad hadn't never crost de river to come into town. de depot was on de east side of de river on what dey called depot street. daddy said he holped to build dat fust railroad. it was way back in slavery times. mist'ess hah'iet smith's husband had done died out, and de 'minstrator of de 'state hired out most all of mist'ess' slaves to wuk on de railroad. it was a long time 'fore she could git 'em back home. "missy, did you know dat indians camped at skull shoals, down in greene county, a long time ago? old folkses said dey used to be 'round here too, 'specially at cherokee corners. at dem places, it was a long time 'fore dey stopped plowin' up bones whar indians had done been buried. right down on dis old river, nigh mr. aycock's place, dey says you kin still see caves whar folkses lived when de indians owned dese parts. if high waters ain't washed 'em all away, de skeletons of some of dem folkses what lived dar is still in dem caves. slaves used to hide in dem same caves when dey was runnin' off from deir marsters or tryin' to keep out of de way of de law. dat's how dem caves was found; by white folkses huntin' runaway slaves. "now missy, you don't keer nothin' 'bout my weddin'. to tell de trufe, i never had no weddin'; i had to steal dat gal of mine. i had done axed her mammy for her, but she jus' wouldn't 'gree for me to have mary, so i jus' up and told her i was gwine to steal dat gal. dat old 'oman 'lowed she would see 'bout dat, and she kept mary in her sight day and night, inside de house mos'ly. it looked lak i never was gwine to git a chance to steal my gal, but one day a white boy bought my license for me and i got brudder bill mitchell to go dar wid me whilst mary's ma was asleep. us went inside de house and got married right dar in de room next to whar she was sleepin'. when she waked up dere was hot times 'round dat place for a while, but good old brudder mitchell stayed right dar and holped us through de trouble. mary's done been gone a long time now and i misses her mighty bad, but it won't be long now 'fore de lawd calls me to go whar she is. "i done tried to live right, to keep all de laws, and to pay up my jus' and honest debts, cause mist'ess larnt me dat. i was up in virginny wukin' on de railroad a few years ago. de boss man called me aside one day and said; 'paul, you ain't lak dese other niggers. i kin tell dat white folks raised you.' it sho made me proud to hear him say dat, for i knows dat old miss up yonder kin see dat de little nigger she tuk in and raised is still tryin' to live lak she larnt him to do." when the visitor arose to leave, old paul smiled and said "goodby missy. i'se had a good time bringin' back dem old days. goodby, and god bless you." [hw: dist. ex-slave ] subject: emeline stepney, a daughter of slavery district: w.p.a. no. research worker: joseph e. jaffee editor: john n. booth supervisor: joseph e. jaffee (asst.) [date stamp: may ] emeline stepney, as she came into the office that july day, was a perfect vignette from a past era. over years old, and unable to walk without support, she was still quick witted and her speech, although halting, was full of dry humor. emeline was clad in a homespun dress with high collar and long sleeves with wristbands. on her feet she wore "old ladies' comforts." she was toothless and her hands were gnarled and twisted from rheumatism and hard work. emeline's father, john smith, had come from virginia and belonged to "cap'n tom wilson." her mother, sally, "wuz a georgia borned nigger" who belonged to "mars shelton terry." the two plantations near greensboro, in greene county, were five miles apart and the father came to see his family only on wednesday and saturday nights. the arrangement evidently had no effect in the direction of birth control for emeline was the second of thirteen children. life on the terry place was a fairly pleasant existence. the master was an old bachelor and he had two old maid sisters, miss sarah and miss rebecca. the plantation was in charge of two overseers who were reasonably kind to the negroes. no crops of any kind were sold and consequently the plantation had to be self-sustaining. cotton was spun into clothing in the master's own spinning room and the garments were worn by the master and slaves alike. a small amount of flax was raised each year and from this the master's two sisters made household linens. food crops consisted of corn, wheat (there was a mill on the plantation to grind these into flour and meal), sweet potatoes, and peas. in the smoke house there was always plenty of pork, beef, mutton, and kid. the wool from the sheep was made into blankets and woolen garments. the terry household was not like other menages of the time. there were only one or two house servants, the vast majority being employed in the fields. work began each morning at eight o'clock and was over at sundown. no work was done on saturday, the day being spent in preparation for sunday or in fishing, visiting, or "jes frolickin'". the master frequently let them have dances in the yards on saturday afternoon. to supply the music they beat on tin buckets with sticks. on sunday the negroes were allowed to attend the "white folks' church" where a balcony was reserved for them. some masters required their "people" to go to church; but emeline's master thought it a matter for the individual to decide for himself. emeline was about when her first suitor and future husband began to come to see her. he came from a neighboring farm and had to have a pass to show the "patty rollers" or else he would be whipped. he never stayed at night even after they were married because he was afraid he might be punished. the slaves were never given any spending money. the men were allowed to use tobacco and on rare occasions there was "toddy" for them. emeline declares she never used liquor and ascribes her long life partly to this fact and partly to her belief in god. she believes in signs but interprets them differently [hw: ?] from most of her people. she believes that if a rooster crows he is simply "crowin' to his crowd" or if a cow bellows it is "mos' likely bellowin' fer water." if a person sneezes while eating she regards this as a sign that the person is eating too fast or has a bad cold. she vigorously denies that any of these omens foretells death. some "fool nigger" believe that an itching foot predicts a journey to a strange land; but emeline thinks it means that the foot needs washing. aunt emeline has some remedies which she has found very effective in the treatment of minor ailiments. hoarhound tea and catnip tea are good for colds and fever. yellow root will cure sore throat and a tea made from sheep droppings will make babies teethe easily. "i kin still tas'e dat sassafras juice mammy used to give all de chilluns." she cackled as she was led out the door. [hw: atlanta dist. ex-slave # ] - - whitley sec. ross [hw: amanda styles] on november , amanda styles ex-slave, was interviewed at her residence baker street n.e. styles is about years of age and could give but a few facts concerning her life as a slave. her family belonged to an ordinary class of people neither rich nor poor. her master jack lambert owned a small plantation; and one other slave besides her family which included her mother, father and one sister. the only event during slavery that impressed itself on mrs. styles was the fact that when the yanks came to their farm they carried off her mother and she was never heard of again. concerning superstitions, signs, and other stories pertaining to this mrs. styles related the following signs and events. as far as possible the stories are given in her exact words. "during my day it was going ter by looking in the clouds. some folks could read the signs there. a 'oman that whistled wuz marked to be a bad 'oman. if a black cat crossed your path you sho would turn round and go anudder way. it was bad luck to sit on a bed and when i wuz small i wuz never allowed to sit on the bed." following are stories, related by mrs. styles, which had their origin during slavery and immediately following slavery. "during slavery time there was a family that had a daughter and she married and ebby body said she wuz a witch cause at night dey sed she would turn her skin inside out and go round riding folks horses. der next morning der horses manes would be tied up. now her husband didn't know she was a witch so somebody tole him he could tell by cutting off one of her limbs so one night the wife changed to a cat and the husband cut off her forefinger what had a ring on it. after that der wife would keep her hand hid cause her finger wuz cut off; and she knowed her husband would find out that she wuz the witch. my mother sed her young mistress wuz a witch and she too married but her husband didn't know that she wuz a witch; and she would go round at night riding horses and turning the cows milk into blood. der folks didn't know what ter do instead of milk they had blood. so one day a old lady came there and told em that a witch had been riding the cow, and to cast off the spell, they had to take a horse shoe and put it in the bottom of the churn and then the blood would turn back ter milk and butter. sho nuff they did it and got milk. anudder man had a wife that wuz accused of being a witch so he cut her leg off and it wuz a cats' leg and when his wife came back her leg was missing. they say there wuz a lot of conjuring too and i have heard 'bout a lot of it. my husband told me he went to see a 'oman once dat had scorpions in her body. the conjurer did it by putting the blood of a scorpion in her body and this would breed more scorpions in her. they had to get anudder conjurer to undo the spell. there wuz anudder family that lived near and that had a daughter and when she died they say she had a snake in her body. my husband sed he wuz conjured when he wuz a boy and had ter walk with his arms outstretched he couldn't put em down at all and couldn't even move 'em. one day he met a old man and he sed "son whats der matter wid you?" "i don't know," he sed. "den why don't you put your arms down?" "i can't." so the old man took a bottle out of his pocket and rubbed his arms straight down 'till they got alright. he told me too bout a 'oman fixing her husband. this 'oman saw anudder man she wonted so she had her husband fixed so he would throw his arms up get on his knees and bark just like a dog. so they got some old man that wuz a conjurer to come and cure him. he woulda died if they hadn't got that spell off him. my father told me that a 'oman fixed anudder one cause she married her sweetheart she told her he nebber would do her any good and sho nuff she fixed her so dat she would have a spell ebby time she went to church. one day they sent fer her husband and asked him what wuz the matter with her and he told them that this other 'oman fixed her with conjure. they sent for a conjurer and he came and rubbed some medicine on her body and she got alright. during slavery time the master promised ter whip a nigger and when he came out ter whip him instead he just told him "go on nigger 'bout your business." der nigger had fixed him by spitting as for as he could spit so the master couldn't come any nearer than that spit. i know a nigger that they sed wuz kin ter the devil. he told me that he could go out hind the house and make some noise and the devil would come and dance with him. he sed the devil learned him to play a banjo and if you wanted to do anything the devil could do, go to a cross road walk backwards and curse god. but don't nebber let the devil touch any of your works or anything that belonged to you or you would lose your power. the nearest i ebber came ter believing in conjure wuz when my step mother got sick. she fell out with an 'oman that lived with her daughter cause this 'oman had did something ter her daughter; and so she called her a black kinky head hussy and this 'oman got fightin mad and sed ter her. "nebber mind you'll be nappy and kinky headed too when i git through wid you." my ma's head turned real white and funny right round the edge and her mind got bad and she used to chew tobacco and spit in her hands and rub it in her head; and very soon all her hair fell out. she even quit my father after living with him years saying he had poisoned her. she stayed sick a long time and der doctors nebber could understand her sickness. she died and i will always believe she wuz fixed. after relating the last story my interview with mrs. styles came to an end. i thanked her and left, wondering over the strange stories she had told me. produced from images generously made available by the library of congress, manuscript division) slave narratives _a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves_ typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress _illustrated with photographs_ washington volume iv georgia narratives part prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of georgia informants garey, elisha doc garrett, leah gladdy, mary gray, sarah green, alice , green, isaiah (isaac) , green, margaret green, minnie gresham, wheeler griffin, heard gullins, david goodman hammond, milton harmon, jane smith hill harris, dosia harris, henderson harris, shang hawkins, tom heard, bill heard, emmaline , , heard, mildred heard, robert henderson, benjamin henry, jefferson franklin henry, robert hill, john hood, laura hudson, carrie hudson, charlie huff, annie huff, bryant huff, easter hunter, lina hurley, emma hutcheson, alice jackson, amanda jackson, camilla jackson, easter jackson, snovey jake, uncle jewel, mahala johnson, benjamin johnson, georgia johnson, manuel johnson, susie jones, estella jones, fannie jones, rastus +------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |[tr:] = transcriber note | | | |[hw:] = handwritten note | | | |every effort was made to faithfully reflect the distinctive character of| |this document. some obvious typographic errors have been corrected. the | |above notes are placed inline, to cover all other unusual comments. | +------------------------------------------------------------------------+ plantation life as viewed by ex-slave elisha doc garey lyndon avenue athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby athens -- edited by: sarah h. hall athens -- and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project res. & augusta, ga. asked for the story of his early life and his recollections of slavery, elisha replied: "yes ma'am, 'deed i'll tell you all i knows 'bout dem days." his next words startled the interviewer. "i knowed you was comin' to write dis jedgment," he said. "i seed your hand writin' and long 'fore you got here i seed you jus' as plain as you is now. i told dese folks what i lives wid, a white 'oman was comin' to do a heap of writin'. "i was born on de upper edge of hart county, near shoal crick. sarah anne garey was my ma and i was one of dem shady babies. dere was plenty of dat kind in dem times. my own sister was rachel, and i had a half sister named sallie what was white as anybody. john, lindsay, david, and joseph was my four brothers. "what did us chillun do? us wukked lak hosses. didn't nobody eat dar 'less dey wukked. i'se been wukkin' ever since i come in dis world. "us lived in log huts. evvy hut had a entry in de middle, and a mud chimbly at each end. us slep' in beds what was 'tached to de side of de hut, and dey was boxed up lak wagon bodies to hold de corn shucks and de babies in. home-made rugs was put on top of de shucks for sheets, and de kivver was de same thing. "i still 'members my grandma rachel. de traders fotched her here f'um virginny, and she never did learn to talk plain. grandma sallie gaines was too old for field wuk, so she looked atter de slave babies whilst deir ma's was wukkin' in de field. grandpa jack gaines was de shoemaker. "most of de time i was up at de big house waitin' on our white folks, huntin' eggs, pickin' up chips, makin' fires, and little jobs lak dat. de onliest way i could find to make any money in dem days was to sell part'idges what i cotched in traps to dem yankees what was allus passin' 'round. dey paid me ten cents apiece for part'idges and i might have saved more of my money if i hadn't loved dat store boughten pep'mint candy so good. "what i et? anything i could git. peas, green corn, 'tatoes, cornbread, meat and lye hominy was what dey give us more dan anything else. bakin' was done in big old ovens what helt three pones of bread and in skillets what helt two. big pots for bilin' was swung over de coals in de fireplace. dey was hung on hooks fastened to de chimbly or on cranes what could be swung off de fire when dey wanted to dish up de victuals. hit warn't nothin' for us to ketch five or six 'possums in one night's huntin'. de best way to tote 'possums is to split a stick and run deir tails thoo' de crack--den fling de stick crost your shoulders and tote de 'possums 'long safe and sound. dat way dey can't bite you. dey's bad 'bout gnawin' out of sacks. when us went giggin' at night, us most allus fotched back a heap of fishes and frogs. dere was allus plenty of fishes and rabbits. our good old hound dog was jus' 'bout as good at trailin' rabbits in de daytime as he was at treein' 'possums at night. i was young and spry, and it didn't seem to make no diff'unce what i et dem days. big gyardens was scattered over de place whar-some-ever marster happened to pick out a good gyarden spot. dem gyardens all b'longed to our marster, but he fed us all us wanted out of 'em. "all dat us chillun wore in summer was jus' one little shirt. it was a long time 'fore us knowed dere was folks anywhar dat put more dan one piece of clothes on chillun in summer. grandpa jack made de red shoes us wore widout no socks in winter. our other winter clothes was cotton shirts and pants, and coats what had a little wool in 'em. summer times us went bar headed, but unker ned made bullrush hats for us to wear in winter. dere warn't no diff'unt clothes for sunday. us toted our shoes 'long in our hands goin' to church. us put 'em on jus' 'fore us got dar and tuk 'em off again soon as us got out of sight of de meetin' house on de way back home. "marse joe glover was a good man and he never whupped his niggers much. his wife, our miss julia, was all right too--dat she was. deir three chilluns was miss sue, miss puss, and marster will. marse joe done all his own overseein'. he used to tuck his long white beard inside his shirt and button it up. "dat was a fine lookin' turn-out of marse joe's--dat rock-a-way car'iage wid bead fringe all 'round de canopy, a pair of spankin' black hosses hitched to it, and my brother, david, settin' so proud lak up on de high seat dey put on de top for de driver. "dere warn't no slave, man or 'oman, livin' on dat plantation what knowed how many acres was in it. i 'spects dere was many as slaves in all. marster 'pinted a cullud boy to git de slaves up 'fore day, and dey wukked f'um sunup to sundown. "jails? yes ma'am, dere was sev'ral little houses dat helt 'bout two or three folks what dey called jails. white folks used to git locked up in 'em but i never did see no niggers in one of dem little jailhouses. i never seed no niggers sold, but i did see 'em in wagons gwine to mississippi to be sold. i never seed no slave in chains. "some few slaves could read and write, and dem what could read was most allus called on by de others for preachin'. charlie mccollie was de fust cullud preacher i ever seed. white folks 'lowed slaves to make brush arbors for churches on de plantations, and nigger boys and gals done some tall courtin' at dem brush arbors. dat was de onliest place whar you could git to see de gals you lakked de best. dey used to start off services singin', 'come ye dat loves de lawd.' warn't no pools in de churches to baptize folks in den, so dey tuk 'em down to de crick. fust a deacon went in and measured de water wid a stick to find a safe and suitable place--den dey was ready for de preacher and de canidates. evvybody else stood on de banks of de crick and jined in de singin'. some of dem songs was: 'lead me to de water for to be baptized,' 'oh, how i love jesus,' and 'oh, happy day dat fixed my choice.' "i hates to even think 'bout funerals now, old as i is. 'course i'se ready to go, but i'se a thinkin' 'bout dem what ain't. funerals dem days was pretty much lak dey is now. evvybody in de country would be dar. all de coffins for slaves was home-made. dey was painted black wid smut off of de wash pot mixed wid grease and water. de onliest funeral song i 'members f'um dem days is: 'oh, livin' man come view de ground whar you must shortly lay.' "how in de name of de lawd could slaves run away to de north wid dem nigger dogs on deir heels? i never knowed nary one to run away. patterollers never runned me none, but dey did git atter some of de other slaves a whole lot. marse joe allus had one pet slave what he sont news by. "when slaves come in f'um de fields at night, dey was glad to jus' go to bed and rest deir bones. dey stopped off f'um field wuk at dinner time saddays. sadday nights us had stomp down good times pickin' de banjo, blowin' on quills, drinkin' liquor, and dancin'. i was sho' one fast nigger den. sunday was meetin' day for grown folks and gals. boys th'owed rocks and hunted birds' nests dat day. "chris'mas mornin's us chillun was up 'fore squirrels, lookin' up de chimbly for santa claus. dere was plenty to eat den--syrup, cake, and evvything. "new year's day de slaves all went back to wuk wid most of 'em clearin' new ground dat day. dere was allus plenty to do. de only other holidays us had was when us was rained out or if sleet and snow drove us out of de fields. evvybody had a good time den a frolickin'. when us was trackin' rabbits in de snow, it was heaps of fun. "marse joe had piles and piles of corn lined up in a ring for de corn shuckin's. de gen'ral pitched de songs and de niggers would follow, keepin' time a-singin' and shuckin' corn. atter all de corn was shucked, dey was give a big feast wid lots of whiskey to drink and de slaves was 'lowed to dance and frolic 'til mornin'. "if a neighbor got behind in geth'rin' his cotton, marse joe sont his slaves to help pick it out by moonlight. times lak dem days, us ain't never gwine see no more. "i ain't never seed no sich time in my life as dey had when marse will glover married miss moorehead. she had on a white satin dress wid a veil over her face, and i 'clare to goodness i never seed sich a pretty white lady. next day atter de weddin' day, marse will had de infare at his house and i knows i ain't never been whar so much good to eat was sot out in one place as dey had dat day. dey even had dried cow, lak what dey calls chipped beef now. dat was somepin' brand new in de way of eatin's den. i et so much i was skeered i warn't gwine to be able to go 'long back to marse joe's plantation wid de rest of 'em. "old marster put evvy foot forward to take care of his slaves when dey tuk sick, 'cause dey was his own property. dey poured asafiddy (asafetida) and pinetop tea down us, and made us take tea of some sort or another for 'most all of de ailments dere was dem days. slaves wore a nickel or a copper on strings 'round deir necks to keep off sickness. some few of 'em wore a dime; but dimes was hard to git. "one game us chillun played was 'doodle.' us would find us a doodle hole and start callin' de doodle bug to come out. you might talk and talk but if you didn't promise him a jug of 'lasses he wouldn't come up to save your life. one of de songs us sung playin' chilluns games was sorter lak dis: "whose been here since i been gone? a pretty little gal wid a blue dress on." "joy was on de way when us heared 'bout freedom, if us did have to whisper. marse joe had done been kilt in de war by a bomb. mist'ess, she jus' cried and cried. she didn't want us to leave her, so us stayed on wid her a long time, den us went off to mississippi to wuk on de railroad. "dem yankees stole evvything in sight when dey come along atter de surrender. dey was bad 'bout takin' our good hosses and corn, what was $ a bushel den. dey even stole our beehives and tuk 'em off wropt up in quilts. "my freedom was brought 'bout by a fight dat was fit 'twixt two men, and i didn't fight nary a lick myself. mr. jefferson davis thought he was gwine beat, but mr. lincoln he done de winnin'. when mr. abraham lincoln come to dis passage in de bible: 'my son, therefore shall ye be free indeed,' he went to wuk to sot us free. he was a great man--mr. lincoln was. booker washin'ton come 'long later. he was a great man too. "de fust school i went to was de miller o. field place. cam king, de teacher, was a injun and evvywhar he went he tuk his flute 'long wid him. "me and my fust wife, essie lou sutton, had a grand weddin', but de white folks tuk her off wid 'em, and i got me a second wife. she was julia goulder of putman county. us didn't have no big doin's at my second marriage. our onliest two chillun died whilst dey was still babies." asked about charms, ghosts and other superstitions, he patted himself on the chest, and boasted: "de charm is in here. i just dare any witches and ghosties to git atter me. i can see ghosties any time i want to. "want me to tell you what happened to me in gainesville, georgia? i was out in de woods choppin' cordwood and i felt somepin' flap at me 'bout my foots. atter while i looked down, and dere was one of dem deadly snakes, a highland moccasin. i was so weak i prayed to de lawd to gimme power to kill dat snake, but he didn't. de snake jus' disappeared. i thought it was de lawd's doin', but i warn't sho'. den i tuk up my axe and moved over to a sandy place whar i jus' knowed dere warn't no snakes. i started to raise my axe to cut de wood and somepin' told me to look down. i did, and dere was de same snake right twixt my foots again. den and dere i kilt him, and de sperrit passed th'oo me sayin': 'you is meaner dan dat snake; you kilt him and he hadn't even bit you.' i knowed for sho' den dat de lawd was speakin'. "i was preachin' in gainesville, whar i lived den, on de sunday 'fore de tornado in april . whilst i was in dat pulpit de sperrit spoke to me and said: 'dis town is gwine to be 'stroyed tomorrow; 'pare your folks.' i told my congregation what de sperrit done told me, and dem niggers thought i was crazy. bright and early next mornin' i went down to de depot to see de most of my folks go off on de train to atlanta on a picnic. dey begged me to go along wid 'em, but i said: 'no, i'se gwine to stay right here. and 'fore i got back home dat tornado broke loose. i was knocked down flat and broke to pieces. dat storm was de cause of me bein' hitched up in dis here harness what makes me look lak de devil's hoss. "tuther night i was a-singin' dis tune: 'mother how long 'fore i'se gwine?' a 'oman riz up and said: 'you done raised de daid.' den i laughed and 'lowed: 'i knows you is a sperrit. i'se one too.' at dat she faded out of sight. "i think folks had ought to be 'ligious 'cause dat is god's plan, and so i jined de church atter christ done presented hisself to me. i'se fixin' now to demand my sperrit in de lawd. "yes ma'am, miss, i knowed you was a-comin'. i had done seed you, writin' wid dat pencil on dat paper, in de sperrit." richmond county ex-slave interview leah garrett written by: louise oliphant federal writers' project augusta, georgia edited by: john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, georgia leah garrett, an old negress with snow-white hair leaned back in her rocker and recalled customs and manners of slavery days. mistreatment at the hands of her master is outstanding in her memory. "i know so many things 'bout slavery time 'til i never will be able to tell 'em all," she declared. "in dem days, preachers wuz just as bad and mean as anybody else. dere wuz a man who folks called a good preacher, but he wuz one of de meanest mens i ever seed. when i wuz in slavery under him he done so many bad things 'til god soon kilt him. his wife or chillun could git mad wid you, and if dey told him anything he always beat you. most times he beat his slaves when dey hadn't done nothin' a t'all. one sunday mornin' his wife told him deir cook wouldn't never fix nothin' she told her to fix. time she said it he jumped up from de table, went in de kitchen, and made de cook go under de porch whar he always whupped his slaves. she begged and prayed but he didn't pay no 'tention to dat. he put her up in what us called de swing, and beat her 'til she couldn't holler. de pore thing already had heart trouble; dat's why he put her in de kitchen, but he left her swingin' dar and went to church, preached, and called hisself servin' god. when he got back home she wuz dead. whenever your marster had you swingin' up, nobody wouldn't take you down. sometimes a man would help his wife, but most times he wuz beat afterwards. "another marster i had kept a hogshead to whup you on. dis hogshead had two or three hoops 'round it. he buckled you face down on de hogshead and whupped you 'til you bled. everybody always stripped you in dem days to whup you, 'cause dey didn't keer who seed you naked. some folks' chillun took sticks and jobbed (jabbed) you all while you wuz bein' beat. sometimes dese chillun would beat you all 'cross your head, and dey mas and pas didn't know what stop wuz. "another way marster had to whup us wuz in a stock dat he had in de stables. dis wuz whar he whupped you when he wuz real mad. he had logs fixed together wid holes for your feet, hands, and head. he had a way to open dese logs and fasten you in. den he had his coachman give you so many lashes, and he would let you stay in de stock for so many days and nights. dat's why he had it in de stable so it wouldn't rain on you. everyday you got dat same number of lashes. you never come out able to sit down. "i had a cousin wid two chillun. de oldest one had to nuss one of marster's grandchildren. de front steps wuz real high, and one day dis pore chile fell down dese steps wid de baby. his wife and daughter hollered and went on turrible, and when our marster come home dey wuz still hollerin' just lak de baby wuz dead or dyin'. when dey told him 'bout it, he picked up a board and hit dis pore little chile 'cross de head and kilt her right dar. den he told his slaves to take her and throw her in de river. her ma begged and prayed, but he didn't pay her no 'tention; he made 'em throw de chile in. "one of de slaves married a young gal, and dey put her in de "big house" to wuk. one day mistess jumped on her 'bout something and de gal hit her back. mistess said she wuz goin' to have marster put her in de stock and beat her when he come home. when de gal went to de field and told her husband 'bout it, he told her whar to go and stay 'til he got dar. dat night he took his supper to her. he carried her to a cave and hauled pine straw and put in dar for her to sleep on. he fixed dat cave up just lak a house for her, put a stove in dar and run de pipe out through de ground into a swamp. everybody always wondered how he fixed dat pipe, course dey didn't cook on it 'til night when nobody could see de smoke. he ceiled de house wid pine logs, made beds and tables out of pine poles, and dey lived in dis cave seven years. durin' dis time, dey had three chillun. nobody wuz wid her when dese chillun wuz born but her husband. he waited on her wid each chile. de chillun didn't wear no clothes 'cept a piece tied 'round deir waists. dey wuz just as hairy as wild people, and dey wuz wild. when dey come out of dat cave dey would run everytime dey seed a pusson. "de seven years she lived in de cave, diffunt folks helped keep 'em in food. her husband would take it to a certain place and she would go and git it. people had passed over dis cave ever so many times, but nobody knowed dese folks wuz livin' dar. our marster didn't know whar she wuz, and it wuz freedom 'fore she come out of dat cave for good. "us lived in a long house dat had a flat top and little rooms made like mule stalls, just big enough for you to git in and sleep. dey warn't no floors in dese rooms and neither no beds. us made beds out of dry grass, but us had cover 'cause de real old people, who couldn't do nothin' else, made plenty of it. nobody warn't 'lowed to have fires, and if dey wuz caught wid any dat meant a beatin'. some would burn charcoal and take de coals to deir rooms to help warm 'em. every pusson had a tin pan, tin cup, and a spoon. everybody couldn't eat at one time, us had 'bout four different sets. nobody had a stove to cook on, everybody cooked on fire places and used skillets and pots. to boil us hung pots on racks over de fire and baked bread and meats in de skillets. "marster had a big room right side his house whar his vittals wuz cooked. den de cook had to carry 'em upstairs in a tray to be served. when de somethin' t'eat wuz carried to de dinin' room it wuz put on a table and served from dis table. de food warn't put on de eatin' table. "de slaves went to church wid dey marsters. de preachers always preached to de white folks first, den dey would preach to de slaves. dey never said nothin' but you must be good, don't steal, don't talk back at your marsters, don't run away, don't do dis, and don't do dat. dey let de colored preachers preach but dey give 'em almanacs to preach out of. dey didn't 'low us to sing such songs as 'we shall be free' and 'o for a thousand tongues to sing'. dey always had somebody to follow de slaves to church when de colored preacher was preachin' to hear what wuz said and done. dey wuz 'fraid us would try to say something 'gainst 'em." mary gladdy, ex-slave place of birth: on the holt plantation, in muscogee county, near columbus, georgia. date of birth: about . present residence: in rear of - / - th avenue, columbus, georgia. interviewed: july , . her story: "i was a small girl when the civil war broke out, but i remember it distinctly. i also remember the whisperings among the slaves--their talking of the possibility of freedom. "my father was a very large, powerful man. during his master's absence, in ' or ' , a colored foreman on the hines holt place once undertook to whip him; but my father wouldn't allow him to do it. this foreman then went off and got five big buck negroes to help him whip father, but all six of them couldn't 'out-man' my daddy! then this foreman shot my daddy with a shot-gun, inflicting wounds from which he never fully recovered. "in ' , another negro foreman whipped one of my little brothers. this foreman was named warren. his whipping my brother made me mad and when, a few days later, i saw some men on horseback whom i took to be yankees, i ran to them and told them about warren--a common negro slave--whipping my brother. and they said, 'well, we will see warren about that.' but warren heard them and took to his heels! yes, sir, he flew from home, and he didn't come back for a week! yes, sir, i sholy scared that negro nearly to death! "my father's father was a very black, little, full-blooded, african negro who could speak only broken english. he had a son named adam, a brother of my father, living at lochapoka, ala. in , after freedom, this granpa of mine, who was then living in macon, georgia, got mad with his wife, picked up his feather bed and toted it all the way from macon to lochapoka! said he was done with grandma and was going to live with adam. a few weeks later, however, he came back through columbus, still toting his feather bed, returning to grandma in macon. i reckon he changed his mind. i don't believe he was over five feet high and we could hardly understand his talk. "since freedom, i have lived in mississippi and other places, but most of my life has been spent right in and around columbus. i have had one husband and no children. i became a widow about years ago, and i have since remained one because i find that i can serve god better when i am not bothered with a negro man." mary gladdy claims to have never attended school or been privately taught in her life. and she can't write or even form the letters of the alphabet, but she gave her interviewer a very convincing demonstration of her ability to read. when asked how she mastered the art of reading, she replied: "the lord revealed it to me." for more than thirty years, the lord has been revealing his work, and many other things, to mary gladdy. for more than twenty years, she has been experiencing "visitations of the spirit". these do not occur with any degree of regularity, but they do always occur in "the dead hours of the night" after she has retired, and impel her to rise and write in an unknown hand. these strange writings of her's now cover eight pages of letter paper and bear a marked resemblance to crude shorthand notes. off-hand, she can "cipher" (interpret or translate) about half of these strange writings; the other half, however, she can make neither heads nor tails of except when the spirit is upon her. when the spirit eases off, she again becomes totally ignorant of the significance of that mysterious half of her spirit-directed writings. "aunt" mary appears to be very well posted on a number of subjects. she is unusually familiar with the bible, and quotes scripture freely and correctly. she also uses beautiful language, totally void of slang and negro jargon, "big" words and labored expressions. she is a seventh day adventist; is not a psychic, but is a rather mysterious personage. she lives alone, and ekes out a living by taking in washing. she is of the opinion that "we are now living in the last days"; that, as she interprets the "signs", the "end of time" is drawing close. her conversion to christianity was the result of a hair-raising experience with a ghost--about forty years ago, and she has never--from that day to this--fallen from grace for as "long as a minute". to know "aunt" mary is to be impressed with her utter sincerity and, to like her. she is very proud of one of her grandmothers, edie dennis, who lived to be years old, and concerning whom a reprint from the atlanta constitution of november , , is appended. her story of chuck, and the words of two spirituals and one slave canticle which "aunt" mary sang for her interviewer, are also appended. aunt edie dennis has reached good old age --special-- (from atlanta constitution, november , .) quite a remarkable case of longevity is had in the person of edie dennis, a colored woman of columbus, who has reached the unusual age of years of age and is still in a state of fair health. aunt edie lives with two of her daughters at no. third avenue, in this city. she has lived in three centuries, is a great-great grandmother and has children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren, aggregating in all over a hundred persons. she lives with one of her "young" daughters, sixty-six. edie dennis is no doubt one of the oldest persons living in the united states. cases are occasionally reported where years is reached, but years is an age very seldom attained. a wonderful feature of this case is that this old woman is the younger sister of another person now living. aunt edie has a brother living at americus, georgia, who is years old. notwithstanding her great age, aunt edie is in fairly good health. she is naturally feeble and her movements are limited. even in her little home, from which she never stirs. although she is feeble, her faculties seem clear and undimmed and she talked interestingly and intelligently to a constitution reporter who called upon her recently. aunt edie was born in , just eight years before the death of george washington occurred. she was a mother when the war of took place. the establishment of columbus as a city was an event of her mature womanhood. the indian war of the thirties she recalls very distinctly. she was getting old when the mexican war took place. she was an old woman when the great conflict between the states raged. she was seventy-five years of age when she became free. it is quite needless to say that aunt edie was a slave all her life up to the year . she was born in hancock county, georgia, between milledgeville and sparta. she was the property of thomas schlatter. she came to columbus just after the town had been laid off, when she was a comparatively young woman. she became the property of the family of judge hines holt, the distinguished columbus lawyer. she says that when she first came here there was only a small collection of houses. where her present home was located was then nothing but swamp land. the present location of the court house was covered with a dense woods. no event in those early years impressed itself more vividly upon aunt edie's mind than the indian war, in the thirties. she was at the home of one of the indians when she first heard of the uprising against the whites, and she frankly says that she was frightened almost to death when she listened to the cold-blooded plots to exterminate the white people. not much attention was paid to her on account of her being a negro. those were very thrilling times and aunt edie confesses that she was exceedingly glad when the troubles with the red men were over. another happening of the thirties which aunt edie recalls quite distinctly is the falling of the stars. she says quaintly that there was more religion that year in georgia than there ever was before or has been since. the wonderful manner in which the stars shot across the heavens by the thousands, when every sign seemed to point to the destruction of the earth, left a lasting impression upon her brain. aunt edie says that she was kindly treated by her masters. she says that they took interest in the spiritual welfare of their slaves and that they were called in for prayer meeting regularly. aunt edie was such an old woman when she was freed that the new condition meant very little change in life for her, as she had about stopped work, with the exception of light tasks about the house. there seems to be no doubt that aunt edie is years old. she talks intelligently about things that occurred years ago. all her children, grandchildren, etc., asserts that her age is exactly as stated. indeed, they have been the custodians of her age, so to speak, for nearly half a century. it was a matter of great interest to her family when she passed the mark. aunt edie is religious and she delights in discussing scriptural matters. she has practical notions, however, and while she is morally sure she will go to a better world when she dies, she remarks, "that we know something about this world, but nothing about the next." perhaps this is one reason why aunt edie has stayed here years. * * * * * note: mary gladdy ( - / - sixth avenue, columbus, georgia). a grand-daughter of edie dennis, states that her grandmother died in , aged . the story of chuck, as told by mary gladdy. chuck was a very intelligent and industrious slave, but so religious that he annoyed his master by doing so much praying, chanting, and singing. so, while in a spiteful mood one day, this master sold the negro to an infidel. and this infidel, having no respect for religion whatsoever, beat chuck unmercifully in an effort to stop him from indulging in his devotions. but, the more and the harder the infidel owner whipped chuck, the more devout and demonstrative the slave became. finally, one day, the infidel was stricken ill unto death; the wicked man felt that his end was near and he was afraid to die. moreover, his conscience rebuked him for his cruel treatment of this slave. the family doctor had given the infidel up: the man apparently had but a few hours to live. then, about o'clock at night, the dying man asked his wife to go down in the slave quarter and ask chuck if he would come to his bedside and pray for him. the white lady went, as requested, and found chuck on his knees, engaged in prayer. "chuck", she called, "your master is dying and has sent me to beg you to come and pray for him." "why, maddom", replied chuck, "i has been praying fer marster tonight--already, and i'll gladly go with you." chuck then went to his master's bed side and prayed for him all night, and the lord heard chuck's prayers, and the white man recovered, was converted, joined the church, and became an evangelist. he also freed chuck and made an evangelist of him. then the two got in a buggy and, for years, traveled together all over the country, preaching the gospel and saving souls. note: mary gladdy believes this to be a true story, though she knew neither the principals involved, nor where nor when they lived and labored. she says that the story has been "handed down", and she once saw it printed in, and thus confirmed by, a negro publication--long after she had originally heard it. keep the fire burning while your soul's fired up. fire, fire, o, keep the fire burning while your soul's fired up. o, keep the fire burning while your soul's fired up; never mind what satan says while your soul's fired up. you ain't going to learn how to watch and pray, less you keep the fire burning while your soul's fired up. old satan is a liar and a cunjorer, too; if you don't mind, he'll cunjor you; keep the fire burning while your =soul's fired up=. never mind what satan says while, your soul's fired up. sung for interviewer by: mary gladdy, ex-slave, - / - sixth avenue, columbus, georgia. december , . the gospel train never seen the like since i've been born, the people keep a-coming, and the train's done gone; too late, too late, the train's done gone, too late, sinner, too late, the train's done gone; never seen the like since i've been born, the people keep a-coming, and the train's done gone; too late, too late, the train's done gone. went down into the valley to watch and pray, my soul got happy and i stayed all day; too late, too late, the train's done gone; too late, sinner, too late, the train's done gone; never seen the like since i've been born, the people keep a-coming and the train's done gone. too late, too late, the train's done gone. sung for interviewer by: mary gladdy, ex-slave, - / - th avenue, columbus, georgia, december , old slave canticle. my sister, i feels 'im, my sister i feels 'im; all night long i've been feelin 'im; jest befoe day, i feels 'im, jest befoe day i feels 'im; the sperit, i feels 'im, the sperit i feels 'im! my brother, i feels 'im, my brother, i feels 'im; all night long i've been feelin 'im, jest befoe day, i feels 'im, jest befoe day, i feel 'im; the sperit, i feels 'im! according to mary gladdy, ex-slave, - / - th avenue, columbus, georgia, it was customary among slaves during the civil war period to secretly gather in their cabins two or three nights each week and hold prayer and experience meetings. a large, iron pot was always placed against the cabin door--sideways, to keep the sound of their voices from "escaping" or being heard from the outside. then, the slaves would sing, pray, and relate experiences all night long. their great, soul-hungering desire was freedom--not that they loved the yankees or hated their masters, but merely longed to be free and hated the institution of slavery. practically always, every negro attendant of these meetings felt the spirit of the lord "touch him (or her) just before day". then, all would arise, shake hands around, and begin to chant the canticle above quoted. this was also a signal for adjournment, and, after chanting or minutes, all would shake hands again and go home--confident in their hearts that freedom was in the offing for them. a short talk with sarah gray-- ex-slave a paper submitted by minnie b. ross revision of original copy and typing by j. c. russell / / talk with ex-slave sarah gray m. b. ross sarah gray is an aged ex-slave, whose years have not only bent her body but seem to have clouded her memory. only a few facts relating to slavery could, therefore, be learned from her. the events she related, however, seemed to give her as much pleasure as a child playing with a favorite toy. the only recollection sarah has of her mother is seeing her as she lay in her coffin, as she was very young when her mother died. she remembers asking her sisters why they didn't give her mother any breakfast. sarah's master was mr. jim nesbit, who was the owner of a small plantation in gwinnett county. the exact number of slaves on the plantation were not known, but there were enough to carry on the work of plowing, hoeing and chopping the cotton and other crops. women as well as men were expected to turn out the required amount of work, whether it was picking cotton, cutting logs, splitting rails for fences or working in the house. sarah was a house slave, performing the duties of a maid. she was often taken on trips with the mistress, and treated more as one of the nesbit family than as a slave. she remarked, "i even ate the same kind of food as the master's family." the nesbits, according to sarah, followed the customary practice of the other slave owners in the matter of the punishment of slaves. she says, however, that while there were stories of some very cruel masters, in her opinion the slave owners of those days were not as cruel as some people today. she said occasionally slave owners appointed some of the slaves as overseers, and very often these slave-overseers were very cruel. when the war began, the nesbits and other plantation owners grouped together, packed their wagons full of supplies, took all of their slaves, and started on a journey as refugees. they had not gone very far when a band of yankee soldiers overtook them, destroyed the wagons, took seventy of the men prisoners and marched off taking all of the horses, saying they were on their way to richmond and when they returned there would be no more masters and slaves, as the slaves would be freed. some of the slaves followed the yankees, but most of them remained with their masters' families. they were not told of their freedom immediately on the termination of the war, but learned it a little later. as compensation, mr. nesbit promised them money for education. she declares, however, that this promise was never fulfilled. sarah gray's recollections of slavery, for the most part, seem to be pleasant. she sums it up in the statement, "in spite of the hardships we had to go through at times, we had a lot to be thankful for. there were frolics, and we were given plenty of good food to eat, especially after a wedding." the aged ex-slave now lives with a few distant relatives. she is well cared for by a family for whom she worked as a nurse for years, and she declares that she is happy in her old age, feeling that her life has been usefully spent. plantation life as viewed by ex-slave alice green athens georgia written by: corry fowler, athens -- edited by: sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & alice green's supposed address led the interviewer to a cabin with a padlocked front door. a small negro girl who was playing in the adjoining yard admitted, after some coaxing, that she knew where alice could be found. pointing down the street, she said: "see dat house wid de sheet hangin' out in front. dat's whar aunt alice lives now." a few moments later a rap on the door of the house designated was answered by a small, slender negress. "yes mam, i'm alice green," was her solemn response to the inquiry. she pondered the question of an interview for a moment and then, with unsmiling dignity, bade the visitor come in and be seated. only one room of the dilapidated two-room shack was usable for shelter and this room was so dark that lamplight was necessary at : o'clock in the morning. her smoking oil lamp was minus its chimney. a negro child about two or three years old was alice's sole companion. "i takes keer of little sallie mae whilst her mammy wuks at a boardin' house," she explained. "she's lots of company for me. "charles and milly green was my daddy and mammy. daddy's overseer was a man named green, and dey said he was a powerful mean sort of man. i never did know whar it was dey lived when daddy was borned. mammy's marster was a lawyer dat dey called slickhead mitchell, and he had a plantation at helicon springs. mammy was a house gal and she said dey treated her right good. now daddy, he done field work. you know what field work is, hoein', plowin', and things lak dat. when you was a slave you had to do anything and evvything your marster told you to. you was jus' 'bliged to obey your marster no matter what he said for you to do. if you didn't, it was mighty bad for you. my two oldest sisters was fannie and rena. den come my brothers, isaac and bob, and my two youngest sisters, luna and violet. dere was seven of us in all. "slaves lived in rough little log huts daubed wid mud and de chimblys was made out of sticks and red mud. mammy said dat atter de slaves had done got through wid deir day's work and finished eatin' supper, dey all had to git busy workin' wid cotton. some carded bats, some spinned and some weaved cloth. i knows you is done seen dis here checkidy cotton homespun--dat's what dey weaved for our dresses. dem dresses was made tight and long, and dey made 'em right on de body so as not to waste none of de cloth. all slaves had was homespun clothes and old heavy brogan shoes. "you'll be s'prised at what mammy told me 'bout how she got her larnin'. she said she kept a school book hid in her bosom all de time and when de white chillun got home from school she would ax 'em lots of questions all 'bout what dey had done larned dat day and, 'cause she was so proud of evvy little scrap of book larnin' she could pick up, de white chillun larned her how to read and write too. all de larnin' she ever had she got from de white chillun at de big house, and she was so smart at gittin' 'em to larn her dat atter de war was over she got to be a school teacher. long 'fore dat time, one of dem white chillun got married and tuk mammy wid her to her new home at butler, georgia. "now my daddy, he was a plum sight sho' 'nough. he said dat when evvythin' got still and quiet at night he would slip off and hunt him up some 'omans. patterollers used to git atter him wid nigger hounds and once when dey cotch him he said dey beat him so bad you couldn't lay your hand on him nowhar dat it warn't sore. dey beat so many holes in him he couldn't even wear his shirt. most of de time he was lucky enough to outrun 'em and if he could jus' git to his marster's place fust dey couldn't lay hands on him. yes mam, he was plenty bad 'bout runnin' away and gittin' into devilment. "daddy used to talk lots 'bout dem big cornshuckin's. he said dat when dey got started he would jump up on a big old pile of corn and holler loud as he could whilst he was a snatchin' dem shucks off as fast as greased lightin'. "when mammy was converted she jined the white folks church and was baptized by a white preacher 'cause in dem days slaves all went to de same churches wid deir marster's famblies. dere warn't no separate churches for negroes and white people den. "i warn't no bigger dan dis here little sallie mae what stays wid me when de war ended and dey freed de slaves. a long time atter it was all over, mammy told me 'bout dat day. she said she was in de kitchen up at de big house a-cookin' and me and my sisters was out in de yard in de sandbed a-playin' wid de little white chillun when dem yankee sojers come. old miss, she said to mammy: 'milly, look yonder what's a-comin'. i ain't gwine to have nothin' left, not even a nickels worth, 'cause dere comes dem yankees.' dey rid on in de yard, dem sojers what wore dem blue jackets, and dey jus' swarmed all over our place. dey even went in our smokehouse and evvywhar and took whatever dey wanted. dey said slaves was all freed from bondage and told us to jus' take anything and evvything us wanted from de big house and all 'round de plantation whar us lived. dem thievin' sojers even picked up one of de babies and started off wid it, and den old miss did scream and cry for sho'. atter dey had done left, old miss called all of us together and said she didn't want none of us to leave her and so us stayed wid her a whole year atter freedom had done come. "not many slaves had a chance to git property of deir own for a long time 'cause dey didn't have no money to buy it wid. dem few what had land of deir own wouldn't have had it if deir white folks hadn't give it to 'em or holp 'em to git it. my uncle, carter brown, had a plenty 'cause his white folks holped him to git a home and 'bout evvything else he wanted. dem morton negroes got ahead faster dan most any of de others 'round here but dey couldn't have done it if deir white folks hadn't holped 'em so much. "soon as i got big enough, i started cookin' for well-off white folks. fact is, i ain't never cooked for no white folks dat didn't have jus' plenty of money. some of de white folks what has done et my cookin' is de mitchells, upsons, ruckers, bridges, and chief seagraves' fambly. i was cookin' for chief buesse's mammy when he was jus' a little old shirttail boy. honey, i allus did lak to be workin' and i have done my share of it, but since i got so old i ain't able to do much no more. my white folks is mighty good to me though. "now honey, you may think it's kind of funny but i ain't never been much of a hand to run 'round wid colored folks. my mammy and my white folks dey raised me right and larned me good manners and i'm powerful proud of my raisin'. i feels lak now dat white folks understands me better and 'preciates me more." why, jus' listen to dis! when mr. weaver bridges told me his mother had done died, he axed me did i want to go to the funeral and he said he was goin' to take me to de church and graveyard too, and sho' 'nough dey did come and git me and carry me 'long. i was glad dey had so many pretty flowers at mrs. bridges' funeral 'cause i loved her so much. she was a mighty sweet, good, kind 'oman. "all my folks is dead now 'cept me and my chillun, archie, lila, and lizzie. all three of 'em is done married now. archie, he's got a house full of chillun. he works up yonder at de georgian hotel. i loves to stay in a little hut off to myself 'cause i can tell good as anybody when my chillun and in-laws begins to look cross-eyed at me so i jus' stays out of deir way. "i'm still able to go to church and back by myself pretty reg'lar. 'bout four years ago i jined hill's baptist church. lak to a got lost didn't i? if i had stayed out a little longer it would have been too late, and i sho' don't want to be lost." plantation life interview with: alice green willow street athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby athens -- edited by: sarah h. hall athens -- leila harris augusta -- and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & . alice green ex-slave--age alice green's address led to a tumble down shack set in a small yard which was enclosed by a sagging poultry wire fence. the gate, off its hinges, was propped across the entrance. the call, "alice!" brought the prompt response, "here i is. jus' push de gate down and come on in." when a little rat terrier ran barking out of the house to challenge the visitor, alice hobbled to the door. "come back here and be-have yourself" she addressed the dog, and turning to the interviewer, she said: "lady, dat dog won't bite nothin' but somepin' t'eat--when he kin git it." don't pay him no 'tention. won't you come in and have a seat?" alice has a light brown complexion and bright blue eyes. she wore a soiled print dress, and a dingy stocking cap partly concealed her white hair. boards were laid across the seat of what had been a cane-bottomed chair, in which she sat and rocked. asked if she would talk of her early life the old negress replied: "good lord! honey, i done forgot all i ever knowed 'bout dem days. i was born in clarke county. milly and charley green was my mammy and pappy and dey b'longed to marse daniel miller. mammy, she was born and raised in clarke county but my pappy, he come from southwest georgia. i done forgot de town whar he was brung up. dere was seven of us chillun: me and viola, lula, fannie, rene, bob, and isaac. chillun what warn't big 'nough to wuk in de fields or in de house stayed 'round de yard and played in de sand piles wid de white chillun. "slaves lived in mud-daubed log huts what had chimblies made out of sticks and mud. lordy honey! dem beds was made wid big high posties and strung wid cords for springs. folks never had no wire bedsprings dem days. our mattresses was wheat straw put in ticks made out of coarse cloth what was wove on de loom right dar on de plantation. "i don't know nothin' 'bout what my grandmammies done in slav'ry time. i never seed but one of 'em, and don't 'member much 'bout her. i was jus' so knotty headed i never tuk in what went on 'cause i never 'spected to be axed to tell 'bout dem days. "money! oh-h-h, no ma'am! i never seed no money 'til i was a great big gal. my white folks was rich and fed us good. dey raised lots of hogs and give us plenty of bread and meat wid milk and butter and all sorts of vegetables. marster had one big garden and dere warn't nobody had more good vegetables den he fed to his slaves. de cookin' was done in open fireplaces and most all de victuals was biled or fried. us had all de 'possums, squirrels, rabbits, and fish us wanted cause our marster let de mens go huntin' and fishin' lots. "us jus' wore common clothes. winter time dey give us dresses made out of thick homespun cloth. de skirts was gathered on to tight fittin' waisties. us wore brass toed brogan shoes in winter, but in summer niggers went bar'foots. us jus' wore what us could ketch in summer. by dat time our winter dresses had done wore thin and us used 'em right on through de hot weather. "marse daniel miller, he was some kinder good to mammy, and miss susan was good to us too. now honey, somehow i jus' cain't 'member deir chilluns names no more. and i played in de sand piles all day long wid 'em too. "oh-h-h! dat was a great big old plantation, and when all dem niggers got out in de fields wid horses and wagons, it looked lak a picnic ground; only dem niggers was in dat field to wuk and dey sho' did have to wuk. "marster had a carriage driver to drive him and ole miss 'round and to take de chillun to school. de overseer, he got de niggers up 'fore day and dey had done et deir breakfast, 'tended to de stock, and was in de field by sunup and he wuked 'em 'til sundown. de mens didn't do no wuk atter dey got through tendin' to de stock at night, but mammy and lots of de other 'omans sot up and spun and wove 'til 'leven or twelve o'clock lots of nights. "my pappy was a man what b'lieved in havin' his fun and he would run off to see de gals widout no pass. once when he slipped off dat way de patterollers sicked dem nigger hounds on him and when dey cotched him dey most beat him to death; he couldn't lay on his back for a long time. "if dey had jails, i didn't know nothin' 'bout 'em. de patterollers wid deir nigger hounds made slaves b'have deirselfs widout puttin' 'em in no jails. i never seed no niggers sold, but mammy said her and her whole fambly was sold on de block to de highes' bidder and dat was when ole marster got us. "mammy, she was de cook up at de big house, and when de white chillun come back from school in de atternoon she would ax 'em to show her how to read a little book what she carried 'round in her bosom all de time, and to tell her de other things dey had larn't in school dat day. dey larned her how to read and write, and atter de war was over mammy teached school and was a granny 'oman (midwife) too. "dey made us go to church on sundays at de white folks church 'cause dere warn't no church for slaves on de plantation. us went to sunday school too. mammy jined de white folks church and was baptized by de white preacher. he larnt us to read de bible, but on some of de plantations slaves warn't 'lowed to larn how to read and write. i didn't have no favorite preacher nor song neither, but mammy had one song what she sung lots. it was 'bout 'hark from de tombs a doleful sound.' i never seed nobody die and i never went to no buryin' durin' slav'ry time, so i cain't tell nothin' 'bout things lak dat. "lordy honey! how could dem niggers run off to de north when dem patterollers and deir hounds was waitin' to run 'em down and beat 'em up? now some of de slaves on other places might have found some way to pass news 'round but not on ole marster's place. you sho' had to have a pass 'fore you could leave dat plantation and he warn't goin' to give you no pass jus' for foolishment. i never heared tell of no uprisin's twixt white folks and niggers but dey fussed a-plenty. now days when folks gits mad, dey jus' hauls off and kills one another. "atter slaves got through deir wuk at night, dey was so tired dey jus' went right off to bed and to sleep. dey didn't have to wuk on sadday atter dinner, and dat night dey would pull candy, dance, and frolic 'til late in de night. dey had big times at cornshuckin's and log rollin's. my pappy, he was a go-gitter; he used to stand up on de corn and whoop and holler, and when he got a drink of whiskey in him he went hog wild. dere was allus big eatin's when de corn was all shucked. "christmas warn't much diffunt from other times. us chillun had a heap of fun a-lookin' for santa claus. de old folks danced, quilted, and pulled candy durin' de christmastime. come new year's day, dey all had to go back to wuk. "what for you wants to know what i played when i was a little gal? dat was a powerful long time ago. us played in de sand piles, jumped rope, played hide and seek and old mother hubbard." at this time a little girl, who lives with alice, asked for a piece of bread. she got up and fed the child, then said: "come in dis here room. i wants to show you whar i burned my bed last night tryin' to kill de chinches: dey most eats me up evvy night." in the bedroom an oil lamp was burning. the bed and mattress showed signs of fire. the mattress tick was split from head to foot and cotton spilling out on the floor. "dat's whar i sleep," declared alice. the atmosphere of the bedroom was heavy with nauseous odors and the interviewer hastened to return to the front of the house desiring to get out of range of the chinch-ridden bed. before there was time to resume conversation the terrier grabbed the bread from the child's hand and in retaliation the child bit the dog on the jaw and attempted to retrieve the bread. alice snatched off her stocking cap and beat at the dog with it. "git out of here, biddy. i done told you and told you 'bout eatin' dat chile's somepin t'eat. i don't know why miz. woods gimme dis here dog no how, 'cause she knows i can't feed it and it's jus' plum starvin'. go on out, i say. "lordy! lady, dar's one of dem chinches from my bed a-crawlin' over your pretty white dress. ketch him quick, 'fore he bites you." soon the excitement was over and alice resumed her story. "dey tuk mighty good care of slaves when dey got sick. dey had to, 'cause slaves was propity and to let a slave die was to lose money. ole miss, she looked atter de 'omans and ole marster, he had de doctor for de mens. i done forgot most of what dey made us take. i know dey made us wear assfiddy (asafetida) sacks 'round our necks, and eat gumgoo wax. dey rubbed our heads wid camphor what was mixed wid whiskey. old folks used to conjure folks when dey got mad at 'em. dey went in de woods and got certain kinds of roots and biled 'em wid spider webs, and give 'em de tea to drink. "one day us chillun was playin' in de sand pile and us looked up and seed a passel of yankees comin'. dere was so many of 'em it was lak a flock of bluebirds. 'fore dey left some folks thought dey was more lak blue devils. my mammy was in de kitchen and ole miss said: 'look out of dat window, milly; de yankees is comin' for sho' and dey's goin' to free you and take you and your chillun 'way from me. don't leave me! please don't leave me, milly!' dem yankees swarmed into de yard. dey opened de smokehouse, chicken yard, corncrib, and evvything on de place. dey tuk what dey wanted and told us de rest was ours to do what us pleased wid. dey said us was free and dat what was on de plantation b'longed to us, den dey went on off and us never seed 'em no more. "when de war was over ole miss cried and cried and begged us not to leave her, but us did. us went to wuk for a man on halves. i had to wuk in de field 'til i was a big gal, den i went to wuk for rich white folks. i ain't never wuked for no pore white folks in my whole life. "it was a long time 'fore niggers could buy land for deirselfs 'cause dey had to make de money to buy it wid. i couldn't rightly say when schools was set up for de niggers. it was all such a long time ago, and i never tuk it in nohow. "i don't recollect when i married george huff or what i wore dat day. didn't live wid him long nohow. i warn't goin' to live wid no man what sot 'round and watched me wuk. mammy had done larnt me how to wuk, and i didn't know nothin' else but to go ahead and wuk for a livin'. i don't know whar george is. he might be dead for all i know; if he ain't, he ought to be. i got three chillun. two of 'em is gals, lizzie and lila, and one is a boy. my oldest gal, she lives in atlanta." she ignored the question as to where her other daughter lives. "my son wuks at de georgian hotel. but understand now, dem ain't george huff's chillun. deir pappy was my sweetheart what got into trouble and runned away. i ain't gwine to tell his name. "honey, i jus' tell you de truth; de reason why i jined de church was 'cause i was a wild gal, and dere warn't nothin' too mean for me to do for a long time. mammy and my sisters kept on beggin' me to change my way of livin', but i didn't 'til four years ago. i got sick and thought i was goin' to die, and den i begged de good lord to forgive me and promised him if he would let me git well 'nough to git out of dat bed, i would change and do good de rest of my life. when i was able to git up, i jined de church. i didn't mean to burn in hell lak de preachers said i would. i thinks evvybody ought to jine de church and live right. "oh-h-h! lady, i sho' do thank you for dis here dime. i'm gwine to buy me some meat wid it. i ain't had none dis week. my white folks is mighty good to me, but niggers don't pay me no mind. "has you axed me all you wants to? i sho' is glad 'cause i ain't had nothin' t'eat yit." she pulled down her stocking to tie the coin in its top and revealed an expanse of sores from ankle to knee. a string was tied above each knee. "a white lady told me dem strings soaked in kerosene would drive out de misery from my laigs," alice explained. "goodbye honey, and god bless you." an opinion of slavery by isaiah green--ex slave submitted by minnie b. ross typed by j.c. russell - - an opinion of slavery by isaiah green--ex-slave an ex-slaves opinion of slavery isaiah green, an ex-slave, still has a clear, agile mind and an intelligent manner. with his reddish brown complexion, straight hair, and high cheek bones, he reminds you of an old indian chief, and he verifies the impression by telling you that his grandfather was a full blooded indian. isaiah green was born in at greensboro, ga. cleary mallory willis and bob henderson were his parents, but he did not grow up knowing the love and care of a father, for his father was sold from his mother when he was only two years. years later, his mother lost track of his father and married again. there were eleven children and isaiah was next to the youngest. his master was colonel dick willis, who with his wife "miss sally" managed a plantation of , acres of land and slaves. col. willis had seven children, all by a previous marriage. throughout the state he was known for his wealth and culture. his plantation extended up and down the oconee river. his slave quarters were made up of rows of -room log cabins with a different family occupying each room. the fireplaces were built three and four feet in length purposely for cooking. the furniture, consisting of a bed, table, and chair, was made from pine wood and kept clean by scouring with sand. new mattresses and pillows were made each spring from wheat straw. old uncle peter, one of the willis slaves, was a skilled carpenter and would go about building homes for other plantation owners. sometimes he was gone as long as four or five months. every two weeks, rations of meal, molasses and bacon were given each slave family in sufficient quantity. the slaves prepared their own meals, but were not allowed to leave the fields until noon. a nursing mother, however, could leave between times. large families were the aim and pride of a slave owner, and he quickly learned which of the slave women were breeders and which were not. a slave trader could always sell a breeding woman for twice the usual amount. a greedy owner got rid of those who didn't breed. first, however, he would wait until he had accumulated a number of undesirables, including the aged and unruly. there was an old slave trader in louisiana by the name of riley who always bought this type of slave, and re-sold them. when ready to sell, a slave owner notified him by telegram. when riley arrived, the slaves were lined up, undressed and closely inspected. too many scars on the body meant a "bad slave" and no one would be anxious to purchase him. green related the story of his grand mother betsy willis. "my grandmother was half white, since the master of the plantation on which she lived was her father." he wished to sell her, and when she was placed on the block he made the following statement: "i wish to sell a slave who is also my daughter. before anyone can purchase her, he must agree not to treat her as a slave but as a free person. she is a good midwife and can be of great service to you." col. dick willis was there, and in front of everyone signed the papers. the willis plantation was very large and required many workers. there were plow hands alone, excluding those who were required to do the hoeing. women as well as men worked in the fields. isaiah green declares that his mother could plow as well as any man. he also says that his work was very easy in the spring. he dropped peas into the soft earth between the cornstalks, and planted them with his heel. cotton, wheat, corn, and all kinds of vegetables made up the crops. a special group of women did the carding and spinning, and made the cloth on two looms. all garments were made from this homespun cloth. dyes from roots and berries were used to produce the various colors. red elm berries and a certain tree bark made one kind of dye. besides acting as midwife, green's grandmother betsy willis, was also a skilled seamstress and able to show the other women different points in the art of sewing. shoes were given to the slaves as often as they were needed. green's step-father was afflicted and could not help with the work in the field. since he was a skilled shoe maker his job was to make shoes in the winter. in summer, however, he was required to sit in the large garden ringing a bell to scare away the birds. col. willis was a very kind man, who would not tolerate cruel treatment to any of his slaves by overseers. if a slave reported that he had been whipped for no reason and showed scars on his body as proof, the overseer was discharged. on the willis plantation were colored men known as "nigger drivers." one particularly, known as "uncle jarrett," was very mean and enjoyed exceeding the authority given by the master. green remarked, "i was the master's pet. he never allowed anyone to whip me and he didn't whip me himself. he was -ft. in. tall and often as i walked with him, he would ask, "isaiah, do you love your old master?' of course i would answer, yes, for i did love him." col. willis did not allow the "patterrollers" to interfere with any of his slaves. he never gave them passes, and if any were caught out without one the "patterrollers" were afraid to whip them. mr. john branch was considered one of the meanest slave owners in green county, and the negroes on his plantation were always running away. another slave owner known for his cruelty was colonel calloway, who had a slave named jesse who ran away and stayed years. he dug a cave in the ground and made fairly comfortable living quarters. other slaves who no longer could stand col. calloway's cruelty, would join him. jesse visited his wife, lettie, two and three times a week at night. col. calloway could never verify this, but became suspicious when jesse's wife gave birth to two children who were the exact duplicate of jesse. when he openly accused her of knowing jesse's whereabouts, she denied the charges, pretending she had not seen him since the day he left. when the war ended, jesse came to his old master and told him he had been living right on the plantation for the past years. col. calloway was astonished; he showed no anger toward jesse, however, but loaned him a horse and wagon to move his goods from the cave to his home. there were some owners who made their slaves steal goods from other plantations and hide it on theirs. they were punished by their master, however, if they were caught. frolics were held on the willis plantation as often as desired. it was customary to invite slaves from adjoining plantations, but if they attended without securing a pass from their master, the "patterrollers" could not bother them so long as they were on the willis plantation. on the way home, however, they were often caught and beaten. in those days there were many negro musicians who were always ready to furnish music from their banjo and fiddle for the frolics. if a white family was entertaining, and needed a musician but didn't own one, they would hire a slave from another plantation to play for them. col. willis always allowed his slaves to keep whatever money they earned. there were two stills on the willis plantation, but the slaves were never allowed to drink whiskey at their frolics. sometimes they managed to "take a little" without the master knowing it. on sunday afternoons, slaves were required to attend white churches for religious services, and over and over again the one sermon drummed into their heads was, "servants obey your mistress and master; you live for them. now go home and obey, and your master will treat you right." if a slave wished to join the church, he was baptized by a white minister. the consent of both slave owners was necessary to unite a couple in matrimony. no other ceremony was required. if either master wished to sell the slave who married, he would name the price and if it was agreeable to the other, the deal was settled so that one owner became master of both. the larger and stronger the man, the more valuable he was considered. slaves did not lack medical treatment and were given the best of attention by the owner's family doctor. sometimes slaves would pretend illness to escape work in the field. a quick examination, however, revealed the truth. home remedies such as turpentine, castor oil, etc., were always kept on hand for minor ailments. green remembers hearing talk of the war before he actually saw signs of it. it was not long before the yankees visited greensboro, ga., and the willis plantation. on one occasion, they took all the best horses and mules and left theirs which were broken down and worn from travel. they also searched for money and other valuables. during this period a mail wagon broke down in the creek and water soon covered it. when the water fell, negroes from the willis plantation found sacks of money and hid it. one unscrupulous negro betrayed the others; rather than give back the money, many ran away from the vicinity. isaiah's uncle managed to keep his money but the ku klux klan learned that he was one of the group. one night they kidnaped and carried him to the woods where they pinned him to the ground, set the dry leaves on fire, and left him. in the group he recognized his master's son jimmie. as fate would have it the leaves burned in places and went out. by twisting a little he managed to get loose, but found that his feet were badly burned. later, when he confronted the master with the facts, col. willis offered to pay him if he would not mention the fact that his son jimmie was mixed up in it, and he sent the man to a hospital to have his burns treated. in the end, all of his toes had to be amputated. another time, the yankees visited the willis plantation and offered green a stick of candy if he would tell them where the master hid his whiskey. isaiah ignorantly gave the information. the leader of the troops then blew his trumpet and his men came from every direction. he gave orders that they search for an underground cellar. very soon they found the well-stocked hiding place. the troops drank as much as they wanted and invited the slaves to help themselves. later, when col. willis arrived and the mistress, who was furious, told him, she said, "if it hadn't been for that little villain, the yankees would never have found your whiskey." the master understood, however, that isaiah hadn't known what he was doing, and refused to punish him. the yankees came to the willis plantation to notify the negroes of their freedom. one thing they said stands out in green's memory. "if your mistress calls you 'john,' call her 'sally.' you are as free as she is and she can't whip you any more. if you remain, sign a paper so that you will receive pay for your work." mrs. willis looked on with tears in her eyes and shook her head sadly. the next day the master notified each slave family that they could remain on his plantation if they desired and he would give each $ . at christmas. looking at isaiah's step-father, he told him that since he was afflicted he would pay him only $ . , but this amount was refused. wishing to keep the man, col. willis finally offered him as much as he promised the ablebodied men. some slave owners did not let their slaves know of their freedom, and kept them in ignorance as long as six months; some even longer. green's family remained on the willis plantation until they were forced to move, due to their ex-master's extravagance. as isaiah remarked, "he ran through with , acres of land and died on rented land in morgan county." directly after the war, col. willis was nominated for the office of legislator of georgia. realizing that the vote of the ex-slaves would probably mean election for him, he rode through his plantation trying to get them to vote for him. he was not successful, however, and some families were asked to move off his plantation, especially those whom he didn't particularly like. years later, green's family moved to atlanta. isaiah is now living in the shelter provided by the dept. of public welfare. he appears to be fairly contented. [hw: isaac (isaiah) green] edwin driskell the experiences of an ex-slave following is the account of slavery as told by mr. isaac green, who spent a part of his childhood as a slave. "i wus born in greene county, georgia, eighty-one years ago. my marster wus named colonel willis. he wus a rich man an' he had a whole lots o' slaves--'bout seventy-five or more. besides my mother an' me i had nine sisters. i wus de younges' chile. i didn't know 'bout my father 'till after surrender, 'cause ol' marster sold him 'way fum my mother when i wus two years old. "when i wus big enuff i had to go to de fiel' wid de res' o' de chillun an' drap corn an' peas. we'd take our heels an' dent a place in de groun' an' in every dent we had to drap two peas. sometimes we'd make a mistake an' drap three seeds instead o' two an' if we did dis too often it meant de strap fum de overseer. on our plantation we had a colored an' a white overseer. "my ol' marster never did whup me an' he didn't 'low none o' de overseers to whup me either. he always say: 'dat's my nigger--i sol' his father when i coulda saved him--he wus de bes' man i had on de plantation.' de rest o' de slaves uster git whuppins sometimes fer not workin' like dey should. when dey didn't work or some other little thing like dat dey would git twenty-five or fifty lashes but de marster would tell de overseer: 'don't you cut my nigger's hide or scar him.' you see if a slave wus scarred he wouldn't bring as much as one with a smooth hide in case de marster wanted to sell 'im, 'cause de buyers would see de scars an' say dat he wus a bad nigger. "sometimes de women uster git whuppins fer fightin'. ol' marster uster tell my mother all de time dat he wus goin' to give her one-hundred lashes if she didn't stop fightin', but he never did do it though. my grandmother never did git whupped. colonel black, her first marster, wus her father an' when he went broke he had to sell her. when he went broke he put her on de block--in dem days dey put slaves on de block to sell 'em jes' like dey do horses an' mules now--he say to de gentlemen gathered 'roun: 'dis is my nigger an' my chile; she is a midwife an' a extraordinary weaver an' whoever buys her has got to promise to treat her like a white chile.' my marster bought her an' he treated her like she wus white, too. he never did try to hit her an' he wouldn't let nobody else hit her. "we always had a plenty to eat an' if we didn't we'd go out in somebody's pasture an' kill a hog or sheep an' clean him by a branch an' den hide de meat in de woods or in de loft of de house. some of de white folks would learn you how to steal fum other folks. sometimes ol' marster would say to one o' us: 'blast you--you better go out an' hunt me a hog tonight an' put it in my smokehouse---dey can search you niggers' houses but dey can't search mine.' "once a week de marster give us three pounds of pork, a half gallon o' syrup, an' a peck o' meal. you had to have a garden connected wid yo' house fer yo' vegetables. de marster would let you go out in de woods an' cut you as large a space as you wanted. if you failed to plant, it wus jes' yo' bad luck. if you wanted to you could sell de corn or de tobacco or anything else dat you raised to de marster an' he would pay you. 'course he wusn't goin' to pay you too much fer it. "all de slaves had to work---my mother wus a plow han'. all de aged men an' women had to tend to de hogs an' de cows an' do de weavin' an' de sewin'. sometimes ol' marster would let us have a frolic an' we could dance all night if we wanted to as long as we wus ready to go to de fiel' when de overseer blowed de bugle 'fo day nex' mornin'. de fiel' han's had to git up early enuff to fix dey breakfas' befo' dey went to de fiel'. we chillun took dinner to 'em at twelve o'clock. we used baskets to take de dinner in, an' large pails to take de milk in. dey had to fix supper fer dey selves when dey lef' de fiel' at dark. "all de clothes we wore wuz made on de plantation. de women had to card, spin an' weave de thread an' den when de cloth wuz made it wuz dyed wid berries. my step-father wuz de shoemaker on de plantation an' we always had good shoes. he beat ol' marster out o' 'bout fifteen years work. when he didn't feel like workin' he would play like he wuz sick an' ol' marster would git de doctor for him. when anybody got sick dey always had de doctor to tend to him." regarding houses, mr. green says: "we lived in log houses dat had wood floors. dere wuz one window an' a large fireplace where de cookin' wuz done in de ashes. de chinks in de walls wuz daubed wid mud to keep de weather out. de beds wuz made by hand an' de mattresses wuz big tickin's stuffed wid straw." continuing he says: "yo' actual treatment depended on de kind o' marster you had. a heap o' folks done a heap better in slavery dan dey do now. everybody on our plantation wuz glad when de yankee soldiers tol' us we wuz free." ex-slave interview: margaret green jones street augusta, georgia. (richmond county) by: mrs. margaret johnson editor federal writers' project, augusta, georgia. ex-slave interview margaret green, jones street, augusta, georgia (richmond county) margaret green, jones street was born in on the plantation of mr. cooke mckie in edgefield county, south carolina. margaret's house was spotlessly clean, her furniture of the golden oak type was polished, and the table cover and sideboard scarfs were beautifully laundered. margaret is a small, trim little figure dressed in a grey print dress with a full gathered skirt and a clean, starched apron with strings tied in a big bow. she has twinkling eyes, a kindly smile and a pleasant manner. "yes, mam, i remembers slavery times very well. i wuz a little girl but i could go back home and show you right where i wuz when the sojers come through our place with their grey clothes and bright brass buttons. they looked mighty fine on their hosses ridin' round. i could show you right where those sojers had the camp". margaret described "the quarters" and told of the life. "each fam'ly had a garden patch, and could raise cotton. only marse cooke raised cotton; what we raised we et". "margaret were the slaves on your master's plantation mistreated?" "what you say? mistreat? oh! you mean whipped! yes, man, sometime marse cooke whip us when we need it, but he never hurt nobody. he just give 'em a lick or two make 'em mind they business. marse cooke was a good man, and he never let a overseer lay a finger on one of his niggers!" "margaret were you ever whipped?" margaret laughed; with her eyes twinkling merrily she replied, "marse cooke say he wuz gonna whip me 'cause i was so mischievious. he was on his horse. i broke and run, and marse ain't give me that whippin' till yet!" "yes, mam, i hearn stories o' ghos'es and hants, but i never did b'lieve in none of 'em. i uster love to play and to get out of all the work i could. the old folk on the plantashun uster tell us younguns if we didn't hurry back from the spring with the water buckets, the hants and buggoos would catch us. i ain't never hurry till yet, and i never see a hant. i wished i could, 'caus' i don't b'lieve i would be scart." "margaret, did you learn to read?" "oh! no mam, that wus sumpin' we wuzn't 'lowed to do; nobody could have lessons. but we went to church to the publican baptist church. yes, mam, i'se sho' dat wuz the name--the publican baptist church--ain't i been there all my life 'till i been grown and married? we uster go mornin' and evenin', and the white people sat on one side and the slaves on the other." margaret said her mother was a seamstress and also a cook. three other seamstresses worked on the plantation. there was a spinning wheel and a loom, and all the cotton cloth for clothing was woven and then made into clothes for all the slaves. there were three shoe makers on the place who made shoes for the slaves, and did all the saddle and harness repair. margaret was asked who attended the slaves when they were sick. "marse cooke's son was a doctor", she replied, and he 'tended anybody who was bad sick. granny phoebe was the midwife at our plantashun and she birthed all the babies. she was old when i was a little gal, and she lived to be . marse cooke never let any of his slaves do heavy work 'till dey wuz years old." margaret's father went to the war with "marse cooke" as his body servant, and her mother went also, to cook for him! "to tell you the truth, man," said the old woman, "i 'member more 'bout that war back yonder than i member 'bout the war we had a few years ago." minnie green interviewed alberta minor re-search worker minnie is not an ex-slave, for she was "jes walkin'" when the war was over. her parents were given their freedom in may but stayed on with judge green until fall, after the wheat cutting. the family moved to a two story house "out meriwether road" but didn't get along so well. minnie was hungry lots and came to town to get scraps of food. when she was a "good big girl" she came to town one day with her hair full of cukle-burrs, dressed in her mother's basque looking for food, when she saw a man standing in front of a store eating an orange. she wanted that peeling. no one kept their cows and pigs up and when the man threw the peeling on the ground a sow grabbed it. minnie chased the pig right down hill street, was hollering and making plenty of noise, when a lady, "mis' mary beeks", came out and asked her "what's the matter?" "right then and there i hired myself out to miss mary, and she raised me." minnie played with white children, went to the "white folks" church, and did not "associate with niggers" until she was grown. every summer they went to the camp grounds for two weeks. they took the children, minnie for nurse, a stove, a cow and everything they needed for that time. she was nearly grown before she went to a colored church and "baptisin'" and it frightened her to see a person immersed, and come up "shoutin'". minnie thought they was "fightin' the preacher" so she didn't go back anymore. minnie firmly believes if a woman comes in your house first on new years day, it will bring you bad luck, and she has walked as far as miles to get a man in her house first. if she meets a cross eyed person, she crosses her fingers and spits on them to break the bad spell. "hooten' owls" are sure the sign of death and she always burns her hair combins because if you just throw them away and the birds get them to put in their nests, you'll have a "wanderin' mind." minnie is years old, very active physically and mentally, lives among the negroes now but greatly misses her "white folks." minnie green east chappell street griffin, georgia august , . wheeler gresham of wilkes county georgia by minnie branham stonestreet washington-wilkes georgia dec. , . wheeler gresham, years old, tall, very erect, has white hair and beard, a quiet dignified manner, and faded old eyes that seem ever to be gazing back on those happy days he told about "when we war' in slavery." he is uneducated, having gone to school only one week in his life--gave up "tryin' to larn out er books." wheeler claims the distinction of having had three masters and loving them all equally well; he belonged to one and lived with the other two. it all happened in this wise: his mother, barbara booker, belonged to "marse simmie and marse jabie booker"--("marse simmie wuz the one what named me") his father, franklin gresham belonged to "marse george gresham." the bookers and greshams lived on adjoining plantations and were the best of friends and neighbors. they would not sell a slave no matter what happened, so when barbara and franklin wanted to marry they had the consent of their owners and settled down on the booker plantation where barbara continued her work and franklin spending all his spare time with her, although he belonged to the greshams and kept up his work for them. he had a pass to go and come as he pleased. wheeler tells of his life on the plantations for his time was spent between the two where he played with the other little slaves and with the white boys near his age. he enjoyed most playing marbles, hunting and fishing with the little gresham boys. he never has had a punishment of any kind in all his whole long life, and said with much pride--"an' i ain't never been in no court scrape neither. no'm, my marsters didn't 'low nobody ter 'buke dey han's. ef a overseer got rough an' wanted to beat a nigger, he had to go right den and dar." he added: "dem overseer fellows wuz rough anyhow, dey warn't our sort of folks. an' de owners what wuz mean to dey niggers wuz looked down on by 'spectable white folks lak dem what i belonged to." "all us little niggers on the booker plantation et in de white folks' kitchen, a big old kitchen out in de yard. de grown slaves cooked and et in dey cabins, but our mistess wouldn't trust 'em to feed de little ones. my gramma wuz de cook an' we had plenty of good victuals, we'd all set er round an' eat all we wanted three times er day." wheeler said that the doctor who lived near by was always called in when the negroes were sick and they had the best of care; their owners saw to that. of course there were simple home remedies like mullein tea for colds, jerusalem oak seed crushed up and mixed with syrup, given to them in the springtime, and always that terrible "garlic warter" they so despised to take. when death came the slave was buried on the plantation in the negro burial ground, a white preacher conducting the last rites. when a negro couple wanted to marry the consent of the owners was ceremony enough and they set up a home as man and wife and lived on "'thout all dis 'vocin' lak dey has terday." christmas was a big time with three or four days holiday on the plantations. santa claus found his way to the quarters and left the little negroes stick candy and "reisens", and "dar wuz er plenty of pound cake fer everybody." fourth of july was a big holiday and all the little boys white and black went a-fishing together that day. sundays were kept holy--no work was done on the sabbath. on "meetin' days" everybody attended the neighborhood church, white and black worshiped together, the darkies in the gallery built for them. on all other sundays they went to church, and everybody sat in one big bible class. wheeler said his mistess called up all the little negroes on the plantation on sunday afternoons and taught them the catechism and told them bible stories. there was plenty of fun for the darkies in the gresham and booker community. they had dances, cornshuckings, picnics and all kinds of old time affairs. these were attended by slaves for some distance around, but they had to have passes or "de patter rollers would sho' git 'em. us little niggers wuz feared to go 'bout much 'kase we heered so much erbout de patter rollers." wheeler enjoyed the cornshuckings more than anything else, or rather he talked more freely about them. he said that the corn was piled high in the barn and the men and boys, after a big supper of "fresh meat and all kinds of good things, and plenty of sho' nough pound cake"--(that pound cake he can't seem to forget)--would gather around and to the tune of an old fiddle in the hands of a plantation musician, they would sing and shuck corn until the whole pile was finished. many races were entered into and the winners proclaimed amid much shouting and laughter. this merriment and work lasted into the night. wheeler was quick to say that the happiest time of his life was those days of slavery and the first years immediately after. he was happy, had all that anyone needed, was well taken care of in every way. he spoke of their family as being a happy one, of how they worked hard all day, and at night were gathered around their cabin fire where the little folks played, and his mother spun away on her "task of yarn". his mistess made all his clothes, "good warm ones, too." all the little negroes played together and there "wuz a old colored lady" that looked after them "an' kept 'em straight." there was little talk of the war, in fact some of the slaves didn't know what "de white folks wuz er fightin' 'bout." wheeler's two booker masters, "marse simmie and marse jabie, went to de war, marse jabie wuz kilt dar." very little difference was noticed in the plantation life--of course times were harder and there was a sadness around, but work went on as usual. when the war was over and the slaves called up and told they were free: "sum wuz glad an' sum wuz sorry, dey all wuz at a wonder--at de row's en', didn't know whar ter go. de most of 'em stayed on lak we wuz, workin' fer our white folks. dat's what my pa an' ma done, dey stayed on fer sometime after de war." wheeler tells about a few yankees coming through the country after the war: "us niggers wuz all 'feared of 'em an' we run frum 'em, but dey didn't do nothin' to nobody. i dunno what dey cum er 'round down here fer." wheeler said he "nuver paid signs no mind--nuver paid no 'tention to all dem 'stitions an' sich lak." he didn't have any superstitions to tell only he did hear "ef a screech owl fly 'cross yo' do' hits er sign of a death in dat house, an' ef a whippowill calls at de' do' hit's er sign of death. dat's what folks say, i don't know nothin' 'bout hit." "i'm glad i knowed slavery, i had er better livin' in dem days dan i eber had since. no talk 'bout money in dem days--no mam, an' ef a doctor wuz needed he wuz right dar. i'se livin' ter day 'kase i got sich a good start, an' den too, i'se livin' on de days of my pa and ma. dey wuz good folks an' lived ter be old. an' den too, i'se allus lived on a farm, ain't nuver knowed no t'other kind of life, an' dat's de healthiest and freest way ter live." and, maybe, this gray old son of the soil is right--who knows? first copy of article entitled: "an interview with heard griffin," ex-slave. by minnie b. ross typed by a. m. whitley - - heard griffin--ex-slave in order to catch mr. heard griffin, the writer prepared herself for an early morning interview. his daughter previously informed her that it would be the only possible chance of seeing him. why? because even at the age of years he is still restless; and is forever in the streets. he can walk much faster than a young person; but memory and hearing are a little dimmed by age. by careful and tactful questioning, [hw: and by giving him] ample time for thinking the writer was able to learn a few facts of slavery which are as follows: mr. griffin was born may , in waldon county, monroe, georgia. his mother sarah griffin birthed children; but he did not clearly remember his father as their master sold him when he was a very small boy. here he remarked. "they would take small babies from their mothers' arms and sell them." their master and mistress mike and lucinda griffin owned about acres of land and a large number of slaves. on this plantation was grown corn, cotton, wheat, etc. long before day light, the master would come to the slave quarters and call each person one by one, "get up. get up." very soon every one was up and fully dressed ready to begin the day's work. first, however, they drank one or two glasses of milk and a piece of corn bread, which was considered breakfast. whether this amount of food was sufficient for a morning's meal didn't matter to their master. they simply had to make it last them until dinner. smiling mr. griffin remarked, "it wouldn't be long before you would hear the "geeing and hawing" coming from the fields, the squealing of pigs and the barking of dogs--all sounds mingling together." every one had a certain amount of work to complete before the day ended; and each person worked in feverish haste to get it done and avoid the whipping which they knew was in store for them, should they fail. during the day mr. griffin's mother worked in the field, hoeing and plowing. at night she, as well as other women, had to spin thread into cloth until bed time. each woman had to complete four cuts or be punished the next morning. "if it began raining while we worked in the fields, the overseer would tell everyone to put up their horses and to shelling corn in the cribs," remarked mr. griffin. "mike griffin was the meanest man i've ever known," he continued. "he would sit down with nothing else to do, think of some man, send for him and for no reason at all, give him a good beating. he kept a long cowhide, which was almost an inch thick and with this he would almost beat folks to death. first you had to remove your clothing so that whipping would not wear them out. one day he beat a woman named hannah so badly that she died the same night. before daybreak he had carried the baby off and buried it. we never knew the burial place." overseers too, were very mean, particularly those on the griffin plantation. they followed the example of the man who hired them and as a result this plantation was known far and wide for its cruelty, fear and terror. [hw original text "cruelty, fear and terror" is stricken out.] many slaves would have attempted to run away but for fear of the pack of blood hounds kept for the purpose of tracking run away slaves. "patter-rollers" were busy, too, looking up slaves and whipping them for the flimsiest of excuses. slaves often outran them to the woods and managed to return to their plantations unobserved. if a pass had a certain hour marked in it, for the slave's return, and he failed to return at the designated houses, this was an offense for which they were punished by the "patter-rollers." "yes," remarked mr. griffin, "we were not even allowed to quarrel among ourselves. our master would quickly tell us, 'i am the one to fight, not you.'" when a slave visited his relatives on another plantation the master would send along one or two of his children to make sure they did not attempt to run away. discarded bed clothing was given to slave families on the griffin plantation and often it was necessary to keep a big log fire in the winter, in order to sleep comfortably. clothing for individual needs consisted of one pair of brogan shoes a year and homemade cotton garments, shirts, pants, dresses, etc. every person went bare footed in the summer and saved their one pair of shoes for the winter. food consisting of meal, bacon meat, and syrup was given the slave families once a week. occasionally "short" a second quality of flour was given them for their sunday meals. the griffins were not liberal in feeding their slaves, but would not object to their raising a little corn, and a few vegetables. they had to work their gardens at night, however, by the light of burning fat wood. real coffee was on unheard-of luxury among slaves: so scorched or corn meal served the purpose just as well. on christmas the master called each slave and gave him a dram of whiskey. no other food or fruit was given. [hw: strikes this sentence out] tin pans served as plates for the families. spoons, knives, and forks were unheard of: "many a day i have eaten mashed bread and milk from a trough and thought it was good," remarked mr. griffin. occasionally on other plantations slaves were allowed to earn money by selling vegetables, chickens, etc. on the griffin plantation they could only sell home made "gingercakes" for which a five-cent piece of paper money was received in return. there were three pieces of paper money used in those days: the five-cent, ten-cent, and fifteen-cent pieces. although the slaves did not have separate churches, they were expected to attend the white churches and occupy the benches placed in the back, purposely for them. after the coachman drove the white family to church he unhitched the horses from the carriage and carried them to the pasture where they remained until the services were over. marriages were very easily performed on the griffin plantation: after securing the consent of both owners the rest of the ceremony consisted only in having the couple jump the broom. in the event, the bride and groom lived on separate plantations the groom was given a pass to visit her on week ends, beginning saturday afternoon and ending sunday evening. "our master was too mean to let us have frolics," remarked mr. griffin; "we never knew anything, but work. of course when we got sick we were given the best medical care possible. people didn't die, they always got well." home remedies made from various roots were used for minor illnesses. "when the civil war broke out our master loaded his horses with his most valuable possessions and refugeed forty miles from his home," remarked mr. griffin. "on one occasion the yanks came to our plantation and stole three of our best horses. i never saw a battle fought but often watched the confederate soldiers drilling. we continued to work long after freedom was declared, not knowing that we were free. one day our master's son-in-law called us together and told us we were free. most of us didn't know what to do but we were glad to get off of that plantation and away from old man griffin." with a broad smile he continued: "well that is all i can tell you miss, but come back to see me again." with the above remark mr. heard griffin and i closed our interview. he reminded me, however, that he had been married five times and was the father of fifteen children, four of whom are still living. his daughter cares for him and tries to make his old age as happy and comfortable as she can without the aid of relief. [hw: david goodman gullins] subject reminiscences of slavery days district no. w.p.a. editor and research ruth a. chitty supervisor j. e. jaffee october , . reminiscences of slavery days it was a beautiful brisk morning in october when i turned into main street to call on one of the most unique and interesting characters that we have among our colored citizens. upon arriving at the house where uncle dave lives, i made my way through a side gate and the first thing that greeted me in his back yard was a sign, "no truspassing." i called to a tenant who rents his home to inquire where i might find uncle dave. we looked about the premises, and called him, but no response. i was just about to leave in despair, when the colored girl said "maybe he can be found inside," whereupon we called him forth. he greeted me with a deep peal of laughter, saying "now you done caught me sho, mistiss!" i told him the story of my mission, and, after making various excuses he finally, with a studied reluctance, consented to talk to me a while. he called the colored girl and asked her to bring a chair into the yard, which he placed near his favorite out-door lounging place, and invited me to sit down. then, with a hearty laugh he said, "now miss, just what is it you want me to tell you?" "i want you to tell me all about yourself back in slavery days and since, uncle dave." "miss, if i tell you all i know, then you will know as much about me as i know." again he burst into laughter, and constrained by a high sense of propriety, but with perfect ease, he began to relate to me in a manner and style all his own, some of the facts connected with his life. "miss, my name is david goodman gullins. i was born in on the th day of december, in putnam county, about - / miles from eatonton, on the greensboro road. i was born in slavery, my father and mother being owned by mr. j. w. mappin. marse mappin was not a large slave holder, since he only had about thirty-five slaves, but he was what we call a 'coming man'. i do not remember how much land he owned, but nothing like some of the very wealthy land and slave owners. my owner was a comparatively young man, say middle aged, weighing about pounds, with a fairly good education and withall a first rate man. my earliest recollection of him was his perfectly bald head. it looked like a peeled onion. he married a widow, mrs. elizabeth lawson, who had two sons; one who was judge thomas g. lawson of the ocmulgee circuit, and zurst lawson, who was killed in the war. my owners were very good to their slaves. "my father's name was john mappin. he of course went by the name of the owner. my mother's name was catharine. she was bought from an owner by the name of milline by my master, and she became catharine mappin. i know nothing of their lives, their childhood, their struggles, hardships, etc., and where they came from. there were eleven boys and one girl in our family, i being the third oldest boy born. three brothers born after me died in infancy. my mother raised only five of her sons to manhood, and my sister is still living in eatonton, ga. she is gracie roby. i have one brother still living, w. r. gullins, a minister. he is somewhere in north carolina. when this brother was born, mistress had a lot of company, and all the ladies wanted to name the new baby for their best friends. so the baby was named willie richard edgar mappin for the best friends of the young ladies. he later dropped the name edgar and goes by the name of willie richard gullins. "uncle david you say your owners name was mappin, why is your name gullins?" "well, miss, i'll have to digress a little to give you the history of the name. every effect has a cause you know, and after i got old enough to reason things out, i wondered too why my name was gullins, so i did some investigating and the story goes like this. "when i was a very small boy back before the war, a circus came to town. i remember the clown, whose name was gullins. my father, john mappin, was so much like the clown in his ways and sayings, that afterwards everyone started calling him gullins. this soon became a sort of nickname. some years after when slaves were freed, they were all registered, most of them taking the family name of their owners. when time came for my father to register, the registrar says, "john, what name are you going to register under, mappin or gullins? everyone calls you gullins, and they will always call you gullins. my father, after thinking for a moment said, "just put down gullins." by this time i was beginning to think that uncle dave was pretty much of a clown himself. "now uncle dave tell me your early impressions of your mother and father." "miss, my mother was one of the best women god ever made. back in slavery time i recall the trundle bed that we children slept on. in the day it was pushed under the big bed, and at night it was pulled out for us to sleep on. all through cold, bitter winter nights, i remember my mother getting up often to see about us and to keep the cover tucked in. she thought us sound asleep, and i pretended i was asleep while listening to her prayers. she would bend down over the bed and stretching her arms so as to take us all in, she prayed with all her soul to god to help her bring up her children right. don't think now that she let god do it all; she helped god, bless your life, by keeping a switch right at hand." "uncle dave you didn't have to be chastised, did you?" "i got two or three whippings every day. you see my mother didn't let god do it all. you know if you spare the rod you spoil the child, and that switch stimulated, regulated, persuaded and strengthened my memory, and went a long way toward making me do the things my mother told me to do. hurrah for my mother! god bless her memory!" "what about your father, uncle dave?" "my father was a good man; he backed my mother in her efforts to bring us up right. he told me many a time, 'boy, you need two or three killings every day!'" "uncle dave why were you so obstreperous?" "miss, you see i was the baby in the family a long time, as three brothers born after me died in infancy. i was petted and spoiled, and later on they had to whip it out of me. "of course the slavery question was fast drawing to its climax when i was born. already war clouds seemed to cast a shadow. while freedom was not had in georgia until , i was hardly old enough to remember very much about the early customs of slavery in pre-war days. we had comfortable quarters in which to live. our houses were built in long rows, house after house. my father was carriage driver and foreman of the other niggers. his title was b.n." "uncle dave what does b.n. stand for?" with this question to answer, uncle dave broke into a spasm of laughter, bending double first, then rocking from side to side, all the time laughing while i waited anxiously to know the secret. then, throwing his head back, he came forth with great emphasis--"why, he was what we called 'big nigger'." then we both laughed. "uncle dave what were the duties of your mother as a slave?" "every slave had his task, and my mother was cook for the family and the weaver. all of the clothing was made on the plantation from cotton and wool. the cotton was carded, spun and woven into cloth and died. likewise, woolen garments was made from the wool clipped from the sheep raised for this purpose. all these garments were made right on the plantation." "uncle dave what did you do when you were a little slave?" "well, there was a whole drove of us little niggers. we had lots of chickens, cattle, hogs, sheep, etc. i had to help get up the eggs, drive cattle, open gates, go on errands for marster, and marster most always took me on trips with him, letting me ride in the foot of his buggy. i was his favorite little pet nigger." "you must have been the little big nigger, uncle dave." "i was always pushing an investigation, so when marse mappin take me on trips with him that was my favorite time to ask questions. i remember one hot august day we were driving along, and i had already asked numerous questions, and marse had already told me to shut up. i remained quiet for a time, but the temptation was too great, and while marse was wiping the perspiration off his bald head, i said, 'marster, may i ask you one more question?' 'yes, what is it david?' 'if a fly should light on your head wouldn't he slip up and break his neck?' when marster shouted 'shut up,' i did shut up. he used to tell his wife, miss elizabeth, 'you know elizabeth, my little nigger, dave, drives me nearly crazy asking questions about the stars, moon, sun, and everything.' "my family lived continuously on the mappin plantation until after the war. perhaps the most grievous fault of slavery was its persistent assault upon the home life. fortunately, none of our family was ever sold, and we remained together until after the war. marster mappin was far above the average slave owner; he was good to his slaves, fed them well, and was a very humane gentleman. we had such quantities of food--good rations, raised on the plantation. we had cattle, goats, hogs, sheep, chickens, turkeys, geese, all kinds of grain, etc. very often a beef was butchered, we had fresh meat, barbecued kids, plenty vegetables, in fact just plenty to eat, and the slaves fared well. on sundays we had pies and cakes and one thing and another. a special cook did the cooking for the single slaves. i'll say our rations were % fit. everyone had certain tasks to perform, and all that was done above certain requirements was paid for in some way. we always had meat left over from year to year, and this old meat was made into soap, by using grease and lye and boiling all in a big iron pot. after the mixture become cold, it was a solid mass, which was cut and used for soap. those were good old days. everybody had plenty of everything. "there were strict rules governing slaves, but our master was never brutal. i being a child, never received any punishment from any one except my mother and my mistress. punishment was inflicted with a raw cow hide, which was cut in a strip about three inches wide, one end being twisted. this made a very powerful and painful weapon. there were unruly slaves, what we called desperadoes. there were 'speculators', too, who would get possession of these, and if a slave come into possession of one of these speculators, he either had to come under or else he was sure to die. the lynch law was used extensively. those slaves committing crimes against the state were more often considered unworthy of trial, though some were brought to trial, punishment being so many licks each day for so many days or weeks, or capital punishment. it is true that many crimes were put upon the slaves when the white man was guilty. "we had plenty of amusements in those days, such as corn shuckings, dances, running, jumping and boxing contest. saturday was the big frolicking time, and every body made the most of it. slaves were allowed to tend little patches of their own, and were often given saturday afternoons off to work their crops, then when laying-by time came, we had more time for our patches. we were allowed all we could make over and above our certain tasks. marster used to buy me candy when he take me with him, but i can't remember him giving me spending money. "we were not compelled to attend church on sundays, but most of the slaves went from time to time. i was a baptist, my family being baptist, but i have long since put christianity above creeds. i learned too, many years ago, that we can find in the contents of that old book we call the bible, a solution to every problem we run up against."--uncle dave is a learned theologian, and has served many years as a minister, or doctor of divinity. he is very modest, and says that he wants no titles on his name. he believes that every man and every woman gets all the credit they deserve in this world. "going back to the church services, we slaves attended the white folks churches. there were galleries built for the slaves in some of the churches, in others, there was space reserved in the back of the church for the colored worshippers. it was a custom to hold prayer meetings in the quarters for the colored sick. one of the slaves named charity had been sick a long time, just wasting away. one beautiful spring morning they came running for my mother saying that charity was dying. i was a very small child, and ran after my mother to charity's house. it was a very harrowing experience to me, as it required three women to hold charity on the bed while she was dying. i became so frightened, i slipped into unconsciousness. they took me home, and after hours went by i still was unconscious, and marster became so alarmed about me that they sent for dr. cogburn. he said that it was a thousand wonders that i ever came back, but he gave me some medicine and brought me around. about a year later, my hair turned white, and it has been white ever since. they used to gather herbs and one thing and another from the woods for simple maladies, but marster always send for the doctor when things looked serious to him. "in , miss elizabeth was going to have big company at her house, and she was saving her strawberries for the occasion. i spied all these nice, ripe strawberries through the paling fence, and the whole crowd of us little niggers thought they needed picking. we found an opening on the lower side of the fence and made our way in, destroying all of those luscious ripe strawberries. when we had about finished the job, mistress saw us, and hollered at us. did we scatter! in the jam for the fence hole i was the last one to get through and mistress had gotten there by that time and had me by the collar. she took me back to the house, got the cow hide down, and commenced rubbing it over me. before she got through, she cut me all to pieces. i still have signs of those whelps on me today. in the fight i managed to bite her on the wrist, causing her to almost bleed to death. i finally got away and ran to a hiding place of safety. [hw: i] they used soot and other things trying to stop the bleeding. "when marster come home he saw miss elizabeth with her hand all bandaged up, and wanted to know what the trouble was. he was told the story, so he came out to look for me. he called me out from my hiding place, and when he saw me with those awful whelps on me, and how pitiful looking i was, he said, "elizabeth, you done ruint my little nigger, david." "i wouldn't have him in this fix for all the strawberries." i was very fond of strawberries in those days, but that experience put an end forever to my taste for them. so much for the strawberry business! "even a dog [hw: likes] kind treatment. some days mistress was good and kind to us little niggers, and she would save us the cold biscuits to give us when we brought in the eggs. sometime, she would go two or three days without giving us any biscuits then she didn't get no eggs. we rascals would get up the eggs and go off and have a rock battle with them. every effect has a cause--then miss would wonder why she didn't get any eggs and call us all in for cold biscuits, then the eggs would come again. of course we had our game of "tell". if one of the gang threatened to tell, then we all would threaten to tell all we knew on him, and somehow we managed to get by with it all. "after the war, my father stayed on with marster mappin as a cropper running a two horse farm for himself. in the early 's my father bought acres of land from judge lawson near eatonton, which was later sold in lots to different colored people, and became known as gullinsville, and is still so called by some. "in , day of november, i left my folks and came to milledgeville to live. i worked for mr. miller s. bell in the livery stable for $ . per month. of this amount i sent $ . home to my parents. the next year i went on a farm with mr. john wall for $ . per month. the next year i had a better offer with mr. r. n. lamar to farm and act as general handy man for $ . per month. i saved my money and worked hard, and i would lend mr. lamar my yearly income at interest. in , mr. lamar negotiated a trade with mr. samuel evans for this piece of property right here. when they found out a negro wanted to buy the property, there was more or less argument, but i sat right still and let mr. lamar handle the trade for me. i have owned other property, but i have sold everything else i had. my health failed, and i just settled down here to be quiet. i owned property on chestnut street in atlanta and in putnam county also. i have been saving all my life, everything." on looking about me, i concluded he was indeed a thrifty person. an accumulation of every conceivable thing (junk) that had been discarded by others, uncle dave had brought home and carefully and neatly stored it away for subsequent use. "uncle dave tell me something about your education." "well, when i was a boy back in putnam county i went to night school. for a long time i was the only negro in the class. my foundation work i got under a mr. whitfield, mr. john nix, and we had a yankee teacher, miss claudia young. in september i went to atlanta and entered the academic department of what is now morehouse college. i was graduated in academics in as valedictorian of the class--my subject being "we are coming", which was a theme on the progress of the negro race. in i was graduated from the theological department as valedictorian, my subject then being "why do nations die". "now miss, you ask me if i am superstitious. i show am. when i hear these owls at night i just get up and get me some salt and a newspaper and burn this, and i don't never hear that same owl again. some folks say tie knots in the sheet, but i burn salt. i think the bellowing or lowing of cows and oxen or the bleating of sheep is a bad omen." then uncle david took me way back in the bible and recited how the king was commanded to slay all the cattle and everything and they kept out some of the oxen and sheep. "i believe you should turn a clock face to the wall when a person dies. i believe in signs, yes mam!" "marster was good to his niggers, but they had to have a pass to leave the plantation. there were patrolers to look after the slaves and see that they did not run around without a pass. if they found one without a pass, he was strapped then and there by the patrolers. of course i was too young in those days to run around at night, and my mother always had us in bed early. it was long after the war that i did my courting. i was to have married a girl before i went to atlanta in the 's, but she died. i later married a yankee nigger in atlanta. she belonged to the , and some how, she never could get used to me and my plain ways. we had four children, three boys and one girl. two of the boys died, and i have living today, one daughter married and living in washington, d.c. and my son and his family live in alabama. "my marster did not go to the war, but we all worked at home preparing food and clothes and other things for those who did go. some of the slaves went as helpers, in digging ditches and doing manual labor. the yankee soldiers visited our territory, killing everything in sight. they were actually most starved to death. marster was all broken after the war. he had planned to buy another plantation, and increase his holdings, but the war sorter left us all like the yellow fever had struck. "after a number of years in mission work and in the ministry i was compelled to retire on account on my broken health. i owe my long life to my mother's training in childhood. there are four things that keep old man gullins busy all the time--keeping out of jail, out of hell, out of debt, and keeping hell out of me. i learned to put my wants in the kindergarten, and if i couldn't get what i wanted, i learned to want what i could get. i believe it is just as essential to have jails as to have churches. i have learned too, that you can't substitute anything for the grace of god." - - minnie b. ross. ex slave milton hammond. after explaining the object of the visit to mr. hammond he smiled and remarked "i think that is a good piece of work you're doing; and i'll tell you all that i can remember about slavery, you see i was only a small boy then; yesterday though, i was years old." mr. hammond led the way up a dark stairway down a dark hall to a door. after unlocking the door, he turned on a light which revealed a very dark room commonly furnished and fairly neat in appearance. the writer took a seat and listened to the old man relate the following incidents. a slave boy by the name of milton hammond was born in griffin, georgia, october , . his parents, emily and james hammond, had children boys and girls of whom he was oldest. his mother, sisters and brothers used the name hammond as this was their father's name. although every number of his family with the exception of his father, belonged to bill freeman they always used his name. mr. hammonds family always lived in the town of griffin and belonged to a class known as "town slaves". when mr. hammond reached the age of years their old master, bill freeman died and all the property money, slaves, etc., had to be re-sold at an administrations sale. among his four children a plan was made to repurchase their favorite slaves; but many were sold to owners in different states particularly mississippi and louisiana. mr. hammonds father, desiring to keep his family near him, spoke to his master and asked that he appeal to the young mistress to purchase his family. "i remember the auction sale quite well, remarked mr. hammond. they stood us on the block side by side. the mistress held my baby brother in her arms; and they began to cry us off just as they do now. of course my mistress came forward and bought us, and we returned home the same day we left". slaves were always sorted and placed into separate groups or classes. for instance, the heavy robust ones were placed together and sold for large sums of money. the light weights were grouped and sold accordingly. although the freemans owned a large plantation several miles from griffin and had a large number of slaves, who lived on this plantation to do the work, they resided in town with only the hammond family as their servants. mr. hammonds' grandmother acted as the cook for the household and his mother assisted her. his sister was the chamber-maid and kept the house spotlessly clean. smiling, mr. hammond remarked, "until i was older my job was that of playing, later i became my young mistress's carriage driver". miss adeline freeman was the young mistress whom mr. hammond continued to speak of; and during the war period she did welfare work; that is, mr. hammond drove her and her mother around through different counties, soliciting medicines, rags for bandages, etc., which were sent, to the hospitals. mr. hammond related the following experiences while driving through the country. "we always visited the richest slave owners, those who owned and hundred head of slaves, and often would remain in one community over night and probably the next day. after putting up the horses an and carriage i would follow my mistress into the dining room. she always saw to it that i sat at the same table with her. i never could drink milk or eat butter, so on more than one occasion other people would try to influence my mistress and tell her that if i belonged to them they would make me drink milk or beat me. she never noticed any of their remarks; but always gave me the same food that she ate. "often while driving, i would almost drop off to sleep and my old mistress would shout, "milton aren't you sleepy?". "no ma'am", i would reply, "why, yes you are; i'll slap your jaws". my young mistress would then take the reins and tell me to go to sleep." mr. hammond continued--"many a morning i have known the overseers on the plantation where we were stopping to blow the horn for every one to get up, long before sunrise prepare their breakfast and get to the fields. the old women were required to care for the young children while their mothers worked in the fields. sometimes there would be a many as ten and fifteen for each to look after. around noon they were fed from a trough which was about ten or fifteen feet in length. pot liquor by the buckets was thrown in the trough until they were filled. the children with spoons in their hands would then line up on each side no sooner was the signal given than they began eating like a lot of pigs. the smaller ones would often jump in with their feet." after the work in the fields was completed for the day, women were then required to work at night spinning thread into cloth. each woman had a task which consisted of making so many cuts a night. as mr. hammond remarked, "you couldn't hear your ears at night on some plantations, for the old spinning wheels". at o'clock the overseer would blow the horn for every one to go to bed. the cloth woven by women was used to make men clothing also, and was dyed different colors from dye which was made by boiling walnut hulls and berries of various kinds. color varied according to the kind of berry used. one pair of shoes, made to order, was given each person once a year. one and two roomed log cabins were found on practically all the plantations. the number of rooms depended upon the number in the family. sometimes one room would contain three and four bed scaffolds, so called by mr. hammond because of their peculiar construction. some beds were nailed to the walls and all of them were built with roped bottoms. home made tables and benches completed the furnishings of a slave home. there were no stoves, large fireplaces, five to six feet in length, served the purpose of stoves for cooking. cooking utensils including an oven and very large pots were found in every home. wooden plates and spoons were used on some plantations. the rations for the next week were given each family on saturday nights, amounts varying according to the number in each family. usually a small family received three lbs. of bacon, one peck of meal, and one quart of syrup. slaves on the freeman plantation never knew anything but kind treatment. their mistress was a religious woman and never punished unless it was absolutely necessary. on other plantations however, some slaves were treated cruelly. when a slave resented this treatment he was quickly gotten rid of. many were sent to mississippi and texas. white offenders were sent to chain gangs, but there were no gangs for slaves. "patter rollers" were known more for their cruelty than many of the slave owners and would often beat slaves unmercifully". "i remember one," remarked mr. hammond, "the patter rollers fot after a man on our place." booker went to see his wife and took along an old out of date pass. the patter-rollers asked to see the pass which he quickly handed to them and kept walking. after inspecting the pass closely they called booker and told him the pass was no good. "well this is" he replied and started running just as fast as he could until he safely reached the plantation. "i never needed a pass." through the week the slaves were allowed to conduct prayer meeting in the quarters themselves; but on sundays they attended the white churches for their weekly religious meetings. we were told to obey our masters and not to steal. "that is all the sermon we heard," remarked mr. hammond. their services were conducted in the basement of the church in the afternoons. marriages on the freeman plantation, were conducted in much the same manner as they are today. mr. hammond only remembers attending just one marriage of a colored couple. a white minister performed the ceremony right in the mistress's yard as every one white and colored looked on. after the ceremony the usual frolic did not take place; however on other plantations frolics often took place immediately following a marriage. whiskey served as refreshment for some while others had to content themselves with barbecue. "when we got sick we were not allowed to suffer through negligence on the part of our owner", remarked mr. hammond. family doctors of the white families attended the slaves and through them they were well cared for. castor oil was the favorite home remedy used in those days and it could always be found on the family shelf. "my first impression of the civil war was received when the methodist and baptist churches began to disagree", remarked mr. hammond. he continued,--"one day as my uncle and i worked on miss adeline's truck farm wheeler's calvary, a group of confederate soldiers came to the field and forced us to give them our two best mules. in their place they left their old half starved horses. we immediately rode to town and informed the mistress of what had taken place. during this time confederate soldiers were known to capture slaves and force them to dig ditches, known as breastworks. my mistress became frightened, and locked me in the closet until late in the evening. she then fixed a basket of food and instructed me as to the direction in which to travel back to the field. it was a common sight to see soldiers marching on to macon, ga., in the mornings and in the evenings see the same group on their way back running from the yanks". mr. hammond made the following statement concerning the end of the war. "our mistress told us we were free; however, i was too young to realize just what freedom would mean to us, but somehow i knew that we would have to be responsible for our own upkeep. doctors bills, medicines, clothing, (etc) would have to be paid by us from then on. after that we worked for anyone who would hire us and never earned over or cents a day. sometimes our pay consisted of a peck of meal or a piece of meat." as a close to the interview mr. hammond stated he married at the age of and was the father of children. he has lived in atlanta for the past years working at various jobs. at one time he owned a dray. "my old age is the result of taking care of myself and not being exposed." besides this mr. hammond attends bethel a.m.e. church regularly. as writer prepared to leave, mr. hammond remarked, "i never knew much about slavery, you see; i've always been treated as a free man". jane smith hill harmon of washington-wilkes by minnie branham stonestreet washington-wilkes georgia jane smith hill harmon of washington-wilkes a comical little old black woman with the happy art of saying and doing as she pleases and getting by with it, is jane smith hill harmon of washington-wilkes. she lives alone in her cabin off the public square and is taken care of by white friends. she is on the streets every day carrying her long walking stick which she uses to lean on and as a "hittin' stick". she doesn't fail to use it vigorously on any "nigger" who teases her. she hits hard and to hurt, but it seems they had rather hear what she has to say, and take the penalty, then to let her alone. her wardrobe consists of out-of-style clothes and hats given her and it is her delight on saturday afternoons to dress up in her finest and fanciest creations and come strutting along down town proud of the attention she is attracting. unlike most old people, aunt jane doesn't like to talk about the past. she enjoys life and lives in the present. it was hard to get her to tell anything much of her early life. finally, however, she grew a bit reminiscent and talked of the past for a little while. "yassum, i'se years ole last gone may, an' i been in washington, georgy fuh years an' i ain't been in no council scrape an' no cote nor nothin' bad lak dat, kase i 'haves myself an' don't lak niggers an' don't fool 'long wid 'em. no'm, i sho' ain't got no use fuh niggers 'tall. an' as fuh yaller niggers--huh! i jes' hates 'em--dey's de wust niggers de're is, dey's got dirty feets, an' dey's nasty an' mean, i hates 'em, i tells yuh! "i wuz borned an' raised on de smith plantation out here a piece frum town. i wuz one of fourteen chillun, i think i wuz de th 'un. we wuz well took keer of by our marster an' his fust wife, she wuz jes' as good ter us as she could be, my fust mistess wuz, but she died an' marster married agin an' she wuz mean ter us little niggers. she'd whup us fuh nothin', an' us didn't known what ter do, kase our fust mistess wuz so good ter us, but dat last 'oman, she sho' wuz mean ter us. "my marster had lots of slaves an' us all had work ter do. de fust work i done wuz churnin' an' i loved ter do 'hit kase i loved milk an' butter so good. i'd dance an' dance 'round dat ole churn, churnin' an' churnin' 'till de butter wuz come. i allus could dance, i cuts fancy steps now sometimes when i feels good. at one o' dem big ole country breakdowns (dances), one night when i wuz young, i danced down seben big strong mens, dey thought dey wuz sumpin'! huh, i danced eb'ry one down! "i uster play dolls wid de overseer's chillun, an' look fuh aigs, an' tote in wood an' pick up chips. us had good times togeder, all us little niggers an' de little white chilluns. us had two days at chris'mus, an' no work wuz done on de place of a sunday. everybody white an' black had ter go ter chu'ch. de overseer piled us all in de waggin an' took us whether us wanted ter go or no. us niggers set up in de loft (gallery), an' de white folks wuz down in de chu'ch too. "atter er while dey s'lected me out to be a housegirl an' den i slep' in de big house. all de little niggers et in de white folks' kitchen out'n er big tray whut wuz lak a trough. de cook put our victuals in de tray an' gib us a spoon an' pone er bread a piece an' made us set 'roun' dat tray an' eat all us wanted. 'hit wuz good eatin', too. "all durin' of de war my marster wuz off fightin' an' de overseer wuz hard on us. we wuz glad when marster cum home er gin. de yankees wuz a-comin' an' daddy charles, he wuz a ole black man on de place, knowed 'bout marster's money, an' he took hit all an' put it in er big box an' went out in de night time an' buried hit 'way down deep in some thick woods an' put leaves all over de place an' dem yankees couldn't fin' hit nowhar, an' dey went on off an' let us 'lone. "my ma wuz a 'spert spinner an' weaver, an' she spun an' wove things ter be sont ter de soldiers in de war. i 'members dat, her er spinnin' an' dey say hit wuz fer de soldiers. "atter we wuz free i went ter school er mont'. i fit so wid all de chillun i quit. dey said i mustn't fight an' i knowed i couldn't git er long widout fightin' so i jes' quit an' ain't never been ter no mo' schools. my marster said he wuz goin' ter have a school on de place fer all his niggers, but freedom cum an' he didn't do hit. "i mari'ed in my white folks' kitchen, mari'ed de fust time when i wuz years ole. i been mari'ed two times an' had good husban's. dey wuz good ter me. "doctors? doctors? i don't know nothin' 'bout no doctors! i ain't never been sickly. dis year ( ) i done had to have mo' ter do wid doctors dan ever in my life. i'se gittin' now to whar i kain't walk lak i uster, all crippled up in my laigs wid sumpin'. "ain't nobody lef' now but me an' one o' my six chillun. he lives up in dat phillerdelma (philadelphia) an' i 'cided onst three er fo' year ergo, to go up da're an' live wid 'im. lawdy, lawdy, i ain't been so glad o' nothin' in my life as i wuz ter git back ter washington, georgy! i ain't goin' 'way frum here 'till i dies. son is mari'ed, an' sich er 'oman as he's got! she's un o' dem smart no'th'n niggers. she 'bused de so'th an' de white folks down here all de time. i'd er beat her wid my stick ef'n i'd er had 'tection, but i wuz way off up da're in de no'th an' didn't know nobody. but i did found a gal what use ter live here an' went an' stayed wid her 'till i worked an' got 'nough money ter git home on. jes' soon as i got here i went straight ter mr. sheriff walton an' mr. sturdivant (chief of police) an' tole dem 'bout dat sassy hateful nigger up da're talkin' 'bout de so'th an' de white folks lak she done, an dat she say she wuz comin' down here ter see me. i axed dem when i got er letter sayin' she wuz a-comin' would dey take me ter augusty ter meet her an' when she stept off'n de train ter let me take my stick an' beat her all i wanted ter fer talkin' bout my white folks lak she done. dey said: "aunt jane, jes' you let us know an' we sho' will take you to augusty ter meet her, an' let you beat her all you want ter." but she ain't never come--she skeered, an she sho' better be, kase i'se home down here an got all de 'tection i needs. ef'n she ever do come, i'm goin' ter beat her wid dis stick an sen' her back to her country up da're in dat phillerdelma. she ain't got no sense an' no raisin, neider, talkin' 'bout de so'th an' my white folks what lives here." and from the wicked flash from aunt jane's eyes, it will be well for her "sassy" daughter-in-law to stay "up no'th". plantation life as viewed by ex-slave dosia harris valley street athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby athens -- edited by: sarah h. hall athens -- leila harris augusta -- and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & . dosia harris ex-slave--age dosia lives in a red painted frame house. her very black skin, thick lips, and broad nose are typical of her african ancestry. she is tall, thin, and a little stooped, and her wooly hair is fast fading from gray to almost white. when she greeted the interviewer, she was wearing a blue striped dress which displayed a large patch of blue print on the front of the skirt over her knees. over her dress a black silk blouse, lavishly trimmed with black beads, was worn for a wrap, and a pair of men's brown shoes, sans laces, completed her costume. due to illiteracy dosia has retained the dialect of the old southern darky. asked to relate her experiences as a slave, she replied: "oo, miss! what does you want to know 'bout dat for? well, anyhow i was borned in greene county. mary and auss downs was my ma and pa. i cain't tell you whar dey come from. "i played 'round de yard wid de rest of de chillun and picked a little cotton up and down de rows. i was de onliest chile my mammy had. my pa was married two times, and i was his fust chile. i had four half sisters: fannie, clara, daisy, and martha ann, but i never had no brothers. "all de houses in de slave quarters was log cabins 'cept two. dey was made of boards what was put on straight up and down. all de houses had chimblies made out of mud and sticks. de beds had high posties and some of 'em was nailed to de wall of de cabin. dey didn't know nothin' 'bout no wire springs den, and dey strung de beds wid heavy cords for springs. dey made mattress ticks out of coarse home-wove cloth; some was striped and some was plain unbleached white. atter de wheat was thrashed evvy year de 'omans tuk deir ticks and emptied out de old straw and went and filled 'em wid new wheat straw. wisht i had a nice fresh made wheat straw mattress now. us had plenty of good quilts for kivver. "some of de slave chillun slept on de flo', but me, i slept wid my grandma. she was crecia downs, and she done raised me, 'cause my mammy died when i was three days old, or come to think of it, was i three weeks old when dat happened? i'se done got so old i forgits lots of things lak dat. mammy died of some kind of fever dat was mighty catchin'. twenty-five niggers died on dat one plantation 'bout de same time, from dat fever. atter grandma got too old to wuk in de field, she didn't do nothin' but piddle 'round de yard and bile slops for de hogs. grandpa joe downs, he was de carpenter, but he done most any kind of wuk dat come up to be done; he wuked in de fields and driv cows, or jus' anything. "money! no ma'am! all dey ever give slaves was a belly full of somepin t'eat, de clo'es dey wore, and de orders to keep on wukin'. now come to think of it, i did see $ , of jeff davis fodder what de white folks th'owed 'way atter de war. us chillun picked it up and played wid it. "what did us have t'eat? oo-o! dey give us plenty good victuals. dere was bread and meat; peas, greens, and other vegetables; all de milk us wanted, and sometimes dere was good old gingercakes made wid sorghum syrup. as for me, i laked fried fat meat and cornbread cooked in de ashes better dan greens and sweet things any old time. all de cookin' was done in great big open fireplaces dat was plum full of ovens, skillets and all sorts of long handled pans and things. gentlemen! dat pot would bile down wid dem peas in it 'fore you knowed it if you didn't watch it close. dere never was no other bread good as what us baked in dem ovens and in de ashes. "'possums! you jus' makes my mouth water, talkin' 'bout 'possums. folks thought so much of deir 'possum dogs dem days dey fed 'em 'til dey was jus' fat and lazy. dey cotched de 'possums, singed and scraped de hair off of 'em, finished dressin' 'em and drapped 'em in de pot to bile 'til dey was tender. den dey put 'em in bakin' pans and kivvered 'em over wid strips of fat meat and baked 'em jus' as nice and brown, and if dey had good sweet 'tatoes, dey roasted 'em in de ashes, peeled 'em, and put 'em on de big old platters wid de 'possums. rabbits was plentiful too and i loves 'em 'til dis good day. most of de young tender rabbits what dey cotched was fried, but if dey brung in some old tough ones dey was throwed in de pot wid a piece of fat meat and biled 'til dey was done. squirrels was cooked jus' lak rabbits. dere was plenty of fish down dar in greene county whar us lived, but i never did eat 'em. slaves would wuk all day and fish all night, but you never did ketch dosia foolin' 'round no fish ponds. slave famblies was 'lowed to have little gyarden patches if dey wanted 'em. i ricollect how i used to go to de gyarden in de winter and cut down collards atter frost had done hit 'em and fetched 'em to de house to be biled down for dinner. "what us wore in summer? well, it was lak dis--little nigger chillun didn't stay out of de branch long 'nough to need much clothes in hot weather, but in de winter dey give us dresses made out of coarse cloth wove on de loom right dar on de plantation. some of dem dresses was red and some was blue. de cloth was dyed wid red oak bark and copperas, and dey used indigo what dey raised on de place to dye de blue cloth. de waisties was close fittin' and sorter skimpy skirts was gathered on to 'em. de underskirts was unbleached white cloth made jus' lak de dresses only some skimpier. old marster raised plenty of cattle and saved de hides what he sont to de tannery to be got ready for my uncle, moses downs, to make our brogan shoes. dem shoes had brass toes to keep 'em from wearing out too quick. uncle mose was sho' a smart shoemaker. he had to make shoes for all de slaves on de whole plantation. "marster sam downs owned us, and his wife, miss mary, was a mighty good somebody to belong to--"old mist'ess" us called her. i don't 'member nothin' 'tall 'bout old marster, 'cause he died 'fore i was knee high to a duck. old marster and old mist'ess had five chillun. dey was: miss ellen, marse sam, marse james kelsey, marse tom, and marse william. old miss sho' was good to us niggers, 'cause she was raisin' us to wuk for her. "when marse william went to de war, he tuk my pappy wid him. dey come back home on one of dem flyloughs, (furloughs) or somepin lak dat, end you jus' ought to have seed de way us chillun crowded 'round pappy when he got dar. one of his fingers had done got shot off in de fightin', and us chillun thought it was one of de funniest lookin' things us had ever seed, a man wid a short finger. he said dem yankees had done shot it off. "atter old marster died old mist'ess moved to a town called woodstock, or was it woodville? it was wood-somepin' or nother. she hired old man john akins to oversee de plantation, and she evermore did oversee him and de plantation too. she had a fine pacing mule what wouldn't throw her for nothin'. evvy mornin' she got on dat mule and rid out to her plantation. she allus fetched us somepin' t'eat; most of de time it was a gingercake apiece. "i couldn't rightly say how big dat plantation of hers was. oo-o! but it sho' was one more big place, and niggers was scattered all 'round dar lak blackbirds. dat old overseer, he sho' was mean to de slaves. he whupped 'em and he kept on whuppin' 'em, 'til sometimes it seemed lak he jus' beat on 'em to hear 'em holler. it warn't long atter midnight when he got 'em up to go to wuk and he kept 'em at hard labor 'til way atter sundown. de biggest things he whupped niggers for was for runnin' 'way and for not doin' deir wuk right. "jails! did you say jails? yessum, dey had jails. you know slaves warn't civilized folks den--all dey knowed was to fuss end fight and kill one 'nother. dey put de niggers in dem jails 'til dey hung 'em. "grandma was sold on de block to marse sam's pa, marse kelsey downs, soon atter she was brung over to dis country from de homeland of de black folks. she never did larn to talk dis language right plain. us used to git her to tell us 'bout when she was sold. de sale was in december but it was so far off dat corn was in tassel 'fore my pore grandmammy got to greene county. she said dey camped at night and got up long 'fore day and was driv lak cows, a man in front and 'nother one back of 'em to keep 'em from branchin' out and runnin'. "niggers never had no chance to larn to read and write dem days. dey went to meetin' at shiloh--dat was de white folks church nigh penfield--and bethesda was 'nother of de white folks churches whar slaves was brought to listen to de preachin'. one thing sho', niggers couldn't read de bible, but dey jus' lumbered down 'bout de lord from deir heads. "slaves didn't run off to no north dat i ever knowed 'bout. i heared tell 'bout one man named si what run 'way wid dem yankees when dey come through and dey made a black yankee soldier out of him atter he jined up wid 'em. i heared tell of patterollers what cotched niggers 'way from home 'thout no pass. folks said dey brushed you off and sont you home if dey cotched you. "all i knowed niggers to do at night atter dey come in from de fields, was to eat supper and fling deirselfs on de beds and go right off to sleep, 'cept when dey wanted to hunt and fish, and most of dat sort of thing was done atter de crops was laid by or atter dey had done been gathered into de barns. on saddy nights, de older womans ironed and fixed up for sunday whilst de men was busy gittin' de harness and tools and things ready for de next week's wuk. young folks never had nothin' but good times on deir minds. dey danced, frolicked, and cut de buck in gen'ral. dey didn't have no sho' 'nough music, but dey sho' could sing it down. one of de dance songs went somepin' lak dis: 'oh! miss liza, miss liza jane! axed miss liza to marry me guess what she said? she wouldn't marry me, if de last nigger was dead.' "christmas was sho' one grand time. der warn't no big heap of good things lak dey has now. old mist'ess give de niggers a little flour and syrup for to make sweet cake. dere was plenty of fresh hog meat and chickens and all sorts of dried fruits. i was allus plum crazy 'bout de rag doll grandma would make for my christmas present. come new year's day, it was time to go back to wuk and evvy slave was made to do a heap of wuk on dat day to start de year off right. "slaves had a big old time at cornshuckin's. dey didn't care so much 'bout de somepin' t'eat jus' so dey got plenty of whiskey to drink, and when dey got all het up on dat you could hear 'em a mile away a'whoopin' and hollerin'. sometimes dey kilt a cow and throwed it in a pot and biled it down wid dumplin's, seasoned hot wid red pepper." asked what games she played as a child, dosia replied: "gentlemen! what de giver'ment don't want to know, ain't wuth knowin' no how. what i played? well, now, let me see: =mollie, mollie bright= was one of our games; =hiding de switch= was de one whar you counted 'em out; dat countin' run lak dis: 'ten, ten, double-ten, forty-five, fifteen.' gentlemen! i could run lak a snake. "ha'nts? why, i kin see dem things anytime. dis hyar place whar i lives is full of ha'nts, but dese folks would git mad wid me if i told 'bout 'em. now, back in greene county, i kin talk 'bout dem ha'nts all right. back dar mrs. babe thaxton had a mighty pretty flower yard. she used to tell me dat if i let anybody git any flowers from her yard atter she was daid, she would sho' ha'nt me. she had done been daid a good while when i was gittin' some flowers from her yard and a gal come along and axed me to give her some. i started cuttin' flowers for her. at dat miss babe, she riz up over me lak she was gwine to burn me up. she looked at me hard and went off and sot in a tree whar she could look right down on me. i ain't never cut no flowers out of dat yard no more. now 'bout raw head and bloody bones, honey, don't you know dat ain't nothin' but a cows head what's done been skint? old folks used to ax us: 'has you seed raw head and bloody bones?' us would run over one 'nother tryin' to git dar fust to see him, and it allus turned out to be jus' a old skint up cow head. den in de nighttime us would have wild dreams 'bout dem old skint cow heads. "de onliest song i ever heared de niggers sing in de fields run somepin lak dis: 'tarrypin, tarrypin, (terrapin) when you comin' over, for to see your wife and fam-i-lee.' dey must a been wantin' to eat turkle (turtle), when dey was a-singin' dat song. "old mist'ess was mighty special good to her slaves when dey was sick. fust thing she done was send for de doctor. i kin see him now. he rid horseback and carried his medicine in saddlebags. he used to put some kind of powders in a glass of water and give it to de sick ones. dere was three old 'omans what old mist'ess kept to look atter sick slave 'omans. dem old granny nurses knowed a heap about yarbs (herbs). may apple and blacksnake roots, king of de meadow, (meadow rue) wild asthma (aster) and red shank, dese was biled and deir tea give to de slaves for diffunt ailments." asked to describe king of the meadow, she continued: "honey, ain't you never seed none? well, it's such a hard tough weed dat you have to use a axe to chop it up, and its so strong and pow'ful dat nothin' else kin grow nigh 'round it. back in dem days folks wore tare (tar) sacks 'round deir necks and rubbed turpentine under deir noses. when deir ailments got too hot, lak when mammy died, dey made 'em swallow two or three draps of turpentine. "i ricollects dat when de news come dat dem yankees was on de way towards our plantation, old mist'ess tuk her old pacin' mule and all her money and made uncle moses go down on de river wid her to help hide 'em. i told her i was gwine tell dem yankees she had done stole my uncle and hid him so he wouldn't hear 'bout freedom. and when dem yankees finally did git dar, dey was singin' some sort of a song 'bout freedom. i lit out to runnin', and it was way atter midnight 'fore old mist'ess found me. i was pretty nigh skeered to death. dey called all de slaves together and told 'em dey was free as jack rabbits, and 'deed dat was de truth. us stayed dar for years. it looked lak us warn't never gwine to leave. "grandma started out to wuk for herself as a granny 'oman, and old mist'ess give her a mule to ride on to make her trips from one farm to another. it was a long time 'fore niggers could git 'nough money together for to buy land of deir own, and it seems lak it was a long time 'fore schools for niggers was sot up. "when me and oscar harris got married, us had a big weddin' wid evvything good to eat what us could git, and plenty of wine to drink. de dancin' and good time went on most all night. i had a reg'lar weddin' dress made out of pretty white swiss trimmed wid lots of lace and it had a long train. i wore long white gloves. tucks went 'round my petticoat from de knees to de lace what aidged de bottom, and my draw's was white cambric, gathered at de knee wid a wide ruffle what was tucked and trimmed up pretty. i married on saddy night and dat called for a second day dress, 'cause i jus' had to go to church next day and show dat man off. anyhow, my second day dress was blue cotton wid white lace on it, and i wore a big white plumed hat draped down over one eye. wid de second day dress i wore dem same draw's, petticoat, and gloves what i was married in. me and oscar's five chillun was mary, annie belle, daniel, cleveland, and austin. "my old man and all my chillun is daid 'cept daniel, and i don't know whar he is. i wants to git married again, but dese hyar jealious niggers 'round hyar says if i does de giver'ment is gwine to cut off my old age pension, and i sho' don't want to loose dat money. no sir! "i didn't take in nothin' 'bout lincoln, davis or dat man washington. dem days chillun had to take a back seat. when old folks wanted to talk, dey jus' sent chillun on 'bout dey business. one thing i does know: i'd sho' ruther have times lak dey is now. yessum, i sho' had. "i jined randolph baptist church in greene county 'cause i felt de urge and knowed it had done got to be my duty to jine up. i'se been a baptist ever since, and will be one 'til i die; so was all my folks 'fore me. folks when dey jine de church ought to live right so dey kin see de good lord and have a restin' place atter dey is done wid dis sinful world. yessum, i jined dat randolph baptist church way down in greene county a long time ago." mary a. crawford re-search worker henderson harris--ex-slave henderson harris was born august , , in talbot county. his parents were frederick and adeline harris of jones county, but henderson remembers nothing about them because they both were sold on the block and left him when he was just a few months old. mr. bill adams, henderson's owner, lived on a large plantation on the old stage road between macon and columbus. there were about three hundred acres in this plantation and between thirty and fifty slaves. mr. adams was just a "straight out farmer, and as good a marster as ever wore shoe leather. 'marse bill' was a putty hard man about business, and meant 'skat' when he said 'skat'". he had a white preacher and a white doctor on his plantation, and expected all the negroes to go to 'preachin' on sunday afternoon, and if any of them were sick enough to need a doctor, they had him. the doctor came around about once a month and every slave was looked after. the slaves were allowed saturday afternoons, provided there was no fodder or other stuff down in the field to be put into the barn loft in case of rain. from breakfast on, they had all sunday, even the cook and other house servants. "ole miss had the cook bake up light bread and make pies on saturday to do at the big house through sunday." the first work that henderson remembers doing was "totin peaches to the pigs" and "drapin' peas". he recalls nothing about the yankees coming through, but remembers the others telling how they burned the warehouse and drove off the cattle and hogs. after freedom his mammy and daddy returned to 'ole marster's' plantation and he and the other seven children lived with them and worked for 'marse bill'. the old fellow is very superstitious and firmly believes that the "squinch" owl's note is a "sho sign o' death." henderson says that he is able to work and that he cleans yards, cuts wood, and does almost any kind of job [hw: that] he can find. henderson harris e. slaton avenue griffin, georgia september , . velma bell district # augusta, ga. ex-slave interview uncle shang harris toccoa, georgia (stephens county) "uncle shang" harris, at the age of , is more vigorous than many men twenty years younger. erect and stocky, holding his white woolly head high, he retains the full favor of living. when the interviewer entered his cabin he rose from the supper table wiping from his mouth the crumbs of a hearty meal, and peered uncertainly through the gathering dark. "does i 'member 'bout slav'ey times?" his face relaxed into a broad smile, "g-lory, hallelujah, i sho does! i was born den and freed den. what you wanter know? i kin tell you all about it." he led the way to two chairs near the stove. "my marster was mr. bob alexander. he lived in franklin county jes' dis side o' carnesville. he treated me good--yes mam, he sho did. my marster didn't have no beatin' o' his niggers. i didn't do no work back in dem times--nuttin' but play. me and my sister belonged to de youngest boy (dey was seven boys in dat family) and we jes' climbed trees and frolicked all de time. we had plenty in de eatin' line too. "but law chile, eve'ybody didn't have dat. some de marsters tied dey niggers to posts and whupped 'em till dey nigh killed 'em. lots of 'em run away and hid in de woods. de marsters would put de dogs after you jes' like a coon. dey'd run you and tree you"--imitating the sound of baying dogs--"oh, glory, hallelujah--dat's de way dey done 'em! i'se seed bare feets all cracked up wid de cold. we don't have no cold weather now. why, i'se seed big pine trees bust wide open--done froze, and de niggers would be out in dat kind o' weather. but dey'd ruther do dat dan stay and git beat to death. many a night jes' 'bout dark, i'd be a-settin' in my cabin wid my ole lady (dat was after i got older) and see somebody prowlin' roun' in de bushes, and i'd know hit was some po' nigger was hidin' and didn't had nuttin' to eat. my marster nuse to say, 'harris, when you see somebody hongry, gi' 'im sumpin' to eat'. we didn't never turn 'em down even when dey look so bad dey was right scarey. "no'm, i never was sold. mr. bob nuse to say, 'i got hogs, horses, mules and cows to sell, but no niggers.' he had 'bout twenty slaves. de biggest portion of 'em stayed on de farm. "lots o' folks did sell dey niggers, and sometimes dey'd take yo' chile and go to alabama or virginia, and you wouldn't never see him no mo'. dey kept de dark ones together and de bright ones together. hit didn't make no diffunce 'bout families. dey warn't no marryin' 'mongst de niggers way back in time. de marsters wanted you to increase to give 'em more niggers, but dey didn't had no marryin'. i had three wives and i got my fourth one now. dey all treated me good. "dat mixed-up color in niggers come from slav'ey times. some de marsters beat de slave women to make 'em give up to 'em. "dey talks a heap 'bout de niggers stealin'. well, you know what was de fust stealin' done? hit was in afriky, when de white folks stole de niggers jes' like you'd go get a drove o' horses and sell 'em. dey'd bring a steamer down dere wid a red flag, 'cause dey knowed dem folks liked red, and when dey see it dey'd follow it till dey got on de steamer. den when it was all full o' niggers dey'd bring 'em over here and sell 'em. "no'm i never was hired out to nobody in slav'ey times. didn't i tole you we didn't do no work? i never seed no money--not a nickel. de most money i ever seed was when my boss buried some when de yankees was. "we nuse to have frolics and break-downs all de time--quiltin's and finger-pickin's and dances and all sech as dat. finger-pickin's was when we'd pick de cotton off de seeds by hand. we'd spread it down in front o' de fire place 'cause it was easier to pick when it was hot. "does i 'member de old songs? hallelujah, i sho does!" the old darkey began to pat his foot and clap his hands while he sang, "pickin' out de cotton an' de bolls all rotten", repeating the same line over and over to a sing-song melody as impossible of transcription as a bird-call. suddenly his smiling face fell serious and the song stopped. "but since de lawd saved me from a life o' sin, i don't think about dem things. i don't 'member 'em much now. i been saved forty odd years." "was that a sinful song, uncle shang?" "dat's de devil's song, dat is. a-dancin' an' a stompin' dat-a-way! "folks nuse to have fights sometimes at de frolics but dey didn't do no killin'. hit ain't like dat now. dey stob you now, but dey didn't do dat den. somebody'd always stop 'em 'fore it got dat fur." "yes'm, we sung spirituals. we sung 'de good ole-time religion', an' sech as dat. i can't 'member all dem good songs now." his middle-aged wife, washing dishes over the wood stove, struck up, "i am bound for de promise land," and he joined in with a firm voice. but neither remembered many songs distinctly. "we didn't had no schools. dey wouldn't let de white chillen tell us about books. one day i axed about sumpin' in a book, and one de chillen say, 'mamma tole me not to learn you nuttin' or she'd whup me'." asked about holidays, uncle shang replied, "thanksgiving we give thanks in de church on our knees. warn't no slave gallery. white and colored all together and shouted together. "christmas we frolic and eat cake. we had serenades, too, on banjoes and old tin pans and whatever you wanted to make a noise. and a gallon o' liquor--anything you want!" with a loud laugh. "yes, mam, i 'members when de war broke out. hit was on a sunday morning, jes' as clear and bright as could be. and gen'l lee prayed till it thundered. jes' 'fore de sun riz he was fixin' to go to a battle. he got down on his knees and he jarred de worl'. yes, mam, hit thundered and when de folks heered it, dey all commenced runnin' todes him wid de butts o' dey guns, and stacked de guns 'round a sweet-apple tree." uncle shang was not quite clear as to who had stacked the guns, but he was sure it had been done. "i 'members when de yankees come too. de yankees come in--well, hallelujah!--one friday mornin' 'bout sun-up. mamma took a notion to go out in de syrup-cane patch, and i was settin' on de fence. i could hear dem cannons a-boomin' and de sun was a-risin' so red jes' like blood. den i seed de yankees a-comin' wid dey blue coats on an' all dem brass buttons jes' a-shinin'. i holler, 'mamma--look a-yo-o-onder!' one man had a flag wid red on it--dat's for blood. one man come in a hurry and say, 'all come to de house.' "den he look at me a-settin' on de fence, and he say, 'hey, boy, you mighty fat'. he talk and he talk and by dat time de yard was full o' yankees. 'lemme ask you sumpin', he say, 'where's de horses?' wid dat, he shot off a pistol--bam! "my boss had done took 'em off. i say, 'i don' know nuttin' 'bout 'em.' "all dey got from our house was a big sack o' flour. dey didn't burn nuttin' o' ours. dey say, 'you all feelin' so good, havin' a good time--we won't take nuttin.' "de calvary was here 'fore de yankees was. dey had on blue coats, too. dey make de boss haul corn all day a-sunday to fed dey horses. "dey try to git de niggers to go back north wid 'em, and dey had a big crowd o' colored goin', but i wouldn't go. a fust cousin to my dad left 'cause dey beat him so. i think he done well in de north. but i didn't want to go. "after freedom was, some de marsters wouldn't tell you. but our marster tole us. he said, 'you free as i is. if you want to stay wid me, all right. if not, you know where to go.' "mistis warn't like de boss," (mimicking a precise, slightly acid voice), "she say, 'i don't want to hear of no fightin' now. you'll git your arms cut off if you fight.' "but de boss keep her cooled down. he say, 'arms cut off--huh! you git yo's broke off if you don't hush.' "after freedom, we didn't work for no regular wages--jes' knock about like chillen 'round de house. i don't know how old i was den, but i warn't no chicken. after while i worked on de railroad, de fust one here, what used wood burners. i helped build it. dey's great tall pines growin' now where dat fill was made. "white folks nuse to travel in wagons way back in time. when dey tuk de cotton to new york dey went to athens in de wagons wid oxen or mules, and den to new york on de train. de ladies rid 'round town in carriages--rockaways--dem low one-hoss things. de driver sat on top. he wore a big beaver hat and good clothes and heavy gloves. "white folks had lots o' dances and eve'ything went well. people was mighty nice in dis country. "one my young bosses was a doctor. dey didn't give dem little pills you have now, what don't do no good. dey made tea out o' devil's shoestring, and yerbs out de woods, and blue mass pills. when babies come, dey had mid-wives. dey didn't do nuttin' to cut de pains--=you got to have dem=. "yes, mam, i knows 'bout cunjurs--plenty o' cunjurs. dem cunjur-folks takes weeds and yerbs, and fixes you so you can't sleep and can't eat and bark like a dog. one man told a girl he'd fix her so green flies 'ud follow her all de time--and dey did! "one of 'em gin me some stuff once. yes, mam, like to killed de old pap. i had done found some money in alabama, and another man wanted me to gi' it to him so he put sumpin' in my coffee. when i tasted dat coffee i started cussin' (i was wicked den)--i couldn't sleep--couldn't rest. my nephew said, 'somebody done hurt you!' my father-in-law tuk it off. he made some tea out o' rattle-snake master, and i drunk dat and swallowed a silver dime. dat tuk de cunjur off. some says it's good to take nine silver pieces and boil 'em and drink de water. "i knows sumpin' 'bout ghoses, too, but my foots got temper in 'em and when i sees anything, i runs. people say dey ain't no sech thing, but dey is. "dey was a house--people couldn't live dere, but a fellow said he could go dere, so he went. fust thing he seed a cat rarin' and pitchin' in de fireplace. den dey was a kickin' up in de loft, and here come a big old dog a-spittin', and fire all spranglin' out. he rared and growled. den in come a woman. he say, 'what'll you have, lady?' she say, 'dey's ten thousand dollars buried right where i'm a-standin'. "he stayed dere till he got it too. de devil was trying to scare him off, but she wanted him to have it. "people nuse to bury lots o' money 'way back in time, and lots o' folks is found it. "good-luck and bad-luck signs, you say? well, lemme see," the old man paused to reflect and scratch his head. "well, de bes' luck sign is to git in wid de lawd. keep wid him; he'll keep you sweet in yo' soul. god's goin' to come down de mid-air. i seen dat one time. jesus come to me--you never seen de like of it--de chariots--oh, glory!--and de purtiest singin' you ever heered, o-oh--g-lory, hallelujah! dat was jes' last year. "i had a good life. i been enjoyin' myself. i enjoys myself now, but i so old now i jes' staggers over de place. can't do no work but chop wood once in a while. i enjoys myself in prayer. "when de relief folks fus' come here, dey wouldn't give me nuttin' but i been prayin' and glory to jesus i been gittin' little sumpin' ever since dat time. "de way things is goin' now, it's better dan in slav'ey times, 'cause dey ain't no knockin' and beatin'. things is gone too fur for dat now. if eve'ybody would be o' one mind and serve de lawd, dey wouldn't be no troubles. "i don't know whether i'll get th'ough dis winter or not. hit was mighty cold last year, and dey warn't much fuel. but i thanks de lawd for all he's done for me, and i'se ready to meet him when he comes." plantation life as viewed by ex-slave tom hawkins bremen street athens, georgia. written by: sadie b. hornsby athens -- edited by: sarah h. hall athens -- leila harris augusta, ga. tom hawkins ex-slave--age . tom was nowhere to be seen when the interviewer mounted the steps of his cabin. daisy, his wife, was ironing on the back porch and when she learned the object of the proposed interview, she readily agreed to induce tom to talk. she approached a basement door and called: "tom, here's one of dem giver'ment ladies what's come to hear you talk 'bout slavery days." tom replied: "all right, miss daisy, i'se a-comin'." the old man soon appeared feeling his way with his cane carefully before each hesitant step. tom is blind. established comfortably in his favorite chair, he talked freely. "i was borned on marse johnny poore's plantation 'bout four miles f'um belton, south callina. marse johnny owned my ma, mornin' poore, and all three of her chillun. dey was me and johnny, and mollie. my pa was tom hawkins and he was named for his owner. de hawkins plantation was 'bout a mile f'um de poore place. atter ma married pap, dey each one had to stay on wid deir own marster. dey couldn't stay on de same plantation together. i don't 'member much 'bout gran'ma jennie poore 'cept dat she was de cook at de big house. gran'pa wade poore was de blacksmith and marse johnny got a big price when he sold him to dr. chandler. some of de slaves made demselfs corded beds and others jus' had makeshifts. de beds and cabins was good 'nough for de niggers den, 'cause dey never had knowed no better. gangs of slaves slept together lak hogs in dem dirt-floored log cabins. "chilluns what was big 'nough to do anything had to wuk. i was a moughty little chap when dey started me in as houseboy. i slept on a trun'le (trundle) bed in miss annie's room. in de daytime my little trun'le bed was rolled back out of sight under miss annie's big old four poster teester bed. i kep' a fire burnin' in her room winter and summer. night times she would call me. 'tom! tom!' sometimes i was so soun' asleep i didn't answer. den pop, she would hit me on de head wid her long stick. den i knowed hit was time to fire up her pipe. she smoked dat pipe a pow'ful lot atter marse johnny died. "grown slaves made a little money, but i never got none 'til atter de war. i didn't have no cause to want no money. miss annie, she give me evvything i needed. "oh, but us had plenty of good things to eat on de poore plantation--meat and bread wid lots of turnips and 'tatoes. 'bout once a month dey give us lallyhoe. dey calls dat 'lasses now. us et our breakfast and dinner out of wooden bowls. under a long shed built next to de kitchen was a long trough. at night dey crumbled cornbread in it, and poured it full of buttermilk. grown folks and chilluns all gathered 'roun' dat old trough and et out of it wid deir wooden spoons. no ma'am, dere warn't no fightin' 'roun' dat trough. dey all knowed better'n dat. "us got 'possums and rabbits de best ways us could--cotch 'em in traps, hit 'em wid rocks, and trailed 'em wid dogs. us lakked 'possums baked wid 'tatoes, but most of de rabbits was stewed wid dumplin's. all our cookin' was done on big open fireplaces. dey didn't fry nothin' dem days; leastwise dey never give de slaves no fried victuals. grown folks seined for fish in big crick and saluda river at night, 'cause dey couldn't git away f'um field wuk in de day. chillun cotch a heap of fish wid hook and line. de river and crick bofe run thoo' miss annie's plantation so us didn't have to ax for a pass evvy time us went a fishin'. us allus had to have a pass if us left de plantation for anything or de patterollers was apt to git you and look out den, for you was sho' to git a larrupin' if dey cotch you off f'um home widout no pass. "dere warn't but one gyarden on de poore plantation, and it was big enough to feed all de white folks and slaves too. two whole acres of dat gyarden was sowed down in turnips. "chilluns didn't wear but one piece of clothes in summer; dat was a shirt. in winter dey doubled up on us wid two shirts. i 'members how dem shirt tails used to pop in de wind when us runned fast. us chillun used to tie up de 'bacco, what us stole f'um miss annie, in de under-arm part of de long loose sleeves of our shirts. us didn't git no shoes for our foots, winter or summer, 'til us was ten years old. "marse johnny poore, he was kilt in de war and den old mist'ess, she was our miss annie, looked atter de plantation 'til her only child, young miss ann, married marse tom dean. den he helped miss ann 'tend to her business. dey was moughty good to us. miss annie done her own overseein'. she rid over dat plantation onct or twict a day on her hoss. "our white folks lived in a big old two-story house what sot off f'um de road up on a high hill in a big oak grove. miss annie's own room was a shed room on dat house. de upstairs room was kept for comp'ny. unkle wade norris poore was miss annie's car'iage driver. de car'iage was called a surrey den. "dar was 'bout four or five hunderd acres in our plantation. miss annie kept 'bout a hunderd slaves. she was all time sellin' 'em for big prices atter she done trained 'em for to be cooks, housegals, houseboys, carriage drivers, and good wash 'omans. she wukked slaves in her fields. her niggers was waked by four o'clock and had to be in de field by sunup. dey come in 'bout dark. atter supper, de mens made up shoes, horse collars, and anything else lak dat what was needed; de 'omans spun thread and wove cloth. "miss annie was her own whuppin' boss. she beat on 'em for most anything. she had a barrel wid a pole run thoo' it, and she would have a slave stretched out on dat barrel wid his clothes off and his hands and foots tied to de pole. den miss annie would fire up her pipe and set down and whup a nigger for a hour at a time. miss annie would pull my ears and hair when i didn't do to suit her, but she never whupped me. miss annie didn't need no jail for her slaves. she could manage 'em widout nothin' lak dat, and i never did hear of no jails in de country 'roun' whar us lived. "yes ma'am, i seed old miss sell de slaves what she trained. she made 'em stand up on a block, she kept in de back yard, whilst she was a-auctionin' 'em off. i seed plenty of traders go by our place in wagons what dey had deir somepin' t'eat and beddin' in, and deir slaves was walkin' 'long behind de wagon, gwine on to be sold, but dere warn't none of 'em in chains. "dere warn't no schools whar slaves could git book larnin' in dem days. dey warn't even 'lowed to larn to read and write. when dr. cannon found out dat his carriage driver had larned to read and write whilst he was takin' de doctor's chillun to and f'um school, he had dat niggers thumbs cut off and put another boy to doin' de drivin' in his place. "washin'ton church was de name of de meetin' house whar us niggers on de poore plantation went to church wid our white folks. couldn't none of us read no bible and dere warn't none of de niggers on our plantation ever converted and so us never had no baptizin's. de preacher preached to de white folks fust and den when he preached to de niggers all he ever said was: 'it's a sin to steal; don't steal marster's and mist'ess' chickens and hogs;' and sech lak. how could anybody be converted on dat kind of preachin'? and 'sides it never helped none to listen to dat sort of preachin' 'cause de stealin' kept goin' right on evvy night. i never did see no fun'rals in dem days. "niggers didn't run to no north. dey run to de south, 'cause dem white folks up north was so mean to 'em. one nigger, named willis earle, run off to de woods and made hisself a den in a cave. he lived hid out in dat cave 'bout years. "old miss give dem dat wanted one a cotton patch and she didn't make her slaves wuk in her fields atter de dinner bell rung on saddays. de mens wukked in dem patches of deir own an sadday evenin' whilst de 'omans washed de clothes and cleaned up de cabins for de next week. sadday nights dey all got together and frolicked; picked de banjo, and drunk whiskey. didn't none of 'em git drunk, 'cause dey was used to it. dar was barrels of it whar dey stilled it on de place. on sundays us went f'um cabin to cabin holdin' prayer meetin's. miss annie 'pointed diff'unt ones to look atter da stock evvy sunday. "big times was had by all at chris'mas time. de eats warn't no diff'unt 'cept dey give us sweet bread and plenty of lallyhoe (molasses) what was made on de plantation. us had two weeks vacation from field wuk and dey let us go rabbit and 'possum huntin'. us had a gran' time clear up to new year's day. "oh, us did have one more big time at dem cornshuckin's. de corn was hauled to de crib and de folks was 'vited in de atternoon 'fore de cornshukin' started dat night. when de mans got to shuckin' dat corn, de 'omans started cookin' and dey got thoo' 'bout de same time. den us et, and dat was de best part of de cornshuckin' fun. cotton pickin's was held on moonshiny nights. dey picked cotton 'til midnight, and den dey had a little shakin' of de footses 'til day. "mens had good times at de quiltin's too. deir white folkses allus give 'em a little somepin' extra t'eat at dem special times. but de 'omans what was cooks at de big house tied sacks 'roun' deir waisties under deir skirts, and all thoo' de day would drap a little of dis, and some of dat, in de sacks. when day poured it out at night, dare was plenty of good somepin' t'eat. de mens kept de fire goin' and if dey got hold of a tallow candle day lit dat to help de 'omans see how to quilt. most of de quiltin's was at night and nearly all of 'em was in winter time. "de best game us had was marbles, and us played wid homemade clay marbles most of de time. no witches or ghosties never bothered us, 'cause us kept a horseshoe over our cabin door. "miss annie doctored us. in summer, she made us pull up certain roots and dry special leafs for to make her teas out of. horehoun', boneset, and yellow root was de main things she used. she made a sort of sody out of de white ashes f'um de top of a hick'ry fire and mixed it wid vinegar for headaches. de black ashes, left on de bottom of de hick'ry fire, was leached for lye, what was biled wid grease to make our soap. "i never will forgit de day dey told us de war was over and us was free. one of de 'omans what was down by de spring a washin' clothes started shoutin': 'thank god-a-moughty i'se free at last!' marse tom heared her and he come and knocked her down. it was 'bout october or november 'fore he ever told us dat us was free sho' 'nough. dat same 'oman fainted dead away den 'cause she wanted to holler so bad and was skeered to make a soun'. de yankees come thoo' soon atter dat and said us was free and 'vited all de niggers dat wanted to, to go 'long wid dem. i never will forgit how bad dem yankees treated old miss. dey stole all her good hosses, and her chickens and dey broke in de smokehouse and tuk her meat. dey went in de big house and tuk her nice quilts and blankets. she stood all of dat wid a straight face but when dey foun' her gold, she just broke down and cried and cried. i stayed on and was miss annie's houseboy long as she lasted. i was when she died. "dem night riders done plenty of whuppin' on our plantation. hit was a long time 'fore niggers could git 'nough money to buy lan' wid and it was a good years 'fore no school was sot up for niggers in our settlement. "i thinks mr. jefferson davis and mr. lincoln was bofe of 'em doin' deir best to be all right. booker washin'ton, he was all right too, but he sho' was a 'maybe man.' he mought do right and den he moughtn't. "yes ma'am, if old miss was livin' i'd ruther have slavery days back, 'cause den you knowed you was gwine to have plenty t'eat and wear, and a good place to sleep even if mist'ess did make you wuk moughty hard. now you can wuk your daylights plum out and never can be sho' 'bout gittin' nothin'. "de fust time i married me and ad'line rogers stood up by da side of de big road whilst de preacher said his marryin' words over us, and den us went on down de road. me and ad'line had six chillun: mary, lucy, annie, bessie, john and henry thomas. atter my ad'line died, i married daisy carlton. i didn't have no weddin' needer time. me and daisy just got a hoss and buggy and driv' up to de house whar de justice of de peace lived, and he jined us in mattermony. den us got back in de buggy and went back down de big road." tom began telling why he joined the church, when daisy interrupted. "now tom," she said, "you just tell dis white lady what you told me 'bout how come you jined de church." "now, miss daisy," pleaded tom, "l don't want to do dat." daisy snapped: "i don't keer what you don't want to, you is gwine to tell de trufe, tom hawkins." at that, tom giggled and began: "well, miss, hit was lak dis: i went to church one night a feelin' moughty good. i went up and kneeled at de altar whar dey was prayin' for converts, and a good lookin' yaller gal was kneelin' right in front of me. i accident'ly tetched her on de laig. i sho' didn't mean to do it. in dat 'cited crowd most anything was apt to happen. dat gal, she kicked me in de eye, and bruised up my face. my nose and eyes started drippin' and i hollered out real loud: 'oh, lord have mussy.' den i staged a faint. de brother's of de church tuk me outside. dey was sho' i had got 'ligion. by dat time i was so 'shamed of myself, i went back inside de meetin' house and jined de church, 'cause i didn't want nobody to know what had done happened. i 'cided den and dar to change my way of livin'. next time i seed dat yaller gal i axed her why she kicked me in de face and she said: 'next time you do what you done den, i'se gwine to kill you, nigger." "yes ma'am, i thinks evvybody ought to be 'ligious." ex-slave interview bill heard reese street athens, georgia written by: miss grace mccune athens -- edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens -- and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' proj. residencies & augusta, georgia. sept. , bill heard ex-slave--age . bill heard's blacksmith shop, a sagging frame structure, in the forks of oconee street and lexington highway, is conveniently located for both local and traveling clientele. an old voice singing =swing low sweet chariot= in a low tone but with a fervor known only to negroes led the visitor through the shop, where there was no sight of the singer. bill was eventually discovered seated on a cushion-covered nail keg beneath a large water-oak at the rear of the building. a large hymn book was placed across his knees, and the old negro was happily singing away all by himself. his gray hair was partly covered by an old black cap, and his faded blue work skirt and pants showed evidence of long wear. as the song ended bill discovered that he was not alone. off came his cap, and he scrambled to his feet with a smile. "good evenin', missy, how is you? won't you have a seat and rest? dese nail kegs makes a mighty good place to set when you is tired out, and it's powerful nice and cool under dis old tree." after his guest was comfortably seated on another cushioned keg, the aged smith resumed his perch. "i didn't hear you come into my shop, and i think dat's about de fust time anybody ever did come in dar widout me hearin' 'em. i used to be in dar so busy all de time, i never had no chance to rest up or practice my singin'. times has changed in lots of ways since dem good old days. some folks laughs when us calls 'em 'good old days,' and dey wants to know how come us thinks dey was good old days, when us had such hard wuk to do den. course folks had to wuk hard and didn't have all dese new-fangled gadgets to wuk wid lak dey got now, but i still calls 'em de good old days 'cause folks was better off den; dey loved one another and was allus ready to lend a helpin' hand, 'specially in times of trouble. "i don't know nothin' 'bout slavery times 'cept what my mammy and daddy told me. daddy, he belonged to marse tom heard down in elbert county, 'bout miles from rucker place, nigh ruckersville. daddy said marse tom had about a hunnerd and twenty-five slaves on his place. daddy was mighty little when marse tom got him, and he never bought none of daddy's other kinfolks, so it was right hard for de little boy all by hisself, 'cause de other slaves on de plantation was awful mean to him. dey wouldn't let him sleep in deir quarters, so he stayed up at de big house, and place to keep warm. atter he got big enough to wuk, day treated him better. "evvybody cooked on fireplaces dem days, 'cause dere warn't no sto'-bought stoves. marse tom fed all his slaves at de big house; he kept 'em so regular at wuk dere warn't no time for 'em to do deir own cookin'. "slaves lived in one-room log cabins dat had rock chimblies, and each cabin had one little window wid a wooden shutter dey fastened at night and in bad weather. deir beds was made out of pine poles fastened to de sides of dem old beds 'teesters,' 'cause de posties was so high. ropes or cords was criss-crossed to hold 'em together and to take de place of springs. nobody hadn't ever saw no iron springs on beds dem days. dem big old ticks was generally filled wid wheat straw, but sometimes slaves was 'lowed to pick up waste cotton and wash, dry, and card it to stuff deir bed-ticks wid. but missy, dat was jus' too much trouble when a good old straw tick slept so fine. cheers was made out of oak splits, and cane and rye plaits was used for de cheer-bottoms. dem old cheers sot mighty good and lasted a lifetime. "folks sho 'nough did live at home den; dey raised all sorts of vegetables sich as corn, 'taters, wheat, rye, and oats, and what's more, dey raised de cotton and wool to make de cloth for deir clothes. cows, hogs, goats, sheep, chickens, geese, and turkeys was runnin' all over dem pastures, and dere warn't no lack of good victuals and home-made clothes. when hogs and cows was kilt to put meat in de smokehouse deir hides was tanned for leather to be used for harness and shoes, and a heap of times a piece of hide was used for a cheer-seat. "daddy said dey had a powerful hard time gittin' things lak soda, salt, sugar, and coffee durin' de war times. he said dat sometimes corn and okra seeds was parched right brown and ground up to be used for coffee, but it warn't nigh as good as sho 'nough coffee. when de salt had to be used if folks and critters was to keep well. dey dug up de dirt under old smokehouses and biled it to git out de salt. nobody didn't waste none of dat salt. no surree! it was too hard to git. when it got so dey couldn't buy no soda, dey saved nice clean corncobs and burned dem into a fine powder what dey used for soda. was it fit for bread-makin'? why, missy, dem biscuits made out of corncob soda and baked in dem old dutch ovens was fit for anybody to eat and enjoy. de onliest trouble 'bout it was gittin' 'em to bake enough of it. "slaves clothes was all made at home. gals spun de thread and old 'omens wove de cloth on home-made looms; my mammy was one of dem weavin' 'omans. clothes for summer was jus' thin cotton, but cotton and wool was mixed for cold weather, and don't think dem wool and cotton clothes didn't keep out de cold; dey sho did. deir clothes was dyed wid barks from trees, ink balls, walnut hulls, and red bud. most evry plantation had its own shoemaker man dat tanned all de leather and made up all de shoes. leather for slaves' shoes warn't allus tanned and shoes made out of untanned leather looked lak dey had done been dyed red. "dey had special mens on de plantation for all de special wuk. one carpenter man done all de fixin' of things lak wagons and plows, holped wid all de buildin' wuk, and made all de coffins. "no, missy, dere warn't no undertakers back in dem days, and folks had to pervide evvything at home. corpses was measured and coffins made to fit de bodies. all de neighbors, fur and nigh, gathered 'round to set up wid de fambly. "funerals warn't so common den as now 'cause folks didn't die out so fast dem days. dey tuk better keer of deyselfs, et right, wuked hard, and went to bed at night 'stid of folks runs 'round now; deir mammies and daddies never knows whar dey is. folks don't teach chillun right, and dey don't make dem go to church lak dey should oughta. "folks didn't even git married back in dem days lak dey does now, leastwise slaves didn't. if a slave wanted to marry up wid a gal he knocked on his marster's door and told him 'bout it. if his marstar laked de idea he told him to go on and take de gal and to treat her right; dat was all dere was to slaves gittin' married. "my daddy said slaves went to de white folks' church 'til dey got some churches for colored folks. church days was big days wid folks den 'cause dey didn't have meetin' evvy sunday. slave 'omans had percale or calico dresses, brogan shoes, and big home-made bonnets wid slats in de brims for sunday-go-to-meetin' wear, and if it was cold dey wropt up in shawls. menfolks wore cotton shirts and pants. dey had grand preachin' dem days and folks got honest-to-goodness 'ligion. "folks wuked mighty hard dem days, 'specially durin' plantin' and harvest time, 'til atter de corn was gathered and fetched out of de fields in dem old two-wheel carts dat was used to haul up all de craps. when de cornshuckin's started evvywhar dey tuk time about at de diffunt plantations. de fust thing dey done atter dey got together was to 'lect a general; he led de singin', and de faster he sung de faster de shucks flew. plenty of corn liquor was passed 'round and you know dat stuff is sho to make a nigger hustle. evvy time a red ear of corn was found dat meant a extra drink of liquor for de nigger dat found it. atter de last ear of corn was shucked a big supper was served and dey danced and sung de rest of de night. "when dey needed some new ground cleared up, dey had a logrollin'. evvybody tried to out wuk de others, and if de job hadn't been finished 'fore night, dey kept right on at it by moonlight. one man wuked so hard tryin' to beat de others dat when he went to de spring for some water, he tuk one drink, raised his haid quick lak, and died right dar. he was plumb daid when dey picked him up! "dey give us our freedom in april and daddy left old marster in may. he moved here nigh de old pittner place whar i was borned. daddy farmed for a-while and wuked at blacksmithin' for de white folks too, 'cause dat was de wuk he had been doin' for his old marster. de fust ricollections i've got is 'bout de days on dat old place. i ain't never gwine to forgit 'bout dem old cottonpickin's dey had when i was a youngster. dey said dey was jus' lak dem cottonpickin's dey had 'fore de war. dey would git up big crowds and pick cotton by de light of de harvest moon, and dat's 'most as bright as daylight. evvybody holped and, fast as dey picked all de cotton on one farm and et a big supper, dey hustled on to de next place whar plenty of cotton, white in de fields and liquor, and good barbecue, and sich lak kept 'em happy and hustlin' 'most all night. when dey had done all de cottonpickin' dey could for one night dey stopped for dancin' and all sorts of frolickin'. plenty of liquor in dem little brown jugs holped to make things 'most too lively sometimes. de few fights dey had when dey was drinkin' heavy didn't 'mount to much. "chillun loved hogkillin' times. five or six mens would jine up and go from place to place in de community whar dere was lots of hogs to be kilt. when dem hogs was all butchered de folks would git together and sich a supper as dey would have! de mostest fresh meat sich as chit'lin's, haslets, pig foots, and sausage, wid good old collard greens, cracklin' bread, and hot coffee. i'm a-tellin' you, lady, dat was good eatin', and atter you had done been wukin' in de hogkillin' dem cold days you was ready for victuals dat would stay by you. "de fust place i ever went to school was in a little house on de old bert benyard place nigh winterville, georgy, and let me tell you, missy, schoolin' warn't nothin' lak what it is now. dem what lived nigh went home to dinner, but chillun dat lived a fur piece off fotch deir dinner to school in a tin bucket. us was still livin' dar when mr. john mccune moved from whitfield county to dat old pittner place. my daddy wuked for him and i played 'round wid his boys. "daddy moved closer to town and opened up a blacksmith shop on broad street at what was called wood's corner den. i holped him in de shop and went to school some. folks had to wuk so hard to make enough to keep alive dat dey didn't git to go to school much. athens was a heap diffunt den to what it is now; it was mostly woods, and de roads was awful. dere warn't no paved streets, no street-lights, and no streetcars den. i 'members dem fust street-lights. lawsey, missy, folks was sho proud of dem lights and, when dey got dem little streetcars what was pulled by little mules, athens folks felt lak dey lived in a real city. dey had a big old town hall whar dey had all sorts of shows and big 'tainments. "times has changed, folks has changed, and nothin' ain't lak it used to be. when i was little it warn't no sight a t'all to see traders wid big droves of hogs, horses, cows, sheep, and goats, bringin' 'em to town to sell or trade for somepin dey needed. daddy said dat durin' slavery time dey drove slaves 'long de road de same way and sold 'em jus' lak dey sold deir cattle. "it was mostly woods and fields 'round here when i opened dis little shop 'bout years ago. johnson's store was sot up whar de carither's wagon yard used to be, and soon paved streets was laid, and den fillin' stations, other stores, and de lak, sprung up in a hurry 'long here. soon dere won't be no need of a blacksmith shop here, but i wants to stay on at wuk in my shop jus' as long as i kin, here in dis world of trouble whar i has had good times and hard times jus' lak de others. no other place wouldn't seem right. "me and my wife jus' runned away and got married widout havin' no big weddin' and atter us has done wuked together dese long years, us hopes to go to de heavenly home together. our oldest gal is all us has left of our five chillun; she lives off somewhar in washington, and us don't never hear from her no more. us still has de boy us 'dopted long years ago; him and his wife lives wid us and dey keeps us from bein' too lonesome. "i has made a good livin' right here in dis old shop, wuked hard, and saved my money, and now us is got a right nice little home out on reese street. de good lord has been wid us in all our troubles as well as in our good times, and i knows he is gwine to stay wid us de rest of de time and den he will take us home to glory. "i'se mighty glad you hunted me up, for i 'members dem old days, playin' wid your daddy, down on de pittner place. atter us had all moved to athens, he was still my friend. come back to see me again, and just trust in de good lord; he will take keer of you." as the visitor went down the street bill's quavering voice was heard again. he was singin' =lord i'se comin' home=. a story of slavery as told by emmaline heard--ex-slave a paper submitted by minnie b. ross revision of original copy and typing by j.c.russell - - story of slavery by ex-slave emmaline heard ex-slave m. b. ross emmaline heard is a small, dark brown skinned woman who appears to be about but is probably older. her mind seems to be active, however, as she responds quickly to questions and expresses herself intelligently. henry county, near mcdonough, ga., is emmaline's birthplace. judging from her earliest childhood memories and what she learned from her mother, her birth must have occurred four or five years before freedom. her parents, lewis and caroline harper had eleven children, of whom she was the second youngest. mr. roger and mrs. frances harper were the owners of the heard family. the large harper plantation was located near mcdonough, bordering the mcdonough highway. the harper home, a large -story frame dwelling, faced the highway. the family consisted of twin boys and two girls, in addition to the father and mother. they also owned a large number of slaves, who occupied two rows of cabins, built close together, at some distance behind the "big house." in those days before the war, slaves were moved from place to place and from state to state in droves, known as "speculators' droves," and sold at public auction. emmaline heard's father was born in virginia, but was brought to georgia and sold to the harpers as a plow boy, at the age of eleven. the slave's cabins were constructed of rough-hewn logs, with the cracks daubed with mud and, as emmaline recalled it, were very warm; warmer, in fact, than many of their houses are today. the furniture consisted of a "corded" bed, wooden tables and benches. this "corded" bed was constructed by running rope or cord from the head to the foot and then from side to side. a wooden peg was driven into the holes to hold the cord in place. pegs were a household necessity and had to be cared for just as a key is today. most homes also included a quilt slab, a sort of table used to place quilts on, as a necessary part of the furniture. every woman had a certain amount of weaving and spinning to do at home after coming in from the fields. emmaline says her mother had to card bats at night so that the two older sisters could begin spinning the next morning. a loom was almost as large as a small kitchen and was operated by hands and feet. until midnight, the spinning wheels could be heard humming in the slave cabins. at the hour of twelve, however, a bell was rung, which was the signal for the slaves to cease their spinning and go to bed. dye for coloring the cloth was provided by collecting sweet gum, dogwood bark, and red clay. mixing these together produced different colors of dye. sweet gum and clay produced a purple; dogwood, a blue. two dresses a year were allowed the women, while two cotton shirts and two pair of cotton pants were given the men. everyone received one pair of shoes. emmaline's father was a shoemaker by trade and made shoes for both slaves and the harper family. the slaves shoes were called "nigger shoes," and made from rough horse and mule hide. the white folks' shoes were made from soft calf leather. mr. harper had a tanning vat on his plantation especially for the purpose of tanning hides for their shoes. emmaline said these tanning vats reminded her of baptismal holes. the water was very deep, and once her sister almost drowned in one. barks of various kinds were placed in the water in these vats to produce an acid which would remove the hair from the hides. layers of goat, calf, and horse hides were placed in the vats and, after a certain length of time removed and dried. meals on week days consisted principally of syrup and bread and they were glad, emmaline stated, to see saturday come, because they knew they would have biscuit made from "seconds" on sunday. butter seems to have been a delicacy but little known. "the only butter i remember eating before we were freed," emmaline declared, "was that which my little mistress fannie would slip to me." this led her mother to say, "miss fannie is so crazy about 'em' i am going to give 'em' to her for a cook." besides working as a plow hand, emmaline's mother assisted aunt celia travis in preparing the meals for the harper family. four or five pots each containing a different kind of food hung over the fire along the long fireplace. just before dinner, the mistress would come in to inspect the cooking. if the food in any of the pots was not cooked to her satisfaction, she would sometimes lose her temper, remove her slipper and strike the cook. slaves on the harper plantation arose when the horn was sounded at four o'clock and hurried to the fields, although they would sometimes have to wait for daylight to dawn to see how to work. the overseer rode over the plantation watching the slaves at work and keeping account of the amount of work performed by each. any who failed to complete their quota at the close of the day were punished. on the harper plantation, a brush arbor was used for the slave's church. the trees and underbrush were cleared away to provide a sufficient space to accommodate the slaves and the trees evened off at a good height and the brush and limbs piled on top to form a roof. in rainy weather, of course, church services could not be held. sometimes the slaves would slip behind the trees beside the white folks' church and listen to the singing and preaching. they would then go back to their brush arbor church, and preach the same gospel and sing the same songs they had heard in the white people's church. frolics were often given on the harper plantation. they usually consisted of dancing and banjo playing. slaves from other plantations sometimes attended, but it was necessary to secure a pass from their master and mistress in order to do so. a prize was given to the person who could "buck dance" the steadiest with a tumbler of water balanced on the head. a cake or a quilt was often given as the prize. a marriage ceremony was performed after both owners had given their consent, when bride and groom did not belong to the same master. often neither owner would sell their slave to the other, in which case it was necessary for the husband to be given a pass in order to visit his wife. slaves were given treatment by the doctor when they became ill, but if the doctor stated that the slave was well enough to work, they had to go to the fields. sick babies were left at home while the parents were at work in the field. no matter what sickness the child suffered, castor oil was the only remedy ever given. slaves who chanced to be visiting away from his plantation without a pass from his owner would be severely handled if caught by the ku klux klan or "patterrollers" as they were more commonly called. fear of the "patterrollers" was invoked to frighten children into good behaviour. a few civil war incidents impressed themselves upon emmaline's memory although she was a very young child at the time. one day, she recalls, as she and her little mistress fannie sat on the front fence facing the highway they saw a cloud of dust in the distance down the highway and soon a troop of soldiers in blue and silver uniforms marched by. the children, frightened by the sight of these strange soldiers, ran to the house to tell the mistress. mrs. harper instructed emmaline's mother to run to the smokehouse, lock the door and bring her the key. in a few minutes the soldiers tramped into the kitchen and ate all of the food they could find. when they found the smokehouse locked they demanded the key from mrs. harper, and when she refused proceeded to break down the door and appropriated all the meat they could conveniently carry. they also robbed the cellar of its store of jellies and preserves, hitched the buggy mare to the wagon and drove off with the best of the mules tied behind, as mrs. harper and the family looked on in tears. when the harpers learned that the slaves were free, they offered emmaline's father and mother a house, mule, hog, and cow if they would remain on their plantation, but they thought they might fare better elsewhere and hired out to a plantation owner in an adjoining county. a few years later, when she became old enough to obtain on her own account, she came to atlanta where she has lived ever since. she is now being cared for by a grand-daughter and a son. she is an ardent admirer of president franklin d. roosevelt and declared she would like to vote for him a hundred times. part ii mrs. emmaline heard, who resides at cain st., n.e. has proved to be a regular storehouse for conjure and ghost stories. not only this but she is a firm believer in the practice of conjure. to back up her belief in conjure is her appearance. she is a dark browned skinned woman of medium height and always wears a dirty towel on her head. the towel which was at one time white gives her the weird look of an old time fortune teller. tuesday december , a visit was made to her home and the following information was secured. "there wuz onst a house in mcdonough and it wuz owned by the smiths that wuz slave owners way back yonder. now this is the trufe 'cause it wuz told ter me by old uncle joe turner and he 'spirense it. nobody could live in this how i don't care how they tried. dey say this house wuz hanted and any body that tried to stay there wuz pulled out of bed by a hant. well sir they offered the house and $ . to any one who could stay there over night. uncle joe sed he decided to try it so sho nuff he got ready one night and went ter this house to stay. after while says he something came in the room and started over ter the bed; but fore it got there he sed "what in the name of the lord you wont with me." it sed "follow me there is a pot of gold buried near the chimney; go find it and you want be worried with me no more." der nect morning uncle joe went out then and begin ter dig and sho nuff he found the gold; and sides that he got the house. dis here is the trufe uncle joes' house is right there in mcdonough now and any body round there will tell you the same thing cause he wuz well known. uncle joe is dead now." anudder story that happened during slavery time and wuz told ter me by father wuz this: the master had a old man on his plantation named jimson. well jimson's wife wuz sick and had been fer nearly a year. one day there she wanted some peas--black eyed peas; but old man harper didn't have none on his plantation so jimson planned ter steal off that night and go ter old marse daniels farm, which wuz miles from moore harpers farm, and steal a few peas fer his wife. well between mid-night and day he got a sack and started off down the road. long after while a owl started hootin who o o o are e-e-e, who are o-o-o- and it sounded jest lak some one saying "who are you". jimson got scared pulled off his cap and ran all the way to old man daniels farm. as he run he wuz saying "sir dis is me. old jimson" over and over again. now when he got near the farm old daniel heard him and got up in the loft ter watch him. finally old jimson got dar and started creeping up in the loft. when he got up there chile marse daniel grabbed his whip and almost beat jimson ter death. this here story happened in mississippi years ago but der folks that tell it ter me sed it wuz the trufe. "there wuz a woman that wuz sick, her name wuz mary jones. well she lingered and lingered till she finally died. in them days folks all around would come ter the settin up of somebody wuz dead. they done sent some men after the casket since they had ter go miles they wuz a good while getting back so the folkses decided ter sing. after while they heared the men come up on the porch or somebody got up ter let em in. chile jest as they opened the door that 'oman set straight up on that bed, and sich another runnin and gittin out of that house you never heard; but some folks realized she wuzn't dead so they got the casket out der way so the wouldn't see it cause they wuz fraid she would pass out sho nuff; just the same they wuz fraid of her too. the men went off and come back with pistols guns, sticks and every thing and when this 'oman saw em she sed don't run i wont bother you' but child they left there in a big hurry too. well this here mary went to her sister's house and knocked on the door and said "let me in this is mary i want to talk to you and tell you where i've been. the sisters' husband opened the door and let her in. this 'oman told 'em that god had brought her to and that she had been in a trance with the lord. after that everyone wuz always afraid of that 'oman and they wouldn't even sit next 'ter her in church. they say she is still living. this happened right yonder in mcdonough years ago. a gal went to a party with her sweet'art and her ma told her not ter go well she went on any how in a buggy. when they got ter the railroad crossing a train hit the buggy, and killed the gal; but the boy didn't get hurted at all. well while they wuz sittin up with this dead gal, the boy comes long there in his buggy with anudder gal in the buggy; and do you know that horse stopped right in front 'uv that house and wouldn't bulge one inch. no matter how hard he whipped that horse it wouldn't move instid he rared and kicked and jumped about and almost turned the buggy over. the gal in the buggy fainted. finally a old slavery time man come along and told em to git a quart of whiskey and pour it around the buggy and the hant would go away so they did that and the spirit let 'em pass. if a han't laked whiskey in they lifetime and you pour it round when theys at they will go away. the following are true conjure stories supposedly witnessed by mrs. heard. there wuz a rev. dennis that lived below the federal prison now he wuz the preacher of the hard shell baptist church in this community; this man stayed sick about a year and kept gittin different doctors and none 'uv them did him any good well his wife kept on at him till he decided ter go ter see dr. geech. his complaint wuz that he felt something run up his legs ter his thighs. old dr. geech told him that he had snakes in his body and they wuz put there by the lady he had been going wid. dr. geech give him some medicine ter take and told him that on the th day from then that 'oman would come and take the medicine off the shelf and throw it away. course rev. dennis didn't believe a thing he sed so sho nuff she come jest lak dr. geech sed and took the medicine away. dr. geech told him that he would die when the snakes got up in his arm. but if he would do lak he told him he would get alright. dis 'oman had put this stuff in some whiskey and he drunk it so the snakes breed in his body. after he quit taking the medicine he got bad off and had ter stay in the bed; sho nuff the morning he died. you could see the snake in his arm, the print uv it wuz there. when he died the snake stretched out in his arm and died too. i got a son named jack heard, well somebody fixed him. i wuz in chicago when that happened and my daughter kept writing ter me ter come home cause jack wuz acting funny and she thought maybe he wuz losing his mind. they wuz living in thomasville then and every day he would go sit round the store and laugh and talk but jest as soon as night would come and he would eat his supper them fits would come on him. he would squeal jest lak a pig and he would get down on his knees and bark jest lak a dog. well i come home and went ter see a old conjure doctors. he says ter me, "that boy is hurt and when you go home you look in the corner of the mattress and you will find it." sho nuff i went home and looked in the corner uv the mattress and there the package. it wuz a mixture of hair his hair and blue stone wrapped up in red flannel with new needles running all through it. when i went back he says ter me, emmaline have you got dimes no i sed but i got a dollar. well get that dollar changed inter dimes and take 'uv em and give 'em ter me. then he took jack in a room took off his clothes and started ter rubbing him down with medicine all the same time, he wuz a saying a ceremony over him, then he took them dimes put 'em in a bag and tied them around jacks chest some where so that they would hang over his heart. now wear them always says he ter jack. jack wore them dimes a long time but he finally drunk 'em up. any way that doctor cured him 'cause he sho woulda died. the following is a few facts, as related by mrs. heard, concerning an old conjure doctor known as aunt darkas. "aunt darkas lived in mcdonough, georgia until a few years ago. she died when she wuz years old; but chile lemme tell you that 'oman knowed jest what ter do fer you. she wuz blind but she could go ter the woods and pick out any kind of root or herb she wanted. she always sed the lord told her what roots to get and always fore sun up you would see her in the woods with a short handled pick. she sed she had ter pick 'em fore sun up, i don't know why. if you wuz sick all you had ter do wuz go to see aunt darkas and tell her. she had a well and after listening to your complaint she would go out there and draw a bucket of water and set it on the floor and then she would wave her hand over it and say something. she called this healing the water. after this she would give you a drink of water as she handed it ter you she would say, now drink, take this and drink. honey, i had some uv that water myself and believe me it goes all over you and makes you feel so good. old aunt darkas would give you a supply of water and tell you ter come back fer more when that wuz gone. old aunt darkas sed the lord gave her power and vision and she used ter fast fer a week at a time. when she died there wuz a piece in the paper 'bout her." this here is sho the trufe and if you don't go out ter southview cemetary and see sid heard my oldest son he been out there over years as sexton and book keeper. yessir he tole it ter me and i believe it. this happen long ago or years. there wuz a couple that lived in macon, ga., but their home wuz in atlanta and they had a lot out ter south view. well they had a young baby that tuck sick and died so they had the babies funeral there in macon then they put the coffin in the box placed the lable on the box then brought it ter atlanta. folkses are always buried so that they head faces the east. they say when judgement day come and gabriel blow that trumpet every body will rise up facing the east. well as i wuz saying they come here sid heard met im out yonder and instructed his men fer arrangements fer the grave and everything. a few weeks later the 'oman called sid heard up long distance. she said, "mr. heard." "yesmam," he said. "i call you ter tell you me and my husband can't rest at all." "why?" he asked. "because we can hear our baby crying every night and it is worrying us ter death our neighbors next door says our baby must be buried wrong." sid heard sed, "well i buried the baby according ter the way you got the box labled." "i'm not blaming you mr. heard but if i pay you will you take my baby up?" sed she "yes mam i will if you want me to jest let me know the day you will be here and i'll have everything ready". "alright," sed she. "well," sed sid heard, "the day she wuz ter come she wuz sick and instead sent a carload of her friends. the men got busy and started digging till they got ter the box, when they took it up sho nuff after they opened it they found the baby had been buried wrong the head was facing the west instead of the east. they turned the box around and covered it up. the folks then went on back ter macon. a week later the 'oman called up again. "mr. heard," she says. "yes maam" says he. "well i haven't heard my baby cry at all in the past week i wuzn't there but i know the exact date you took my baby up, cause i never heard it cry no more". =on december and , , mrs. emmaline heard= was interviewed at her home, cain street. the writer had visited mrs. heard previously, and it was at her own request that another visit was made. this visit was supposed to be one to obtain information and stories on the practice of conjure. on two previous occasions mrs. heard's stories had proved very interesting, and i knew as i sat there waiting for her to begin that she had something very good to tell me. she began: "chile, this story wuz told ter me by my father and i know he sho wouldn't lie. every word of it is the trufe; fact, everything i ebber told you wuz the trufe. now, my pa had a brother, old uncle martin, and his wife wuz name julianne. aunt julianne used ter have spells and fight and kick all the time. they had doctor after doctor but none did her any good. somebody told uncle martin to go ter a old conjurer and let the doctors go cause they wan't doing nothing for her anyway. sho nuff he got one ter come see her and give her some medicine. this old man said she had bugs in her head, and after giving her the medicine he started rubbing her head. while he rubbed her head he said: "dar's a bug in her head; it looks jest like a big black roach. now, he's coming out of her head through her ear; whatever you do, don't let him get away cause i want him. whatever you do, catch him; he's going ter run, but when he hits the pillow, grab 'em. i'm go take him and turn it back on the one who is trying ter send you ter the grave." sho nuff that bug drop out her ear and flew; she hollered, and old uncle martin ran in the room, snatched the bed clothes off but they never did find him. aunt julianne never did get better and soon she died. the conjurer said if they had a caught the bug she would a lived." the next story is a true story. the facts as told by mrs. heard were also witnessed by her; as it deals with the conjuring of one of her sons. it is related in her exact words as nearly as possible. "i got a son named albert heard. he is living and well; but chile, there wuz a time when he wuz almost ter his grave. i wuz living in town then, and albert and his wife was living in the country with their two chillun. well, albert got down sick and he would go ter doctors, and go ter doctors, but they didn't do him any good. i wuz worried ter death cause i had ter run backards and for'ards and it wuz a strain on me. he was suffering with a knot on his right side and he couldn't even fasten his shoes cause it pained him so, and it was so bad he couldn't even button up his pants. a 'oman teached school out there by the name of mrs. yaney; she's dead now but she lived right here on randolph street years ago. well, one day when i wuz leaving albert's house i met her on the way to her school. 'good evening, mrs. heard', she says. 'how is mr. albert?' i don't hardly know, i says, cause he don't get no better. she looked at me kinda funny and said, don't you believe he's hurt?' yes mam, i said, i sho do. 'well,' says she, 'i been waiting to say something to you concerning this but i didn't know how you would take it. if i tell you somewhere to go will you go, and tell them i sent you?' yes mam, i will do anything if albert can get better. 'all right then', she says, 'catch the federal prison car and get off at butler st.' in them days that car came down forrest ave. 'when you get to butler st.', she says, 'walk up to clifton st. and go to such and such a number. knock on the door and a 'oman by the name of mrs. hirshpath will come ter the door. fore she let you in she go ask who sent you there; when you tell 'er she'll let you in. now lemme tell you she keeps two quarts of whisky all the time and you have ter drink a little with her; sides that she cusses nearly every word she speaks; but don't let that scare you; she will sho get your son up if it kin be done.' sho nuff that old 'oman did jest lak mrs. yaney said she would do. she had a harsh voice and she spoke right snappy. when she let me in she said, 'sit down. you lak whisky?' i said, well, i take a little dram sometimes. 'well, here take some of this', she said. i poured a little bit and drank it kinda lak i wuz afraid. she cussed and said 'i ain't go conjure you. drink it.' she got the cards and told me to cut 'em, so i did. looking at the cards, she said: 'you like ter wait too long; they got him marching to the cemetery. the poor thing! i'll fix those devils. (a profane word was used instead of devils). he got a knot on his side, ain't he?' yes, mam, i said. that 'oman told me everything that was wrong with albert and zackly how he acted. all at once she said: 'if them d----d things had hatched in him it would a been too late. if you do zackly lak i tell you i'll get him up from there.' i sho will, i told her. 'well, there's a stable south east of his house. his house got three rooms and a path go straight to the stable. i see it there where he hangs his harness. yes, i see it all, the devils! have you got any money?' yes, mam, a little, i said. 'all right then,' she said. 'go to the drug store and get ¢ worth of blue stone; ¢ wheat bran; and go ter a fish market and ask 'em ter give you a little fish brine; then go in the woods and get some poke-root berries. now, there's two kinds of poke-root berries, the red skin and the white skin berry. put all this in a pot, mix with it the guts from a green gourd and parts of red pepper. make a poultice and put to his side on that knot. now, listen, your son will be afraid and think you are trying ter do something ter him but be gentle and persuade him that its fer his good.' child, he sho did act funny when i told him i wanted to treat his side. i had ter tell him i was carrying out doctors orders so he could get well. he reared and fussed and said he didn't want that mess on him. i told him the doctor says you do very well till you go ter the horse lot then you go blind and you can't see. he looked at me. 'sho nuff, ma,' he said, 'that sho is the trufe. i have ter always call one of the chillun when i go there cause i can't see how ter get back ter the house.' well, that convinced him and he let me fix the medicine for him. i put him ter bed and made the poultice, then i put it ter his side. now this 'oman said no one was ter take it off the next morning but me. i was suppose ter fix three, one each night, and after taking each one off ter bury it lak dead folks is buried, east and west, and ter make a real grave out of each one. well, when i told him not ter move it the next morning, but let me move it, he got funny again and wanted to know why. do you know i had ter play lak i could move it without messing up my bed clothes and if he moved it he might waste it all. finally he said he could call me the next morning. sho nuff, the next morning he called me, ma! ma! come take it off. i went in the room and he wuz smiling. i slept all night long he said, and i feel so much better. i'm so glad, i said, and do you know he could reach down and fasten up his shoe and it had been a long time since he could do that. later that day i slipped out and made my first grave under the fig bush in the garden. i even put up head boards, too. that night albert said, 'mama, fix another one. i feel so much better.' i sho will, i said. thank god you're better; so for three nights i fixed poultices and put ter his side and each morning he would tell me how much better he felt. then the last morning i was fixing breakfast and he sat in the next room. after while albert jumped up and hollered, 'ma! ma!' what is it, i said. 'mama, that knot is gone. it dropped down in my pants.' what! i cried. where is it? chile, we looked but we didn't find anything, but the knot had sho gone. der 'oman had told me ter come back when the knot moved and she would tell me what else ter do. that same day i went ter see her and when i told her she just shouted, 'i fixed 'em the devils!' now, says she, do you where you can get a few leaves off a yellow peachtree. it must be a yellow peach tree, though. yes, mam, i says to her. i have a yellow peachtree right there in my yard. well, she says, get a handful of leaves, then take a knife and scrape the bark up, then make a tea and give him so it will heal up the poison from that knot in his side, also mix a few jimson weeds with it. i came home and told him i wanted ter give him a tea. he got scared and said, what fer, ma? i had ter tell him i wuz still carrying out the doctor's orders. well, he let me give him the tea and that boy got well. i went back to mrs. hirshpath and told her my son wuz well and i wanted to pay her. go on, she said, keep the dollar and send your chillun ter school. this sho happened ter me and i know people kin fix you. yes sir." the next story was told to mrs. heard by mrs. hirshpath, the woman who cured her son. i used to go see that 'oman quite a bit and even sent some of my friends ter her. one day while i wuz there she told me about this piece of work she did. "there was a young man and his wife and they worked for some white folks. they had just married and wuz trying ter save some money ter buy a home with. all at onct the young man went blind and it almost run him and his wife crazy cause they didn't know what in the world ter do. well somebody told him and her about mrs. hirshpath, so they went ter see her. one day, said mrs. hirshpath, a big fine carriage drew up in front of her door and the coachman helped him to her door. she asked him who sent him and he told her. she only charged ¢ for giving advice and after you wuz cured it wuz up to you to give her what you wanted to. well, this man gave her ¢ and she talked ter him. she says, boy, you go home and don't you put that cap on no more. that cap? he says. that cap you wears ter clean up the stables with, cause somebody done dressed that cap for you, and every time you perspire and it runs down ter your eyes it makes you blind. you jest get that cap and bring it ter me. i'll fix 'em; they's trying ter make you blind, but i go let you see. the boy was overjoyed, and sho nuff he went back and brought her that cap, and it wasn't long fore he could see good as you and me. he brought that 'oman $ , but she wouldn't take but $ and give the other $ back ter him. "what i done told you is the trufe, every word of it; i know some other things that happened but you come back anudder day fer that." ex-slave mildred heard. the following interviews were obtained from mildred heard, a young woman who has lived in the country most of her life and might easily be described as a child of nature. although a full grown woman and the mother of two children she seems much older than her years, this is true i believe because she has always lived among much older people. she is fairly intelligent and expresses her thoughts clearly and without hesitation. quite a few of the stories related here were handed down to her from the older residents of the settlement. these stories are related in her own words. animal behavior--cows "i have always lived around animals and used to spend whole days in the woods; but first i want to tell you about a story concerning cows; and this is the trufe too. every new years night when the whistles begin to blow, cows get down on their knees lift up their front legs and make a mumbling noise. this is true cause one night i made it my business to be around some cows when the whistles begin to blow and sho nuff they got down on their hind legs and started making that noise. i was so fraid i ran all the way home. "i also remember we had a cow that would eat clothes. my grandmother took in a lot of washings and one day after she had hung out mrs. richardson's clothes she (the cow) ate up most all of the clothes. grandma whipped her and had to pay the white lady for the clothes but that cow kept on eating clothes. a lady told us to sprinkle red pepper on the clothes and that would break her up. sho nuff we did it and she kicked her heels over her head; but we never had any more trouble with that cow. "maybe, you don't know it but cows are funny about the water they drink especially cows raised at a dairy. if water is placed in a tub for a cow and you stick your hand in the water they will not drink it. i have done it and i know it to be true. the cow don't have to see you but the scent from your hand is in the water". =birds= "if a bird leaves her nest and flies away and you take her eggs out of the nest and put them back the bird can tell it the minute she returns to her nest; and she will not have the nest on the eggs again. i tried this once to see if it was true. i moved the eggs from a birds' nest and placed them back and then i hid behind a tree to watch sho nuff the bird came back to her nest she looked at the nest and the eggs a long time and flew away. every day i would watch; but she never returned to that nest." "once a little red bird got hurt and i caught it and nursed it back to health and this bird began to act just like a pet. when i saw the bird was well enough to leave i tied a red string around it's leg so that i would know it if i saw it again. after that for three years my little bird used to fly back and sit on the steps until i would feed him and then he would fly away. my bird came back until it was caught by a cat. i was so sorry when my bird died i cried and buried it in the back yard." =snakes= "i have walked through the woods and almost stepped on different kinds of snakes. i wouldn't be afraid cause i would know that unless the snake is in a quirl, that is, in a pose to bite you, he wouldn't bite you. if you smell a water mellon scent in the woods you know right then that a black snake is around. if the scent is like a honey suckle a highland moccasin is around somewhere. a rattlesnake smells like a billy goat. always remember a snake can't bite until it gets posed neither can a snake bite you in the water. some snakes lay eggs and hatch their young. a mother snake always protects her baby snakes by swallowing them if danger comes around." grandma told me once that they were cleaning out a large hole for a baptizing pool; and saw a mother snake swallow about ten baby snakes. after they killed the mother snake they pulled out the babies. =fowls= we had a rooster that was raised from a biddie and for years this rooster practically lived in the house and would not sleep any place but on the foot of the bed. "chickens get used to certain people feeding them and you can't get them used to others, that is, it was true concerning my cousin. he had a lot of chickens and he used to feed them every day. my cousin took sick and died and after that his chickens would not eat anything given them by any one else. one by one the chickens died. my aunt said his spirit came back for the chickens". =bees=. "this is a true story concerning bees that belonged to my aunt caroline hooper. aunt caroline died and left hives of bees. we noticed they kept going away and would not return. one day a lady named mrs. jordan asked if anyone had told the bees that caroline was dead; and we told her no, "well" she said, "go out to the hive and say to the bees caroline is dead and that they will have a new owner." my uncle told the bees that they belonged to him now that caroline was dead. after that none others left the hive." mildred heard continued giving short facts concerning different animals.--"if you run a rabbit out of his bed and shoot at him i don't care if you run him five or more miles he will come right back to the same place." "buzzards are born as white as snow but turn darker as they grow older. another fact concerning buzzards is that they will eat any carcass except that of a mad dog, he will walk around the body of a dead mad dog and then fly away." "i remember once we had a cat that was the pet of every one in our house so when she gave birth to kittens she went in the chifforobe and when we let her out we didn't know she had left kittens in there. naturally they died and we buried them in the back yard. everyday this mother cat would go to their grave and whine, finally she left home." the following stories relate to =birthmarks= as previously mentioned mildred heard has two small daughters and the story of birthmarks begins with her own experience concerning them. "my oldest child tina is marked by crying. i don't care how much you whip or beg her to stop crying she will not stop until she gets ready. during the time i was pregnant my aunt died and i went to the funeral and before i knew it i found myself crying and unable to stop. "my youngest child georgia is marked by a monkey. this mark is the result of a visit to grants park during the time i was pregnant. as i stood with the white baby i was nursing at the time a monkey fell and when he got up he started scratching his back. it all looked so funny i began to laugh. when gloria was born her bead resembled a monkeys in shape and on the lower part of her back she had red marks and was very hairy. i was afraid she would never change but as she grew older the marks and the hair disappeared." note--i glanced at the child and it is quite true that the shape of her head slightly resembles that of a monkey. the next stories were related by mrs. heard. mildred's grandmother. "i know a white 'oman that lives in thomasville now that marked her child by a horse. this 'oman got tickled at a horse with his tongue hanging out. when her baby was born he had feet and hands jest lak a horse and she nebber would let any one see this child's feet. "another 'oman, alberta turner, got scared of a turtle while she wuz fishing and right now her child got feet that spreads out just like a turtles and he walks with his feet straight out that way. "aunt eattie coffee who lives in macedonia, ga., had a baby born with teeth that looked jest like pearls. the doctor told her that the baby would shed those teeth and if she lost 'em the baby would die. "he told her to be sure and watch the baby and to give him the teeth when they came out. sho nuff them teeth came out but they never knowed where they went and that baby she died". robert heard--portrait of an ex-slave [hw: j. jaffee] as we approached the little dilapidated, one-room cabin on the jackson county hilltop, the aroma of frying bacon smote our nostrils. uncle robert heard welcomed us and stopped tending his ash-cake, peas, and fat back long enough to squint over the top of the "specks dat ole mis had give him back in ' ", then he took a long look at the mahogany clock that had "sot on her parlor fish boa'd". in spite of his ninety-six years his memory of the old days is still fresh and his body surprisingly active for a person of his age. "course i 'members all 'bout marster and mistis," he asserted with an indignant air. "i wuz grown an' big nuff to pick out a 'oman fer myse'f in de fust year ov de war. dey wuz niggers on de place whar i wuz borned. hit belonged to ole gen'l heard an' hit wuz clost to washin'ton." "my mammy died when i warn't nothin' but a little trot-about. she wuz name' susan, an' my pa wuz name' john. de gen'l went to virginny an' bought 'em an' had 'em sont home in boxes wid cracks big nuff to feed 'em through. mistis give us our fust names an' us tuck dey las' un." "us didn't have no overseer on our plantation. gen'l heard allus looked arter his niggers hisssef til he got too old an' den his son, mars tom, seed arter 'em. i ain't never see'd 'em beat but one slave an' dat wuz caze he got rowdy drunk. dey allus gite us a note to de patty rollers (patrollers) when us wanted to go somewheres". "us went to work 'bout a half hour by sun an' quit at dusty dark. de mens done fiel' wuk an' de wimmins mostly hepped mistis 'bout de house. dey washed, milked, made candles, an' worked in de spinnin' room. us didn't have to buy nothin' caze dey wuz evathing us needed on the plantation." "on some places de bosses kep' nigger mens at stud but gen'l heard an' mars tom didn't low nobody to live in sin on dey plantation. us wuz all married by a white preacher, just lak white folks. us 'tended de white folk's church ever sundey an' sot in de gal'ry. dey warn't no dancin' or cyard playin' in gen'l heard's house. he said: 'if you serve the lord you have no time to fiddle and dance.'" "old marster wuz too old to go to de war but mars tom went an' i hyeard mistis say he got kilt at de second manassas. my uncle chris went to de war wid mars tom an' he come back wid only one arm. he say de blood on some uv dem battle fiel's come up to de top uv his boots. "gen'l heard died whiles de war wuz ragin' an' ole mistis come out on de po'ch an' tolt us we wuz all free. most all de niggers stayed on wid mistis arter de war an' worked fer fo'ths. us used her mules an' tools an' she give us rations just lak marster had been a doin' afore dey wuz any war. she would uv been powerful rich ef confederacy money hadn't uv been so wuthless. she had four loads uv it hauled outen de house an' dumped in a ditch. "at christmus time, us allus had a big frolic wid music an' dancin'. us danced de cotillion an' beat on buckets wid gourds fer music. marster give us a little toddy now an' den an' us had plenty uv it at christmas. de frolic allus had to bust up at midnight caze marster would git out his horse pistols an' start shootin' ef it didn't. sometimes us ud have a satidy off an' us ud all go fishin' or have a frolic. candy pullin's wuz allus de bestes kind of fun. "i ain't lak mos' ob dese yere flibberty-gibbet niggers. i don' believe in hants an' ghostes, but they's some things which i does think is signs of death. ef somebody brings a axe in de house hits a sho sign. yer better watch when a cow lows arter dark, or a dog barks at de moon in front uv yer do', or ef yer sneezes whiles eatin', caze hit mout mean dat de death angel is hangin' roun'. ef somebody in de house dies yer better stop de tickin' uv de clock an' kiver all de lookin'-glasses wid white cloth or else dey's liable to be another death in de fam'ly. "yer can take dis or leave it, but whutever yer does, don' never take ashes out doors arter dark, caze hits sho to bring yer bad luck. now i done tol' yer all i knows so let me finish cookin' dis yere mess of vittals so i kin git back to de cotton patch." thus dismissed, we took our departure, gingerly picking our way down the rickety steps. the last we heard of uncle robert was a snatch of negro ballad sung in a high-pitched, nasal voice. whitley, - - m.b. ross. ex-slave benjamin henderson. after acquainting mr. benjamin henderson with the facts of the interview he informed the writer that he would be very glad to give as much information as he could concerning the period of "i was only seven years old when freedom was declared, but i can remember a few facts," he said. his speech is well chosen and after a short talk one is much impressed with his intelligence and youthful appearance. benjamin henderson was born september , in jasper county, monticello, ga., the youngest of three children. his father was mr. sam henderson, master and owner of the henderson plantation, and his mother was mandy henderson, a slave. mr. sam henderson never married but operated his farm with the help of his mother, mrs. allie henderson. the henderson plantation comprised acres and mr. henderson owned only five slaves to carry the necessary work. besides benjamin's immediate family there was one other man slave, named aaron. cotton, cattle and vegetables were the chief products of the farm. the work was divided as follows: benjamin's job was to keep the yards clean and bring up the calves at night; his older sister and brother, together with aaron, did the field work; and his mother worked in the house as general servant. the same routine continued from day to day, each person going about his or her particular job. plenty of flour was raised on the plantation and the master had to buy very little. the henderson slave houses were of the one-room log type, with one window and one door; each cabin was furnished with a bed, chair, and table. large fireplaces took the place of stoves for cooking. these were constructed four or five feet in width so that one or two pots or a side of meat could be suspended from a hook which was fastened on a rack in the stick and dirt chimney. each family was given a spinning wheel and loom. after the day's work each slave home was the scene of spinning and weaving cloth for the occupant's clothes and bedding. the master gave each slave a pair of shoes; benjamin received his first pair of shoes when he was five years old. all slaves went barefoot in summer months. summer rations on the henderson plantations never varied from bacon and corn bread. in the fall each family was free to eat as many of the different vegetables as they wanted. wooden spoons, bowls, and trays, were kept clean by scouring regularly with sand. at christmas those who asked for whiskey were given an ample amount; and occasionally each family was given a cake baked by mr. henderson's mother. the master of the henderson plantation, as well as other plantation owners', allowed their slaves to work individual cotton patches; when the cotton was picked he paid them their price for the amount they had raised. slaves often earned money, too, by splitting rails at night and selling them to different plantation owners. although mr. sam henderson was a kind master and hardly ever punished his slaves, there were some masters who were known for their cruelty. one in particular was an old man by the name of shirley, who would pick up anything from a stick to a brush broom to punish his slaves. benjamin heard from his elders that some masters constructed stocks like those of old, and sometimes slaves were whipped while fastened in the stocks. one slave owner named gay kept wristbands of iron, and also a gag made to fit into the mouth and fasten around the neck, which prevented rolling while being whipped. besides being punished for disobedience, a slave was often punished because he failed to complete the required amount of work. there were certain amounts of work specified for each slave: rails had to be split a day by the rail splitters; cotton pickers were supposed to pick pounds of cotton a day. should anyone fail to complete his daily task, a sound whipping was given. slaves were punished by "patter rollers" or the government patrol, if caught off of their plantations without a pass. often slaves outran the "patter rollers" and escaped the lashes which were in store for them if they were caught. "patter rollers" carried a crooked-handle stick which they would try to fasten around the slaves' necks or arms. however, the slaves soon learned that the "patter-rollers" stick would slide off their bare arms and backs, so they left their shirts if planning to make a visit without a pass. the second sunday of each month the slaves attended religious services. since there were no separate churches provided, they were allowed to use the white churches with the white minister in charge. benjamin henderson remarked: "it was my job to ride behind the mistress to church and while the services were going on i took care of her riding skirt and tended the horse." a slave desiring marriage with a slave on another plantation must get his master's consent after which he went to see the master of his prospective mate. if both agreed, the marriage was set for the following saturday night. all marriages usually took place on saturday nights. the master of the bridegroom would then pick a straw broom or a pole and give two slaves the job of holding the ends of it. to be devilish they often held the stick too high and would not lower it until the master asked them to. after the bridegroom made the jump over the stick, the knot of matrimony was considered tied. without any more ceremony the bride became his legal wife. if it so happened that the bride and groom lived on different plantations the groom would be given two passes a week, one to visit her on wednesday nights and another which permitted him to remain over the weekend, from saturday until monday morning. following the marriage there would take place the usual "frolic" ending up with several members drunk. these were thrown into the seed house where they remained all night. slave owners guarded carefully against illness among their slaves. home remedies such as certain oil, turpentine, teas of all sorts were used. if these did no good the doctor was called in; he usually brought along all varieties of medicine in his saddle bags and gave what was needed. benjamin henderson considers that people were much healthier in those days and did not need doctors often. he tells this story: "my mistress had a daughter who was married and had three sons who were confederate soldiers. i remember the day they rode up on their grey horses to take dinner and say goodbye to the family. when they were ready to leave their grandmother gave them an old testament and told them to take it and read it and make good soldiers of themselves. one son replied, 'oh grandma it won't last long, we're going to bring old lincoln's head back and set it on the gate post for a target.' but they didn't come back: all three were killed. the master of the plantation also enlisted in the army; he was able to come home every week or two". after the war benjamin's mother married and moved with her husband to another farm, where she spent the rest of her life. some families moved to other plantations, and during the first year after the war they were forced to work for one-sixth of the crop raised. the next year plantation owners realized this amount was unfair and agreed to let the ex-slaves work for one-third of the crops raised. finally they worked on halves. even now, working on halves is common in rural villages. benjamin henderson believes he has lived long because he has lived a clean, useful life filled with plenty of hard work. he married at the age of years and was the father of five children, none of whom are living. his physical condition prevents him from working at present, but he has not given up hope that he will soon be able to take care of himself again. plantation life, as viewed by an ex-slave written by: mrs. sadie b. hornsby athens -- edited by: mrs. sarah. h. hall athens -- and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, georgia september , . jefferson franklin henry ex-slave--age athens, georgia the widespread branches of a white mulberry tree formed a canopy for the entire yard before jefferson henry's gray-painted cottage. luxuriant hydrangeas in wooden tubs, august lilies in other containers on the old-fashioned flower steps, and a carefully pruned privet hedge gave the place an air of distinction in this shabby neighborhood, and it was not surprising to learn that a preacher, a man highly respected by his race, lived there. a rap on the door brought quick response from a rumbling bass voice inside the house. "george, is you here already?" in another moment a short, stocky negro man appeared in the doorway, a collar clutched in one hand, and a slightly embarrassed look on his face. "good mornin'," he said. "yes, mam, this is jeff henry. i thought you was george done come to take me to atlanta. one of my good church members is to be buried thar today, and i'se got to preside over the funeral. i can talk to you a few minutes if you ain't got too much to ax me about." though jeff used some dialect, it was not so noticeable as in the speech of most southern negroes. a scant fringe of kinky gray hair framed his almost bald head, and he was dressed in his sunday-best clothes; a gray suit, white shirt, and black shoes, worn but carefully polished. "this old negro has been here many a day," he began. "i 'members when all this side of town was in farms and woods with just a few houses scattered about." just then george drove up and jeff suggested that the interview be postponed. at the appointed hour jeff was waiting to resume his narrative. "i sho is done been wukin' this old brain of mine to bring back them old times 'fore freedom come," he announced. "anyhow, i was born in paulding county. sam and phyllis henry was my pa and ma, and they was field hands. me and james, william, john, mittie, and mary was all the chillun they had. us just played 'round the yard mostly, 'cause thar warn't none of us big enough to do no field wuk wuth talkin' 'bout 'fore the end of the war. "slave quarters was off from the big house a piece, and they was built in rows lak streets. most of the log cabins had one room; some had two, but all of them had plain old stack chimblies made of sticks and red mud. our beds was just home-made makeshifts, but us didn't know no diffunce 'cause us never had seed no better ones. they sawed pine posts the right height and bored holes through them and through the slabs they had cut for the railin's, or side pieces. they jined the bed together with cords that they wove back and forth and twisted tight with a stout stick. them cords served two purposes; they held the bed together and was our springs too, but if us warn't mighty keerful to keep 'em twisted tight our beds would fall down. lak them old beds, the mattresses us had them days warn't much compared with what we sleeps on now. them ticks was made of coarse home-wove cloth, called 'osnaburg,' and they was filled with straw. my! how that straw did squeak and cry out when us moved, but the blessed lord changed all that when he gave us freedom and let schools be sot up for us. with freedom negroes soon got more knowledge of how a home ought to be. "grandma ca'line is the onliest one of my grandparents i can 'member. when she got too old for field wuk, they tuk and used her as a cook up at the big house, and she done the weavin', spinnin', and milkin' too, and kept a eye on the slave chillun whilst the mammies was off in the field. "no, mam, slaves warn't paid no money them days, and it's mightly little i'se got holt of since. anyhow i warn't big enough then to do no wuk, even if folks had been payin' wages to slaves. the most i ever done 'fore the war ended was to fetch water to the kitchen and pick up chips to kindle up the fire when it got low. matches was so scarce then that fires warn't 'lowed to go slap out, but they did burn mighty low sometimes in summer and us had to use fat lightwood splinters to git 'em started up again. "us et home produce them days. folks didn't know nothin' 'bout livin' out of cans and paper sacks lak they does now. thar was allus plenty of hog meat, syrup, milk and butter, cornbread, and sometimes us chillun got a biscuit. thar was one big old garden on the place that had evvything in the way of vegetables growin' in it, besides the patches of beans, peas, 'taters, and the lak that was scattered 'round in the fields. the orchards was full of good fruit sich as apples, peaches, pears, and plums, and don't forgit them blackberries, currants, and figs what growed 'round the aidge of the back yard, in fence corners, and off places. sho, us had 'possums, plenty of 'em, 'cause they let us use the dogs to trail 'em down with. 'possums was biled 'til they was tender, then baked with sweet 'taters, and thar ain't no better way been found to fix 'em to this good day, not even if they's barbecued. sho, sho, us had rabbits and squirrels by the wholesale, and fish too if us tuk time to do our fishin' at night. they never did lak to see slaves settin' 'round fishin' in the daytime. "all the cookin' was done in a log cabin what sot a good little piece behind the big house. the big old fireplace in that kitchen held a four-foot log, and when you was little you could set on one end of that log whilst it was a-burnin' on t'other. they biled in pots hangin' from hooks on a iron bar that went all the way 'cross the fireplace, and the bakin' was done in skillets and ovens, but sometimes bread was wropt up in cabbage or collard leaves and baked in hot ashes; that was ashcake. thick iron lids fitted tight on them old skillets, and most of 'em had three legs so hot coals could be raked under 'em. the ovens sot on trivets over the coals. "our clothes warn't nothin' to talk about. in summer boys wore just one piece and that looked lak a long nightshirt. winter clothes was jean pants and homespun shirts; they was warm but not too warm. thar warn't no sich things as sunday clothes in them days, and i never had a pair of shoes on my foots in slavery time, 'cause i warn't big enough to wuk. grown negroes wore shoes in winter but they never had none in summer. "marse robert trammell and his wife, miss martha, was our marster and mistess. miss ada, miss emma, and miss mary 'liza was the young misses, and the young marsters was named george washin'ton and william daniel. marse robert and his fambly lived in a log and plank house with a rock chimbly. he was buildin' a fine rock house when the war came on, but he never got it finished. "robert scott, one of the slaves, was made foreman atter marse robert turned off his overseer. gilbert was the carriage driver and 'sides drivin' the fambly 'round, he tuk marse robert's ma, miss betsey, to her church at powder springs. miss betsey was a hardshell baptist, and marse robert and his wife wouldn't go to church with her. "that old plantation was a large place all right enough; i 'spects thar was 'bout four or five hunderd acres in it. marse robert warn't no big slave holder and he didn't have so awful many slaves. his foreman had 'em out in the fields by daylight and wuked 'em 'til dark. the women had a certain stint of thread to spin and cloth to weave 'fore they could go to bed at night. the menfolks had to shuck corn, mend horse-collars, make baskets, and all sich jobs as that at night, and they had to holp the women with the washin' sometimes. most of that kind of thing was done on days when the weather was too hot for 'em to work in the fields. "marse robert done his own whippin' of his slaves and, let me tell you, they didn't have to do much for him to whip 'em; he whipped 'em for most anything. they was tied, hand and foots, to a certain tree, and he beat 'em with a heavy leather strop. i'se seed him whip 'em heaps of times, and it was 'most allus in the mornin's 'fore they went to wuk. thar warn't no jailhouse nigh whar us lived and marse robert never had no place to lock slaves up when they got too bad, so he just beat the meanness out of 'em. thar was one slave he never tetched; that was his foreman and his name was robert too, lak i done told you. "i never seed no slaves sold on the block or auctioned off, and if any droves of slaves for sale passed our plantation i'se done forgot about it. no, mam, a slave warn't 'lowed to take no book in his hand to larn nothin'; it was agin' the law to permit slaves to do that sort of thing. if us went to any churches at all it had to be our white folks' churches, 'cause thar warn't no churches for negroes 'til the war was over. not a slave on our place could read a word from the bible, but some few could repeat a verse or two they had cotch from the white folks and them that was smart enough made up a heap of verses that went 'long with the ones larned by heart. us went to poplar springs baptist church with marse robert's fambly; that church was 'bout miles from whar us lived. miss betsey, she tuk grandma ca'line with her to the hardshell baptist church about miles further down the road. sometimes grandma ca'line would go by herself when marse robert's ma didn't go. us just had church once a month. "when a slave died evvybody on our plantation quit wuk 'til atter the buryin'. the home-made coffins was made of unpainted planks and they was lined with white cloth. white folks' coffins was made the same way, only theirs was stained, but they never tuk time to stain the ones they buried slaves in. graves was dug wide at the top and at the bottom they was just wide enough to fit the coffin. they laid planks 'crost the coffins and they shovelled in the dirt. they never had larnt to read the songs they sung at funerals and at meetin'. them songs was handed down from one generation to another and, far as they knowed, never was writ down. a song they sung at the house 'fore they left for the graveyard begun: 'why do we mourn departed friends, or shake at death's alarm.'" at the grave they sung, =am i born to die, to lay this body down?= "slaves on our plantation never thought about runnin' off to no north. marse robert allus treated 'em fair and square, and thar warn't no need for 'em to run nowhar. that foreman of his, robert scott, did go off and stay a few days once. marse robert had started to whip his wife and he had jumped 'twixt 'em; that made marse robert so mad he run to the house to git his gun, so the foreman he got out of the way a day or two to keep from gittin' shot. when he come back, marse robert was so glad to git him back he never said a word to him 'bout leavin'. "on saddays the women wuked in the field 'til dinnertime, but the menfolks wuked on 'til a hour 'fore sundown. the women spent that time washin', cleanin' up the cabins, patchin', and gittin' ready for the next week. oh! how they did frolic 'round sadday night when they could git passes. sundays they went to church but not without a pass for, if they ever was cotch out without one, them paterollers would beat 'em up something terrible. "sho, christmastime was when slaves had their own fun. thar warn't nothin' extra or diffunt give 'em, only plenty to eat and drink; marse robert allus made lots of whiskey and brandy. he give his slaves six days holiday and 'lowed 'em to have passes. they frolicked, danced, and visited 'round and called it havin' a good time. wuk begun again on new year's day and thar warn't no more holidays 'til the next christmas. no, mam, not many slave chillun knowed what santa claus was or what christmas was meant to celebrate 'til they got some schoolin' atter the war was over. "sho, sho, us had cornshuckin's, all right enough. sometimes marse robert raised so much corn us had to have more than one cornshuckin' to git it all shucked. the neighbors was 'vited and such a time as us did have atter the wuk was done. i was too little to do so much eatin', drinkin', and cuttin' the buck as the older ones done. 'cuttin' the buck' is what i calls the kind of frolics they had atter they got full of liquor. "yes, mam, they had dances all right. that's how they got mixed up with the paterollers. negroes would go off to dances and stay out all night; it would be wuk time when they got back, and they went to the field and tried to keep right on gwine, but the good lord soon cut 'em down. you couldn't talk to folks that tried to git by with things lak that; they warn't gwine to do no diffunt, nohow. when they ain't 'cepted at st. peter's gate, i'se sho they's gwine to wish they had heeded folks that talked to 'em and tried to holp 'em. "weddin's? didn't you know slaves didn't have sho'nough weddin's? if a slave man saw a girl to his lakin' and wanted her to make a home for him, he just axed her owner if it was all right to take her. if the owner said 'yes' then the man and girl settled down together and behaved theyselves. if the girl lived on one plantation and the man on another that was luck for the girl's marster, 'cause the chillun would belong to him. "right now i can't call to mind nothin' us played when i was a chap but marble games. us made them marbles out of clay and baked 'em in the sun. grown folks used to scare chillun 'bout raw head and bloody bones, but that was mostly to make chillun git still and quiet at night. i ain't never seed no ghost in my life, but i has heared a heap of sounds and warn't able to find out what made them noises. "when slaves got sick marse robert was good enough to 'em; he treated 'em right, and allus sont for a doctor, 'specially when chillun was borned. oil, turpentine, and salts was the medicines the doctors give the most of to slaves. 'fore they was sick enough to send for the doctor the homefolks often give sick folks boneset and life-everlastin' teas, and 'most evvybody wore a little sack of asafetida 'round their necks to protect 'em from diseases. "when freedom come i was down in the lower end of clarke county on marse george veal's plantation whar marse robert had done sont miss martha and the chillun and part of the slaves too. my white folks was fleein' from the yankees. marse robert couldn't come 'long 'cause he had done been wounded in battle and when they sont him home from the war he couldn't walk. i don't know what he said to the slaves that was left thar to 'tend him, but i heared tell that he didn't tell 'em nothin' 'bout freedom, leastwise not for sometime. pretty soon the yankees come through and had the slaves come together in town whar they had a speakin' and told them negroes they was free, and that they didn't belong to nobody no more. them yankees said orders for that pernouncement had come from the president of the united states, mr. abraham lincoln, and they said that mr. lincoln was to be a father to the slaves atter he had done freed 'em. "it warn't long then 'fore marse robert sont my pa to fetch miss martha and her chillun, and the slaves too, back to the old plantation. pa wuked for him 'til june of the next year and then rented a farm on shares. "i heared 'bout night-riders, but i never seed none of 'em. it was said they tuk negroes out of their cabins and beat 'em up jus' 'cause they belonged to the negro race. negroes was free but they warn't 'lowed to act lak free people. three months atter the war, schools was opened up here for negroes and they was in charge of yankee teachers. i can't call back the name of the yankee woman that taught me. "it was several years before no negroes was able to buy land, and thar was just a few of 'em done it to start with. negroes had to go to school fust and git larnin' so they would know how to keep some of them white folks from gittin' land 'way from 'em if they did buy it. "slavery time customs had changed a good bit when i married ella strickland. us had a common little home affair at her ma's house. i never will forgit how ella looked that day in her dove-colored weddin' dress; it was made with a plain, close-fittin' waist that had pretty lace 'round the neck and sleeves. her skirt was plaited, and over it was draped a overskirt that was edged with lace. the good lord gave us seven children, but three of 'em he has taken from the land of the livin'. us still has two boys and two girls. sam wuks at a big clubhouse in washington, d.c., and his four chillun are the onliest grandchillun me and ella's got, so far as us knows. charlie's job is at the pennsylvania station. both of our daughters is teachers; one of 'em teaches at the union baptist school, here in athens, and the other's at a school in statesboro, georgia. yes, mam, ella's still livin', but she is bad off with her foots. if the lord lets us both live 'til this comin' december, us will celebrate our rd. weddin' anniversary. "now that its all been over more than years and us is had time to study it over good, i thinks it was by god's own plan that president abraham lincoln sot us free, and i can't sing his praises enough. miss martha named me for jeff davis, so i can't down him when i'se got his name; i was named for him and benjamin franklin too. oh! sho, i'd ruther be free and i believes the negroes is got as much right to freedom as any other race, 'deed i does believe that. "why did i jine the church? 'cause i was converted by the power of the holy spirit. i thinks all people ought to be 'ligious, to be more lak christ; he is our saviour. i'se been in the church years and 'bout of them years i'se been a-preachin'. i went one year to the atlanta baptist college to git my trainin' for the ministry, and i would have gone back, but me and ella got married. i'se been pastor of the friendship baptist church years. in all, i'se been pastor of eight churches; i'se got three regular churches now." a negro boy came to the door and asked jeff to tell him about some work. as jeff arose he said: "if you is through with me, i'll have to go now and holp this boy. i'se 'titled to one of them books with my story in it free, 'cause i'se a preacher, and i knows i'se give you the best story you has wrote up yit." subject: [hw: robert henry]--ex-slave district: w.p.a. no. research worker: joseph e. jaffee editor: john n. booth supervisor: joseph e. jafffee (asst.) plantation life, as viewed by an ex-slave uncle robert henry, an active , now lives with his daughter on billups street in athens. at the time of our visit he was immaculate in dark trousers, a tweed sack coat, and a gayly striped tie. naturally the question came to mind as to whether he found life more pleasant in his daughter's neat little cottage, with its well kept yards, or in the quarters on "ole marster's plantation." he seemed delighted to have an opportunity to talk about "slave'y days"; and although he could not have been more than years old at the time, he has a very vivid recollection of the "year de war broke and freedom came." [illustration] his parents, robert and martha henry, were born in oglethorpe county and were later purchased by p.w. sayles, who owned a , -acre plantation about miles from washington, in wilkes county. ga. "marster didn't have many niggers, not more'n ," he stated. uncle robert was the oldest of children, boys and girls. "pa wuz de butler at de big house," he declared with pride in his voice; and he went on to tell how his mother had been the head seamstress on the plantation and how, at the tender age of , his father had begun training him to "wait on marster's table". the picture of "old marster's" household, as the old man unfolds it to his listeners, is one of almost idyllic beauty. there was the white-pillared "big house" in a grove of white oaks on the brow of a hill with a commanding view of the whole countryside. a gravelled driveway led down to the dusty public road where an occasional stagecoach rattled by and which later echoed with the hoofbeats of confederate cavalry. the master's house contained twelve rooms, each about x feet. the kitchen was in the back yard and food was carried to the dining room in the high basement to the big house by means of an underground passage. two servants stood guard over the table with huge fans made of peacock feathers which they kept in continuous motion during meals to "shoo de flies away." the slave quarters were on the banks of a creek down the hill behind the big house. nearby were the overseer's cottage, the stables, and the carriage houses. in the family were: "marster, mistis, mis' fannie, mis' sally, mars' thomas, mars' hickey, and mars' wyatt. dey all 'tended a school on de plantation." two of the boys went to the war but only one of them came back. after the war the "yanks" came by and took nearly all the stock that the servants hadn't hidden in the swamps and all the silver that "ole mistis" hadn't buried under the currant bushes. yes, in spite of the hard work required, life was very pleasant on the plantations. the field hands were at work at sun-up and were not allowed to quit until dark. each slave had an acre or two of land which he was allowed to farm for himself. he used saturday morning to cultivate his own crop and on saturday afternoon he lolled around or went fishing or visiting. saturday nights were always the time for dancing and frolicking. the master sometimes let them use a barn loft for a big square dance. the musical instruments consisted of fiddles; buckets, which were beaten with the hands; and reeds, called "blowing quills," which were used in the manner of a flute. there were two churches on the plantation, "one for de white folks and one fer de niggers." the same preacher held forth in both congregations. when there were services in the white church there was no negro meetings; but negroes were allowed to sit in the gallery of the "white folk'" church. the master regarded his slaves as [hw: deleted: a] valuable [hw: deleted: piece of] property and they received treatment as such. when they were ill the doctor would be sent for or "old mistis" would come to the cabins bringing her basket of oil, pills, and linament. food was always given out to the slaves from the commissary and the smokehouse. there was flour and corn meal, dried beans and other vegetables, and cured pork and beef in the winter. in season the servants had access to the master's vegetable garden and they were always given as much milk as they could use. life [hw: deleted: had indeed been; added: was] was very pleasant in those times; but uncle robert, at ease in a comfortable rocker, would not agree that it was more to his liking than this present-day existence. when the subject of signs and omens was broached he waxed voluble in denying that he believed in any such "foolishment." however, he agreed that many believed that a rooster crowing in front of the door meant that a stranger was coming and that an owl screeching was a sign of death. he suggested that a successful means of combatting the latter omen is to tie knots in the bed sheets or to heat a poker in the fire. in case of death, uncle robert says, to be on the safe side and prevent another death in the family, it is wise to stop the clock and turn its face to the wall and to cover all the mirrors in the house with white cloths. uncle robert's highly educated daughter smiled indulgently on him while he was giving voice to these opinions and we left him threatening her with dire punishment if she should ever fail to carry out his instructions in matters of this nature. [hw: robert henry ex-slave] federal writers' project w.p.a. office cobb street athens, georgia october , mr. john l. peters, director w.p.a. district no. telfair street augusta, georgia =attention:= mrs. carolyn p. dillard state director federal writers' projects atlanta, georgia dear mr. peters: attaching herewith story of an ex-slave prepared by mr. john booth from my notes and is in accordance with the instructions contained in your letter of october . the snap-shots are by jaffee. we have located a former slave of dr. crawford w. long in jackson county and we plan to interview the 'darky' in the very near future. we are anxious to get a very intimate picture of dr. crawford w. long from the eyes of one of his personal servants. very truly yours, [hw: joseph e. jaffee] joseph e. jaffee asst. district supervisor federal writers' project w.p.a. district no. jej:h john hill broad street athens, georgia plantation life, as viewed by an ex-slave written by: grace mccune research worker federal writers' project athens, georgia edited by: leila harris editor federal writers' project augusta, georgia john hill ex-slave, age w. broad st. athens, georgia john hill, an old negro about years old, was seated comfortably on the front porch of his little cabin enjoying the sunshine. he lives alone and his pleasure was evident at having company, and better still an appreciative audience to whom he could relate the story of his early days. "my pa wuz george washin'ton hill. his old marster wuz mr. aubie hill, an' dey all lived on de hill plantation, in de buncombe district, nigh whar monroe, georgia is now. my ma wuz lucy annie carter, an' she b'longed to de carter fambly down in oglethorpe county, 'til she wuz sold on de block, on de ole tuck plantation, whar dey had a regular place to sell 'em. dey put 'em up on a big old block, an' de highest bidder got de nigger. marse george hill bought my ma, an' she come to stay on de hill plantation. dar's whar my pa married her, an' dar's whar i wuz borned. "when i wuz just a little tike, i toted nails for 'em to build de jailhouse. dey got 'bout two by four planks, nailed 'em crossways, an' den dey drived nails in, 'bout evvy inch or two apart, just lak a checkerboard. when dey got it done, dat jail would evermo' keep you on de inside. dere wuz a place wid a rope to let down, when de jailbirds would need somethin', or when somebody wanted to send somethin' up to 'em. no ma'am, dat warn't de rope dey used to hang folkses wid. "my pa stayed on wid old marster 'bout ten years atter de war, den us moved to de farm wid de walkers at monroe, georgia. dat wuz governor walker's pa. dere wuz a red clay bank on de side of de crick whar us chilluns had our swimmmin' hole, an' us didn't know when us wuz a frolickin' an' rollin' young marse clifford down dat bank, dat someday he would be gov'ner of georgia. he evermo' wuz a sight, kivered wid all dat red mud, an' mist'ess, she would fuss an' say she wuz goin' to whup evvyone of us, but us just stayed out of de way an' she never cotched us. den she would forgit 'til de nex' time. "when i wuz 'bout eight years old, dey 'lowed it wuz high time i wuz a larnin' somethin', an' i wuz sont to de little log schoolhouse down in de woods. de onliest book i had wuz just a old blue back speller. us took corn an' 'tatoes 'long an' cooked 'em for dinner, for den us had to stay all day at school. us biled de corn an' roasted 'tatoes in ashes, an' dey tasted mighty good. "us had corn pone to eat all de time, an' on de fust sunday in de month us had cake bread, 'cause it wuz church day. cake bread wuz made out of shorts, but dem biscuits wuz mighty good if dey wuz dark, 'stead of bein' white. "us had big gyardens, an' raised all sorts of vegetables: corn, peas, beans, 'tatoes, colla'ds, an' turnip greens. us had plenty of milk an' butter all de time. an' marster made us raise lots of cows, hogs, sheep, an' chickens, an' tukkeys. "dey warn't no ready made clo'es or no vittuls in cans at de sto'keepers' places, an' us didn't have no money to spend, if dey had a been dar. us didn't have nothin' what us didn't raise an' make up. cotton had to be picked offen de seed, an' washed an' cyarded, den ma spun de thread an' wove de cloth an' sometimes she dyed it wid ink balls, 'fore it wuz ready to make clo'es out of. de ink marster used to write wid wuz made out of ink balls. "i wuz still little when my ma died. de white folks' preacher preached her fun'ral from de tex' of isaiah fifth chapter: fust verse, an' dey sung de old song, "goin' home to die no mo'." den dey buried her on de place, an' built a rail fence 'roun' de grave, to keep de stock from trompin' on it. sometimes several owners got together an' had one place to bury all de slaves, an' den dey built a rail fence all 'roun' de whole place. "hit wuz just lak bein' in jail, de way us had to stay on de place, 'cause if us went off an' didn't have no ticket de paddyrollers would always git us, an' dey evermore did beat up some of de niggers. "i 'members de klu klux klan good. dey kept niggers skeered plum to death, an' when dey done sumpin' brash dey sho' got beat up if de kluxers cotched 'em. "one time de kluxers come by our place on de way to beat a old nigger man. i begged 'em to lemme go wid 'em, an' atter a while dey said i could go. dere wuz horns on de mask dey kivvered up my head wid an' i wuz mighty skeered but i didn't say nothin'. atter us got dar, dey tied de old man up by his hands to de rafters in his house. he wuz beggin' 'em to let him off an' yellin' 'o lordy, have mussy!' dere wuz a little gal dar an' i wanted to skeer her, so i started atter her, an' de old man tole her to hit me on de head. she picked up a shovel an' th'owed it an' cut my leg so wide open de blood just spilt down on de floor. i got so bad off dey had to take me back to old marster, an' he fix me up. hit wuz six months 'fore i could use dat leg good, an', i nebber did wanter go wid dem kluxers no more. "us went to de white folkses church, but onct a year on de fust sunday in augus' de white folkses let de niggers have dat day for camp meetin'. dey fixed good dinners for us, an' let us go off in de woods an' stay all day. dem chicken pies an' dem good old 'tato custards, 'bout one an' a half inches thick, made wid sea sugar, dey make your mouf water just to talk 'bout 'em. what wuz sea sugar? why it wuz dat crawly, kind of grayish, lookin' sugar us used den. i wuz grown 'fore i ever seed no sho' 'nough white sugar. "my pa hired me out to mr. ray kempton to tote cotton to de gin on his plantation, when i wuz 'bout years old. i wuz wukkin' dar when de fust railroad wuz laid, an' dey named de place kempton station fer marse ray kempton. i wuz paid five dollars a month an' board for my wuk, an' i stayed dar 'til i married. "i wuz 'bout eighteen when i rode on de train for de fust time. us rode from social circle to washin'ton, wilkes, to see my ma's folkses. ma tuk a heap of ginger cakes an' fried chicken along for us to eat on de train, an' de swingin' an' swayin' of dat train made me so sick i didn't want to ride no more for a long time. "soon atter i wuz twenty years old, i married a gal from washin'ton, wilkes, an' us moved to athens, an' i been livin' right here ever since. us got here de last day de old whiskey house wuz open. dey closed it down dat night. i wukked a long time wid de allgood boys in de horse tradin' business an' den i wukked for mr. an' mrs. will peeples 'bout ten years. dey runned a boardin' house, an' while i wuz dar, dr. walker come to board, an' i wuz mighty glad to wait on him, 'cause he wuz from monroe an' had done been livin' on de old walker place dat i stayed at when us wuz down dar. "my uncle, ambus carter, wuz a preacher on marse jim smith's place. he b'longed to marse jim durin' de war, an' he never did leave him. atter freedom come, most of marse jim's niggers lef' him, an' den he had what dey called chaingang slaves. he paid 'em out of jail for 'em to wuk for him. an' he let 'em have money all de time so dey didn't never git out of debt wid him. dey had to stay dar an' wuk all de time, an' if dey didn't wuk he had 'em beat. he evermore did beat 'em if dey got lazy, but if dey wukked good, he wuz good to 'em. sometimes dey tried to run away. dey had dogs to trail 'em wid so dey always cotched 'em, an' den da whippin' boss beat 'em mos' to death. it wuz awful to hear 'em hollerin' an' beggin' for mussy. if dey hollered, 'lord have mussy!' marse jim didn't hear 'em, but if dey cried, 'marse jim have mussy!' den he made 'em stop de beatin'. he say, 'de lord rule heb'en, but jim smith ruled de earth.' "one time he cotched some niggers down at de seaboard station, what had runned away from his place. he got de police, an' brung 'em back 'cause he 'lowed dey still owed him money. i wuz mighty sorry for 'em, for i knowed what dey wuz goin' to git when he done got 'em back on his place. dat whippin' boss beat 'em 'til dey couldn't stan' up. "but he wuz good to my uncle, an' treated him just lak one of de fambly. he helped him wid all his sermons, an' told him to always tell 'em to be observerant an' obejent to de boss man. he provided good fer his help an' dey always had plenty to eat. he used to try to git me to come an' stay wid him, but i didn't want to stay on dat place. "marse jim used to have big 'possum hunts for his niggers, an' he would sen' me word, an' i most always went, 'cause dem wuz good times den, when dey cooked de coons an' 'possums, an' eat an' drunk mos' of de night. coon meat is most as good as lamb if you is careful to take out de musk sacs when you dress 'em to cook." smithsonia, the jim smith plantation, covered thousands of acres, but the words of the feeble old negro showed that he could not imagine it possible for any farmer to own more than one hundred acres. "marse jim had a hund'ud acre farm, an' he had to keep plenty of niggers to look atter dat place, but i wuz 'fraid to go dar to stay, for it wuz sho' just lak de jailhouse. "dey ain't but four of our nine chilluns livin' now an' dey's all up nawf. dey done sont atter me when deir ma died, an' tried to git me to stay wid 'em, but its too cold up dar for dis old nigger, so i just stays on here by myself. it don't take much for me to live on. in crop times i wuks in de fiel' a choppin' cotton, an' i picks cotton too. i'll just wait on here an' de waitin' won't be much longer, 'cause i'se a living right, an', 'praise de lawd,' i'se a gwine to heb'en w'en i die." mary a. crawford re-search worker laura hood ex-slave laura was born in griffin december , on mr. henry bank's place. her mother, sylvia banks (called "cely ann" by the darkies) married her father, joe brawner, a carpenter, who was owned by mr. henry brawner. joe and sylvia were married in mr. henry bank's parlor by this white preacher. mr. banks, laura's master, owned a tannery in griffin and had "around fifty slaves" according to laura's memory. most of the slaves worked at the tannery, the others at mr. bank's home. laura's mother was the cook in the bank's home for over forty years. joe, laura's father, was a carpenter and the four little darkies of the family helped about the house and yard doing such work as feeding the chickens, sweeping the yards and waiting on the mistress. laura, herself was a "house girl", that is, she made the beds, swept the floors and sewed and helped the mistress do the mending for the family. when asked if the master and mistress were good to the slaves, laura replied that they certainly were, adding, "marse henry was as good a man as ever put a pair of pants on his legs." as to the punishments used by the banks, laura was almost indignant at such a question, saying that marse henry never whipped or punished his darkies in any way, that he did not believe in it. the only whipping that laura herself ever had was one lick across the shoulders with a small switch used by her mistress to keep her mother, celie ann, from whipping her. laura relates that the darkies worked all the time except sunday. on sunday they could do as they pleased so long as they went to church. all the bank's darkies attended service in the "cellar" (basement) of the first baptist church and had a colored preacher. when any of the darkies were sick if 'ole marster' and 'ole miss' could not "set them straight" they called in "ole marse's" white doctor. mr. banks, himself, was too old "to fight the yankees" but young 'marse henry' fought but did not "get a scratch" and when he came home all of them were sure glad to see him. "after freedom, when 'ole mars' was gone, 'young marster' was as good as gold to all the darkies." laura can remember when he gave her $ . to $ . at a time." she also recalls that when the slaves were freed that her ole marse called all of the darkies around him out in the yard and told them that they were as free as he was and could leave if they wanted to, but if they would stay 'till christmas and help him that he would pay them wages. all of them stayed except one negro named "big john" who left with a bunch of yankees that came along soon after. as to what happened at the bank's home when the yankees came through, laura does not remember, but she does recall that the banks family "refugeed to florida to get out of the path of the yankees." "no, mam," said laura in reply to the question "did your master have his slaves taught to read and write?" "we never had any school of any kind on the bank's place. 'marse henry did not believe we needed that." laura has lived in her present home since and recalls when griffin was "mostly a big woods full of paths here and there." she recalls the "auction block" which was on or near the site of the present court house. the old woman is very feeble, in fact, unable to walk but is cared for by a niece. laura pood e. solomon street griffin, georgia september , plantation life as viewed by ex-slave carrie hudson lyndon avenue athens, georgia. written by: sadie b. hornsby athens -- edited by: sarah h. hall athens -- leila harris augusta -- and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & . carrie hudson ex-slave--age carrie was asked to relate her memories of childhood days on the old plantation. "i'se done most forgot 'bout dem days," she replied, "but if you ax me some questions hit mought come back to me. hit's such a fur way back dat i don't never think 'bout dem times no more." after a few reminders, the old negress began eagerly volunteering her recollections. "slave traders fotched my pa, he was phil rucker, f'um richmond, virginny, and sold him to marse joe squire rucker. ma, she was frances rucker, was borned on marse joe's place nigh ruckersville, up in elbert county, and all of us chilluns was born on dat plantation too. hester ann, loke ann, elizabeth, mary, minnie bright, dawson, ant'ony, squire and philip was my sisters and brothers. grandma bessie done de cookin' at de big house. grandpa ant'ony had done died long 'fore i got big enough to know nothin' 'bout him. "miss, chilluns what was knee high to a duck had to wuk. 'til dey was big and strong enough for field wuk, little niggers done all sorts of piddlin' jobs. dey toted water to de big house and to de hands in de fields, fotched in chips and wood, and watched de cows. me? i nussed most of de time. if dere was any money give out for slaves' wuk de grown folkses got it all, for i never seed none and i never heared 'bout no niggers gittin' none in slavery times. "us lived in log cabins scattered 'round de plantation. de biggest of 'em had two rooms and evvy cabin had a chimbly made out of sticks and red mud. most of de chillun slept on pallets on de floor, but i slept wid my pa and ma 'cause i was so pettish. most of de beds was made out of poles, dis a-way: dey bored two holes in de wall, wide apart as dey wanted de bed, and in dese holes dey stuck one end of de poles what was de side pieces. dey sharpened de ends of two more poles and driv' 'em in de floor for de foot pieces and fastened de side pieces to 'em. planks was put acrost dis frame to hold a coarse cloth tick filled wid wheat straw. ma had a ruffle, what was called a foot bouncer, 'round de foot of her bed. beds up at de big house was a sight to see. dey had high posties and curtains over de top and 'round de bottom of deir beds. dem beds at de big house was so high dey had steps to walk up so dey could git in 'em. oh, dey was pretty, all kivvered over wid bob' net to keep flies and skeeters off de white folkses whilst dey slept! "warn't nothin' short 'bout de eats. our white folkses b'lieved in good eatin's. dey give us bread and meat wid all de cabbage, colla'd and turnip greens us wanted, and us had 'matoes, 'tatoes, chickens and ducks. yessum, and dere allus was plenty 'possums and rabbits cooked 'bout lak dey is now, only dere warn't no stoves in dem days. pots for biling swung on racks dey called cranes, over de coals in big open fireplaces. baking was done in ovens and skillets. dere was allus lots of fishes in season, but i didn't do none of de fishin', 'cause i was too skeered of de water when i was a chap. "all de cloth for our clothes was wove in de loom room up at de big house. little gal's dresses was made just lak deir ma's, wid full skirts gathered on to plain, close fittin' waisties. little boys just wore shirts. didn't no chillun wear but one piece of clothes in summer. winter time us wore de same only dey give us a warm underskirt, and rough red brogan shoes. didn't no niggers wear shoes in warm weather durin' slavery times. "marse joe squire rucker was de fust marster of our plantation. atter him and miss peggy done died, his son, marse elbert rucker tuk up where his pa left off. i can't call to mind nothin' 'bout marse joe and miss peggy 'cept what old folkses told me long atter dey done died, but i does 'member marse elbert and miss sallie and dey was just as good to us as dey could be. de onliest ones of dier chilluns i ricollects now is miss bessie, miss cora and marsters joe, guy, marion and early. dey all lived in a big fine house sot back f'um de road a piece. "marse elbert's overseer was a mr. alderman. he got de slaves up early in de mornin' and it was black night 'fore he fotched 'em in. marse elbert didn't 'low nobody to lay hands on his niggers but his own self. if any whuppin' had to be done, he done it. "my brother, squire, was de carriage driver and he was all time a-drivin' our white folkses to ruckersville, and sometimes he driv' 'em far as anderson, south callina. "to tell de truth, missy, i don't know how many acres was in dat big old plantation. dere just ain't no tellin'. niggers was scattered over dat great big place lak flies. when dey come in f'um de fields at night, dem slaves was glad to just go to sleep and rest. "dey didn't do no field wuk atter dinner on saddays. de 'omans washed, ironed and cleaned up deir cabins, while de mens piddled 'roun' and got de tools and harness and things lak dat ready for de next week's wuk. "i heared 'em say dere was a jail at ruckersville, but so far as i knows dere warn't no slaves ever put in jail. niggers didn't have no chance to git in devilment, 'cause de overseers and patterollers kep' close atter 'em all de time, and slaves what stepped aside allus got a whuppin'. dere warn't no time for to larn readin' and writin' on marse elbert's plantation. dem slaves knowed what a bible was but dey sho' couldn't read de fust line. us went to white folkses church on sundays, and while i never tuk in none of dem songs us sung, i sho'ly do ricollect moughty well how de reverend duncan would come down on dat preachin'. "lordy, miss! dere you is a-axing me 'bout folkses dyin', and i'se nigh dead myself! brother 'lisha done prophesied you was a-comin' here for to write a jedgment, and hit makes me feel right creepy. anyhow i seed a heaps of folkses died out and git put in dem home-made coffins what was black as sin. i sho' is glad dey done changed de color of coffins. i 'members how us used to holler and cry when dey come to de part of de fun'ral whar dey sung: 'hark f'um de tomb, a doleful sound.' "dere was a heap of baptizin's dem days and i went to most all of 'em, but i sho' warn't baptized 'til long atter i got grown, 'cause i was so skeered of de water. i kin see dem folkses now, a-marchin' down to de crick, back of de church, and all de can-i-dates dressed in de whites' white clothes, what was de style den. evvybody jined in de singin', and de words was lak dis: 'marchin' for de water for to be baptized. de lord done lit de candle on de other side for to see his chilluns when dey gits baptized.' "niggers on marse elbert's place never knowed nothin' 'bout no north; if dey did dey wouldn't tell it to chilluns little as i was den. dere was some sort of uprisin' a good piece f'um ruckersville, but i can't tell you 'bout it 'cause i just heared de old folkses do a little talkin', what warn't enough to larn de whole tale. chillun back dar didn't jine in de old folkses business lak dey does now. "sadday nights de young folkses picked de banjo, danced and cut de buck 'til long atter midnight, but christmas times was when chilluns had deir bestes' good times. marse elbert 'ranged to have hog killin' close enough to christmas so dere would be plenty of fresh meat, and dere was heaps of good chickens, tukkeys, cake, candies, and just evvything good. en durin' de christmas, slaves visited 'roun' f'um house to house, but new year's day was wuk time again, and dere was allus plenty to do on dat plantation. most all de niggers loved to go to dem cornshuckin's, 'cause atter de corn was all shucked dey give 'em big suppers and let 'em dance. de cotton pickin's was on nights when de moon was extra bright 'cause dey couldn't do much lightin' up a big cotton field wid torches lak dey did de places where dey had de cornshuckin's. atter cornshuckin's, dey mought be dancin' by de light of torches, but us danced in de moonlight when de cotton was picked and de prize done been give out to de slave what picked de most. logrollin's was de most fun of all. de men and 'omans would roll dem logs and sing and dey give 'em plenty of good eats, and whiskey by de kegs, at logrollin's. de marsters, dey planned de cornshuckin's, and cotton pickin's, and logrollin's and pervided de eats and liquor, but de quiltin' parties b'longed to de slaves. dey 'ranged 'em deir own selfs and done deir own 'vitin' and fixed up deir own eats, but most of de marsters would let 'em have a little somepin' extra lak brown sugar or 'lasses and some liquor. de quiltin's was in de cabins, and dey allus had 'em in winter when dare warn't no field wuk. dey would quilt a while and stop to eat apple pies, peach pies, and other good things and drink a little liquor. "us had to tote water and nuss chillun 'stid of playin' no games. us didn't know nothin' 'bout ghosties, hants, and sich lak. our white folkses would whup a nigger for skeerin' us chillun quick as anything. dey didn't 'low none of dat. de onliest ghost i'se ever seed was just t'other day. i seed somebody pass my door. i hollered out: 'who dat?' dey didn't say nothin'. brother 'lisha here said it was a sperrit passin' by. he must be right, 'cause whoever it was, dey didn't say nothin' 'tall. "marse elbert and miss sallie was sho' moughty good when deir niggers tuk sick. castor oil and turpentine was what dey give 'em most of de time. horehound tea was for colds, and elderberry tea was to help babies teethe easier. yessum, us wore beads, but dey was just to look pretty. "all i knows 'bout how come us was sot free is dat folkses said mr. jefferson davis and mr. abraham lincoln got to fightin' 'bout us, and mr. lincoln's side got de best of mr. davis' side in de quarrel. de day dey told us dat us was free dere was a white man named mr. bruce, what axed: 'what you say?' dey told him 'gain dat all de niggers was free. he bent hisself over, and never did straighten his body no more. when he died, he was still all bent over. mr. bruce done dis to sho' de world how he hated to give his niggers up atter dey done been sot free. "when dem yankees come thoo' dey stole evvything dey could take off wid 'em. dey tuk sue, my brother's nice hoss, and left him a old poor bag-of-bones hoss. us stayed on wid our white folkses a long time atter de war. "edwin jones was my fust husband and i wore a pretty dove colored dress at our weddin'. jenny ann was our onliest child. all but one of our eight grandchillun is all livin' now, and i'se got great grandchillun. atter edwin died, i married dis here charlie hudson what i'se livin' wid now. us didn't have no big weddin' and tain't long since us got married. me and charlie ain't got no chillun. "i jined de church 'cause i got 'ligion and i knows de good lord done forgive my sins. evvybody ought to git 'ligion and hold it and jine de church. "de way us is a havin' to live now is pretty bad 'cause us is both too old to wuk. don't give me dem slavery days no more 'cause i would have to wuk anyhow if i was a slave again! us couldn't set 'roun' and smoke our pipes and do as us please. i'd ruther have it lak it is now. "i can't 'member no more to tell you, but i sho' has 'joyed dis talk. yessum, dem days was a fur piece back." plantation life as viewed by ex-slave [tr: date stamp: may ] charlie hudson lyndon avenue athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby athens -- edited by: sarah h. hall athens -- leila harris augusta -- and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project res. & . augusta, ga. charlie hudson =ex-slave--age .= charlie listened with eager interest to the story related by carrie, his wife, and frequent smiles played over his wrinkled black face as her reminiscences awakened memories of younger days. his delight was evident when the interviewer suggested that he tell his own impressions of slavery and the period following the war between the states. "miss," he said, "i been takin' in what de old 'oman done told you. dat was de beginnin' way back yonder and de end is nigh. soon dere won't be nobody left livin' what was a sho' 'nough slave. it's somepin' to think about, ain't it? "anyhow, i was born march , in elbert county. ma lived on de bell plantation and marse matt hudson owned my pa and kept him on de hudson place. dere was seben of us chillun. will, bynam, john and me was de boys, and de gals was amanda, liza ann, and gussie. 'til us was big enough to wuk, us played 'round de house 'bout lak chillun does dese days. "slave quarters was laid out lak streets. us lived in log cabins. beds? dey was jus' makeshift beds, what was made out of pine poles. de side of de house was de head of de beds. de side rails was sharpened at both ends and driv' in holes in de walls and foot posties. den dey put boards 'cross de side rails for de mattresses to lay on. de coarse cloth bed ticks was filled wid 'georgy feathers.' don't you know what georgy feathers was? wheat straw was georgy feathers. our kivver was sheets and plenty of good warm quilts. now dat was at our own quarters on marse david bell's plantation. "didn't evvybody have as good places to sleep as us. i 'members a white fambly named sims what lived in flatwoods. dey was de porest white folks i ever seed. dey had a big drove of chillun and deir pa never wukked a lick in his life--he jus' lived on other folkses' labors. deir little log cabin had a partition in it, and 'hind dat partition dere warn't a stitch of nothin'. dey didn't have no floor but de ground, and back 'hind dat partition was dug out a little deeper dan in de rest of de house. dey filled dat place wid leaves and dat's whar all de chilluns slept. evvy day miss sallie made 'em take out de leaves what dey had slep' on de night before and fill de dugout wid fresh leaves. on de other side of de partition, miss sallie and her old man slept 'long wid deir hog, and hoss, and cow, and dat was whar dey cooked and et too. i ain't never gwine to forgit dem white folks. "my grandma patsy, pappy's ma, knocked 'round lookin' atter de sheep and hogs, close to de house, 'cause she was too old for field wuk. ma's mammy was my grandma rose. her job was drivin' de oxcart to haul in wood from de new grounds and to take wheat and corn to mill and fetch back good old home-made flour and meal. i never did hear nothin' 'bout my grandpas. ma done de cookin' for de white folks. "i don't know if i was no pet, but i did stay up at de big house most of de time, and one thing i loved to do up dar was to follow miss betsy 'round totin' her sewin' basket. when wuk got tight and hot in crop time, i helped de other chillun tote water to de hands. de bucket would slamp 'gainst my laigs all along de way, and most of de water would be done splashed out 'fore i got to de field. "marse david and his fambly most allus sont deir notes and messages by me and another yearlin' boy what was 'lowed to lay 'round de big house yard so us would be handy to wait on our white folks. dey give you de note what dey done writ, and dey say: 'boy, if you lose dis note, you'll git a whuppin'! all de time you was carryin' dem notes you had your whuppin' in your hand and didn't know it, lessen you lost de note. i never heared of no trouble to 'mount to nothin' twixt white folks and niggers in our settlement. "us et good, not much diff'unt f'um what us does now. most times it was meat and bread wid turnip greens, lye hominy, milk, and butter. all our cookin' was done on open fireplaces. oh! i was fond of 'possums, sprinkled wid butter and pepper, and baked down 'til de gravy was good and brown. you was lucky if you got to eat 'possum and gnaw de bones atter my ma done cooked it. "dey cotch rabbits wid dogs. now and den, a crowd of niggers would jump a rabbit when no dogs was 'round. dey would tho' rocks at him and run him in a hollow log. den dey would twiss him out wid hickory wisps (withes). sometimes dere warn't no fur left on de rabbit time dey got him twisted out, but dat was all right. dey jus' slapped him over daid and tuk him on to de cabin to be cooked. rabbits was most gen'ally fried. "grown boys didn't want us chillun goin' 'long 'possum huntin' wid 'em, so all right, dey tuk us way off crost de fields 'til dey found a good thick clump of bushes, and den dey would holler out dat dere was some moughty fine snipes 'round dar. dey made us hold de poke (bag) open so de snipes could run in. den dey blowed out deir light'ood knot torches, and left us chillun holdin' de poke whilst dey went on huntin' 'possums. "atter dinner saddays all of us tuk our hooks, poles, and lines down to dry fork crick, when it was de right time of de year to fish. sometimes dey stewed fish for old folkses to eat, but young folkses loved 'em fried best. "winter time dey give chillun new cotton and wool mixed shirts what come down most to de ankles. by de time hot weather come de shirt was done wore thin and swunk up and 'sides dat, us had growed enough for 'em to be short on us, so us jus' wore dem same shirts right on thoo' de summer. on our place you went bar foots 'til you was a great big yearlin' 'fore you got no shoes. what you wore on yo' haid was a cap made out of scraps of cloth dey wove in de looms right dar on our plantation to make pants for de grown folks. "mr. david bell, our marster, was born clubfooted. his hands and foots was drawed up evvy which a way long as he lived. he was jus' lak a old tom cat, he was such a cusser. all he done was jus' set dar and cuss, and a heap of times you couldn't see nothin' for him to cuss 'bout. he tuk his crook-handled walkin' stick and cotch you and drug you up to him and den jus' helt you tight and cussed you to yo' face, but he didn't never whup nobody. our mist'ess, miss betsey, was allus moughty kind at times lak dat, and she used to give us chillun a heap of ginger cakes. deir seben chilluns was dr. bynam, marse david and little misses ad'line, elizabeth, mary and mildred. dey lived in a big old two-story house, but i done forgot how it looked. "dat overseer, he was a clever man, but i can't ricollect his name. he never paid no heed to what sort of clothes slaves wore, but he used to raise merry cain if dey didn't have good shoes to ditch in. marse david was de cussin' boss, but de overseer called hisself de whuppin' boss. he had whuppin's all time saved up special for de 'omans. he made 'em take off deir waistes and den he whupped 'em on deir bar backs 'til he was satisfied. he done all de whuppin' atter supper by candle light. i don't 'member dat he ever whupped a man. he jus' whupped 'omans. "evvybody was up early so dat by sunrise dey was out in de fields, jus' a whoopin' and hollerin'. at sundown dey stopped and come back to de cabins. in wheat harvestin' time dey wukked so hard dey jus' fell out f'um gittin' overhet. other times dey jus' wukked 'long steady lak. "marse david never had no sho' 'nough car'iage so he never needed no car'iage driver. he had what dey called a ground sleigh. in de spring marse david sont a man to de woods to pick out a lakly lookin' young white oak saplin' and bent it down a certain way. hit stayed bent dat way 'til it growed big enough, den dey sawed it lengthways and put a mortise hole in each front piece to put de round thoo' to hold de singletrees. holes was bored at de back to fasten de plank seat to. dey put a quilt on de seat for a cushion and hitched a pair of oxen to de sleigh. come winter, come summer, snow or rain, dey went right on in de old sleigh jus' de same! "now, miss, dis sho' is right! many times as i is done been over dat plantation f'um one side to de other i couldn't tell you to save my life how many acres was in it. i would be 'fraid to say, how many slaves marse david owned, but i'm here to tell you dere was a bunch of 'em 'round dar. "dey didn't have no jail house or nothin' lak dat 'round dat plantation, 'cause if slaves didn't please marster dey was jus' made to come up to de yard at de big house and take deir beatin's. i seed dem traders come thoo' f'um virginny wid two wagon loads of slaves at one time, gwine down on broad river to a place called lisbon whar dey already had orders for 'em. i ain't never seed no slaves bein' sold or auctioned off on de block. "wunst a white man named bill rowsey, come and begged marse david to let him teach his niggers. marse david had de grown mens go sweep up de cottonseed in de ginhouse on sunday mornin', and for three sundays us went to school. when us went on de fourth sunday night riders had done made a shape lak a coffin in de sand out in front, and painted a sign on de ginhouse what read: 'no niggers 'lowed to be taught in dis ginhouse.' dat made marse david so mad he jus' cussed and cussed. he 'lowed dat nobody warn't gwine tell him what to do. but us was too skeered to go back to de ginhouse to school. next week marse david had 'em build a brush arbor down by de crick, but when us went down dar on sunday for school, us found de night riders had done 'stroyed de brush arbor, and dat was de end of my gwine to school. "dere warn't no church for slaves whar us was. marse david give us a pass so us wouldn't be 'sturbed and let us go 'round from one plantation to another on sundays for prayer meetin's in de cabins and under trees if de weather was warm and nice. sometimes when dere was a jubilee comin' off, slaves was 'lowed to go to deir marsters' church. me? i used to ride 'hind miss betsey on her hoss what she called puss, and away us went jiggin' down de road to jubilees at millstone and elam churches. i was a rich feelin' little nigger den. "de chillun had to take a back seat whilst de old folks done all de singin', so i never larned none of dem songs good 'nough to 'member what de words was, or de tunes neither. now and den us went to a fun'ral, not often, but if dere was a baptizin' inside of miles 'round f'um whar us lived, us didn't miss it. us knowed how to walk, and went to git de pleasure. "atter slaves got in f'um de fields at night, de 'omans cooked supper whilst de mens chopped wood. lessen de crops was in de grass moughty bad or somepin' else awful urgent, dere warn't no wuk done atter dinner on saddays. de old folks ironed, cleant house, and de lak, and de young folks went out sadday nights and danced to de music what dey made beatin' on tin pans. sundays, youngsters went to de woods and hunted hickernuts and muscadines. de old folks stayed home and looked one anothers haids over for nits and lice. whenever dey found anything, dey mashed it twixt dey finger and thumb and went ahead searchin'. den de 'omans wropt each others hair de way it was to stay fixed 'til de next sunday. "chris'mas us went f'um house to house lookin' for locust and persimmon beer. chillun went to all de houses huntin' gingerbread. ma used to roll it thin, cut it out wid a thimble, and give a dozen of dem little balls to each chile. persimmon beer and gingerbread! what big times us did have at chris'mas. new year's day, dey raked up de hoss and cow lots if de weather was good. marster jus' made us wuk enough on new year's day to call it wukkin', so he could say he made us start de new year right. "marse david had cornshuckin's what lasted two or three weeks at a time. dey had a gen'ral to keep dem brash boys straight. de number of gen'rals 'pended on how much corn us had and how many slaves was shuckin' corn. atter it was all shucked, dere was a big celebration in store for de slaves. dey cooked up washpots full of lamb, kid, pork, and beef, and had collard greens dat was wu'th lookin' at. dey had water buckets full of whiskey. when dem niggers danced atter all dat eatin' and drinkin', it warn't rightly dancin'; it was wrastlin'. "dem moonlight cotton pickin's was big old times. dey give prizes to de ones pickin' de most cotton. de prizes was apt to be a quart of whiskey for de man what picked de most and a dress for de 'oman what was ahead. dem niggers wouldn't take no time to empty cotton in baskets--jus' dumped it out quick on baggin' in de field. "day went f'um one plantation to another to quiltin's. atter de 'omans got thoo' quiltin' and et a big dinner, den dey axed de mens to come in and dance wid 'em. "whenever any of our white folks' gals got married dere was two or three weeks of celebratin'. what a time us did have if it was one of our own little misses gittin' married! when de day 'rived, it was somepin' else. de white folks was dressed up to beat de band and all de slaves was up on deir toes to do evvything jus' right and to see all dey could. atter de preacher done finished his words to de young couple, den dey had de sho' 'nough weddin' feast. dere was all sorts of meat to choose f'um at weddin' dinners--turkeys, geese, chickens, peafowls, and guineas, not to mention good old ham and other meats. "pitchin' hoss shoes and playin' marbles was heaps and lots of fun when i was growin' up. atter while, de old folks 'cided dem games was gamblin' and wouldn't let us play no more. i don't know nothin' t'all 'bout no ghosties. us had 'nough to be skeered of widout takin' up no time wid dat sort of thing. "when marse david changed me f'um calf shepherd to cowboy, he sont three or four of us boys to drive de cows to a good place to graze 'cause de male beast was so mean and bad 'bout gittin' atter chillun, he thought if he sont enough of us dere wouldn't be no trouble. dem days, dere warn't no fence law, and calves was jus' turned loose in de pastur to graze. da fust time i went by myself to drive de cows off to graze and come back wid 'em, aunt vinnie 'ported a bunch of de cows was missin', 'bout of em, when she done de milkin' dat night, and i had to go back huntin' dem cows. de moon come out, bright and clear, but i couldn't see dem cows nowhar--didn't even hear de bell cow. atter while i was standin' in de mayberry field a-lookin' crost dry fork crick and dere was dem cows. de bell was pulled so clost on de bell cow's neck whar she was caught in de bushes, dat it couldn't ring. i looked at dem cows--den i looked at de crick whar i could see snakes as thick as de fingers on your hand, but i knowed i had to git dem cows back home, so i jus' lit out and loped 'cross dat crick so fast dem snakes never had no chanct to bite me. dat was de wust racket i ever got in. "marse david and miss betsey tuk moughty good keer of deir niggers, 'specially when dey was sick. dr. bynam bell, deir oldest son, was a doctor but miss betsey was a powerful good hand at doctoring herself. she looked atter all da slave 'omans. for medicines dey give us asafiddy (asafetida), calomel, and castor oil more dan anything else for our diff'unt ailments. "marse david's nephew, mr. henry bell, visited at de big house durin' de war, and he was cut down jus' a few days atter he left us and went back to de battlefield. "us had been hearin' fust one thing and another 'bout freedom might come, when one mornin' mr. will bell, a patteroller, come ridin' on his hoss at top speed thoo' de rye field whar us was at wuk. us made sho' he was atter some pore slave, 'til he yelled out: 'what you niggers wukkin' for? don't you know you is free as jay birds?' 'bout dat time de trumpet blowed for dinner and us fell in line a-marchin' up to de big house. marse david said: 'you all might jus' as well be free as anybody else.' den he promised to give us somepin' to eat and wear if us would stay on wid him, and dere us did stay for 'bout three years atter de war. i was burnt up den, 'cause i didn't have de privilege of ridin' 'hind miss betsey on old puss no more when she went to meetin'. "whar us lived, ku kluxers was called 'night thiefs.' dey stole money and weepons (weapons) f'um niggers atter de war. dey tuk $ in gold f'um me and $ in jeff davis' shimplasters f'um my brother. pa and ma had left dat money for us to use when us got big enough. a few niggers managed somehow to buy a little land. i couldn't rightly say when de school was set up. "me and carrie rucker, us ain't been married long. i thinks big weddin's is a foolish waste of time and money. yessum, i'm moughty proud of all of carrie's grandchillun and i'm fond of evvyone of dem great-grandchillun of hers. "well, it was a god-sent method mr. lincoln used to give us our freedom. mr. davis didn't want no war, and he 'posed it all he knowed how, but if he hadn't a gone ahead and fit, dere never would have been nothin' done for us. far as i knows, booker washin'ton done some good things in his day and time, but i don't know much 'bout him. "in a way, i'm satisfied wid what confronts me. a pusson in jail or on de chaingang would ruther be outside and free dan in captivity. dat's how i feels. "when dey read dis passage of de bible to me, i 'cided to jine up wid de church. 'come ye out f'um amongst dem, and ye shall be my people.' i think evvybody ought to read dat verse, jine de church, and den live 'ligious lifes. i done been changed f'um darkness to light. 'oh, for a closer walk wid god.' "yes ma'am, miss, i done been here a long time i done seed many come and go. lots of changes has tuk place. i done told you 'bout f'um de cradle to de grave, and i enjoyed doin' it. all dat ricollectin' sho' tuk me back over many a rocky road, but dem was de days what ain't never gwine to be no more." person interviewed: annie huff, ex-slave, of near macon, georgia jul a large windmill beside the highway, on the houston road near seven bridges, draws the attention of a traveler to a two-story house, recently remodeled, which was the colonial home of mr. travis huff, now occupied by mrs. rosa melton, his grand-daughter. during the days of slavery the master and an indulgent mistress with their twelve slaves lived on this property. mr. huff's family was a large one, all of whom were well educated and very religious. several of his daughters became teachers after the close of the civil war. among the "quarter" families were annie huff and her daughters, mary being the elder. the mother cooked and the small children learned to sweep the yard and to do minor jobs in the field at a very early age. at the age of twelve, the girls were taught to card and spin as well as to knit and were required to do a certain task each day until they were large enough to assist with the heavier work. the adult females did this type of work after sunset, when their labor in the field was over. on rainy days they shucked and shelled corn or did some other kind of indoor labor. generally, this group was humanely treated, but occasionally one was unmercifully beaten. in spite of the fact that there was only one male among his slaves, mr. huff's outbursts of temper caused him to be so cruel that his daughters would frequently beg him to end his punishment. frolics were mostly given at corn shuckings, cane grindings, hog killings, or quiltings. at hog killing time, huge containers of water were heated in the yard. when it reached the desired temperature, the hogs were driven to a certain spot where they were struck a hard blow on the head. when they fell, they were stuck with a very sharp knife, then scalded in the boiling water. the hair and dirt were then scrubbed off and they were a pretty light color as they hung from a rack to be dressed. when the work was completed, the guests cooked chitterlings and made barbecue to be served with the usual gingercake and persimmon beer. they then dressed in their colorful "sunday" garments, dyed with maple and dogwood bark, to engage in promenades, cotillions, etc., to the time of a quill instrument. on sunday, church services were held at old liberty church where seats in the rear were provided for all adult slaves. the small children were not allowed to attend these services, but they frequently sneaked away from home and attended in spite of the restriction. it was expedient that they also leave before the close of the service, but often lingered on the roadside and waited for mr. huff to pass. he'd stop and ask them where they's been, and as they danced up and down they replied in chorus: "we've been to church, master; we've been to church." the presence of slave visitors was not encouraged, for mr. huff usually purchased women with children and there were no married couples living on his place. however, young negro men would often sneak in the cabins at night--usually coming through the windows--and visit with their sweethearts. gifts of handkerchiefs and earrings were smuggled in strictly against the rules of the master. children tattlers kept mr. huff informed regarding the happenings in the quarters, but their silence could be bought with a few shin plasters. this "hush" money and that made from running errands were enough to keep the children supplied with spending change. often, when their childish prattle had caused some adult to be punished, mrs. huff would keep them in the house for a night to escape the wrath of the offender. all food was raised on the plantation and cooked in the family kitchen. every one had the same kind of food and the game caught or killed by the elder sons was a delicacy relished by all. when the family meal was served, a mischievous collection of black children would sometimes crawl under the table and meddle with each person seated there. instead of being scolded, they would receive luscious morsels from the hands of the diners. mrs. huff often laughingly stated that she knew not which was more annoying--"the children or the chickens, as neither were disciplined." probably because of the absence of male slaves, no shoe-maker was maintained. footwear for the entire group was purchased at strong's shoe store in macon. superstition was usually a part of the life of a slave. those seeking to escape from a cruel master used to rub turpentine on the soles of their feet to prevent capture. others collected quantities of soil from a graveyard and sprinkled it in their tracks for a certain distance. both of these precautions were used to throw the dogs off scent. refugee slaves often found shelter on mr. huff' estate, where they were assisted in further flight by the huff negroes. those who remained in the woods were fed regularly. mr. huff was not in favor of emancipating the slaves. one of his sons, ramsey huff, fought in the confederate army. the slaves rejoiced at every bit of news which they heard regarding the probability of their being freed by the yankees. during the latter part of the war, people from macon journeyed to the outlying swampy sections to hide their valuables, many of which were never recovered. mr. huff owned a place in houston county where he hid most of his provisions, but these were stolen before the close of the war. a few yankees who visited his home did little damage beyond the destruction of a turnip patch. when the war ended, mr. huff would not tell his slaves they were free, for, it was said, that he hated the thought of a negro being able to wear a starched shirt. slaves from neighboring plantations spread the news. a few days later mrs. huff returned from a trip to macon and called all the children together to tell them that, even though they were free, they would have to remain with her until they were twenty-one. little mary exclaimed loudly--"i'm free! i won't stay here at all!" when the emancipation proclamation was made public, the yankee soldiers gave a dinner in macon for all negroes and poor whites who cared to come. a line was formed on the outside of the building in which the dinner was served and no one was allowed to enter unless he was in poor circumstances. food of every description was served in abundance and all admitted were allowed to eat as much as they desired. annie huff moved to macon when she was freed and her daughter, mary, now eighty-seven years old, was reared here. she attributed her long life to the excellent care she has always taken of herself. huff, mary, cotton avenue, macon, georgia adella s. dixon district may bryant huff old slave story bryant huff was the son of janie and daniel huff who were born on neighboring plantations between camack and augusta. they were married while they still belonged to separate owners, but when "marse" jesse rigerson, to whom janie belonged, decided to move, he bought daniel in order that he might live with his wife and family. they moved to warren county and it was here that bryant was born. he was one of twelve children. bryant's early life was not one to inspire pleasant memories for his master, a highly educated man; ardent church worker, had a cruel nature and a temper that knew no bounds. owning acres of land in a fairly level section, he ruled his small kingdom with an iron hand. bryant's father, daniel, was the only man who did not fear "marse" rigerson. the quarters consisted of poorly constructed cabins with worse interiors. there were no beds, only bunks made of two poles balancing sides nailed to the walls. rags and old clothing served as a mattress and the other furniture was equally bad. food was cooked on an open fireplace and the frying pan was the most important utensil; vegetables were boiled in a swinging kettle. the griddle stood several inches from the floor, on three small pegs. through the middle a "pin" was placed so that the griddle might revolve as the bread etc., cooked on the side near the hottest part of the fire. matches, a luxury, were then sold in small boxes the size of the average snuff box at ten cents per box. all the slaves worked from sunrise to sunset; the majority did field work. women, as well as men, shared farm work. small boys not old enough to be sent to the field, minded horses, drove cows to and from the pasture, and did chores around the "big house". a few women prepared meals and supervised a group of younger girls who did general work in the big house. sunday was the only day of rest and usually all the adults attended church. on this plantation a church with a colored minister was provided and services, while conducted on the same order as those of the white churches, were much longer. generally children were not allowed to attend church, but occasionally this privilege was granted to one. huff recalls vividly his first visit to sunday services. being very small and eager to attend he sat quietly by his mother's side and gazed with wonder at the minister and congregation. an emotional outburst was part of the services and so many of the "sisters" got "happy" that the child, not having witnessed such a scene before, was frightened; as the number of shouters increased, he ran from the building screaming in terror. of the children in his family, were sold. the eldest child, harriet, owned by a judge who lived on a neighboring plantation, returned to the family after emancipation. the father left home in a fit of anger because one of his children had been whipped. the master, knowing how devoted he was to his wife, placed her and her infant child in jail. shortly afterward, the father returned and was allowed to visit his wife and to go unmolested. a few weeks later he came back to the jail, and was allowed to enter, as before, but when ready to leave, was told that he was there for safe keeping. the next day, he and his son, johnie, were sold to some speculators who promised to carry them so far away that they could not return. as daniel left, he told his wife to wait for him to return, whether it be months or years. she grieved over his departure and refused, although urged, to marry again. a few months before the close of the civil war, her husband appeared and remained on the plantation until emancipation. johnie was accidently killed shortly after his departure. while most of the punishment was given by the "patty-roller" and the master, in some instances overseers were allowed to administer it. some of these overseers were negroes and occasionally there was trouble when they attempted to punish another slave. huff recalls having seen one of these "bosses" approach his mother as she toiled in the field and questioned her regarding her whereabouts on the previous evening. she refused to answer and as he approached her in a threatening manner, she threw piles of twigs upon him. (she was loading a wagon with small limbs cut from trees on "new ground"). he fled in terror. that night, as the mother and her children were seated in their cabin, the same man accompanied by their master entered, tied her hands and led her from the home. she was carried quite a distance down the road and severely beaten. food was provided by the master who gave it out in regular weekly allotments. collard greens, peas, smoked meat and corn bread were the chief items on all menus. on sundays a small amount of flour for biscuits and some coffee was given; buttermilk was always plentiful. holidays were usually synonymous with barbecue when large hogs and beeves were killed and an ample supply of fresh meat was given each person. as all food was raised on the plantation, everyone had plenty. cloth spun from cotton produced at home was woven into the material under the watchful eye of the mistress, afterwards being cut into dresses for the women, shirts and trousers for men. winter garments were made of wool from home raised sheep. some of this home-spun material was colored with dye made from powdered red rocks. with a shoe hammer, last, pegs (instead of nails) and a standard pattern slave cobblers fashioned shoes from the hides of their master's cattle. they were no models of beauty, but strong, durable shoes designed for hard wear. bryant was not superstitious, although he did sometimes wonder when "signs" proved true. superstition, however, had a strong grip on slave life. a fellow slave named andy was a seasoned runaway and the overseer usually set the hounds after him. (going to a fortune teller andy secured a "hound" which caused all dogs to be friendly with him. there after when the hounds were set upon him, he played with them, turned their ears inside out, and sent them back to their owner.) the attitude of the slaves toward freedom varied and as they were not allowed to discuss it, their hope was veiled in such expressions as the "lord will provide". some were even afraid to settle any statement and silently prayed that their release would come soon. some feared that something might prevent their emancipation so they ran away and joined the yankee army, hoping to be able to destroy their former master. during this time masters suffered as well as their slaves, for many of their sons went gaily forth to battle and were never heard of again. simpson rigerson, son of "marse" jesse rigerson, was lost to his parents. a younger son, who lost his right hand while "helping" feed cane to a grinder, is the only member of the family now living. sorrow did not break this slaves group and they soon learned to sing away their troubles. one song which gives some light on their attitude toward the government went as follows: i. jeff davis rode the gray horse ole lincoln rode the mule jeff davis is the gentleman ole lincoln is the fool chorus: i'll lay ten dollars down i'll count it one by one. i'll give ten dollars to know the man who struck peter butler's son. ii. i lay down in my bed i lay down in no dread conscript come and took me and dragged me from my bed. iii. i went down a new cut road she went down the lane i turned my back upon her and 'long come liza jane. after freedom was declared, bryant huff's family moved several miles from the rigerson plantation to one owned by an elderly woman. they ran from a mean master but their flight was a "leap from the frying pan into the fire", for this woman proved even worse than their former master. at the close of the war the k.k.k. was very active and their fearful exploits made them the terror of the slaves. a band of the latter was organized to attempt to curb the k.k.k. activities. neither gang knew who was a member of the other, but their clashes were frequent. one night the k.k.k. appeared at the huff cabin and when admitted took the father, an uncle, and a man named mansfield from the house. after forcing the father to break a gun which he had borrowed from mr. rigerson, they beat him so brutally that his arm was broken. the uncle, a minister who preached a type of doctrine that they liked, was unharmed. mansfield, accused of being a member of the anti-k.k.k. gang, was beaten unmercifully. while this was being done, two members of the gang returned to the house where they searched the back room (men slept in the front room, the women and children in the rear) to see if any adults were secreted there. the small boys under the bed said "don't harm us, we're only children". after this outrage, done at the request of the mistress, the huff family moved back to the rigerson plantation. mr. rigerson's harsh disposition was broken after the civil war ended and he repented of his severe treatment of his former slaves. daniel huff whom he had despised and feared, became his best friend who nursed him until death. huff's wife received three acres of ground and two houses from her former master who also gave her an apology for his past meanness and stated that he wished to provide her with a home for life. during this period martial law prevailed in the south. the yankee troops, placed in every town, were the only police present and all cases from the county were presented to them for settlement. a few years after emancipation, bryant then a young man, ran away from home and apprenticed himself to a physician who became interested in his thirst for knowledge and gave him an opportunity to attend school. after several years of hard study, he went before the board of examiners in order to teach. after examinations he was immediately appointed to teach at the school where he had once been a pupil. huff, now on aged man, is dependent upon local relief for his sustenance. he is able to do light work like sweeping yards and is a very good umbrella mender and shoe repairer, but is not able to go in search of work. he has smoked since he was a young man and has never taken especial care of his health, so his long life may be attributed to a strong constitution. plantation life as related by ex-slave: [tr: date stamped may ] easter huff rockspring st., athens, georgia. written by: sadie b. hornsby athens, georgia edited by: sarah h. hall athens -- florence blease john n. booth augusta, georgia. easter huff =ex-slave--age = easter eagerly complied with the request for the story of her life, "i done forgot a heap i knowed, but i allus loves to talk 'bout de old times." she declared solemnly. "dis young race lives so fas' dey needs to know what a hard time us had." "i was borned in oglethorpe county on marse jabe smith's plantation. i don't 'zactly know how old i is, but i was jus' a chap when de war ended. easter is my right name, but white folkses calls me esther. mammy was louisa smith, but i don't know nothin' 'bout my gram'ma, 'cause she died 'fore i was born, and she done de cookin' in de white folkses house. i can't tell you nothin' 'bout neither one of my gram'pas. "us slep' on corded beds what had high postes and ruffled curtains 'round de foot. de beds what had curtains all 'round de top of dem high postes was called teester beds. when all dem curtains was fresh washed and starched, de beds sho' did look grand. chilluns slep' on pallets on de flo'. "mammy was a plow hand, but us chillun didn't do nothin' much 'cept eat and play and sleep in de grass 'til she got in from de fiel' evvy night. de big old cook house had a partition 'crost it, and on one side aunt peggy done all de cookin' for old marster's household and for de slaves too. on de udder side of de partition was de loom room whar aunt peggy weaved all de cloth and mrs. lacy hines, what lived on another plantation not far f'um us, made all our clothes. "chilluns didn't know nothin' 'bout gittin' no money of dey own 'til atter de war. mammy, she made her little money knittin' socks, and patchin' clothes at night, and she had done saved up nigh $ . in confederate money. dey called it confederate shucks atter de war 'cause it warn't no good no more den, and she let us chillun play wid it. de shin plasters was confederate money for as low as cents. "victuals dem days warn't fancy lak day is now, but marstar allus seed dat us had plenty of milk and butter, all kinds of greens for bilein', 'tatoes and peas and sich lak. chilluns et cornbread soaked in de pot liquor what de greens or peas done been biled in. slaves never got much meat. dey mixed butter wid home-made syrup and sopped it up wid cornbread. dare warn't much wheat bread for slaves. "dere was a good 'possum hound on de plantation what was a fine rabbit dog too, and marster let us use him to ketch us lots of 'possums and rabbits. de mens went seinin' at night in buffalo crick what run thoo' marse jabe's place. dey used to put back all de little fishes and de turkles and tarrepins. 'possums was baked wid sweet 'tatoes and rabbits was parbiled in a big old open fireplace in big pots and skillets. marster had one big gyarden whar enough was growed for evvybody on de whole plantation, but some of de slaves was 'lowed to have deir own little gyardens and cotton patches what dey wukked on moonlight nights. "de gal chillun in dem days wore little slips, and de boys had shirts split up de sides. dey jus' wore one piece in summer, no drawers or nothin'. in de winter us had good warm clothes, made out of coarse ausenburg (osnaburg) cloth. us wore de same clothes sundays as evvyday, only us was s'posed to put 'em on clean on sunday mornin'. a colored man named clark dogget made our shoes out of rough red leather what never had been dyed or colored up none. sometimes manuel would have to help him wid de shoemakin'. "on sundays mammy would comb my hair and put a clean dress on me, and den take me to de white folkses' church at salem, whar dere was two rows of benches in de back for slaves. rev. brantley calloway was de pastor, and rev. patrick butler preached too. "i never seed no baptizin's or fun'als in slavery days, but atter anybody was buried mammy tuk us to de graveyard and let us look at de grave. dey allus put a fence made wid pine poles 'round de grave. some few of de slaves might have read de bible a little, but dar warn't none what could write. "i jined church 'cause i was converted and had done changed my way of livin'. i think folkses ought to be 'ligious so dey can help others to live lak de bible says. "marse jabe smith was a good white man. he was a grand fiddler and he used to call us to de big house at night to dance for him. i couldn't do nothin' 'cept jump up and down and i sho' did git tired. marse jabe warn't married. he raised his brother's chillun, but dey was all grown when de war come on. "i done clean forgot de name of marster's overseer and i don't ricollec' how many acres was in dat plantation, but it sho' was a big one. dere was 'bout grown slaves, and a lot of nigger chillun rompin' round. de overseer got 'em up 'bout three 'clock and dey stayed in de field 'til sundown 'fore dey started for de house. "when dey got f'um de fields at night, de 'omans spun, mended, and knit, and de mens wukked in deir gyardens and cotton patches. winter nights dey plaited baskets and made hoss collars. all de slaves knocked off at twelve o'clock sadday. dere was allus somepin' to do on sadday night--frolics, dances, and sich lak. dey picked de banjo and knocked on tin pans for music to dance by. sunday was a rest day. slaves visited each other or went to church if dey wanted to, but dey had to git a pass. "i seed dem patterollers on hosses jus' goin' it down de big road. i seed 'em axin' niggers dey met if dey had passes. attar dey looked at de passes, dey would let 'em go on. but if a slave was cotched widout no pass dey would beat him mos' nigh to death. if us had patterollers to keep niggers f'um gallivantin' 'round so much now days, dar wouldn't be so much devilment done. "some of de slaves jus' had to be whupped 'cause dey wouldn't behave. on our plantation, de overseer done de whuppin'; marse jabe never totched 'em. mammy told us 'bout seein' slaves put on de block in virginny and sold off in droves lak hosses. "didn't none of marse jabe's niggers run off to de north dat i knowed 'bout. one nigger named barlow what was too lazy to wuk in de field slipped off to de woods and made hisself a den to live in. he made baskets, footmats, and brooms, and used to come out at night and sell 'em. dey said he would steal de white folkses' hogs, chickens, and jus' anythin' he could put his hands on. if dey ever cotched him, i don't know nothin' 'bout it. mammy used to skeer us pretty nigh to death at night when she wanted us to go on to bed. she said if us didn't go to sleep barlow sho' would git us. "oh! us did have a time at chris'mas. dey would have plenty to eat; eggnog and all sorts of good things, and sometimes mens and 'omans got drunk and cut up. marse jabe allus give us a little cheese to eat christmas time. on new year's day all de slaves went to de big house for a council. marse jabe would talk to 'em and counsel 'em for de new year and tell 'em how to live. "cornshuckin's! yassum, i ricollects cornshuckin's. de folkses comed f'um all de plantations close 'round. atter dey was thoo' wid shuckin' de corn, dey gathered 'round a long table in de yard. marse jabe had de prettiest level yard you ever seed; it was swept so nice and clean. de victuals was piled on dat table, and dey give us great kegs of apple and peach brandy. "mammy used to tell us 'bout raw-head an' bloody-bones if us didn't go to bed when she wanted to go out. us sho' would pile in in a hurry den, and duck under dat kivver and most nigh die 'cause us was skeered to look out lessen he mought be dar atter us. "marse jabe was mighty good to his slaves when dey got sick. i seed mammy sick once. dr. lumpkin landon was sont atter. de slaves would git fever weeds and sweetgum bark, bile 'em together, and take de tea for colds, coughs, and fever. dey wore little sacks of assfidity (assafoetida) 'round dey necks to keep off disease, and strung hollow treadsass (treadsalve) roots on strings lak necklaces and hung 'em 'round de babies' necks to make 'em teethe easy. "soon atter de surrender, marse jabe told his niggers dey was free as he was, but dat he didn't want nary one to leave him. he wanted 'em to stay wid him he said, and he offered to pay 'em wages. dere warn't nary one what left. mammy wukked and plowed right on lak she done before. atter i was big enough, i went to lexin'ton to wuk for mrs. mcwhorter. "when i married bob willin'ham, i sho' had a nice weddin'. i was married in a blue merino dress. my underskirt was white as snow wid trimmin's on it. i wore long drawers what was trimmed fancy at de bottom. our white folkses give us lots of cake, turkey, ham, and sich lak for de weddin' feast. our only child was named minnie, and dere was five of our grandchillun, but dey's all dead now but two. one lives in cincinnati, ohio, and i lives wid de udder one what wuks at de chapter house here. atter bob died, i married lumpkin huff, but us didn't have no weddin' dat time. de preacher jus' come to my house and married us. i went to elberton wid 'im, but he was so mean i didn't live wid 'im but eight months before i come back to athens. "dey used to have a song 'bout mr. lincoln when i was a little chap, but i done forgot it. no ma'am, i don't know nothin' 'bout mr. davis and booker washin'ton. dem days i never heard much 'bout folkses away off f'um here. "i b'lieve i'se done told you all i knows 'bout back days. i don't know nothin' 'bout dese fas' present-day ways o' livin'. when i was a chap and got a whuppin' and mammy heerd 'bout it i got another one. now dey takes you to de law. yes ma'am, for myself i'd rather have de old days wid good old marster to take keer of me." plantation life, as viewed by an ex-slave written by: miss grace mccune athens -- edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens -- and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residences no. & augusta, georgia sept. , . =lina hunter= ex-slave, age about bailey street athens, georgia lina hunter's weather-beaten house nestles at the foot of a long hill, and several large chinaberry trees furnish shade for her well-kept yard. as the visitor hesitated before the rickety front steps someone called from inside the house, "chile, do be keerful on dem old steps 'cause dey might fall wid you; dey done went through wid some of dese chillun here." the tall mulatto woman who came to the door had tiny plaits of white hair that covered her head in no apparent design. her faded print dress was clean, and she wore badly scuffed brogan shoes several sizes too large on her stockingless feet. in answer to an inquiry she replied: "dis is lina's house, and i is lina. have a cheer out here on de porch, please, mam, 'cause de gals is ironin' in de house and dem fire buckets sho make it hot in dar." lina readily agreed to tell of her life in the ante-bellum period. "i 'members all 'bout slavery time," she laughed, "cause i was right dar. course i warn't grown-up, but i was big enough to holp great-granny rose look atter all dem other slave chillun whilst deir mammies and daddies was in de field at wuk. "anne and peter billups was my mammy and daddy, and my granddaddy and grandmammy was washin'ton and tiller billups; all of 'em belonged to old marster jack billups. marse jack stayed in athens, but his plantation, whar i was borned and whar all my folks was borned and raised, was 'way down in oglethorpe county. i don't rightly know how old i is, 'cause all marster's old records is done got lost or 'stroyed, evvy blessed one of 'em, but i'se been here a mighty long time. "honey, dat old plantation was sho one big place. back of de big house, whar de overseer lived, was just rows and rows of slave cabins. dey stacked 'em up out of big logs jus' lak dey made hog-pen fences. all de cracks 'twixt de logs was chinked up tight wid red mud and, let me tell you, honey, dey was keerful to lay on so much red mud over dem sticks dat chimblies on our place never did ketch fire lak dey did on some of de places whar dey done things sort of shiftless lak. dem cabins had two rooms and a shed room 'crost de back whar day done de cookin'. two famblies lived in evvy cabin. "dey allus had plenty to cook, 'cause dere was plenty of victuals raised on marse jack's place. chillun was all fed up at de big house whar marse garner, de overseer, lived. deir mammies was 'lowed to come in from de fields in time to cook dinner for de menfolks, but dey didn't git deir chillun back home 'til atter supper. granny rose had 'em all day, and she had to see dat dey had de right sort of victuals to make chillun grow fast and strong. chillun et out of wooden trays, and, honey, dey sho was some sight; dey looked jus' lak pig troughs. dey poured peas, cabbage, or whatever de chillun was to eat right in dat trough on top of a passel of cornbread. for supper chillun jus' had milk and bread, but dere was allus plenty of it. marse jack had lots of cows, and old aunt mary didn't have no other job but to churn enough so dere would allus be plenty of milk and butter, 'cause marse jack had done said milk was good for chillun and dat us was to have it to drink any time us wanted it. "evvybody cooked on fireplaces den. i jus' wish you could see dat big old fireplace in de big house kitchen; you could stand up in it. it had long racks clear acrost de inside for de pots what dey biled in to hang on. bakin' was done in thick iron skillets dat had heavy lids. you sot 'em on coals and piled more coals all over 'em. us had somepin dat most folks didn't have; dat was long handled muffin pans. dey had a lid dat fitted down tight, and you jus' turned 'em over in de fire 'til de muffins was cooked on both sides. i had dem old muffin irons here, but de lid got broke off and dese here boys done lost 'em diggin' in de ground wid 'em. dem victuals cooked on open fireplaces was mighty fine, and i wishes you could have a chance to see jus' how nice dey was. "evvy kind of vegetable us knowed anything 'bout was raised right dar on de place and dey had big old fields of corn, oats, rye, and wheat. us had lots of fruit trees on de plantation too. dere warn't no runnin' off to de store evvy time dere was a special meal to be got up. coffee, sugar, salt, and black pepper was de most marse jack had to buy in de way of victuals. course dey was hard to git in war times. parched corn and okra seed was ground together for coffee, and us had to git up dirt under old smokehouses and bile it down for salt. dere was allus a little sugar 'round de sides of de syrup barr'ls, and us had to make out wid dat hot red pepper 'til atter de war was done over a good long time, 'fore dere was any more black pepper shipped in. spite of all dat, honey, dem was good old days. "marster raised enough cows, sheep, hogs, chickens, and turkeys for us to have all de meat us needed. he had lots of mules and oxen too. dey used de mules for 'most of de plowin' and for goin' to mill, and don't forgit it took plenty of goin' to mill to feed as many niggers as our marster had. lordy, lady! i never knowed how many slaves he owned. oxen pulled dem two-wheeled carts dey hauled in de craps wid, and i has rid to town in a ox-cart many a time. dem old oxen was enough to make a preacher lose his best 'ligion. dey had a heap of mean ways, but de wust thing dey done was to run spang down in de water evvy time dey come to a crick. it never mattered how deep it was, and you might holler all day, but dey warn't coming out of dat water 'till dey was good and ready. dat happened evvy time dey saw a crick, but dere warn't nothin' us could do 'bout it, for marse jack sho never 'lowed nobody to lay deir paws on his stock. "folks wove all deir cloth at home dem days. dey made up plenty of cotton cloth for hot weather, and for de cold wintertime, dere warn't nothin' warmer dat us knowed about dan de cloth dey made out of home-raised wool and cotton. marster kept a slave dat didn't have nothin' else to do but make shoes for evvybody on de place. yes, mam, honey, dey tanned de hide evvy time dey kilt a cow. leather was tanned wid whiteoak bark. chillun's shoes was finished off wid brass knobs on de toes, and us was sho mighty dressed up niggers when us got on dem shoes wid deir shiny knobs. little gals' dresses was made wid long skirts gathered on to plain waisties. dere warn't no showin' de legs lak dey does now. little boys had red and black jeans suits made wid waisties and britches sewed together in front but wid a long buttoned-up openin' in de back. most of de other places jus' put long shirts on little boys, but dat warn't de way dey done on our place, 'cause us didn't belong to no pore folks. our marster had plenty and he did lak to see his niggers fixed up nice. course in summertime none of de chillun didn't wear nothin' but little slips, so dey could keep cool, but in winter it was diffunt. honey, dem old balmoral petticoats was some sight, but dey was sho warm as hell. i seed a piece of one of mine not long ago whar i had done used it to patch up a old quilt. 'omans' dresses was made jus' about lak dis one i got on now, 'ceptin' i didn't have enough cloth to make de skirt full as dem old-time clothes used to be." the old woman stood up to show just how her dress was fashioned. the skirt, sewed to a plain, close-fitting waist, was very full in the back, but plain across the front. lina called attention to an opening on the left side of the front. "see here, chile," she said, "here's a sho 'nough pocket. jus' let me turn it wrong-side-out to show you how big it is. why, i used a whole pound flour sack to make it 'cause i don't lak none of dese newfangled little pockets. i lak things de way i was raised. dis pocket hangs down inside and nobody don't see it. de chilluns fusses 'bout my big pocket, but it ain't in none of deir dresses, and i'se sho gwine to wear 'em 'til dey is wore out to a gnat's heel. "chillun never had to wuk on our plantation 'til dey was big enough to go to de fields, and dat was when dey was around to years old. dey jus' played 'round de yards and down by de wash-place dat was a little ways off from de big house on a branch dat run from de big spring. on wash days dat was a busy place, wid lots of 'omans bending over dem great big wash pots and de biggest old wooden tubs i ever seed. dere was plenty racket 'round de battlin' block whar dey beat de dirt out of de clothes, and dey would sing long as dey was a-washin'. "marster was sho good to his niggers all de time. course he made 'em wuk 'less dey was sick. chillun never had nothin' to do 'cept eat, sleep, and play. evvy time marse jack come out to his plantation he brung candy for all de pickaninnies, and, honey, it warn't in no little sacks neither; dere was allus plenty for 'em all, and it was a mighty big crowd of us. marster loved to come out on sundays to see us chillun git our heads combed. honey, dere sho was hollerin' on dat place when dey started wukin' on us wid dem jim crow combs what was made lak a curry comb 'ceppin' dey warn't quite as wide acrost. when dem jim crow combs got stuck in dat tangled, kinky wool, damn if dem chillun didn't yell, and marster would laugh and tell granny rose to comb it good. "granny rose larnt me to keep clean and fix myself up nice, and, honey, i ain't got too old to primp up now. one thing dis old nigger ain't never done is to put hair straightener on her head, 'cause de blessed lord sont me here wid kinky hair, and i'se gwine 'way from here wid dat same old kinky hair. it's white now, but dat ain't no fault of mine. honey, i sho do trust dat good lord. why, i 'member when i used to pull out my own teeth; i jus' tied a string 'round 'em, laid down on my bed, and said, 'lord, i is in your hands,' and den i would give dat string a hard yank and out come dem damn teeth. "yes, mam, i'se seed slaves sold. dey jus' put dem niggers up on de block and bid 'em off. a smart worker brought a big price, and a good breedin' 'oman sho did fetch de money, 'cause all de white folks did lak to have plenty chillun 'round. dem breedin' 'omans never done no wuk a t'all; dey made other slaves wait on 'em 'til atter deir babies was borned. slave 'omans what had babies was sont back from de fields in de mornin' and atter dinner so deir babies could suck 'til atter dey was big enough to eat bread and milk; den dey was kept wid de other chillun for granny rose to keer for. "slaves didn't even git married lak folks does now. dere warn't none of dem newfangled licenses to buy. all dey had to do was tell marster dey wanted to marry up. if it was all right wid him he had 'em jump over a broom and dey was done married. slaves couldn't git out and do no courtin' on other plantations widout deir marsters knowed it, 'cause dey had to have passes to leave de place whar dey lived. if dey was brash enough to go off widout no pass de paterollers would cotch 'em for sho, and dey would nigh beat 'em to death. dat didn't stop courtin', 'specially on our place, 'cause dey jus' tuk anybody dey laked; it didn't matter whose man or 'oman dey had. "marster had a big old ginhouse on de plantation about miles from de big house, but i never seed in it, 'cause dey didn't 'low 'omans and chillun 'round it. de menfolks said dey hitched up mules to run it, and dat dey had a cotton press inside de ginhouse. dey said it was a heap of trouble to git rid of all dem old cotton-seeds dat piled up so fast in ginnin' time. dere was a great big wuk-shop on de place too, whar dey fixed evvything, and dat was whar dey made coffins when anybody died. yes, mam, evvything was made at home, even down to de coffins. "dere didn't many folks die out back in dem good old days, 'cause dey was made to take keer of deirselfs. dey had to wuk hard, but dey et plenty and went to bed reg'lar evvy night in wuk time. when one of 'em did die out, deir measure was tuk and a coffin was made up and blackened 'til it looked right nice. whenever dere was a corpse on de place marster didn't make nobody do no wuk, 'cept jus' look atter de stock, 'til atter de buryin'. dey fixed up de corpses nice. yes, mam, sho as you is borned, dey did; dey made new clothes for 'em and buried 'em decent in de graveyard on de place. marse jack seed to dat. dey put de coffin on a wagon, and de folks walked to de graveyard. dere was crowds of 'em; dey come from jus' evvywhar. a preacher, or some member of deir marster's fambly, said a prayer, de folks sung a hymn, and it was all over. 'bout de biggest buryin' us ever had on our place was for a 'oman dat drapped down in de path and died when she was comin' in from de field to nuss her baby. yes, mam, she was right on de way to granny rose's cabin in de big house yard. "no, mam, i ain't forgot when de yankees come to our place. dat was right atter de end of de war, not long atter us had been told 'bout freedom. when us heared dey was on deir way us tuk and hid all de stuff us could, but dey sho tore up dat place. dey tuk all de meat out of de smokehouse and give it to de niggers, but deir bellies was already full and dey didn't need it, so dey give it back to marse jack soon as dem sojers was gone. 'fore dey left dem yankee sojers tuk marse jack's mules and horses slap out of de plows and rid 'em off, and left deir old wore-out stock right dar. "freedom didn't make so many changes on our place right at fust, 'cause most of de slaves stayed right on dar, and things went on jus' lak dey had 'fore dere was any war. marse jack had done told 'em dey was free, but dat dem what wanted to stay would be tuk keer of same as 'fore de war. dere warn't many what left neither, 'cause marse jack had been so good to evvy one of 'em dey didn't want to go 'way. "honey, back in dem good old days us went to church wid our white folks. slaves sot in de gallery or in de back of de church. i'se been to dat old cherokee corners church more times dan i knows how to count, but de fust baptizin' i ever seed was at de old st. jean church; dere was jus' three or four baptized dat day, but lordy, i never did hear such prayin', shoutin', and singin', in all my born days. one old 'oman come up out of dat crick a-shoutin' 'bout she was walkin' through de pearly gates and wearin' golden slippers, but i looked down at her foots and what she had on looked more lak brogans to me. i kin still hear our old songs, but it's jus' now and den dat dey come back to my mind." for a moment lina was quiet, then she said, "honey, i wants to smoke my old pipe so bad i kin most taste it, but how in hell kin i smoke when i ain't had no 'baccy in two days? chile, ain't you got no 'baccy wid you, jus' a little 'baccy? you done passed de nighest store 'bout miles back toward town," she said, "but if you will pay for some 'baccy for lina, some of dese good-for-nothin' chillun kin sho go git it quick and, whilst dey's dar, dey might as well git me a little coffee too, if you kin spare de change." the cash was supplied by the visitor, and lina soon started the children off running. "if you stops airy a minute," she told them, "i'se gwine take de hide offen your backs, sho' as you is borned." as soon as they were out of sight, she returned to her chair and started talking again. "yes, mam, honey, things went on 'bout de same old way atter de war." suddenly the old woman leaped to her feet and began shouting, "bless god a'mighty! praise de lord! i knows de key to prayers. i'se done prayed jus' dis mornin' for de lord to send me some 'baccy and coffee, and god is done sont missy wid de money to answer my prayer. praise de lord! i'se glad i'se here, 'cause i coulda been gone and missed my 'baccy and coffee. praise god! i'se gwine to smoke dat damned old pipe one more time." she seized the visitor by the shoulder as she shouted, "i sho laks your looks, but you may be de devil for all i knows, and you may be fixin' to put me in de chaingang wid all dis here writin', but" here she gave the startled visitor a shake that almost pulled her out of the chair, "damn, if i don't lak you anyhow." her granddaughter, callie, came out on the porch to see what was wrong with lina. "granny," she said, "i wouldn't talk lak dat. missy will think you is dat way all de time." "git back to your ironin', gal," said lina. "i knows i talks right smart ugly. didn't my miss fannie, tell me one time she was gwine to put potash in my mouth to clean it out? now, nigger, i said git, 'fore i hits you." her grandmother started toward her, and callie lost no time going inside the house. lina went back to her chair, and as she sat down started singing. with each note her tones grew louder. the words were something like this: "god a'mighty, when my heart begins to burn and dat old wheel begins to turn, den, oh, lord! don't leave me here." it seemed from the length of her chant that the wheels would turn indefinitely, but no sooner had she finished that song, than she started another. "when my old mammy died a-shoutin', all de friend i had done died and gone. she died a-prayin', she died a-prayin'. "in dat day dat you died, dat you died, gwine to be a star risin' in dat mornin'. didn't you hear 'em say, 'gwine to be a star risin' in de mornin'. "de christians all will know in dat day, dat my old mammy died a-shoutin', died a-shoutin', 'cause dat star sho gwine to be dar. "oh, lord! don't leave me now, oh, lord! but guide me all 'long de way, 'long de way. 'cause i'se in trouble, dat i am. lord! oh, lord! don't leave me now." "honey, i jus' feels lak prayin' and cussin' too, at de same time, but it's 'cause i'se so happy. here i is, i'se nigh 'bout crazy. if old marster could jus' come back i'd sho have plenty of evvy thing i needs. "i 'members dem old frolics us had, when harvest times was over, and all dat corn was piled up ready for de big cornshuckin'. honey, us sho had big old times. us would cook for three or four days gittin' ready for de feast dat was to follow de cornshuckin'. de fust thing dey done was 'lect a general to lead off de singin' and keep it goin' so de faster dey sung, de faster dey shucked de corn. evvy now and den dey passed de corn liquor 'round, and dat holped 'em to wuk faster, and evvy nigger dat found a red ear got a extra swig of liquor. atter de sun went down dey wuked right on by de light of pine torches and bonfires. dem old pine knots would burn for a long time and throw a fine bright light. honey, it was one grand sight out dar at night wid dat old harvest moon a-shinin', fires a-burnin', and dem old torches lit up. i kin jus' see it all now, and hear dem songs us sung. dem was such happy times. when all de corn was shucked and dey had done et all dat big supper, dey danced for de rest of de night. "dey had logrollin's when dere was new ground to be cleared up. de menfolks done most of dat wuk, but de 'omans jus' come along to fix de big supper and have a good time laughin' and talkin' whilst de menfolks was doin' de wuk. atter de logs was all rolled, dey et, and drunk, and danced 'til dey fell out. i'll bet you ain't never seed nothin' lak dem old break-downs and dragouts us had dem nights atter logrollin's. dey sho drug heaps of dem niggers out. "when de harvest moon was 'most as bright as daylight us had cotton pickin's. dem big crowds of slaves would clean out a field in jus' no time, and you could hear 'em singin' a long ways off whilst dey was a-pickin' dat cotton. dey 'most allus had barbecue wid all de fixin's to enjoy when dey finished pickin' out de cotton, and den lots of drinkin' and dancin'. 'bout dat dancin', honey, i could sho cut dem corners. dancin' is one thing i more'n did lak to do, and i wish i could hear dat old dance song again. =miss liza jane=, it was, and some of de words went lak dis, 'steal 'round dem corners, miss liza jane. don't slight none, miss liza jane. swing your partner, miss liza jane.' dere was heaps and lots more of it, but it jus' won't come to me now. "one night not long atter day sot us free, dere was a big old nigger breakdown on our plantation, and such a lot of niggers as you never seed was at dat dance. whilst us was havin' de bestest time, takin' a drink 'twixt dances, us heared a 'oman screamin' lak murder. evvybody run, but us jus' heared a horse runnin' and dat 'oman still hollerin'. de menfolks got on horses and rid all night but dey never did find 'em. one of our gals was gone; a real young one named rose billups. some damn, no 'count nigger had done stole 'er. us didn't larn nothin' 'bout her for nigh onto a year, den she writ to marse jack to come atter her. he went. it was a fur way off, and i don't 'member now whar it was. dat mean man had done most kilt rose, and had left her wid a baby. no, mam, dey didn't never cotch 'im. "norman green had two wives and dey didn't live fur from our plantation. i knows 'bout dat, 'cause in years to come i lived on de same farm whar dey was. it was dis way: his fust wife, tildy, was sold off from him in slavery time. he got married again, and atter freedom come tildy come right back to him. he kept both his wives right dar in de same one-room cabin. deir beds sot right 'side each other. one wife's chilluns was all boys and de other didn't have nothin' but gals. "yes, chile, us wuked hard. i'se seed my mammy plowin' in de fields many a time, wid her skirt pinned up to keep it out of de dirt. yes, mam, us did wuk, but us had a good place to stay, plenty somepin t'eat, and plenty clothes to wear; dere warn't nothin' else us needed. "missy did you ever hear dat old sayin' 'bout folks gittin' speckledy when dey gits old? well, 'cordin' to dat old sayin', i'se sho been here a mighty long time. jus' look at my legs." she raised her skirts to her knees to display the white specks that stood out in clear contrast on her dark skin. "dat's a sho sign of bein' old folks," insisted lina. she stood up and peered down the road, impatient for the return of the children, who were to bring her tobacco and coffee. finally she saw them come over the hill and could hardly restrain herself until they arrived in the yard. snatching the parcels, as the children came up the steps, lina called out, "callie, come here, gal, fix my pipe quick, and put dat coffeepot on de fire bucket, 'cause glory to god! i'se gwine to smoke my old pipe and drink me one more good cup of coffee." when callie finally succeeded in filling and lighting lina's pipe to suit her, and the old woman had inhaled with an exaggerated air of satisfaction for several moments, she indulged in a few more shouts of "praise de lord!" then she said, "honey, i'se ready to talk some more now. damned if i ain't gwine to git right on talkin' for you, 'fore i starts off singin' again. "oh, it's 'bout my marriage you wants to know now, is it? well, me and jeff hunter got married up whilst i was still stayin' on marster jack's place. jeff went to de courthouse and got us a license lak de white folks, and us had a nice weddin'. my dress was mighty pretty; it was white lawn, made long waisted lak dey wore dresses den. mrs. lizzie johnson made it, and it had long sleeves, and a long full skirt wid lots of ruffles. de two petticoats she gimme to wear wid my weddin' dress was ruffled to beat de band and had trimmin' on evvy ruffle. my weddin' drawers even had ruffles on 'em; i was really dressed up. us had a big fine supper and two dances. sho, mam, dat ain't no mistake. us did have two dances, one was at home, and den us went over to my brother's house whar he give us another one and served cake and wine to de weddin' party. atter us drunk dat wine, it warn't no trouble to dance for de rest of de night. "me and jeff moved on de johnson place, and jeff wuked some for mrs. johnson's daughter, mrs. fannie dean, but for de most part he wuked in de wagon shop wid mr. tom anthony. "i'se still got one of my old weddin' petticoats; i wore out four bodies on it." lina excused herself and went inside the house for a moment. she returned to the porch with an old-fashioned suitcase or "grip," as she called it. "dis here's older dan old lina is," she said. "it belonged to miss lizzie's daddy, but i sewed it back together atter dey throwed it away, and i'se gwine to keep it long as i lives." she opened it and took out a petticoat that was yellow with age. it was several yards wide and was encircled by numerous embroidered ruffles. the skirt was sewed on to a tight, straight body-waist that was much newer than the skirt and this waist was topped by a rose-colored crocheted yoke. "mrs. fannie dean made dat for me," declared lina. "look at dis old black shawl. see how big it is? dat's what i used to wear for a wrop on church days 'fore i ever had a coat. "i'se still sleepin' on one of miss lizzie's beds. come inside, i wants you to see it." a part of the tall headboard had been removed so the bed could be used in a low-ceiled room. the footboard was low, and lina insisted on showing the small double locks that joined the side pieces to the head and foot boards. these are rarely seen now. she was using the original old wooden-framed wire fabric springs, and a straw mattress. as she displayed the latter, she said, "yes, chile, i still sleeps on my straw tick, 'cause dat's what i was raised on and dere ain't nothin' sleeps as good as dat old tick when it's full of good fresh wheat straw." lina's coffeepot on the charcoal bucket was steaming and the visitor prepared to depart so that the old woman could enjoy her drink while it was fresh and hot. lina followed her to the veranda and said with much enthusiasm, "god bless you, lady. you sho is done made me happy, and i'se gwine to pray for you evvy day and ask de lord to take keer of you all de time. i'se gwine to do dat, 'cause i wants you to come back and let me sing some more of our good old songs for you sometime." after the house was no longer in sight, lina's high pitched voice could be heard singing =my old mammy died a-shoutin'=. [tr: date stamp: may ] subject: emma hurley of washington-wilkes research worker: minnie branham stonestreet editor: john n. booth supervisor: miss velma bell district: w.p.a. no. i date: march , emma hurley of washington-wilkes with snow white hair peeping from underneath a spotless "head rag" and wearing a big white apron, emma hurley reminds one of the plantation days of the long ago. she is eighty-odd years old, but does not know her exact age. from all she remembers she is sure she was at least or at the beginning of the war for she clearly recalls the talk of war and all the excitement of those anxious days. unfortunately, aunt emma was born of parents belonging to a family that bought and sold slaves as they did cattle and thought of them only in terms of dollars and cents. the story she tells of her childhood would make a simon legree turn pale with envy. she is not resentful, but is honest in telling of those early years of her life, years of suffering and great hardship. although she has never been to school, she uses very little dialect: "no mam, honey, the folks i belonged to said it wouldn't do fer niggers to learn out'n books; that schools warn't fer them. they said learnin' would git us so they couldn't do nothin' wid us. after freedom i wuz nussin' here in washin'ton. the mother of the chillun was a good lady an' she let me look on the books when she read to them an' larned me the lessons 'long with her chillun. she said it wuz a pity i couldn't ov went to school, cause i wuz a apt pupil. i larned easy, yassum, that's what she said." "my ma wuz name margaret an' she had thirteen chillun, six of 'em twins. i wuz the oldest one, but i ain't a twin. i wuz born on a plantation in wilkes county right on the line of oglethorpe. in the white family i belonged to there wuz a mother, four boys, an' two girls, all grown. they come to wilkes county from maryland. all four of the men went to the war an' three of 'em died of sickness caught in the war." aunt emma told of how the slaves had to live on the plantation and an unpleasant story it was. there were no neat cabins all in a row making up the "quarters" where the slaves lived. instead they were made to live around in any old hut they could find shelter in. her mother and three other women stayed in one room of the house the white family lived in. the little slaves were fed pig-fashion in the kitchen, but they were given just so much food and no more. they were alloted two garments at the time, summer and winter: "why, honey, i never had no shoes 'til after freedom come. i've walked on snow many a time barefooted with my feet so cold my toes wuz stickin' straight up with no feelin' in 'em. the white folks had a trained shoe-maker slave an' he made shoes fer them, but us little niggers didn't have none. the first shoes i ever remembers had wooden bottoms an' sich a sound as they made when the folks walked 'round with 'em on." the slaves did plenty of hard work done on the plantation. the women labored all day in the fields and then spun at night. each one was given the task of spinning six broaches a week. on saturday "a white lady" reeled off the spinning and if one of the women had failed in her task she was severely beaten. the men worked all day and until ten o'clock at night shucking corn or doing other chores by lamp light. every wednesday night the slaves had to go to the spring and wash their clothes by torch light. they did have all day sunday as a resting period, but they were not allowed to go to church and no religious services were held for them. there was one day holiday at christmas, "but i never heard of a santa claus when i wuz a child," said emma. when a slave died on the place he was wrapped in a sheet, put into a pine box, and taken to a "burying ground" where he was put in the ground without any services, and with only the immediate family attending. all other slaves on the place had to keep on working just as though nothing had happened. there were no marriages. the slaves being told to "step over the broom stick." many families were separated by sale. "i recollects good when mr. seaborn callaway come over to the place an' bought my grandma an' some other slaves an' took 'em away. we jest cried an' cried an' grandma did too. them white folks bought an' sold slaves that way all the time." "honey, there wuz one time when them white folks wuz good to us slaves," said aunt emma, "an' that wuz when we wuz sick. they would give us homemade remedies like tansy tea, comfort root tea, life everlasting tea, boneset tea, garlic water an' sich, 'cordin' ter what ailed us. then if we didn't git better they sont fer the doctor. if we had a misery anywhere they would make poultices of tansy leaves scalded, or beat up garlic an' put on us. them folks wuz sho' 'cerned 'bout us when we wuz sick, 'cause they didn't want us ter die." when asked about the war and what she remembered of those terrible times, aunt emma slowly shook her head and said: "i never wants to live through sich sad times no more. them wuz the hardest an' the saddest days i ever knowed. everybody went 'round like this: (here she took up her apron and buried her face in it)--they kivered their face with what-somever they had in their hands that would ketch the tears. sorrow an' sadness wuz on every side. the men all went off to fight an' left the women an' chillun an' niggers behind to do the best they could." "times wuz so hard, why, honey, in them times folks couldn't git so much as some plain salt to use on their victuals. the white folks had the dirt dug up from out'n their smokehouses an' hauled it up to mr. sisson's an' he run it an' got what salt he could out'n it. i 'members one day i went over there fer sumpthin' an' the dirt what he had run wuz piled way up high like sawdust these days. there warn't no soda neither, so the white folks took watermelon rinds, fixed 'em keerful like we does fer perserves, burned 'em an' took the ashes an' sifted 'em an' used 'em fer soda. coffee giv' out an none could be bought so they took okra seeds an' parched 'em good an' brown an' ground 'em an' made coffee out'n 'em. some folks made coffee out'n parched ground wheat too. everybody had to do the best they could in them times." "durin' the war," continued aunt emma, "the mother died an' all her property wuz divided 'mongst the chillun. my ma an' all her chillun fell to miss mary what had married an' wuz livin' in lexington, over in oglethorpe county. she moved us all up there an' we wuz there 'til freedom, then we moved down to washington where we have lived ever since. miss mary's husband's ma had over two hundred slaves an' she sho' did take on when they wuz all freed. i 'members how she couldn't stay in the house, she jest walked up an' down out in the yard a-carrin'-on, talkin' an' a-ravin'. "word come one day that the yankee soldiers wuz comin' an' all us niggers went down to the road to watch 'em go by. it wuz a sight. they all marched by singin'. 'fore they come, though, the white folks had all the niggers busy hidin' everything they could. stock wuz tied out way down in thick woods, an' silver, money, an' good clothes wuz buried deep in the ground an' leaves put all over the earth so they couldn't see where it had been dug. when the yankees did come they called all the slaves up an' went into smokehouses an' throwed out the meat to the niggers an' said: 'here, take all this, we knows it's yours anyhow, you worked fer it.' but most of the niggers give it all back to the white folks it belonged to. the yankees poured out all the syrup an' 'stroyed everything they could. i tell you, honey, them wuz bad times an' us all wuz skeered 'most to death." aunt emma had only one sign: "no mam, i ain't 'tall superstitious, i never thinks of things like that. but i does know when it's goin' to rain hard, an' that's when my haid itches an' itches up under my haid rag." when asked about the amusements of her day aunt emma said: "i ain't never danced a step nor sung a reel in my life. my ma allus said we shouldn't do them things an' we didn't. she said if we went to the devil it wouldn't be 'cause she give us her 'mission!" "how come i done lived so long? i dunno, only i allus been truthful an' honest an' tried hard to treat people good as i want them to treat me. once i wuz so sick they all thought i wuz goin' to die. i thought so too. but i lay there sufferin' an' the spirit seemed to come 'round an' reasoned that i would be spared days longer in this low ground of sorrow. that's been long ago an' here i is livin' yet." not even the faintest smile crossed aunt emma's wrinkled face while she was talking. although she lived to marry and have a home of her own with good children, she is sad when she thinks of her childhood with all its injustice and suffering. "i'se glad my race don't have to suffer now what we did on that plantation. some of my old friends tells me they had good homes an' wuz took keer of an' all that, but from my own 'sperience, i'se glad my chillun never knowed slavery." consultant: emma hurley washington, georgia [tr: date stamp: may ] plantation life as viewed by ex-slave alice hutcheson rockspring street athens, georgia written by: grace mccune athens -- edited by: sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project augusta, georgia. alice hutcheson ex-slave--age as the interviewer approached the house she could hear alice singing, "good mornin' to you! howdy you do?" and through the open window the old woman could be seen busily engaged in household duties. her broom, moving in rhythm with the song, did not miss a stroke when the tune changed to, "lord i'se a comin' home." at the first sound of rapping, the singing ceased and alice promptly opened the door. "good mornin' missy," she said. "how is you?" asked for the story of her early life as a slave, she smiled and urged the visitor to "have a seat in dis here rockin' cheer out here on de porch in de sunshine." "my ma and pa was named har'iet bell and william hanson, and dey b'longed to marse cal robinson down in monroe county. ma was married two times, and de fus' man was named bell. he was de pa of my half brother. only one of my three sisters is livin' now. i was born in june durin' de war. ma's two brothers, taylor and bob smith, b'longed to de robinson's in morgan county. dem robinsons was kin to our white folkses, and us was still all robinson niggers. ma's four sisters is all done died out long years ago. "i jus' kin 'member one time de yankees come to our plantation. dey ramsacked de place, tuk all de victuals f'um de white folkses and give 'em to de slaves. us chillun sho' hid out whilst dey was dar, 'cause dem was skeery times, and dem sojers sung old songs i heared lots of times atter i got bigger. de captain would start de song. 'member , boys, de rebels in hell of fixes, but we'll drink and eat deir bones yit.' atter de yankees lef' de niggers brung back de white folkses victuals 'cause dey was our own white folkses and dey had allus done give us plenty of evvything. "us chillun didn't have to do no hard wuk, jus' played 'round de yards wid de white chillun mos' of de time. one of our little jobs was to git in plenty of wood for de fires. chestnut and hick'ry wood made de bes' fires and dere was allus plenty of good kindlin' to git 'em started. oak and pine bark was good to make de pot bile in a hurry. dem ovens would bake lak evvything wid heaps of hot coals piled 'round 'em. "dere warn't no nigger schools den, but miss jane larnt us 'long wid de white chillun, and us sho' had to mind dem lessons or she'd tear us up. "de slave quarters was jus' log cabins, and dey cooked on fireplaces jus' lak at de big house. marster didn't have many niggers, but us had plenty somepin' t'eat. he had a big gyarden whar he raised mos' evvything: corn, 'taters, cabbages, peas, onions, collard greens, and lots of pun'kins. when de mens plowed up de 'taters us chillun had to go 'long and put 'em in baskets. de bestes' times was hog killin' times. us chillun wukked den. dey hung up de hogs all night and nex' day us cut 'em, put 'em down in salt, and cooked up de lard. us chillun got some of dem good old skin cracklin's when dey got brown. "atter marster tuk de meat out of de salt, he put brown sugar and 'lasses on de hams and shoulders, sacked 'em up, and hanged 'em in de smokehouse. den he say for us to git de fire ready. us made a fire wid cottonseed to smoke de meat. dat kep' it good, and it didn't git old tastin'. it was sho' good eatin' when you got some of dat meat. "when de time come 'round to gather in de corn us wukked mighty peart lak, 'cause us couldn't hardly wait for de cornshuckin's dat marster was gwine to let us have atter dat corn was hauled in f'um de fields. marster 'vited all de other white folkses and dey brung deir niggers 'long. shucks would jus' fly off of dat corn while dem niggers was a-singin' 'old liza jane' and 'susan jane'. when de cornshuckin' was all done, us had a big supper--chicken pies, barbecue, and plenty of evvything good wid lots of liquor too. atter supper dey started up playin' dem fiddles and banjoes, and de dancin' begun. white folkses danced da twistification up at de big house, but us had reg'lar old breakdowns in a house what marstar let us have to dance in. wid all dat toddy helpin' 'em 'long, sometimes dey danced all night, and some of 'em fell out and had to be dragged off de dance flo'. "marse had log rollin's and 'vited evvybody. dey all come and brung deir niggers. marster had big dinners for 'em, and atter dey done rolled dem logs all day dem niggers evermore did eat. when dey was wukkin' dey sung somethin' lak dis: 'i'se wukkin' on de buildin' and hits a sho' foundation, and when i git done i'se goin' home to heb'en.' "all de neighbors comed to de quiltin's, and when de quilts was finished, dey throwed it over de head of de house. dat brung good luck. "us had to cyard, spin and reel cotton. missy give us chillun six cuts of thread for a days wuk and if us wukked hard and fas' us got done in time to go chestnut and chinquapin huntin'. us th'owed rocks 'ginst de limbs to shake de nuts down, and us had jus' de bestes' time a-gittin' 'em out of de burrs and eatin' 'em. us used to string chinquapins and hang 'em 'round our necks. "marster had dese big car'iages wid de high front seats whar de driver sot. us had buggies den too, but attar de war us jus' had two-wheeled carts and dey was pulled," the old negress modestly explained, "by male cows." "niggers all laked thrashin' time. marstar, he growed lots of wheat and de thrashin' machine tuk turn about gwine f'um one plantation to another. dey had big dinners on thrashin' days and plenty of toddy for de thrashin' hands atter dey done de wuk. dey blowed de bugle to let 'em know when dey done finished up at one place and got ready to go on to de nex' one. "missy lef' us to look atter de house when she went off to morgan county to see de other robinsons, and she mos' allus fetched us a new dress apiece when she come home. one time dey was dolly vardens, and dey was so pretty us kep' 'em for our sunday bes' dresses. dem dolly vardens was made wid overskirts what was cotched up in puffs. evvyday dresses was jus' plain skirts and waistes sowed together. gal chilluns wore jus' plain chemises made long, and boys didn't wear nothin' 'cep' long shirts widout no britches 'til dey was 'bout twelve or fo'teen. dem was summertime clothes. cold weather us had flannel petticoats and drawers. our bonnets had staves in de brim to make 'em stand out and had ruffles 'round de front. "ma done de cookin' and house wuk at de big house for mist'ess jane robinson. white folkses had lots of comp'ny, and dey had de cook fix de mostes' good things for 'em. dey kilt heaps of chickens and cooked whole hams and lots of 'tater puddin's and sich lak. when ma steamed pun'kin 'til it was done and den fried it, hit sho' would make your mouf water. missy's folkses was crazy 'bout de 'tater puddin's what ma made, and when she went off to visit 'em she allus had ma bake one for her to take 'long to 'em. "white folkses and niggers all went to de same church and listened to de same white preacher. church day was second sunday of evvy mont'. white folkses went in de mornin' and niggers atter dinner. dem niggers had better behave and listen to de preacher, 'cause if dey didn't marster would give 'em a rakin' over sho'. us went to mount zion church in monroe county, and de baptists and meferdists both used de same church house. "when anybody died, dey laid 'em out on de coolin' board 'til dey got de coffin made up. a white man lived nigh us what made all de coffins. he charged cents to make one for a chile and a dollar for grown folkses. dey had de same kind of coffins for evvybody, white and black, buried 'em all in de same graveyard, and built a fence 'round it. white mens preached all de fun'rals. when dey buried a nigger dey mos'ly had prayer, a little talkin' and some songs. parts of de songs went lak dis: "death has been here and tore away a sister from our side, jus' in de mornin' of 'er day as young as us, she had to die. "not long ago she filled 'er place and sot wid us to larn, but she done run 'er mortal race and nevermore can she return. "us can't tell who nex' may fall underneath de chasen' rod, one maybe fus', but let us all prepare to meet our god. "and needful help is thine to give for grace our souls to thee apply, to larn us how to serve and live, and make us fit at las' to die." "part of another one was: "oh, come angel band come and 'round me stand, and bear me away on your snowy wings, to my immortal home." "seems lak i can mos' hear de preacher read de scripture for his tex', 'buy de truf and sell it not.' "sometimes our white folkses tuk us all to old smyrna church, and den ma allus cooked a fine dinner to take 'long, 'cause dey had church all day and dinner on de grounds. i ain't never gwine forgit a sermon i heared at smyrna, onct. de tex' was, 'be thou faithful unto death, and i will give you a crown of life.' "one day marster called all his niggers together and said us was all free, and dat us could go whar us pleased anytime us got ready, but he said too, dat us could stay on wid him if us wanted to. charlie martin was de onlies' nigger what didn't stay. charlie said he wanted to go somewhars else and marster give him a good hoss and saddle and some money when he lef', but i don't know how much dat money was. "'twarn't long 'fore dere was plenty of ku kluxers 'round 'bout. dey had on doughfaces and long white robes what come down over de hosses dey was a-ridin'. ma allus tole us dat if one of dem kluxers tetched a nigger, dat nigger was gwine to die, and us was so skeered us stayed out of deir way so day didn't ketch none of us, but dey sho' did wuk on de hides of some of dem other niggers what dey did git a holt of. "i wukked for miss sally yervin a while and den us moved here to athens. my gran'pa come atter us, and mr. mote robinson moved us in one of dem big, high up waggons." an ice truck passed the cabin door and alice said: "now jus' look, honey, us didn't have nothin' lak dat den. our milk and butter and sich lak was kep' in de spring house. folkses what had wells used to put milk in buckets and let 'em down in de well wid ropes, and dat milk would keep good and cool down dar. "i got married atter us come to athens. us didn't have no big weddin', jus' went to de preacher man's house to git married. de onlies' child us had is done been daid for years, and my old man died 'way over years ago." the old negress [hw: woman] was reluctant to end the interview. "goodbye missy, i hopes you come back sometime, 'cause old alice has had a mighty good time a-talkin' to you. atter us gits too old to do any wuk dere ain't many folkses takes up no time a-listenin' to old niggers." [hw: ex-slave interview: mrs. amanda jackson] mrs. amanda jackson was born a slave. she is unable to give her age but she can tell of some of the conditions, etc. on the plantation where she lived. following are the things that she remembers most vividly: "i wuz born in glasscock county 'bout twelve miles fum davisboro, ga. my marster's name wuz lowry calhoun--he did'nt have no chillun--jes' him an' his wife an' her mother. he wus a rich man an' he had a big plantation an' 'bout fifty slaves or more--i 'members de big quarters in de back o' his house, where me an' de res' o' de slaves lived, an how we uster git up an' do 'roun." "besides me i had two sisters an' one brother--i wuz de younges' child." "all of de slaves on de plantation worked in de fiel'--even de cook--dat is 'till time fer her to cook de meals. on dis plantation dey raised practically everything--corn, cotton, wheat, an' rye, an' a heap o' live stock. dey wuz runnin' 'bout twenty-five or thirty plows all de time. dere wuz one overseer." "every mornin' de slaves had to git up an' by de time it wuz light enuff to see dey had to be in de fiel' workin'". when asked how they were awakened mrs. jackson replied: "dey knowed how to git you up alright--de overseer had a horn dat he blowed an' dem dat did'nt wake up when de horn wuz blowed wuz called by some of de others in de quarters". continuing, she said: "dey wuz in de fiel' fore de sun rose an' dere 'till after it went down--fum sun to sun". "de fiel' han's had one hour fer dinner--dem dat had families done dere own cookin' an' dere wuz a special cook fer de single ones. de women whut had families would git up soon in de mornin's 'fore time to go to de fiel' an' put de meat on to boil an' den dey would come in at dinner to come in at dinner time an' put de vegetables in de pot to cook an' when dey come home in de evenin' dey would cook some corn bread in de ashes at de fireplace". "all dat i could do den wuz sweep de yards, water de cows an' de chickens an' den go to de pasture to git de cows an' de calves--we had two pastures--one fer de calves an' one fer de cows, i had to git de cows so de womens could milk 'em." "all of de hard work on de plantation wuz done in de summertime. in rainy weather an' other bad weather all dat dey had to do wuz to shell corn an' to help make cloth. as a rule ol' marster wuz pretty good to his slaves but sometimes some of 'em got whupped kinda bad fer not workin' an' stuff like dat--i seen 'im cut womens on dey shoulders wid a long whip 'till it looked like he wuz gonna cut de skin off'n 'im." "you had to do yo' own work on saturdays an' sundays--i members seeing my po' mother wash her clothes on sundays many times. we did'nt have no holidays except sundays an' den we did'nt have nowhere to go except to church in de woods under a bush-arbor". "de white folks clothes an' all o' de slaves clothes wuz all made on de plantation. de marster's wife could sew an' she an' her mother an' some of de slaves done all o' de spinning an' weaving on de place. i've worked many a day in de house where dey made de cloth at. to color de clothes dey made dyes out o' all kinds o' barks. if dey wanted yellowstripes dey used dye made out o' hickory bark. dere wuz always plenty o' clothes fer everybody 'cause dey give two complete outfits two times a year--one in de summer an' one in de winter. fer blankets we used homespun spreads." "even de shoes wuz made on de plantation--dere wuz a man on de place dat made all o' de shoes. dey wuz made out o' cowhide an' wuz very stiff. you had to grease 'em to wear 'em an' after you done dat you could do pretty well. de clothes dat dey wore on sunday wuz'nt no different fum de ones dat dey wore in de week--dey didn't have nowhere to go on sundays unless dey had services somewhere in de woods." "dere wuz a always plenty to eat 'cause dey raised everything dat you c'n think of. dere wuz all kinds o' vegetables an' big fiel's of hogs an' 'bout fifteen or twenty head'a cattle dat had to be milked everyday. dem dat had families got a issue o' food everyday an' de others whut wuz single wuz fed at de cookhouse. de only time we ever got biscuits wuz on sundays--de res' o' de time we et cornbread. marster had two smokehouses--one fer de lard an' one fer de meat. besides des he 'lowed de slaves to raise dere own vegetables in dey wanted to but dey could'nt raise no chickens on stuff like dat". "de place where de slaves lived wuz in de back o' de white folks house. dey called it de "quarters". dere wuz lotsa log cabins kinda 'ranged 'roun in a sorta circle an' all of 'em had big dirt chimneys on de outside. de holes in de walls wuz stopped up wid dried mud to keep de weather out. fer furniture dey jes' nailed up anything--dere wuz a bench or two an' a few boards nailed together fer a bed. de mattress wuz a big tickin' stuffed wid straw or dried grass. some of de houses had big iron pots so dat dey could cook if dey wanted to. de fireplaces wuz big ones an' dey had racks in de inside of 'em so dat de pots could hang dere when dey wuz cookin'. de only light dat dey had wuz de firelight--don't care how hot it wuz--if you wanted to see you had to make a fire in de fireplace. de floors in all de cabins wuz made wid wood. "hardly anybody ever got sick on de plantation. when dey wuz sick de white lady would come out once in a while to see how you wuz gittin' 'long. if anybody wuz very sick de doctor would come on his horse an' bring his medicine wid 'im when he come. when you wuz sick like dis somebody from de fiel' would stay in an' do de nursin'. all de medicine i 'members is big blue mass pills an' salts--dey would give you des fer anything. when you wuz too sick to go to de fiel' an' not sick enuff to be in bed you had to report to de white lady at de house--she could tell pretty much if you wuz sick an' she would work on you--if you did'nt git better den she would send fer de doctor." "on des plantation dey did'nt have no regular church fer de slaves an' so when de weather wuz good de slaves went to de woods an' had church in a bush-arbor. dey made a bush-arbor by takin' some posts an' puttin' dem in de groun' an' de coverin' de top wid bushes. later on dey had a shelter covered wid boards. de prechin' wuz done by a ol' man dey called caesar--he wuz too old to do anything else an' so prechin' wuz de biggis' thing he done." "my marster never did sell any o' his slaves--'course if dey wanted to go to somebodyyelse he'd let 'um go p'vided de one dey wanted to go to paid fer 'em. he let one or two go like dat once. other folks uster put 'em on de block an' sell 'em like dey would a chicken or sumpin' like dat." "dere wuz'nt much whuppin on our plantation--not by de marster. dey usually got whupped fer not workin'. others got whupped by de paddie-rollers when dey wuz cot off'n de plantation widout a pass. dey would come to de plantation an' whup you if dey knowed you had been off wid out a pass. der man whose plantation we wuz on did pretty well by us--he did'nt like fer de paddie-rollers to come on his place to do no whuppin'." in reply to a query regarding the possibility of a slave buying his freedom mrs. jackson replied: "de only ones i knowed to go free wuz some whose marsters willed 'em enuff money to buy deyself out an' dey wuz mighty few". continuing mrs. jackson said: "when de yankee soldiers come through we had to fit busy an' hide all de meat an' de other food dat wuz in de smokehouse so dat de soldiers would'nt take it." "my mother an' father stayed on de plantation a long time after freedom wuz declared". "memories of her childhood", by an ex-slave, camilla jackson submitted by-- minnie b. ross (colored) mrs. camilla jackson doesn't know how old she is, but is so very old that she almost never leaves her chair. she wears a white rag around her head and is always spotlessly clean. she speaks distinctly; but her memory is a little slow, due to her old age. the events related were given only after she had thought them over carefully, for, as she stated, she did not wish to tell anything but the truth. she lives in a back room of a large house and is cared for by other people in the house. she was born in decatur, georgia, the daughter of charlotte and joe hoyle, and the tenth child of children. her family included her mother and father, a grandmother and sisters and brothers. as far as she can remember, her family always belonged to mr. peter hoyle, who was a doctor. dr. hoyle's family included his wife, three boys, and three girls. he owned a very large plantation, and a large number of a slaves, probably or more. all of them were required to work in the fields and tend the crops, which consisted mostly of sugar cane and cotton. syrup was made from the sugar cane. mrs. jackson remembers quite well that everyone was required to work in the fields, but not until dr. hoyle, who was a kind master, was sure that they were old enough. she was about years old when she was given a job in the house, operating the fly-brush. the fly-brush was constructed so that a piece of cloth, fastened on a wooden frame with hinges, could be pulled back and forth with a cord. this constant fanning kept the room clear of flies. as she related this, she smiled to herself as if her job was particularly amusing. dr. hoyle did not find it necessary to hire out any of his slaves as he had enough work to keep them all busy. she frequently said that her master was a kind man and never punished unnecessarily. it was very seldom that he used the whip. his slaves respected him for his kindness and tried to please him. as a result of his good treatment dr. hoyle never found it necessary to sell any one of his slaves. once she hesitated and seemed to go into a deep study over something. a few minutes later she related the incident of the selling of a woman slave. this woman gave birth to a baby out of wedlock and, since dr. hoyle was a firm believer in marriage, he immediately sold her, to prevent further trouble. mrs. hoyle was not as kind as her husband, and at times was cruel to the slaves. mrs. jackson clearly related the method of courtship and marriage on her master's plantation. dr. hoyle never selected the mates for his slaves but left it to each person to chose whomever he wished. however, the selection would have to be made from among the slaves on some of his friends plantations. they were not allowed to chose anyone on their own plantation. the person chosen was allowed to call on sundays after getting a "pass" from his master. she told how courtship was carried on in those days. a young man courted the girl in the presence of the parents. every now and then he would be seen looking at the clock. when he left, the mother would go to the door with him. when the master was properly notified of the intended marriage, he would prepare a feast and call in his own preacher to perform the ceremony. after the ceremony everybody was allowed to take part in the feast. when mrs. jackson's oldest sister married the master roasted a pig and stuck a red apple in its mouth. she smiled over this incident. a slave's home life was very simple. after work hours they were allowed to visit other plantations; however, they could not visit any plantation unless their master was friendly with the owner of this particular plantation. one of the most enjoyable affairs in those days was the quilting party. every night they would assemble at some particular house and help that person to finish her quilts. the next night, a visit would be made to some one else's home and so on, until everyone had a sufficient amount of bed-clothing made for the winter. besides, this was an excellent chance to get together for a pleasant time and discuss the latest gossip. most friendly calls were made on sunday, after securing a "pass". this "pass" was very necessary to go from one plantation to another. slaves did not have to prepare their food during the week. their food was brought to them in pails from the "big house". (the master's house was called the "big house".) on sundays they were given groceries to prepare their own meals. mrs. jackson remembers the bread that was made from "shorts". "shorts" was the name given to a second grade of flour, similar to whole wheat. the first grade was always used in the master's house. as a whole, dr. hoyle gave his slaves enough food; however, on several occasions she remembers that a friend of her mother's, who lived on the adjoining plantation, handed pans of food over the fence to them. slaves were never given spending money but her grandmother was very thrifty and managed to earn a little money. this was done by collecting all the rags she could find and then carrying them to town in an oxcart to sell them. old women used oxcarts because oxen would not run away. she smiled when asked if she had ever worn a hoop skirt. "yes, child", she replied, "i have worn hoop skirts. they were the fad in those days." she related how her sister made hoop skirts by cutting slits in the hem of the skirt, and running a hoop through it. "i can remember the cloth that was made on the spinning wheel", she said. she told how she had turned the reel many a day and spun the thread. she could not clearly relate the construction of a spinning wheel. everyone, particularly the older people, was required to attend church. for christmas everyone was given a special sunday suit to wear to church. the slaves did not have a separate church of their own but were allowed to attend the white church and occupy the balcony. mrs. jackson began to laugh outright over the memory of a funny yet serious incident that occurred in church one sunday. she had a little white girl friend with whom she played every day. one sunday she looked over the balcony and saw her in the audience below. they both began a little game of looking and snatching back their heads. finally she leaned over too far and fell over the balcony into the white audience below. she hurt herself pretty badly and cried so much that the service was broken up for that day. dr. hoyle carried her home and administered the proper treatment. after this incident she didn't look over balconies anymore. before she could learn anything definite the civil war had begun and she began to see soldiers going here and there dressed in their uniforms. one event stands out clearly in her memory and that was the time the master took all of his slaves and as many of his possession as he could and went to camp ground, georgia, to dodge the yankee soldiers. after the attack on decatur, they returned to find all of the slave quarters torn down. the master's house, which had rooms, was still standing. most of the slaves had to stay in the "big house" until their homes could be rebuilt. many were still living in the master's house when the papers were read telling them they were free. dr. hoyle asked his slaves to remain and he would pay them for their services. her family remained with dr. hoyle's family one year after freedom. afterwards they moved to atlanta, where she has lived practically all of her life. she married immediately after freedom and proudly spoke of being the first person to wed in the old "big bethel church". she is now alone without sister, brother, or child; but even at her old age she is unusually optimistic and continues to enjoy life. she believes in serving god and living a clean honest life. she has just one desire, and that is to enter the kingdom of heaven someday. [tr: date stamp may ] life story as told by aunt easter jackson ex-slave it was during the height of slavery days that frances wilkerson and one child came to make their home in troup county, having been bought by mr. tom dix from a mr. snow, of virginia. frances, being an unusually intelligent slave, able to weave, spin, and do all kinds of sewing, cost mr. dix $ . . she received excellent care, never once being allowed to do any field work, and was kept at the "big house" to do the sewing for the household. frances' husband, silas wilkerson, was bought by the wilkerson family, who were neighbors. it was here on the dix plantation, located about one mile from what is now the court square, that another child, easter, was born, a few years before the civil war. it is with a smile of tenderness that she described her life on the old plantation. "yes, chile, i can see mistus now a-ridin' up on her grey horse, "pat", wid er basket on her arm plum full of biscuit! yes, chile, white biscuits! and ain't no short cake ever been made what could hold a light to dem biscuits. mistus would say, 'where's dem chillun, mammy?' "lawdy, you never seed so many little niggers pop up in all yo' life--just 'peared lak de come right out o' de groun'. sometimes dere 'ud be so many chillun, she'd have to break de biscuits to make 'em go 'roun' and sometimes when she's have an extry big basket, she'd say, 'bring on de milk, and less feed dese chullun.' a big bucket o' milk would be brung and po'd in little troughs and de'd lay down on dey little stommacks, and eat jest lak pigs! but de wuz jest as slick and fat as yer please--lots fatter an us is now! and clean too. old mustus would say, 'mammy, you scrub dese chillun and use dat "jim-crow."' lawd, chile! i done fergot you doan know what a "jim-crow" wus--dat's a little fine com' what'll jest natchully take the skin plum off yo' haid 'long wid de dirt. "dem was good old days, plenty ter eat and a cabin o' sticks and dirt to call yo' own. had good times too, 'specially on de th of july and christmas, when old marster tom allus let de niggers have pigs to kill for de feas'; why chile, you should er seen de pot we cooked dem pigs in, it wus so big an' heavy, it took two to put the i'on led on. and sech music! music played on harps, saws, and blowin' quills. ever'body had a good time; even de "white folks" turned out for de dance which went 'way into de night. "den dere wus de prayer meetin's, once a week, first on one of the plantations den a nother; when all de niggers would meet and worshup, singin' praises unto the lord; i can hear 'em now, dere voices soundin' fur away. yes sir! folks had religun in dem days, the "old time religun." our white folks belonged to the first baptis' church in lagrange, and all de slaves went to de same church. our services wus in de basement. "but t'wasn' long 'fore de war broke out, and den things wuz turrible; de niggers would huddle 'roun' de "big house" scared ter death o' de orful tales that wus told er bout de war! it wusn't but er bout a year til young marster tom, john, and bee wus called to de war. albert and scott dix, two young slaves, went with marster tom and john and stayed by them 's close as de could, cookin' and gettin' good for de camp. but t'wus a sad day when de word come dat marster tom wus dyin'. old mistus left right straight, all us slaves goin' down to de train wid her, an' when she got on, she wave her han' an' said, 'i want all o' you, white and black, to take keer o' my baby.' "when she got dere 'twuz a two-story house where they had marster tom--the blood had run down de stairs. "ole mistus had stood so much she couldn't stan' no mo',--the next mornin' she wus dead in de bed! one o' de slaves, albert, and her son, john, carried her on dere shoulders for five miles, but the war bein' so bad dey couldn't carry her no further, so dey buried her by de road and after de war wus over, de took her to de fam'ly graveyard. "den de word spread lak wild fire: "the niggers wuz free". that night all the slaves went up to the "big house", wurried an' askin' 'young marster tom, where is we goin'? what is we goin' to do?' young marster tom said, "go on back to your cabins and go to bed, dey are your homes and you can stay on here as long as you want to."" * * * * * according to aunt easter's statement, life for the slaves on the dix plantation changed very little after the war. she later was married to john henry jackson, whose mother also came from virginia. aunt easter had fourteen children, six of them are now living in troup county and have good jobs. she has made her home with her children and has the respect of all the "white folks", and she often boasts that "her white folks" will care for her till she dies. she now lives on west haralson street, lagrange, troup county, georgia. [tr: date stamp may ] slavery days as related by: =snovey jackson= ruth a. chitty--research worker aunt snovey jackson, crippled and bent with rheumatism, lives in a cabin set in the heart of a respectable white neighborhood. surrounded by white neighbors, she goes her serene, independent way. the years have bequeathed her a kindly manner and a sincere interest in the fairness and justice of things. wisdom and judgment are tempered with a sense of humor. "my name is snovey jackson--s-n-o-v-e-y, dat's the way i spells it. d' ain't nary 'nother snovey jackson in de south. i was bawned in clarksville, va., and owned by one captain williams of virginia. i don' know jes' 'zackly how old i is, but i must be 'bout . "i was jes' a small chap 'bout three or fo' years old when my folks 'cided to come to georgia to raise cotton. you see we didn't raise no cotton in virginia--nutten' 'cept wool and flax. de people in virginia heerd 'bout how cotton was growed down here and how dey was plenty o' labor and dey come by the hund'eds to georgia. back in dem days dey warn't no trains, and travel was slow, so dey come in gangs down here. jes' like dey had de boom down in florida few years back, dat's de way people rushed off to georgia to git rich quick on cotton. "when they got here it warn't nutten' like dey thought it was go'n be. dey thought dey could make cotton 'dout no trouble, and dey'd rake in de money. my folks lef' me in virginia 'cause i was too li'l' to be any help, and dey thought dey could get plenty o' cheap labor here. (i'se talkin' 'bout fo' de war broke out.) of course virginia was a slave breedin' state, and niggers was sold off jes' like stock. families was all broke up and never seed one 'nother no mo'. "i don't even know who my mother and father was. i never knowed what 'come of 'em. me and my two little brothers was lef' in virginia when captain williams come to georgia. de specalators got hol' o' us, and dey refugeed us to georgia endurin' o' de war. niggers down here used to be all time axin' me where my folks was, and who dey was--i jes' tell 'em de buzzards laid me and de sun hatch me. "after we was brought to georgia mr. james jackson bought me. i never knowed what 'come of my brothers. the specalators had tried to keep us together, but we got all separated. i ain't got no kin in the world today dat i knows 'bout. "de jacksons owned a plantation in baldwin county, but dey sold it and moved to lagrange, georgia. we lived dere 'til after de war was on, den dey move back to baldwin county. old miss lost her son-in-law, and later her husband died, den her daughter died. she had a little grandchild, a boy, her daughter's child, to raise. she used to say she had two pets, one pet black child and one pet white child. she was good to me. i never got no punishin's. "old miss had a lot of kin folks here--high class folks. dey was stomp down virginians, too. dey use to call me dey kin. miss kizzie weiderman was a niece o' old miss jackson's, and she used to come down the street and say, 'look here, ain't dat some o' my kin?--come shake hands wid me.' miss kizzie was a sight. she alluz say when she die she want all her nigger kin to come and look on her dead body. "finally old miss got dissatisfied and she 'cided de best thing for her to do was to sell her home and farm here and go to chicago to live wid her son. dat lef' me to seek 'nother home, 'cause i didn't want to go off up dere. so we parted. "i come to town den (it was in ) and found work wid de agent o' the central o' georgia railroad here in milledgeville. my mistis den was mrs. ann bivins. she was good to me, and when they went away, she say, 'snovey, ef'n i had the money, nuttin' but death could separate me and you.' den the nesbits was made de agent, and i work fifty years at dat central depot. i used to get up eve'y mawnin' and cook breakfas' for all de section hands, den i'd go to de house and cook for de family. child, i jes' worked myself to death. all my folks gone away now. de nesbits live in florida. i sends 'em a bag o' nuts eve'y christmas, and dey sends me a box o' oranges. sometime dey comes here to see me. "i mus' tell you how de yankees done when dey come th'ough here. i was wid old miss jackson at dat time. we live over de river. i was a small chap not big enough to do nothing much 'cept nuss old miss. we heard de yankees was comin', and did dey ruin eve'thing! why milledgeville was jes' tore up; twon't nuttin mo'n a cow pasture when de yankees got th'ough wid it. dey tuck all de stock and cattle what folks had, and burned and 'stroyed eve'ything. after de war was breakin' up, we heerd de soldiers was comin' through here and was go'n pass town creek on de way to sparta, and on from sparta to warrenton, and from warrenton to augusta. i lost record after dat. some said it was go'n be , soldiers passing th'ough. we all wanted to see them. i axed old miss to lemme go to sand town to see 'em. she lemme go. hit was a crowd of us went in a big wagon. we did see 'bout , soldiers. i was 'bout or years old. i 'members jes' as well how dey looked--some of 'em had canteens. dey was tryin' to git back home. dey seemed all bewildered like. i had alluz been skeered o' soldiers, but after i seen dem i warn't skeered no mo'. "i had alluz wanted to own a little piece of land, and have me a one room hut like other niggers had. after i started to cookin' for de white folks at de central depot, i 'cided i'd buy me a home. so i got my eyes on a piece of property i wanted and i started to 'vestigatin' it. it seemed like a heap o' money and me making sech a li'l' bit. i found out mrs. ann dubignon owned de square i wanted, so i went to see her son, de lawyer. he say, 'snovey, you can't buy dat lot. you ain't got a chance in de world to pay for it.' "i warn't satisfied wid dat, so i walked out to where old miss ann lived at scottsboro, and i talked to her. she say she was anxious to git a buyer, but she didn't want to worry wid small payments on it, and if i could finance it, she'd sell. well, i studied and studied, and i figgered and figgered, and my little wages for a whole year, even if i didn't spend a penny for nuttin', was mighty little. so i went down to see mr. samuel walker. he owned jes' 'bout all de land in baldwin county what he had got by loans to people dat give de land as security and never could pay off. so we talked things over, and he let me have de money to pay miss for de square. mind you dis here was all jes' a field and woods den. look at it now!" she proudly pointed out the modern homes and streets. "at de end of dat fus' year, here come mr. walker. 'well, snovey, how you gittin' 'long?' he say. "'i'se gittin' 'long fine mr. walker.' "'well, what you go'n' do 'bout dis land?' "i was ready for him. he thought he was go'n' come down and take de land, 'cause he knowed i didn't have de money to pay off. but i was waitin' fer him. "'i'se ready, mr. walker, to settle up.' was he surprised! he sho' was disappointed. lot o' folks has wanted my property. finally judge allen persuaded me to sell him enough to build his home. den mr. bone come 'long, and he wanted to build here. so you see i done sold off several lots, and i still owns part o' my square. dis here old nigger been de foundation of dem homes you see dere. "i could be a grand counselor now. if i could live my days over i'd show 'em all sumpin'. like a rollin' stone, up and down, so de world go'n' move on. i been a heap o' help to folks in my day. i done made a way out o' no way. "i ain't never married, never had no chillun, and de niggers says i alluz been a house-bird. i suffers a heap wid rheumatism now. dat's de reason you see me all bent over disaway. i can't hardly raise up from my waist. i looks mighty feeble but i done out-lived a lot o' 'em. some years ago when dey was buildin' dat fine home up dere on de lot they bought from me, de contractor boarded right across dere from me wid mrs. sims, and he used to say, 'aunt snovey, how 'bout sellin' me dis corner lot to build me a marble house on? you might not be here much longer, and i sho' love to have dis corner lot.' "i used to laugh and tell him i might eat de goose dat ate de grass dat growed on his grave. sho' 'nough, he died here some years ago." "aunt snovey, what are you going to do with all your property--you have no family and no relatives?" "well, dis property was here when i come here." "haven't you made a will?" "me? no mam. some fellow'll git it. i can't say who'll git it. i better not say." "aunt snovey, i would like so much to have these old chairs you have here--how about selling them to me?" "child, i can't tell you de folks is wanted dem chairs. i has to have sumpin' to use. folks done traded me out o' fust one thing then another. you see dat table? mrs. bone up here swapped me one she had for one i had she wanted. i ain't worrying about what's go'n' become o' things when i'se gone. it was all here when i come here, and it'll be here when i die. "i'se a old-fashioned missionary baptis'. i used to go to de white folks' church. dat's where i got my dip. we fared a heap better back in dem times dan we does now." "aunt snovey do you have any pet superstitions?" "go on way from here, child, i ain't got nuttin' to do wid superstitions. my old miss never 'lowed me to believe in no signs and sech like. i could dig up a lot of sorrow in my life, but dat wouldn't do no good. "i never did believe in bumpin' 'bout, so dat's why i settled down here and made up my mind to have me a home. you see dis ain't no fine home, but it's mine and it's paid for. some day when i can afford it, i'se go'n' try to finish de inside o' dis house. i got one room ceiled, and maybe some day i can finish it. i don't believe in taking on no bigger load dan i can git up de hill wid. i'se seed folks go th'ough de machinery o' extravagance, and it'll eat you up sho'. i'se skeerd o' debts as i is o' a rattlesnake, but debts in de right sense makes you industrious. and i'se learned dis much--that a line fence and a dog creates more fuss dan anything in de world." [hw: dist. ex. slave.] louise mckinney [hw: "uncle jake"] "a vessel ob de lawd". uncle jake was a character up in the hills of north georgia. i can look back and see him now as he trudged through the snow in the early morning from his little log cabin down in the field. his new home-made shoes were being worn for the first time and with every swing of the milk pail, he limped. "whose on de lawd's side? i's on de lawd's side!" his thin, cracked voice rang out clearly, and every other word received special emphasis as he tried to step lightly with his left foot. my nose was flattened against the cold, frosty window pane as i watched the old darky go about his morning chores. just the afternoon before i had slipped away to his and aunt callie's cabin to talk for a little while and found him melting tallow in an old bucket over a sputtering log fire. as he rubbed the smelly drippings over the heavy shoes he kept glancing toward the sky at the soft gray clouds, then he would say, "look at dat smoke up at de big house. it am meeting and mingling and habin' communion wid dem clouds oberhead. we's goin' hab wedder in de mornin', and here you is cissie ann wid dat 'plexion o' yo's as soft as a fresh born lam'. dis wind aint for sweet chile's like you for it soun's like de pipe what de dibbil play as it whistles roun' dis chimney corner". with all of my six years' wide experience, i always learned something new from uncle jake and somehow i enjoyed the musty smell of the dark cabin, the strings of red pepper draped in festoons, twists of "chawing baccer" and bunches of onions which hung from the rafters and the soft goose feather bed which uncle jake said warded off dampness and kept him from having "the misery in his stiff ol' jints". in spite of his protests as to me remaining longer, i settled myself on a three-legged stool and with the aid of his fumbling fingers took off my bonnet. my mother insisted that a bonnet was for protection from wind and sun, so i always wore mine, but i had to have assistance in removing it because mother braided my hair near the top of my head and pulled the plait through a hole in the bonnet left for that purpose, then the top was buttoned around it so my fingers could not remove it. uncle jake always laughed when he helped me take it off because we had to be rather secretive and not let mother find out. mammy callie was in the kitchen churning, so i continued to ply uncle jake with questions while i waited for a glass of fresh buttermilk. i knew that my father was away at war and that uncle jake and mammy callie were looking after my grandparents, my mother and me, but they would not tell what war was like or why i could not go and play with other children--they always watched me when i played and everything was kept locked and hidden. it was all so strange and different from what it had been, but uncle jake was just the same and all he would say was, "dis ol' worl' am just a vessel ob de lawd and sometimes de contents of dat vessel jest don' agree, dey gets bilin' hot like when water am poured on burning embers, a powerful smoke do rise. so it is now, chile, dis ol' worl' jest got too hot wid sin and god am trying to cool it off wid refreshin' showers ob his love, but de dibbil am makin' sech a smoke it am smartin' god's eyes", and uncle jake would pat me on the head and i would smile and nod as if his explanation had been perfectly clear. these thoughts of the afternoon before ran through my mind as i watched uncle jake as he limped through the snow with a big brown shawl wrapped around his stooped shoulders, a piece of home spun jeans pinned around his head and a pair of patched jeans trousers supported by heavy bands of the same material for suspenders. as he returned from milking, i wondered if he had my gray kitten in his pocket, but suddenly i realized he was hobbling hurriedly, the milk pail was thrown aside and he seemed badly frightened. i ran to find out what had occurred to upset uncle jake's usual carefree manner. "de lock am gone! dat mule am gone! dem bushwhackers done tuk it off and i's done gone atter 'em, right now". his eyes flashed as he shouted without stopping and he hobbled down to his cabin. grandfather went down and tried to convince him that the weather was too cold to attempt to follow the thief and to wait until later, but the old negro began quoting scripture as he put on another coat and heavy knit gloves. "de lawd say, 'dey shall not steal', and de white folks is sho' to think i tuk 'at mule off. fuddermore, in de 'pistle ob de 'postle, isaiah, he say, 'be a clean vessel ob de lawd god', and i gonna find out de truf and prove my position 'fore dese people. dat low-down scallawag what come here wid no 'nouncement ob his 'pearance is gwine suffer for dis here axident. he nebber reckoned wid me". and with that uncle jake waded into the deep snow and was last seen following the creek down through the meadow as it meandered underneath an icy crust. several days passed and anxiety began to show on the faces of those at home, but one morning mammy callie came to get breakfast with her face aglow. after praying most of the night, she said "the good lord has given me a sho sign, for he done showed me a vision of a man up 'fore a jedge and den i see jake wid a bucket of oats and dat mule was toggin' behin' him". his spirit was contagious and we lived in an atmosphere of expectancy during the day and were not surprised when we heard shouts of joy and praises to "de good lawd" from jake as he rode up on the old mule. he had been unable to locate any tracks, but he had walked miles in the cold and sneaked around the barns and in the chimney corners to eavesdrop at the homes of those whom he suspected of being disloyal to the confederate cause. while hiding under a haystack late one afternoon, he heard voices and he recognised his master's mule as it was sold by a stranger with a decided northern brogue to the owner of the place on which he was hiding. uncle jake almost shouted for joy, but he realised he was on "alien" territory so he remained out of sight. when the mule was fed and stabled, he skipped in under cover of darkness and led the mule away. in the excitement of getting away he forgot that he had crossed the county line, so no excuse was taken when the sheriff of that county took him into custody. uncle jake was hailed into court the next morning with the "owner" as witness against him. "how old are you?" asked the judge in a stern manner. "i's ol' enuf to know dat am de mule what belongs to marster. i knows him by his bray", answered the negro, as he looked over the crowd and saw and felt no sympathy from any of them. "you were caught with stolen goods out of your county and from all appearances you were hurt in the attempt to escape for i see you are limping. what do you say to that?" uncle jake was trembling as he looked down at his smelly shoes. "no, sir, jedge. you is sho' wrong. i jest receibed a commandment from my heabenly father to walk in de truth and i was serbing my white folks by getting back what is ders. dis mule was stole by some po' sinner what don' know de scriptures". at this point the sheriff from jake's county, who was a good friend of our marlow family, walked into the courtroom to see if he could help jake in his difficulties. when the frightened negro saw him, he forgot the dignity of the court and shouted, "praise de lawd. i's been a vessel ob his for nigh onto sixty years and he's done fill me full ob grace and glory dis very hour". and without further ado, he left the sheriff to make all explanations. as he ran to the hitching post the mule began to bray and as uncle jake mounted he shouted, "we're shaking de dust ob dis place from off our feet and goin' back to our (fannin) county where we can con-tinue bein' vessels ob de lawd and servin' our white folks". as long as he lived, uncle jake was a faithful servant to his white folks. every time i slipped away to spend a little time at the log-cabin, i always asked him to repeat the story of how he returned the mule and with each repeating he praised the lord more for being a direct instrument in helping him prove to the countryside that he was "a clean vessel ob de lawd", but he blamed the new shoes and his skinned heel for not getting across the county line before he was caught. bibliography. an old negro by the name of jake identified a mule of his master's in court at morganton. the little girls in the morris family in fannin county were made to wear bonnets with their hair pulled through so they could not be removed. these two facts told me by mr. j. r. kincaid of blue ridge. plantation life as viewed by ex-slave mahala jewel berry street athens, georgia. written by: grace mccune athens -- edited by: sarah h. hall athens -- john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & . mahala jewel =ex-slave--age .= mahala jewel, known in the community as "aunt hailie," was sitting on her tiny porch when the interviewer arrived. "i'se a-tryin' to git my foots warm," she declared. "dey was cold all last night, and didn't warm up none even when i had done walked all de way up to de courthouse to git dem cabbage what de welfare ladies had for me today. yes ma'am, hit sho' is hard times wid old hailie now. i was raised whar folks had plenty. our white folks warn't no pore white trash, and if my old marster and mist'ess was a-livin' today dey sho' would do somepin' for old hailie in a hurry, 'cause dey allus give us plenty of evvything dey had." aunt hailie's rickety chair was kept in vigorous motion as she talked and the visitor was fearful it would collapse at any moment. one rocker was broken and on top of the cushions in the low seat of the chair she was sitting on an old cheese box. suddenly she arose to go in the house to "see if dem cabbages is a-burnin'," and when she returned she carefully adjusted the box before resuming her precarious perch in the old rocking chair. when she was sure that her feet were in a sunny spot, she began her narrative. "gracie wright was my ma's name 'fore she tuk off and married my pa. he was named tuggle, and both of 'em belonged to marse hamp mcwhorter on his plantation down in oglethorpe county. marse hamp was sho' a rich man and on his big old plantation dey raised evvything dey needed lak, peas, 'tatoes, ingons, collards, cabbages, and turnip sallet, beans, punkins, and plenty of corn, wheat and rye. marse hamp had lots of cows, hogs, sheep, and goats too. miss liza was our mist'ess, and she raised more chickens dan dey ever could use. i just tells you, my white folks warn't no pore folks. "i was born and raised up right dar. ma wukked in de fields, and mist'ess brung me up in de big house 'cause she said i was gwine to have to wait on her when she got old. dare was sho' a moughty big lot of slave chillun a-comin' on all de time and marster and mist'ess was good as dey could be to all of 'em. marster and mist'ess had seben chillun. deir boys was william, joe, james, and mack. miss tildy and miss mary was two of deir gals, but i just can't ricollect de name of deir oldest daughter. "whilst us was little, slave chillun didn't have much wuk to do. de littlest ones just picked up trash when de yards was bein' cleant up and done easy jobs lak dat. "marse hamp never fooled wid dem little one track stores at maxeys, de town nighest our plantation. when he needed somepin', he just cotch a train and lit out for 'gusty (augusta), georgie. mist'ess knowed when he was comin' back, and she allus sont de car'iage to meet him. when us chillun seed 'em gittin' out de car'iage and hosses, us didn't wait, us just lit out and when dat train got to de crossin' all of us was right dar a-waitin' to see our marster step off. den us followed dat car'iage down de big road plum back to de plantation, 'cause us knowed marster never forgot none of us. dere was new dresses for de gals and clothes for de boys too, and us felt moughty proud when us dressed up in dem store bought clothes f'um 'gusty. chilluns' evvy day clothes was just slips cut all in one piece, sleeves and all. boys wore long shirts 'til dey was big and strong enough for field wuk. clothes for de grown folks was made out of cloth wove in de loom house right dar on de plantation, but dere was some beaded cloth too. "us sho' did have a pretty place. de big house was painted white, and dere was big old yards wid lots of flowers. de slave quarters was white too. dey was one room cabins built in long rows, way off f'um de big house. home-made beds was nailed to de wall and had just two laigs, and de big ticks stuffed wid straw made dem beds moughty good places to sleep. "most of de slaves et at de two long tables close by de kitchen up nigh de big house. de kitchen warn't built on to de big house, but hit sot out in de yard a little piece. dat's de way evvybody had deir kitchens built dem days. marster kept a big strong man to do de cookin' for his slaves. pa was de boss for marse hamp. i don't 'member much 'bout him. my brother stayed in de cabin wid pa and ma, but i was all time up at de big house wid mist'ess. she was good to me as she could be. she told me to allus do right and never do no wrong to nobody. i had a little highup cheer what i sot in to keep de flies off of mist'ess. "all de slaves went to church wid deir white folks, and sot in de back part of de meetin' house. us went to old beard (baird) church, off out in de country, and sometimes i had to take de littlest white chilluns out and stay in de car'iage wid 'em, if dey got too restless inside de meetin' house. out dar in de car'iage us could listen to de singin' and it sho' did sound sweet. meetin' days was big days. dey fetched deir dinners and stayed all day. de mcwhorter family allus carried great big baskets, and one of deir biggest baskets was kept special just to carry chickens in, and de barbecue, it was fixed right dar on de church grounds. slave gals sot de long tables what was built out under de trees, and dem same gals cleant up atter evvybody had done got thoo' eatin'. niggers et atter de white folks, but dere was allus a plenty for all. little niggers kept de flies off de tables by wavin' long branches kivvered wid green leafs for fly brushes. some few of 'em brung home-made paper fly brushes f'um home. most of dem all day meetin's was in july and august. some folks called dem months de 'vival season, 'cause dere was more 'vival meetin's den dan in all de rest of de year. de day 'fore one of dem big baptizin's dey dammed up de crick a little, and when dey gathered 'round de pool next day dere was some tall shoutin' and singin'. white preachers done all de preachin' and baptizin'. "somehow i don't 'member much 'bout de celebratin' when dey got in de wheat and done de thrashin'. dey was so busy wid de cotton 'bout dat time on our place dat dere warn't much frolickin', but de sho' nuff big celebratin' was in de fall atter all de corn was gathered and dey had cornshuckin's. marse hamp 'vited all de white folks and deir niggers. de white folks visited and de niggers done de wuk. de fust thing dey done at cornshuckin's was to 'lect a gen'ral. all he done was to lead de singin' and try to git evvybody to jine in his song 'bout de corn, and as dey sung faster, de shucks dey flew faster too. atter de corn was all shucked, dey et de big feast what us had done been cookin' for days and days. hit tuk a passel of victuals, 'cause dem shuckers could sho' hide 'way dem good eats. den de fiddlers started up deir music wid =turkey in de straw=. de old breakdown dancin' was on, and hit was apt to go on all night. "syrup makin' time at marse hamp's was a frolic too. us raised plenty of sugar-cane to make dat good old 'lasses what tasties so good wid hoecake and home-made butter. "atter de war, ma and pa stayed on wid marse hamp a long time. mist'ess died when i was just a little chile, but she had done willed me to miss mary and told her to allus take keer of hailie. miss mary stayed right on dar wid marse hamp. my ma and pa had done left, and i ain't never heared nothin' more f'um 'em since dey went away f'um marse hamp's place. "den marster he done went and got kilt. he had rid off on a middle size pony what must a runned away wid him, 'cause dey found him plumb daid in a ditch. it was all so sudden lak us never could find out if he died happy. us knowed mist'ess died happy 'cause she told de folks 'round de bed dat de lord was a-takin' her home out of dis old world of trouble. "atter marse hamp died, miss mary married marse pleaze winter, and us all moved to flatwoods, what warn't so fur f'um marse jim smith's place. i 'members when dat smith man died. dey buried him in de graveyard on his own plantation at fust, but den dey said nobody didn't want to live dar atter he was buried dar, so dey tuk him up and buried him somewhar else. "i didn't lak to live at flatwoods, but i stayed on wid my miss mary and nussed her chillun 'til me and joe jewel got married. joe was named atter his old marster, captain joseph jewel, and dey lived on de jewel place in oglethorpe county. i never did keer much for fine clothes and miss mary said what clothes i had was all right, but she just would give me a nice white weddin' dress. she had us git married at her house, and she 'vited lots of mine and joe's folks and our friends to a big supper she had fixed for us. miss mary sho' did give me a grand send off. atter dat, i visited my miss mary whenever i wanted to, and still helped her wid her babies when she needed me. "miss mary is done daid now, but if she was a livin' old hailie would have what she needs. i'm a gittin' moughty old now and my old man is done gone on to glory, but hailie will soon be wid him dar. whilst i did go and git married to a jewel, i ain't forgittin' i was borned and bred a mcwhorter, and i'm here to tell you dat i'm still just de same--a mcwhorter." benjamin johnson ex-slave following is benjamin johnson's own account of some of his experiences as a slave and of conditions on his plantation. "on our plantation de white folks been feedin' de slaves off fat meat, jowls, an' heads an' jaws. dey kept all de meat out in de smoke house in de back yard. in dis house dey kept de hams all hangin' up high an' above dem dey kept de sausages and den above dem dey kept de finest hams all trimmed an' everything. de slaves eat dat fat meat an' thought dat dey wus eatin' pound cake. come down to chicken--if you got it you stole it when de white folks wus sleep at night an' den you had to be careful an' bury all de feathers in de groun' 'cause if you burned 'em de white folks would smell 'em. we boys in de fiel' used to be so hungry 'till we didn't know what to do. de overseer would be settin' down under a tree an' he would holler 'keep goin.' de sweat would be jes' running' off you and sometimes you could smell one another. "dere wus a spring nearby an' when we would git to it we would fall down an' drink fum de branch. de women would be plowin' an' hoein' grain an' de spanish needles an' cockle burrs would be stickin' to dere dresses fum dere knees to dere feet. further down dere would be a man diggin' a ditch. every now an' den white folks would walk over to de ditch an' see if it wus de same width all de way." "you go off to see somebody at night--jes' like you an' me want to laff an' talk--an' if dey ketch an' you ain't got no pass den dey gwine to whup you. you be glad to git away too 'cause when dey hit you, you wus hit. i wus down to ol' john brady's place one night talkin' to a lady an' ol' man brady slipped up behin' me an' caught me in de collar an' he say: "whut you doin' over here?--i'm goin' to give you twenty-five lashes" an' den he say to me: "come here". he wus jes' bout as tall as i am an' when i got to 'im he say turn 'roun' and' i say to 'im dat i ain't doin' nuthin' an' den he say: "dats whut i'm goin to whup you fer 'cause you ought to be home doin' sumpin'. 'bout dat time when i stooped over to take off my coat i caught 'im in his pants an' throwed 'im in a puddle o' water an' den i lit out fer home. if you git home den dey couldn't do nuthin' to you. he tried to chase me but he did'nt know de way through de woods like i did an he fell in a gulley an' hurt his arm. de next mornin' when i wus hitchin' up de boss man's horse i seed 'im comin' an' i tol de boss dat he tried to whup me de night befo' an' den de boss man say "did he have you?" i tol' 'im dat he did but dat i got away. an' den de boss say: "he had you an' he did'nt have you--is dat right?" den he say "don't worry 'bout dat i can git you out of dat. if he had you he shoulda whupped you an' dat woulda been his game but he let you git away an' so dat wus yo' game." 'bout dat time ol' man brady had done got dere an' he tol' de marster dat i wus on his place de night befo' an' dat i got away an' when he tried to whup me an' de marster say to him: "dat wus his game--if you had him you shoulda whupped 'im. dats de law. if you had whupped 'im dat woulda been yo' game, but you let 'im git away an' so dat wus his game." ol' man brady's face turned so red dat it looked like he wus gonna bus'. "we worked in de fiel' every day an' way in de night we shucked an' shelled corn. de cook done all de cookin'. when all of de marster's slaves wus in de fiel' dey had two cooks to feed 'em. at twelve o'clock de cooks would blow a horn at de stump in de yard back o' de cook house. even de hosses an' de mules knowed dat horn an' dey would'nt go a step further. you had to take de mule out of de harness an' take 'im to de spring an' water 'im an' den take 'im to de house where a colored man up dere named sam johnson had all de feed ready fer de hosses. when you git dere all de hosses go to dere own stalls where dere wus ten ears o' corn an' one bundle o' fodder fer each hoss. while dem hosses is eatin' you better be out dere eatin' yo' own. sarah an' annie, de cooks had a big wooden tray wid de greens an' de meat all cut up on it an' you pass by wid yo' tin pan an' dey put yo' meat all cut up on it along wid de greens an' den you could eat anywhere you wanted to--on de stump or in de big road if you wanted to. sometimes some of 'ems meat would give out or dere bread would give out an' den dey would say: "i'll give you a piece of my bread for some or yo' meat or i'll give you some of my meat for some of yo' bread". some of 'em would have a big ol' ash cake an' some of 'em would have jes' plain corn bread. dere wus usually a big skillet o' potatoes at de cook house an' when you eat an' drink yo' water den you is ready to go back to work. dey wus goin' to let you lay down in de shade fer 'bout a hour but you would make de time up by workin' till dark. some of 'em worked so 'till dey back wus gone. dey could'nt even stand up straight. "sometimes ol' missus would come 'long an' she would be mad wid some of de women an' she would want to go to whuppin' on 'em." "sometimes de women would'nt take it an' would run away an' hide in de woods. sometimes dey would come back after a short stay an' den again dey would have to put de hounds on dere trail to bring dem back home. as a general rule dere wus'nt much whuppin' on our plantation. 'course if you did'nt do what dey tol' you to do dey would take you out an' put yo' hands round a pole an' tie you so yo' feet would jes' touch de groun' an' den dey would go to work on you wid a cowhide. everytime dey hit you de blood would fly wid de whip." "de clothes den wus'nt but ol' plain white cloth. most of 'em wus patched fum de legs to de waist. some wus patched so till dey looked like a quilt. some of de women wore dese long striped cotton dresses an' when dey would go in de fiel' de spanish needles an' de burrs would stick all over 'em. de only shoes dat you got wus red brogans. if you got anything better it wus some dat de marster give you fer brushing off his shoes at de house. you wus so proud whenever dey give you a pair o' shoes or a ol' straw hat dat dey wus through wid at de house you went back an' showed it to everybody an' you wus mighty proud too. i used to drive my marster's hoss an' buggy fer 'im an' so i used to git a lotsa stuff like dat." "ol' marster wus a judge an' his name wus luke johnson. his wife wus named betsy an' his sons wus named jim, tom, will, an' dorn. his daughters wus janie, mary, catherine, an' lissie. he had acres of land an' slaves." "all de houses on de plantation 'cept ol' marster's wus built out o' logs. ol' marster lived in a fine house. sometimes when one o' de slaves had a chance to go inside his house all de rest of de slaves would be waitin' outside fer you to come out. when you did come out dey would say: "you been in de marster's house--how did it look in dere--whut did you see?" dey would tell 'em: "you ought to go in dere--it's so pretty". whenever you got a chance to go in dere you had done pulled off yo' hat long' fore you got to de door. "on sunday we would take soot out of de chimney an' wet it an' den go an' borrow de marster's shoe brush an' go an' brush our shoes. we wus gittin' ready to go to church." "at church all de white folks would sit in de front an' all de slaves would sit in de back. de preacher would preach an' say: "obey yo' master an' yo' missus an' you will always do right. if you see eggs in de yard take 'em to yo' marster or yo' missus an' put 'em at her feet. if you don't do dis she will needle you well or break bark over yo' head an' de bad man will git you." "sometimes dey would give us a dollar at christmas time an' if somebody did'nt take it fum us we would have it de nex' christmas 'cause we didn't have nuthin' to spend it fer." "when de war broke out ol' marster enlisted an' he took me 'long to wait on him an' to keep his clothes clean. i had plenty o' fun 'cause dere wus'nt so very much work to do. i 'members seein' 'im fightin' in richmond an' danville, virginia. i had a good time jes' watchin' de soldiers fightin'. i did'nt have to fight any at all. i used to stand in de door of de tent an' watch 'em fight. it wus terrible--you could hear de guns firin' an' see de soldiers fallin' right an' left. all you could see wus men gittin' all shot up. one day i seed one soldier git his head shot off fum his body. others got arms an' legs shot off. an' all de time all you could hear wus de guns goin'--bam, bam, bam--it wus terrible to see an' hear. one mornin' as i wus standin' in de door of de tent i had a dose of it. i wus leanin' against de side of de tent wid my hand stretched out a load o' grape shot fum de guns hit me in de hand an' de blood flew everywhere. i jes' hollered. it come pretty near scareing me to death. after de doctor got it patched up (and he held the hand up to exibit the scar) it wus as good as it every wus." "after de war wus over ol' marster wus all shot up an' i had to take him on back home. when we got dere all de slaves crowded 'roun me an' wanted to know if dey wus gonna be freed or not an' when i tol' 'em dat de war wus over an' dat dey wus free dey wus all very glad. after de war a whole lots of 'em stayed on de plantation an' a whole lots of 'em left as soon as dey could git away." plantation life as viewed by ex-slave georgia johnson w. broad street athens, georgia written by: grace mccune athens -- edited by: sarah h. hall athens leila harris augusta georgia johnson ex-slave--age almost without exception the old negroes who have given their "ricollections" have had life stories centered around one plantation. unlike these aunt georgia johnson, years old, of athens, georgia, moved about considerably during her childhood, lived in several states and had many and varied experiences. after coming back home she is of the opinion shared by all georgians: "dar's no place kin tetch georgie." "ma's fust name was myra. i don't 'member what her other name was. atter her white folkses had done died out up in maryland, her pa, her brudder and sister was sold off up dar, and a man named jim grisham brung de rest of de slaves from dat plantation down to lexin'ton, georgie to sell 'em. marse duncan allen bought my ma and her mammy dar at de sale in lexin'ton and tuk 'em to his big old plantation in south callina. "ma said her didn't never see no hog meat 'til she come to dis country. her said dey et all sorts of fishes; just went to de beach and got crabs, oysters, and swimp (shrimp) wid de hulls still on 'em, but when her done et some hog meat at marster's plantation, her said hit sho' was good. marse duncan allen give my ma to his gal, mist'ess laura, for her maid. my pa, he was charlie allen; he b'longed to marse duncan allen too. when mist'ess laura done went and married marse blackwell of e'berton, georgie, marse duncan give 'em my pa for a weddin' present and dey fetched my ma and pa wid 'em to live in e'berton, georgie. atter dey got moved and settled, my ma and pa dey got married. ma, her wukked in de big house and done most of de cookin'. pa driv' de carriage for de white folks. marster and mist'ess was powerful good to deir slaves. marster, he run a big store at e'berton, and 'sides dat he had a big plantation and a heap of niggers too. "on de plantation dey had big gyardens whar dey raised heaps of cabbages, potatoes, colla'd greens, turnip sallet, onions, peas, rutabagas, and pun'kins and sech lak. dey raised plenty of chickens, tukkeys, hogs, cows and sheep, and dey wove good wool cloth on de plantation looms out of de wool f'um dem dar sheep. "slave quarters was just one room log cabins what was built so de corners come together to big old chimneys. yessum, i 'members dey just had one big chimney to evvy four cabins. dey cooked on de fireplace and had pot racks for to hang de pots on, and ovens to bake in. us sho' could do 'way wid a heap of sweet 'tatoes what had done been roasted in de ashes. cabins was planked up on de inside and de outside was daubed wid mud in de cracks to keep out de wind and rain. our home-made beds, nailed to de side of de cabins, had ticks filled wid wheat straw. white folks had nice corded beds. ma said hit was lots of trouble to keep dem cords tight. dey had hooks for to draw 'em up tight and den peg 'em down wid wooden pegs. "marster allus give his niggers passes on sundays so as dem paddyroller folks wouldn't ketch 'em and beat 'em up, if dey went off de plantation. niggers went to de white folks church and listened to white preachers. when ma jined de church, dey had to break de ice in beaver dam crick to baptize her. her was so happy and shouted so loud, dey had to drag her out of de crick and take her way back in de woods to keep her from 'sturbin' de rest of de folks at de baptizin'. "i was borned in de last year of de war so i don't have no sho' 'nough ricollections 'bout dem hard times what old folks says dey had dem days. atter de war was over, us all stayed on wid marster for a long time. mist'ess was moughty good to us chillun. us played wid de white chillun, and one day mist'ess cotch us all a-fightin', and her switched us all, but it didn't hurt. marster used to git my sister to shout for him. i kin just see her now, a-twistin' and jumpin' and hollerin' for all de world lak grown-up niggers done at meetin's and baptizin's, 'til she done fell out. den marster, he say, 'take her to de kitchen and feed her good.' "pa and marster had a fallin' out, 'cause marster wouldn't have no settlement wid 'im. he just wouldn't give my pa no money. marster said us younguns still b'longed to 'im and dat us had evvything us needed, and could git anything us wanted at his store and he thought he had done 'nough for us. but my pa said he didn't wanter take up evvything he wukked for in trade, 'cause he would lak to have some money too. "bout dat time marse pope barrow was a gittin' up lots of niggers to go wid him to mis'sippi for to raise cotton out dar, whar he said dey was makin' heaps of money. pa tuk us all and went 'long wid 'im. i just kin 'member dat place. hit was all kivvered wid water. marse pope, he hired a lot of irishmen to help dig ditches for to dreen de water off his land. den dey planted cotton and pa said hit sho' was fine cotton, just a-growin' to beat de band, when dem irishmens got mad 'cause dey said marse pope hadn't paid 'em for deir wuk, and dey blowed up de dams and let all dat water back on de cotton. hit was plumb ruint. den marse pope, he left dar and tuk my pa and all of us along wid him to arkansas. us made a big cotton crop out dar, but when all de cotton done been sold us niggers didn't git nothin'. ma, her had done all de cookin' for de mens what wukked for marse pope. his wife, mist'ess sallie barrow used to come to see him and her allus brought her maid along wid her, and de maid, her stayed wid us. ma said us chillun used to cry to go back to georgie wid mist'ess sallie, 'cause her rid on one of dem boats what was run wid steam. pa left marse pope 'cause he wouldn't give 'im no pay. us sold our things and come to memphis, tennessee and went to farmin' for marse partee, and us just stayed dar long 'nough to make one crop. whilst us was out dar, our little sister died. just 'fore her died her said her was goin' to see god. her told de debbil to git away f'um dar, 'cause her warn't gwine wid him. dey put a little white dress on her and laid her out on de bed, 'til dey could make up a coffin out of plain pine wood for her. dey just had a prayer and sung 'hark f'um de tomb,' and den dey buried her away in de groun'. "pa got his money for dat crop and den us come on back to da plantation in e'berton, georgie, 'cause old marster had done been a-wantin' us back. he said he needed us, chillun and all, and us was sho' glad for to git back home. ma done de cookin' and pa driv' de carriage and done little jobs 'roun' de barns and hosses. sometimes he wukked a little in de fiel's. us chillun used to clean yards, git in de wood, feed chickens and on sundays atter dinner when dar warn't no company at de big house us would go up to de big plunder room in de attic and us would have de bestes' times wid de white chilluns, a-dressin' up in de old clothes what mist'ess had stored away up dar. sometimes when marster would ketch us up dar all dressed up, he would make us come down and preach for him. den he made us all set down 'cep' one what was to do de preachin'. sometimes it was his own son he called on to preach to us, and dat white boy sho' told us niggers 'bout our sins. den dey would make my sister, millie, sing, 'po' sinner man, done gone down yonder'. one time when marster's son was a preachin' he told all about a fight us done had once when i hit him wid a rock. he said i sho' was goin' to de debbil for dat. i just knowed marster was gwine git atter me 'bout dat, but he just laughed and said hit warn't de fust time a preacher had done been hit wid a rock." "marse deadwyler, de mayor, up at e'berton, lived on de plantation next to ours, and he had a big old deer what sho' hated chillun. hit would try to stomp 'em to death, and us sho' did make tracks fast sometimes when dat old deer got out. and marster had a old mule what would fight at us chillun too. one time us didn't know he was in de parstur when us went out dar to play. de gate was wukked wid draw poles and us couldn't git 'em down, so us had to crawl under a old crib house and hit was plumb dark when marster foun' us. us sho' didn't go in de parstur no more lessen us knowed dat mule was fas'ened up good and tight at de barn." "one time, in de middle of de night, long atter us chillun had done gone to bed us heared grown folks runnin' 'roun', and dey told us to git up and see mr. deadwyler's house a burnin' up. dat was de bigges' fire i ever seed. blazes and sparks went way up, and dey didn't save nothin'. us chillun got so 'cited us didn't go back to bed no more dat night." "niggers didn't have no church of dey own, but dey did have prayer meetin's. dey would kindle 'em a big fire for light and to keep 'em warm, off clost to de woods, whar deir racket wouldn't 'sturb de white folks, and dey would gather 'roun' dat fire and pray. sometimes slaves would just go off by deirselfs in de woods to pray. one night when ma was out in de woods a prayin' her heared a loud fuss back of her lak somebody was tearin' down de woods, and hit skeered her so her quit prayin' and run to de big house. marster told her, hit was de debbil atter her." "pa got mad again at old marster 'cause still he wouldn't have no settlement wid 'im, so us left e'berton again and went back to south callina to de old allen place where pa had come f'um. den pa bought me a doll what would dance when you wound it up, and i sho' did love dat little dancin' doll. soon miss laura come to see her pa, marse duncan allen, and her brung me a little doll too. her said i needed somebody to play wid 'cause i couldn't go to school on account of my eyes. dey was bad and i warn't 'lowed to read nothin', but ma larnt me to do a little sewin'. i felt moughty big and grown up soon as i could make my own dresses and chemise. dey warn't hard to make, but i was moughty proud 'cause i had done made 'em my own self." "marse duncan allen didn't have no little chillun of his own den, but he sho' seed atter us. for supper us had bread and milk, wid butter and 'lasses sirup. dey says dats 'nough for chillun at night. us was still dar on marse allen's place when me and isaac mccollie got married. de white folks said i was too young 'cause i was just den, but my ma told me i could go ahead and git married if i wanted too. isaac's two brudders was married at de same time. whilst de boys was gone atter licenses and de preacher, us three gals was a-waitin' up at marse tom young's house whar de weddin' was to take place. dem other two gals was so skeered dat marse tom's housekeeper give each one of us a glass of gin to quiet our nerves, but i warn't skeered a bit, not me, when i had a chanst to be all dressed up lak dat, in a satin striped white weddin' dress wid a long train a-trailin' off de back of it. all de ten ruffles 'roun' dat dress was aidged wid pink and de big puffed sleeves had pink cuffs. hit did seem an awful long time 'fore dem boys got back wid preacher lockhart. us was married dar at marse tom's and den us went back to marse duncan allen's place whar de bigges' surprise i ever had was ready for us. marster and mist'ess had done 'lowed dat if i just had to git married dey would do de best dey could for me. out in de big house yard was long tables just loaded down wid everything good--chickens, barbecue, pies, and a great big weddin' cake, what my good old mist'ess done baked for me her own self, and den us just had de bigges' sort of time a-dancin' and frolickin' atter us et all dat good supper. isaac's pa said he owed him one more year 'cause he was just when us got married, and all us got for dat whole year's wuk was a little corn and one heifer. "old marse blackwell had done died and miss laura was a-beggin' my pa to come back and wuk for her, but he wouldn't go nowhar 'til atter marse duncan allen died, den he moved back to georgie, down nigh de jim smith place. den pa got a farm whar de stockade is now. us wukked moughty hard a-gittin' a start, and dat hard wuk made good crops and us raised most all us needed to eat--veg'tables, hogs, cows, chickens, tukkeys, and sech lak. in de fall atter us had done wukked so hard all thoo' crop time, pa let us have cornshuckin's. us cooked for two or three days 'fore dem cornshuckin's 'cause dere was allus a big crowd to be fed. when de big day come, fust thing us done was choose a gen'ral. he just walked 'roun' de big piles of corn and led de singin'. somehow, i can't 'member how dat song went, but it was all 'bout corn. de gen'ral started de song slow and den got it to goin' faster and faster and de livelier de song went de faster de shucks would fly, and de more often dey would pass 'roun' de liquor. soon as all de corn was shucked, us had de big feast wid plenty of good coffee and toddy to go wid dem good victuals us had done been cookin' up; dem chickens, all dat fresh killed hog meat and a big spread of lightbread and pies and cakes. dem was de good old days, and dey don't have no sech grand times a helpin' each other, and a-celebratin' de harvest time no more. "atter isaac died, i wukked for diff'unt white folks, cookin' and washin' 'til i married alec johnson. dis time us just went to de preacher for to git de knot tied and didn't have no big weddin'. i did have on a nice white dress, but hit warn't nigh so pretty and fancy as my fust weddin' dress. a few friends come 'roun' dat night and us handed 'em out a little cake and ice cream, but dere warn't no big supper. "bofe my husbands is done been daid and gone long ago, but i'se still got two of my chillun, my gran'chillun and four great gran'chillun. dey's all sweet and good to me, and sees dat i has all what i needs. i done lost de sight in one eye and de other one is failin' moughty fast. i prays and prays dat de good lord will let me see a little, what time i'se got left to live. "one of my chillun died de fust of dis year and soon i'm gwine to jine her. i hopes you laks what i ricollected, but somehow i can't call dem old times back to mind since i done got so old, lak i use to. come back to see me again, honey. good-bye." manuel johnson of washington-wilkes by minnie branham stonestreet washington-wilkes georgia seventy-four year old manuel johnson, "about de younges'" of the nine children of milford and patsey johnson, is a tall ebony-black old man with the whitest hair and the roundest, merriest face. he lives in washington, but even at his age he farms. although he was too young to remember much about slavery, uncle manuel recalls the happy old plantation days: "my pa an' ma cum frum ole virgin'y five years befo' de wah, jedge harris here in wilkes county went up ter virgin'y an' bo't dem frum de putnams an' bro't 'em home wid him. you know, miss, in dem days us niggers wuz bo't an' sole lak dey does mules ter-day. i wuz borned down on de harris place de same year miss carrie (the youngest harris daughter) wuz--we's de same year's chillun, dat's de onlies' way i knows how ole i is, miss harris tole me. "jedge harris had er lot ov slaves--i specks i kin name er hunderd now, dey all lived in log cabins in de quarters an' wuz happy an' well took keer ov as dey could be. de white folks took me in de house when i wuz leetle an' raised me kase dey wanted me fer er house boy. i waited on de table, washed dishes, an' atter i got big 'nough, i milked de cows. i et in de kitchen out'n young marse jimmie's plate. i tho't so much ov him i allus et out'n de same plate he did. we sho' had er plenty ov ev'ything good too. all de y'uther niggers cooked an' et in de cabins. i wuz gittin' 'long in years 'fo' i knowed you could buy meat in a sto'. yassum, us lived well on dat plantation--had plenty ter eat an' ter wear. miss cornelia--(the oldest harris daughter)--made all my clothes. de nigger wimmens spun an' wove, but i never paid dem much mind when i wuz er comin' on. i 'member hearin' dem talk 'bout dyin' de cloth out er bark an' things dey got out'n de woods. jes' so i had somethin' ter wear i never tho't how hard dey had ter wuk ter mak hit. "i lived on de harris plantation wid dem 'til i wuz nineteen years ole an' i allus felt lak i belonged ter dem--dey wuz so good ter me. when i fust could 'member, miss cornelia would git on ole ruben, dat wuz her saddle horse, an' mak me git up behind her an den she'd go anywhere she wanted ter go. 'nough times she took me ter ole mt zion church wid her. "no nigger wuz ever 'lected on de harris place. ef we wuz sick er needed sumthin' us got hit. ef we wuz real sick de horseback doctor cum. in dem days de doctors rid 'roun' in de country on horseback an' took medicine wid em. ef we warn't so sick de ole white folks cum ter see us an' 'scribed fer us. dey use ter mak us little niggers take hoehound tea an' fat lightwood tea fer coles. dat lightwood tea is er good medicine, i takes hit lots ov times now when i has er cole. us had ter take garlic water--no'm, not garlic and whiskey, but jes' plain garlic water, an' hit wuz a bad dose too. dey give us candy made out'n jerusalem oak an' sugar, dat warn't so bad." uncle manuel said when he first could remember the negroes had services in their cabins at night. "chairback" preachers went around from one plantation to another holding services and much good was done. "on sunday evenings, our mistess called all us little folks up to de house an' read de bible to us an' tole us bible stories an' talked ter us 'bout livin' right. i 'members dat jes' as good." when asked about the funerals and marriages when he first remembered, uncle manuel said: "dey keeps dead folks out too long now. when i wuz comin' on, ef somebody died lak terday, dey wuz buried ter-morrer'. dere wuz a settin' up an' prayer service dat night, de body wuz put in er plain home-made coffin blacked wid blackin' an' speerits turpentine, an' when de waggin cum ter take de body ter de buryin' groun' ev'ybody went out behin' de corpse singin' some good ole song lak 'amazin' grace' an' 'hark frum de tomb'. den dey went on ter de grave an' had a little service tellin' 'bout how de departed 'un had gone ter peace an' rest--dere warn't no long 'ictionary lak dey has now--none ov dese great long sermons an' gwines on--ev'ybody had jes' er common funeral an' hit wuz so much better. "my marster wuz a jedge so he married all his niggers whut got married. he married lots ov y'uther couples too. i 'members dat dey use ter cum fer him ter marry dem." uncle manuel said he tried superstitions and signs, but they didn't "prosper me none", so he gave up all he knew except the weather signs, and he plants his crops by the moon. "i watches de fust twelve days ov de new year an' den i kin tell jes' whut weather ev'y mont' ov de year gwine ter bring. dat's de way mens mak almanacs. 'course i ain't got no edercation--nuver been ter school in my life--but dat's my fault kase i could have went, but long 'bout den i wuz so mannish i wouldn't go an' ev'y day i wishes i had er went so i could read now, but i didn't have sense 'nough den ter want ter learn." about planting crops, uncle manuel advises: "plant ev'ything dat makes under de groun' lak 'taters, goobers, tunips an' sich, on de dark ov de noon; plant ev'ything dat makes on top de groun' on light nights. plant yo' crap on de waste ov de moon an' dat crap sho' gwine ter waste er way, an' dat's de truf, i ain't nuver seed hit fail yit. plant corn on de full ov de moon an' you'll have full good-made years, plant on de growin' ov de moon an' you'll have a full growed stalk, powerful stalks, but de years won't be fulled out. i pays 'tention to dem signs, but as fer all dese y'uthers, dey ain't nothin' ter dem, 'cept meetin' er cat, i jes' has ter turn clean er 'roun' when i meets er cat an' dat turns de bad luck dat hit means, er way." uncle manuel grew sad as he recalled the good old days long gone. he made an unusual statement for one of his race when he said: "mistess, ef somebody had er thousan' dollars in one han' an' in de y'uther a pass fer me ter go back to dem ole days an' axed me which 'un i'de tak', i'de go back to dem ole days an' live de rest ov my life. dere aint' nothin' to dese times now--nothin' 'cept trubble, peoples is livin' so fast, dey don't tak' no time ter stop an' 'sider, dey jes' resh right into trubble. i use ter drive oxen--four ov 'em--an' dey took me 'long all right. i'se plowed oxen too, now yu nuver see 'un kase dey's too slow; hit's autymobiles an' gas-run things, no'm, folks don't 'sider on de ways ov life lak dey use ter. "why is i livin' so long? dat's easy--i'se 'onest, ain't nuver stole, nuver been in no trubble ov any kin', been nigh ter death two times, but i'se been spared kase i jes' ain't lived out my days yit. i'se on borrowed time, i knows dat, but dat ain't worryin' me none. an' i tell yu somthin' else; i ain't botherin' none over dis ole age pensun business fer i'se gwine ter wok on pensun er no pensun. no mam, i ain't gwine ter set back an' 'speck no govermint ter feed me long as i kin' scratch er 'roun'. i got wuk ter do--i got mo' wuk ter do an' gwine ter do hit long as i'se able." it was easy to see from uncle manuel's manner he meant every word he said about "wuk". an independent old soul, and a good example to the younger ones of his race. [hw: ex-slave] mary a. crawford re-search worker susie johnson--ex-slave susie was only four years old when the war between the states began, but recalls a great deal about the old days, and remembers a great deal that her mother told her. susie's parents were jim and dinah freeman who belonged to mr. and mrs. henry freeman. the freemans lived on a large plantation near the rock, georgia, and had so many slaves "they could not be counted". the old freeman home is still standing, but is occupied now by negroes and is in a bad state of repair. susie is around seventy-five or seventy-seven years old, as nearly as she can "figger it out". a good many years ago when she first came over here from upson county, she found "mr. frank freeman, her young marster, away back yonder", and he told her lots and lots about her mother and father and gave her her correct age--july th. susie says that mr. and mrs. freeman were "sho" good to their slaves but they surely did control them. for instance, if any of them had the stomach ache "ole miss" would make them take some "jerusalem oak tea" and if they had a bad cold it was "hoar hound tea". if you did not take the medicine "ole miss" would reach up and get the leather "strop" and (susie chuckled) "then you'd take it". when asked if mr. freeman whipped the slaves very much, susie said he did not and that if he had been a mean master that "all the niggers wouldn't a wanted to stay on with him after freedom". when asked about the negro marriage customs of slavery days, susie stated that her mother said that "she and jim (susie's daddy) when they got in love and wanted to marry, jest held each others hands and jumped over the broom and they was married". "yes, i believe in lots o' signs", susie replied on being asked about that. for instance, the "scritch' owl is a sho' sign o' death. and the reason i knows that is cause my papa's death was fo' told by an owl. papa was took sick like this morning at nine o'clock and about eleven o'clock a little scritch' owl come and set right on the corner of the roof right above the head o' papa's bed and scritched and scritched--and by two o'clock that day papa was a corpse!" susie remembers one day when she and her mother were picking cotton when all of a sudden her mother began to sing "glory to the dying land" and sang so much that "atter a while she got so happy she couldn't be still and she danced all over masta's cotton patch and tromped down so much cotton i jest knowed masta was gwina whup her. den i laffed at her so hard 'ole miss whupped me wid dat strop! law! law!" susie johnson-- east tinsley street, griffin, georgia september , ex-slave interview estella jones wrightsboro road augusta, georgia written by: louisa oliphant federal writers' project augusta, georgia. edited by: john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, georgia. at least one old augusta negress has vivid recollections of childhood days on plantations in the pre-civil war days. outstanding in their memories are the methods of rearing slave children and the amusements indulged in by their mothers and fathers. "i was born and raised in powers pond place," said decrepit estella jones, "and, though i warn't but nine years old, i 'member dey had a nuss house whar dey put all de young chillun 'til dey wuz old enough to work. de chillun wuz put at dis nuss house so dey ma and pa could work. dey had one old 'oman to look atter us and our [hw: some'pin] t' eat wuz brought to dis house. our milk wuz put on de floor in a big wooden tray and dey give us oyster shells to eat wid. all de chillun would gather 'round dis tray and eat. dey always let us eat 'til us got enough. i kept some of de oyster shells dey give us for spoons 'til my own chillun wuz grown. "de nuss house wuz close to de marster's house. it wuz a wooden house wid two great big rooms. de sleepin' room wuz furnished wid little bunk beds three or four feet apart. the other room wuz used for a playroom and dinin' room. de floor wuz bare and de seats and benches wuz built from undressed lumber. "slaves on our place had a hard time. dey had to work night and day. marster had stobs (staves) all over de field to put lights on so dey could see how to work atter dark. de mens, more so dan de womens, had to work every night 'til twelve o'clock. but dey would feed 'em good. dey had dey supper sont out in de field to 'em 'bout nine o'clock by a cripple boy who didn't do nothin' but tote water and do things lak dat. "dey wuz always glad when de time come for 'em to shell corn. dey enjoyed dat better dan dey did christmas, or at least jist as much. dey always had to work durin' de day time and shell corn at night. de overseer wuz real good to 'em and it looked lak he enjoyed corn shellin's as much as dey did. most times slaves from other plantations would come over and help 'em. dey used to put on dey good clothes 'cause dey wanted to look dey best. "it always tuk 'bout two weeks to shell corn 'cause de real old mens and womens never did help. dey always had somethin' good to eat at dese times. dey would pick out de best six cooks and dey wouldn't help shell corn, dey jist looked atter de cookin'. dey would have chicken, sometimes fish or anythin' dey could get. now and den dey had jist chitt'lin's and sweet 'tatoes. "de men have even stole hogs from other people and barbecued 'em, den dey would cook hash and rice and serve barbecue. the overseer knowed all 'bout it but he et as much as anybody else and kept his mouth shut. he wuz real good to all de slaves. he never run you and yelled at you lak you warn't human. everybody loved him, and would mind him better dan dey would anybody else. he always let de slaves shell corn 'til 'bout ten o'clock, den everybody would stop and have supper. atter dat he would let 'em dance and play games 'til twelve. our marster didn't say nothin' 'bout what de slaves done so long as de overseer wuz wid 'em. "when corn-shellin' time come, everything would be tuk out of a big room, and one half of de room would be filled wid corn. every pusson had a bucket dat held de same amount. every time a bucket wuz filled it wuz tuk to de scorekeeper to be credited to his name. whenever de huskin' wuz over, de number of buckets you had filled wuz counted and de one who filled de most always got a prize. "whenever anybody wuz late gittin' his cotton picked out, he always give a moonlight cotton pickin' party. dese parties wuz always give on moonshiny nights and wuz liked by everybody. atter while dey give everybody somethin' good to eat, and at de end of de party, de pusson who had picked de most cotton got a prize. sometimes dey had pea shellin's 'stead of corn huskin's, but de parties and frolics wuz all pretty much alike. "at quiltin' bees, four folks wuz put at every quilt, one at every corner. dese quilts had been pieced up by old slaves who warn't able to work in de field. quiltin's always tuk place durin' de winter when dere warn't much to do. a prize wuz always give to de four which finished dere quilt fust. 'freshments went 'long wid dis too. "sometimes de grown folks all went huntin' for fun. at dem times, de womens had on pants and tied dey heads up wid colored cloths. "cake walkin' wuz a lot of fun durin' slavery time. dey swept de yards real clean and set benches 'round for de party. banjos wuz used for music makin'. de womens wore long, ruffled dresses wid hoops in 'em and de mens had on high hats, long split-tailed coats, and some of 'em used walkin' sticks. de couple dat danced best got a prize. sometimes de slave owners come to dese parties 'cause dey enjoyed watchin' de dance, and dey 'cided who danced de best. most parties durin' slavery time, wuz give on saturday night durin' work seasons, but durin' winter dey wuz give on most any night. "i still 'members some of de songs dey used to sing at frolics and at church too": =the wind blows east= the wind blows east and the wind blows west, it blows like the judgment day. and all them sinners who never have cried, will surely cry that day. let me tell you, sure to cry that day, sure to cry that day, all them sinners who never have cried, will surely cry that day. =you'd better be praying= you'd better be praying while you're young, you'd better be praying while you're young, you'd better be praying without waiting any longer, you'd better be praying while you're young. you'd better seek religion while you're young, you'd better seek religion while you're young, you'd better seek religion without waiting any longer, you'd better seek religion while you're young. =come change my name= bright angel, bright angel, come change my name, o angel come change my name. come change my name from nature to grace, o angel come change my name. sweet jesus, sweet jesus come change my name, o jesus come change my name, come change my name from nature to grace, o jesus come change my name. =i'm on my way= if a seeker gets to heaven before i do, look out for me, i'm on my way too. shout, shout the heaven-bound king! shout, shout i'm on my way! if a brother gets to heaven before i do, look out for me, i'm on my way too. shout, shout the heaven-bound king! shout, shout i'm on my way! ex-slave interview =fannie jones= -- th street augusta, georgia written by: emily powell augusta, georgia edited by: john n. booth wpa residencies no. & sept. , . =fannie jones= ex-slave, age -- th st. augusta, georgia fannie jones lives in a ramshackle, two-story, rooming house near the banks of the savannah river. she is an old negress with iron gray hair and a gingercake complexion. her ill-fitting old dress was none too clean, and her bare feet exposed toe nails almost a half-inch long. fannie apparently hadn't a tooth in her head, but she was munching some bread. the old negress thought the purpose of the visit was to see about an old age pension for her, and she was very much disappointed when she learned the real reason; however, she invited her visitor into a bedroom. this place was much too dark, and the interview finally took place on the back porch where an old cat was made to get out of the only chair. fannie settled herself on the doorsteps, while the visitor fanned flies and gnats with one hand and took notes with the other. "i was born on marse jim dubose's plantation 'bout de year ," she began. "my marster and mistiss was de overseer and his wife. you see, honey, i was born in de overseer's house. when my ma was year old she was give to de overseer's wife, miss becky ann, when she married. my marster was named jesse durden. i never did see marse jim dubose's house nor none of de slave quarters, and i don't know nothin' 'bout dem or none of his niggers. i jus' stayed in de house and waited on marster and mistiss. i cleaned up de house, made de beds, churned for mistiss, and made fires for marster. my ma, she cooked for marster and mistiss, cleaned up de house, and waited on mistiss 'cause she was a invalid. "marse jim dubose's plantation covered thousands of acres, and he owned hundreds of slaves. you see, my marster was de man what handled all of dese here niggers. evvy mornin' marster jesse would git up and go out and blow his horn, dat was de way he called de niggers to de fields. "de overseer's house was a one-story buildin' and it was furnished in de old time stuff. de beds was teestered and had slats to hold de mattresses. when marster would come in from de fields he would be so tired he never did go nowhar. sometimes i would say to him, 'i'se cold,' and he would say, 'nig, you jus' crawl up on de foot of my bed and git warm.' he would say 'nig, what you want for supper?' and i would say, 'i wants some bread and milk and a little syrup.' he give me anything dat i wanted to eat, and us had good things to eat. us had chickens, hogs, and good milk cows. i kin see de big bowls of milk now dat us used to have. us made a heap of butter and sont it to augusta onct a month and sold it for ¢ a pound. "atter freedom come, marster said to me and ma, 'you all is free now to go wharever you wants to.' ma, she wanted to go, but i jus' cried and cried 'cause i didn't want to leave marster and mistiss; dey was too good to me. so ma tuk me and us went to her grandma's down at barnett. us stayed dar awhile, den us lef' and went to thomson. us stayed at dat place a long time, and i was married dar to a man by de name of claiborne jones. us had 'leven chillun, but dey is all daid now 'cept two. i lives here wid one of my daughters. "my husband b'longed to marse john wilson. durin' de war marse john wuz a captain, and he tuk my husband 'long to cook and to wait on him. he said one night de yankees was atter 'em and him and marse john jumped in a big ditch. later in de night it rained and dey couldn't git out of de ditch, so de rest of marse john's company lef' 'em alone. de next mornin' when dey got out of de ditch, dey didn't know which way dey had went, but marse john got a hoss and dey got on and rid 'til dey caught up wid de company. "at christmas dey give us anything dat us wanted. dey give me dolls, candy, fruit and evvything. mistiss used to git a book and say, 'nig, come here and let me larn you how to read.' i didn't pay no 'tention to her den, but now i sho' does wish i had. my mistiss didn't have but one chile, miss cornelia." at this moment fannie, tired of sitting on the doorsteps, abandoned the back porch for her room. the place was very untidy, but she explained this by saying that she was not able to clean it up. on one side of the room hung a picture of the =sacred heart= and on another a reproduction of the =lord's supper=. an enlarged family portrait decorated the front wall. the symbolic pictures aroused curiosity as to whether fannie was a church member. she answered questions on the subject by saying "yes honey, i joined de mount pleasant baptist church years ago and wuz baptized by brother mike wilson." when she was asked to sing, the cracked voice broke into this song: "i am a baptist born, and my shoes cried, and my eyes batted, and when i'm gone dere is a baptist gone." fannie was now completely tired out, but when her visitor arose to leave, she sang out cordially: "honey, god bless you; goodbye." alberta minor [hw: over years old] rastus jones, ex-slave place of birth: chapel hill, north carolina date of birth: apparently, between and present residence: near vaugn, georgia on farm of mr. w.m. parker interviewed: august , rastus jones, born the slave property of mr. sidney jones, a north carolina planter, is a very old man, probably between and years of age. his earliest memory is that of the "falling stars," the most brilliant display, perhaps, of the leonids ever recorded, that of november - , , which establishes his age as being in excess of years. "uncle" rastus states that the joneses were good to their slaves--gave them clothing each spring and fall, issued them shoes as needed, fed them well, and furnished them medical attention when ill. the negro children and white children played together and the life of the slave was usually happy and care-free. at christmas time, the slaves were always remembered by their masters with gifts. the jones family owned about twenty-five negroes and, some years prior to the civil war, moved to desoto county, mississippi, taking their slaves with them, all making the trip in wagons. in both north carolina and mississippi, it was a custom of mr. jones to give each deserving, adult negro slave an acre or two of land to work for himself and reap any profits derived therefrom. while living in mississippi, rastus ran off with a crowd "o' niggers" and joined the federal forces at memphis. during the siege of vicksburg, he was employed as cook in general grant's army, and later marched east with the yankees. subsequently, he seems to have become attached to sherman's forces. near marietta, georgia, in july or august, , he was captured by the confederates under general hood, who confined him in prison at--or near--macon until the close of the war. after his release, in may, , he had "a pretty hard time of it" for several years. still later, he came to spalding county and hired out to mr. jones bridges. he remained with mr. bridges for seven years, then went to work for, and farming with, the parker family, with whom he has since remained. he is the father of fourteen children and has a large number of grand and great-grandchildren. for a man of his years, "uncle" rastus is well preserved mentally and physically. he is a widower and now lives with a daughter, the only one of his children that he knows the whereabouts of. images provided by the library of congress, manuscript division. [tr: ***] = transcriber note [hw: ***] = handwritten note slave narratives a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress washington volume viii maryland narratives prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of maryland informants brooks, lucy [tr: and lafayette brooks] coles, charles deane, james v. fayman, mrs. m.s. foote, thomas gassaway, menellis hammond, caroline harris, page henson, annie young jackson, rev. silas james, james calhart james, mary moriah anne susanna johnson, phillip jones, george lewis, alice lewis, perry macks, richard randall, tom simms, dennis taylor, jim wiggins, james williams, rezin (parson) [tr: interviews were stamped at left side with state name, date, and interviewer's name. these stamps were often partially cut off. where month could not be determined [--] substituted. interviewers' names reconstructed from other, complete entries.] maryland [--]- - guthrie aunt lucy [hw: brooks]. references: interview with aunt lucy and her son, lafayette brooks. aunt lucy, an ex-slave, lives with her son, lafayette brooks, in a shack on the carroll inn springs property at forest glen, montgomery county, md. to go to her home from rockville, leave the court house going east on montgomery ave. and follow us highway no. , otherwise known as the rockville pike, in its southeasterly direction, four and one half miles to the junction with it on the left (east) of the garrett park road. this junction is directly opposite the entrance to the georgetown preparatory school, which is on the west of this road. turn left on the garrett park road and follow it through that place and crossing rock creek go to kensington. here cross the tracks of the b.&o. r.r. and parallel them onward to forest glen. from the railroad station in this place go onward to forest glen. from the railroad station in this place go onward on the same road to the third lane branching off to the left. this lane will be identified by the sign "carroll springs inn". turn left here and enter the grounds of the inn. but do not go up in front of the inn itself which is one quarter of a mile from the road. instead, where the drive swings to the right to go to the inn, bear to the left and continue downward fifty yards toward the swimming pool. lucy's shack is on the left and one hundred feet west of the pool. it is about eleven miles from rockville. lucy is an usual type of negro and most probably is a descendant of less remotely removed african ancestors than the average plantation negroes. she does not appear to be a mixed blood--a good guess would be that she is pure blooded senegambian. she is tall and very thin, and considering her evident great age, very erect, her head is very broad, overhanging ears, her forehead broad and not so receeding as that of the average. her eyes are wide apart and are bright and keen. she has no defect in hearing. following are some questions and her answers: "lucy, did you belong to the carrolls before the war?" "nosah, i didne lib around heah den. ise born don on de bay". "how old are you?" "dunno sah. miss anne, she had it written down in her book, but she said twas too much trouble for her to be always lookin it up". (her son, lafayette, says he was her eldest child and that he was born on the severn river, in maryland, the th day of october, . supposing the mother was twenty-five years old then, she would be about ninety now. some think she is more than a hundred years old). "who did you belong to?" "i belonged to missus ann garner". "did she have many slaves?" "yassuh. she had seventy-five left she hadnt sold when the war ended". "what kind of work did you have to do?" "o, she would set me to pickin up feathers round de yaird. she had a powerful lot of geese. den when i got a little bigger she had me set the table. i was just a little gal then. missus used to say that she was going to make a nurse outen me. said she was gwine to sen me to baltimo to learn to be a nurse". "and what did you think about that?" "oh; i thought that would be fine, but he war came befo i got big enough to learn to be a nurse". "i remebers when the soldiers came. i think they were yankee soldiers. de never hurt anybody but they took what they could find to eat and they made us cook for them. i remebers that me and some other lil gals had a play house, but when they came nigh i got skeered. i just ducked through a hole in the fence and ran out in the field. one of the soldiers seed me and he hollers 'look at that rat run'." "i remebers when the great eastern (steamship which laid the atlantic cable) came into the bay. missus ann, and all the white folks went down to fairhaven wharf to see dat big shep". "i stayed on de plantation awhile after de war and heped de missus in de house. den i went away". "ise had eight chillun. dey all died and thisun and his brother (referring to lafayette). den his brother died too. i said he ought ter died instid o his brother." "why?" "because thisun got so skeered when he was little bein carried on a hos that he los his speech and de wouldt let me see im for two days. it was a long time befor he learned to talk again". (to this day he has such an impediment of speech that it is painful to hear him make the effort to talk). "what did you have to eat down on the plantation, aunt lucy?" "i hab mostly clabber, fish and corn bread. we gets plenty of fish down on de bay". "when we cum up here we works in the ole forest glen hotel. mistah charley keys owned the place then. we stayed there after mr. cassidy come. (mr. cassidy was the founder of the national park seminary, a school for girls). my son lafayette worked there for thirty five years. then we cum to carroll springs inn". maryland / / rogers charles coles, ex-slave. reference: personal interview with charles coles at his home, sterling st., baltimore, md. "i was born near pisgah, a small village in the western part of charles county, about . i do not know who my parents were nor my relatives. i was reared on a large farm owned by a man by the name of silas dorsey, a fine christian gentleman and a member of the catholic church. "mr. dorsey was a man of excellent reputation and character, was loved by all who knew him, black and white, especially his slaves. he was never known to be harsh or cruel to any of his slaves, of which he had more than . "the slaves were mr. dorsey's family group, he and his wife were very considerate in all their dealings. in the winter the slaves wore good heavy clothes and shoes and in summer they were dressed in fine clothes. "i have been told that the dorseys' farm contained about acres, on which were slaves. we had no overseers. mr. and mrs. dorsey managed the farm. they required the farm hands to work from a.m. to : p.m.; after that their time was their own. "there were no jails nor was any whipping done on the farm. no one was bought or sold. mr. and mrs. dorsey conducted regular religious services of the catholic church on the farm in a chapel erected for that purpose and in which the slaves were taught the catechism and some learned how to read and write and were assisted by some catholic priests who came to the farm on church holidays and on sundays for that purpose. when a child was born, it was baptised by the priest, and given names and they were recorded in the bible. we were taught the rituals of the catholic church and when any one died, the funeral was conducted by a priest, the corpse was buried in the dorseys' graveyard, a lot of about - / acres, surrounded by cedar trees and well cared for. the only difference in the graves was that the dorsey people had marble markers and the slaves had plain stones. "i have never heard of any of the dorseys' slaves running away. we did not have any trouble with the white people. "the slaves lived in good quarters, each house was weather-boarded and stripped to keep out the cold. i do not remember whether the slaves worked or not on saturdays, but i know the holidays were their own. mr. dorsey did not have dances and other kinds of antics that you expected to find on other plantations. "we had many marbles and toys that poor children had, in that day my favorite game was marbles. "when we took sick mr. and mrs. dorsey had a doctor who admistered to the slaves, giving medical care that they needed. i am still a catholic and will always be a member of st. peter clavier church." maryland sept. , rogers james v. deane, ex-slave. reference: personal interview with james v. deane, ex-slave, on sept. , , at his home, druid hill ave., baltimore. "my name is james v. deane, son of john and jane deane, born at goose bay in charles county, may , . my mother was the daughter of vincent harrison, i do not know about my father's people. i have two sisters both of whom are living, sarah and elizabeth ford. "i was born in a log cabin, a typical charles county log cabin, at goose bay on the potomac river. the plantation on which i was born fronted more than three miles on the river. the cabin had two rooms, one up and one down, very large with two windows, one in each room. there were no porches, over the door was a wide board to keep the rain and snow from beating over the top of the door, with a large log chimney on the outside, plastered between the logs, in which was a fireplace with an open grate to cook on and to put logs on the fire to heat. "we slept on a home-made bedstead, on which was a straw mattress and upon that was a feather mattress, on which we used quilts made by my mother to cover. "as a slave i worked on the farm with other small boys thinning corn, watching watermelon patches and later i worked in wheat and tobacco fields. the slaves never had nor earned any cash money. "our food was very plain, such as fat hog meat, fish and vegetables raised on the farm and corn bread made up with salt and water. "yes, i have hunted o'possums, and coons. the last time i went coon hunting, we treed something. it fell out of the tree, everybody took to their heels, white and colored, the white men outran the colored hunter, leading the gang. i never went hunting afterwards. "my choice food was fish and crabs cooked in all styles by mother. you have asked about gardens, yes, some slaves had small garden patches which they worked by moonlight. "as for clothes, we all wore home-made clothes, the material woven on the looms in the clothes house. in the winter we had woolen clothes and in summer our clothes were made from cast-off clothes and kentucky jeans. our shoes were brogans with brass tips. on sunday we fed the stock, after which we did what we wanted. "i have seen many slave weddings, the master holding a broom handle, the groom jumping over it as a part of the wedding ceremony. when a slave married someone from another plantation, the master of the wife owned all the children. for the wedding the groom wore ordinary clothes, sometimes you could not tell the original outfit for the patches, and sometimes kentucky jeans. the bride's trousseau, she would wear the cast-off clothes of the mistress, or, at other times the clothes made by other slaves. "it was said our plantation contained , acres. we had a large number of slaves, i do not know the number. our work was hard, from sunup to sundown. the slaves were not whipped. "there was only one slave ever sold from the plantation, she was my aunt. the mistress slapped her one day, she struck her back. she was sold and taken south. we never saw or heard of her afterwards. "we went to the white methodist church with slave gallery, only white preachers. we sang with the white people. the methodists were christened and the baptists were baptised. i have seen many colored funerals with no service. a graveyard on the place, only a wooden post to show where you were buried. "none of the slaves ran away. i have seen and heard many patrollers, but they never whipped any of mason's slaves. the method of conveying news, you tell me and i tell you, but be careful, no troubles between whites and blacks. "after work was done, the slaves would smoke, sing, tell ghost stories and tales, dances, music, home-made fiddles. saturday was work day like any other day. we had all legal holidays. christmas morning we went to the big house and got presents and had a big time all day. "at corn shucking all the slaves from other plantations would come to the barn, the fiddler would sit on top of the highest barrel of corn, and play all kinds of songs, a barrel of cider, jug of whiskey, one man to dish out a drink of liquor each hour, cider when wanted. we had supper at twelve, roast pig for everybody, apple sauce, hominy, and corn bread. we went back to shucking. the carts from other farms would be there to haul it to the corn crib, dance would start after the corn was stored, we danced until daybreak. "the only games we played were marbles, mumble pegs and ring plays. we sang london bridge. "when we wanted to meet at night we had an old conk, we blew that. we all would meet on the bank of the potomac river and sing across the river to the slaves in virginia, and they would sing back to us. "some people say there are no ghosts, but i saw one and i am satisfied, i saw an old lady who was dead, she was only five feet from me, i met her face to face. she was a white woman, i knew her. i liked to tore the door off the hinges getting away. "my master's name was thomas mason, he was a man of weak mental disposition, his mother managed the affairs. he was kind. mrs. mason had a good disposition, she never permitted the slaves to be punished. the main house was very large with porches on three sides. no children, no overseer. "the poor white people in charles county were worse off than the slaves; because they could not get any work to do, on the plantation, the slaves did all the work. "some time ago you asked did i ever see slaves sold. i have seen slaves tied behind buggies going to washington and some to baltimore. "no one was taught to read. we were taught the lord's prayer and catechism. "when the slaves took sick dr. henry mudd, the one who gave booth first aid, was our doctor. the slaves had herbs of their own, and made their own salves. the only charms that were worn were made out of bones." maryland / / rogers mrs. m.s. fayman. reference: personal interview with mrs. fayman, at her home, cherry heights near baltimore, md. "i was born in st. nazaire parish in louisiana, about miles south of baton rouge, in . my father and mother were creoles, both of them were people of wealth and prestige in their day and considered very influential. my father's name was henri de sales and mother's maiden name, marguerite sanchez de haryne. i had two brothers henri and jackson named after general jackson, both of whom died quite young, leaving me the only living child. both mother and father were born and reared in louisiana. we lived in a large and spacious house surrounded by flowers and situated on a farm containing about acres, on which we raised pelicans for sale in the market at new orleans. "when i was about years old i was sent to a private school in baton rouge, conducted by french sisters, where i stayed until i was kidnapped in . at that time i did not know how to speak english; french was the language spoken in my household and by the people in the parish. "baton rouge, situated on the mississippi, was a river port and stopping place for all large river boats, especially between new orleans and large towns and cities north. we children were taken out by the sisters after school and on saturdays and holidays to walk. one of the places we went was the wharf. one day in june and on a saturday a large boat was at the wharf going north on the mississippi river. we children were there. somehow, i was separated from the other children. i was taken up bodily by a white man, carried on the boat, put in a cabin and kept there until we got to louisville, kentucky, where i was taken off. "after i arrived in louisville i was taken to a farm near frankfort and installed there virturally a slave until , when i escaped through the kindness of a delightful episcopalian woman from cincinnati, ohio. as i could not speak english, my chores were to act as a tutor and companion for the children of pierce buckran haynes, a well known slave trader and plantation owner in kentucky. haynes wanted his children to speak french and it was my duty to teach them. i was the private companion of girls and one small boy, each day i had to talk french and write french for them. they became very proficient in french and i in the rudiments of the english language. "i slept in the children's quarters with the haynes' children, ate and played with them. i had all the privileges of the household accorded me with the exception of one, i never was taken off nor permitted to leave the plantation. while on the plantation i wore good clothes, similar to those of the white children. haynes was a merciless brutal tyrant with his slaves, punishing them severly and cruelly both by the lash and in the jail on the plantation. "the name of the plantation where i was held as a slave was called beatrice manor, after the wife of haynes. it contained acres, of which more than acres were under cultivation, and having about colored slaves and or overseers all of whom were white. the overseers were the overlords of the manor; as haynes dealt extensively in tobacco and trading in slaves, he was away from the plantation nearly all the time. there was located on the top of the large tobacco warehouse a large bell, which was rung at sun up, twelve o'clock and at sundown, the year round. on the farm the slaves were assigned a task to do each day and in the event it was not finished they were severely whipped. while i never saw a slave whipped, i did see them afterwards, they were very badly marked and striped by the overseers who did the whipping. "i have been back to the farm on several occasions, the first time in when i took my father there to show him the farm. at that time it was owned by colonel hawkins, a confederate army officer. "let me describe the huts, these buildings were built of stone, each one about feet wide, feet long, feet high in the rear, about feet high in front, with a slanting roof of chestnut boards and with a sliding door, two windows between each door back and front about x feet, at each end a door and window similar to those on the side. there were ten such buildings, to each building there was another building x feet, this was where the cooking was done. at each end of each building there was a fire place built and used for heating purposes. in front of each building there were barrels filled with water supplied by pipes from a large spring, situated about yards on the side of a hill which was very rocky, where the stones were quarried to build the buildings on the farm. on the outside near each window and door there were iron rings firmly attached to the walls, through which an iron rod was inserted and locked each end every night, making it impossible for those inside to escape. "there was one building used as a jail, built of stone about x feet with a hip roof about feet high, -story. on the ground in each end was a fire place; in one end a small room, which was used as office; adjoining, there was another room where the whipping was done. to reach the second story there was built on the outside, steps leading to a door, through which the female prisoners were taken to the room. all of the buildings had dirt floors. "i do not know much about the negroes on the plantation who were there at that time. slaves were brought and taken away always chained together, men walking and women in ox carts. i had heard of several escapes and many were captured. one of the overseers had a pack of or trained blood hounds which were used to trace escaping slaves. "before i close let me give you a sketch of my family tree. my grandmother was a haitian negress, grandfather a frenchman. my father was a creole. "after returning home in , i completed my high school education in new orleans in , graduated from fisk university , taught french there until , married prof. payman, teacher of history and english. since then i have lived in washington, new york, and louisianna. for further information, write me c/o y.w.c.a. (col.), baltimore, to be forwarded". maryland dec. , rogers thomas foote's story, a free negro. reference: personal interview with thomas foote, at his home, cockeysville, md. "my mother's name was eliza foote and my father's name was thomas foote. father and mother of a large family that was reared on a small farm about a mile east of cockeysville, a village situated on the northern central railroad miles north of baltimore city. "my mother's maiden name was myers, a daughter of a free man of baltimore county. in her younger days she was employed by dr. ensor, a homeopathic medical doctor of cockeysville who was a noted doctor in his day. mrs. ensor, a very refined and cultured woman, taught her to read and write. my mother's duty along with her other work was to assist dr. ensor in the making of some of his medicine. in gaining practical experience and knowledge of different herbs and roots that dr. ensor used in the compounding of his medicine, used them for commercial purposes for herself among the slaves and free colored people of baltimore county, especially of the merrymans, ridgelys, roberts, cockeys and mayfields. her fame reached as far south as baltimore city and north of baltimore as far as the pennsylvania line and the surrounding territory. she was styled and called the doctor woman both by the slaves and the free people. she was suspected by the white people but confided in by the colored people both for their ills and their troubles. "my mother prescribed for her people and compounded medicine out of the same leaves, herbs and roots that dr. ensor did. naturally her success along these lines was good. she also delivered many babies and acted as a midwife for the poor whites and the slaves and free negroes of which there were a number in baltimore county. "the colored people have always been religiously inclined, believed in the power of prayer and whenever she attended anyone she always preceeded with a prayer. mother told me and i have heard her tell others hundreds of times, that one time a slave of old man cockey was seen coming from her home early in the morning. he had been there for treatment of an ailment which dr. ensor had failed to cure. after being treated by my mother for a time, he got well. when this slave was searched, he had in his possession a small bag in which a stone of a peculiar shape and several roots were found. he said that mother had given it to him, and it had the power over all with whom it came in contact. "there were about this time a number of white people who had been going through cockeysville, some trying to find out if there was any concerted move on the part of the slaves to run away, others contacting the free people to find out to what extent they had 'grape-vine' news of the action of the negroes. the negro who was seen coming from mother's home ran away. she was immediately accused of voodooism by the whites of cockeysville, she was taken to towson jail, there confined and grilled by the sheriff of baltimore county--the cockeys, and several other men, all demanding that she tell where the escaped slave was. she knowing that the only way he could have escaped was by the york road, north or south, the northern central railroad or by the way of deer creek, a small creek east of cockeysville. both the york road and the railroad were being watched, she logically thought that the only place was deer creek, so she told the sheriff to search deer creek. by accident he was found about eight miles up deer creek in a swamp with several other colored men who had run away. "mother was ordered to leave baltimore county or to be sold into slavery. she went to york, pennsylvania, where she stayed until , when she returned to her home in cockeysville; where a great many of her descendants live, now, on a hill that slopes west to cockeysville station, and is known as foote's hill by both white and colored people of baltimore county today. "i was born in cockeysville in , where i have lived since; reared a family of five children, three boys and two girls. i am a member of the a.m.e. church at cockeysville. i am a member of the masonic lodge and belong to odd fellows at towson, maryland. the foote's descendants still own five or more homes at cockeysville, and we are known from one end of the county to the other." maryland sept. , rogers menellis gassaway, ex-slave. reference: personal interview with menellis gassaway, ex-slave, on sept. , , at m.e. home, carrollton ave., baltimore. "my name is menellis gassaway, son of owing and annabel gassaway. i was born in freedom district, carroll county, about or , brother of henrietta, menila and villa. our father and mother lived in carroll county near eldersberg in a stone and log cabin, consisting of two rooms, one up and one down, with four windows, two in each room, on a small farm situated on a public road, i don't know the name. "my father worked on a small farm with no other slaves, but our family. we raised on the farm vegetables and grain, consisting of corn and wheat. our farm produced wheat and corn, which was taken to the grist mill to be ground; besides, we raised hogs and a small number of other stock for food. "during the time i was a slave and the short time it was, i can't remember what we wore or very much about local conditions. the people, that is the white people, were friendly with our family and other colored people so far as i can recall. "i do not recall of seeing slaves sold nor did the man who owned our family buy or sell slaves. he was a small man. "as to the farm, i do not know the size, but i know it was small. on the farm there was no jail, or punishment inflicted on pap or ma while they were there. "there was no church on the farm, but we were members of the old side methodist church, having a colored preacher. the church was a long ways from the farm. "my father neglected his own education as well as his children. he could not read himself. he did not teach any of his children to read, of which we in later years saw the advantage. "in carroll county there were so many people who were union men that it was dangerous for whites in some places to say they were rebels. this made the colored and white people very friendly. "pap was given holidays when he wanted. i do not know whether he worked on saturdays or not. on sunday we went to church. "my father was owned by a man by the name of mr. dorsey. my mother was bound out by mr. dorsey to a man by the name of mr. morris of frederick county. "i have never heard of many ghost stories. but i believe once, a conductor on the railroad train was killed and headed (beheaded), and after that, a ghost would appear on the spot where he was killed. many people in the neighborhood saw him and people on the train often saw him when the train passed the spot where he was killed. "so far as being sick, we did not have any doctors. the poor white could not afford to hire one, and the colored doctored themselves with herbs, teas and salves made by themselves." maryland [--] , rogers caroline hammond, a fugitive. interview at her home, falls road, baltimore, md. "i was born in anne arundel county near davidsonville about miles from south river in the year . the daughter of a free man and a slave woman, who was owned by thomas davidson, a slave owner and farmer of anne arundel. he had a large farm and about slaves on his farm all of whom lived in small huts with the exception of several of the household help who ate and slept in the manor house. my mother being one of the household slaves, enjoyed certain privileges that the farm slaves did not. she was the head cook of mr. davidson's household. "mr. davidson and his family were considered people of high social standing in annapolis and the people in the county. mr. davidson entertained on a large scale, especially many of the officers of the naval academy at annapolis and his friends from baltimore. mrs. davidson's dishes were considered the finest, and to receive an invitation from the davidsons meant that you would enjoy maryland's finest terrapin and chicken besides the best wine and champagne on the market. "all of the cooking was supervised by mother, and the table was waited on by uncle billie, dressed in a uniform, decorated with brass buttons, braid and a fancy test, his hands incased in white gloves. i can see him now, standing at the door, after he had rung the bell. when the family and guests came in he took his position behind mr. davidson ready to serve or to pass the plates, after they had been decorated with meats, fowl or whatever was to be eaten by the family or guest. "mr. davidson was very good to his slaves, treating them with every consideration that he could, with the exception of freeing them; but mrs. davidson was hard on all the slaves, whenever she had the opportunity, driving them at full speed when working, giving different food of a coarser grade and not much of it. she was the daughter of one of the revells of the county, a family whose reputation was known all over maryland for their brutality with their slaves. "mother with the consent of mr. davidson, married george berry, a free colored man of annapolis with the proviso that he was to purchase mother within three years after marriage for $ dollars and if any children were born they were to go with her. my father was a carpenter by trade, his services were much in demand. this gave him an opportunity to save money. father often told me that he could save more than half of his income. he had plenty of work, doing repair and building, both for the white people and free colored people. father paid mr. davidson for mother on the partial payment plan. he had paid up all but $ on mother's account, when by accident mr. davidson was shot while ducking on the south river by one of the duck hunters, dying instantly. "mrs. davidson assumed full control of the farm and the slaves. when father wanted to pay off the balance due, $ . , mrs. davidson refused to accept it, thus mother and i were to remain in slavery. being a free man father had the privilege to go where he wanted to, provided he was endorsed by a white man who was known to the people and sheriffs, constables and officials of public conveyances. by bribery of the sheriff of anne arundel county father was given a passage to baltimore for mother and me. on arriving in baltimore, mother, father and i went to a white family on ross street--now druid hill ave., where we were sheltered by the occupants, who were ardent supporters of the underground railroad. "a reward of $ . each was offered for my father, mother and me, one by mrs. davidson and the other by the sheriff of anne arundel county. at this time the hookstown road was one of the main turnpikes into baltimore. a mr. coleman whose brother-in-law lived in pennsylvania, used a large covered wagon to transport merchandise from baltimore to different villages along the turnpike to hanover, pa., where he lived. mother and father and i were concealed in a large wagon drawn, by six horses. on our way to pennsylvania, we never alighted on the ground in any community or close to any settlement, fearful of being apprehended by people who were always looking for rewards. "after arriving at hanover, pennsylvania, it was easy for us to get transportation farther north. they made their way to scranton, pennsylvania, in which place they both secured positions in the same family. father and mother's salary combined was $ . per month. they stayed there until . in the meantime i was being taught at a quaker mission in scranton. when we come to baltimore i entered the th grade grammar school in south baltimore. after finishing the grammar school, i followed cooking all my life before and after marriage. my husband james berry, who waited at the howard house, died in --aged . on my next birthday, which will occur on the nd of november, i will be . i can see well, have an excellent appetite, but my grandchildren will let me eat only certain things that they say the doctor ordered i should eat. on christmas day children and grandchildren and some great-grandchildren gave me a xmas dinner and one hundred dollars for xmas. i am happy with all the comforts of a poor person not dependant on any one else for tomorrow". maryland dec. , rogers page harris, ex-slave. reference: personal interview with page harris at his home, camp parole, a.a.c. co., md. "i was born in about miles west of chicamuxen near the potomac river in charles county on the farm of burton stafford, better known as blood hound manor. this name was applied because mr. stafford raised and trained blood hounds to track runaway slaves and to sell to slaveholders of maryland, virginia and other southern states as far south as mississippi and louisiana. "my father's name was sam and mother's mary, both of whom belonged to the staffords and were reared in charles county. they reared a family of nine children, i being the oldest and the only one born a slave, the rest free. i think it was in or it might be when the staffords liberated my parents, not because he believed in the freedom of slaves but because of saving the lives of his entire family. "mrs. stafford came from prince william county, virginia, a county on the west side of the potomac river in virginia. mr. and mrs. stafford had a large rowboat that they used on the potomac as a fishing and oyster boat as well as a transportation boat across the potomac river to quantico, a small town in prince william county, va., and up quantico creek in the same county. "i have been told by my parents and also by joshua stafford, the oldest son of mr. stafford, that one sunday morning on the date as related in the story previously mrs. stafford and her children were being rowed across the potomac river to attend a baptist church in virginia of which she was a member. suddenly a wind and a thunder storm arose causing the boat to capsize. my father was fishing from a log raft in the river, immediately went to their rescue. the wind blew the raft towards the centre of the stream and in line with the boat. he was able without assistance to save the whole family, diving into the river to rescue mrs. stafford after she had gone down. he pulled her on the raft and it was blown ashore with all aboard, but several miles down the stream. everybody thought that the staffords had been drowned as the boat floated to the shore, bottom upwards. "as a reward mr. stafford took my father to the court house at la plata, the county seat of charles county, signed papers for the emancipation of him, my mother, and me, besides giving him money to help him to take his family to philadelphia. "i have a vague recollection of the staffords' family, not enough to describe. they lived on a large farm situated in charles county, a part bounding on the potomac river and a cove that extends into the farm property. much of the farm property was marshy and was suitable for the purpose of mr. stafford's living--raising and training blood hounds. i have been told by mother and father on many occasions that there were as many as a hundred dogs on the farm at times. mr. stafford had about slaves on his farm. he had an original method in training young blood hounds, he would make one of the slaves traverse a course, at the end, the slave would climb a tree. the younger dogs led by an old dog, sometimes by several older dogs, would trail the slave until they reached the tree, then they would bark until taken away by the men who had charge of the dogs. "mr. stafford's dogs were often sought to apprehend runaway slaves. he would charge according to the value and worth of the slave captured. his dogs were often taken to virginia, sometimes to north carolina, besides being used in maryland. i have been told that when a slave was captured, besides the reward paid in money, that each dog was supposed to bite the slave to make him anxious to hunt human beings. "there was a slaveholder in charles county who had a very valuable slave, an expert carpenter and bricklayer, whose services were much sought after by the people in southern maryland. this slave could elude the best blood hounds in the state. it was always said that slaves, when they ran away, would try to go through a graveyard and if he or she could get dirt from the grave of some one that had been recently buried, sprinkle it behind them, the dogs could not follow the fleeing slave, and would howl and return home. "old pete the mechanic was working on farm near la plata, he decided to run away as he had done on several previous occasions. he was known by some as the herb doctor and healer. he would not be punished on any condition nor would he work unless he was paid something. it was said that he would save money and give it to people who wanted to run away. he was charged with aiding a girl to flee. he was to be whipped by the sheriff of charles county for aiding the girl to run away. he heard of it, left the night before he was to be whipped, he went to the swamp in the cove or about miles from where his master lived. he eluded the dogs for several weeks, escaped, got to boston and no one to this day has any idea how he did it; but he did. "in the year of my father returned to maryland bringing with him mother and my brothers and sister. he selected annapolis for his future home, where he secured work as a waiter at the naval academy, he continued there for more than years. in the meantime after or , when schools were opened for colored people, i went to a school that was established for colored children and taught by white teacher until i was about years old, then i too worked at the naval academy waiting on the midshipmen. in those days you could make extra money, sometimes making more than your wages. about or ' i purchased a farm near camp parole containing acres, upon which i have lived since, raising a variety of vegetables for which anne arundel county is noted. i have been a member of asbury methodist episcopal church, annapolis, for more than years. all of my children, in number, have grown to be men and women, one living home with me, one in new york, two in baltimore, and one working in washington, d.c." maryland sept. , rogers annie young henson, ex-slave. reference: personal interview with annie young henson, ex-slave, at african m.e. home, aisquith st., baltimore. "i was born in northumberland county, virginia, years ago. daughter of mina and tom miller. i had one brother feelingchin and two sisters, mary and matilda. owned by doctor pressley nellum. "the farm was called traveler's rest. the farm so named because a man once on a dark, cold and dreary night stopped there and asked for something to eat and lodging for the night; both of which was given and welcomed by the wayfarer. "the house being very spacious with porches on each side, situated on a high hill, with trees on the lawn giving homes to the birds and shade to the master, mistress and their guests where they could hear the chant of the lark or the melodious voices of the slaves humming some familiar tunes that suited their taste, as they worked. "nearby was the slave quarters and the log cabin, where we lived, built about feet from the other quarter. our cabin was separate and distinct from the others. it contained two rooms, one up and one down, with a window in each room. this cabin was about feet from the kitchen of the manor house, where the cooking was done by the kitchen help for the master, mistress and their guests, and from which each slave received his or her weekly ration, about pounds of food each. "the food consisted of beef, hog meat, and lamb or mutton and of the kind of vegetables that we raised on the farm. "my position was second nurse for the doctor's family, or one of the inner servants of the family, not one of the field hands. in my position my clothes were made better, and better quality than the others, all made and arranged to suit the mistress' taste. i got a few things of femine dainty that was discarded by the mistress, but no money nor did i have any to spend. during my life as a slave i was whipped only once, and that was for a lie that was told on me by the first nurse who was jealous of my looks. i slept in the mistress' room in a bed that we pushed under the mistress' in the day or after i arose. "old master had special dogs to hunt opossum, rabbit, coons and birds, and men to go with them on the hunt. when we seined, other slave owners would send some of their slaves to join ours and we then dividing the spoils of the catch. "we had slaves on the plantation, each family housed in a cabin built by the slaves for nellums to accommodate the families according to the number. for clothes we had good clothes, as we raised sheep, we had our own wool, out of which we weaved our cloth, we called the cloth 'box and dice'. "in the winter the field slaves would shell corn, cut wood and thrash wheat and take care of the stock. we had our shoes made to order by the shoe maker. "my mistress was not as well off before she married the doctor as afterward. i was small or young during my slave days, i always heard my mistress married for money and social condition. she would tell us how she used to say before she was married, when she saw the doctor coming, 'here comes old dr. nellums'. another friend she would say 'here comes cozen auckney'. "we never had any overseers on the plantation, we had an old colored man by the name of peter taylor. his orders was law, if you wanted to please mistress and master, obey old peter. "the farm was very large, the slaves worked from sunup to sundown, no one was harshly treated or punished. they were punished only when proven guilty of crime charged. "our master never sold any slaves. we had a six-room house, where the slaves entertained and had them good times at nights and on holidays. we had no jail on the plantation. we were not taught to read or write, we were never told our age. "we went to the white church on sunday, up in the slave gallery where the slaves worshipped sometimes. the gallery was overcrowded with ours and slaves from other plantations. my mistress told me that there was once an old colored man who attended, taking his seat up in the gallery directly over the pulpit, he had the habit of saying amen. a member of the church said to him, 'john, if you don't stop hollowing amen you can't come to church'; he got so full of the holy ghost he yelled out amen upon a venture, the congregation was so tickled with him and at his antics that they told him to come when and as often as he wanted. "during my slave days only one slave ran away, he was my uncle, when the yankees came to virginia, he ran away with them. he was later captured by the sheriff and taken to the county jail. the doctor went to the court house, after which we never heard nor saw my uncle afterwards. "i have seen and heard white-cappers, they whipped several colored men of other plantations, just prior to the soldiers drilling to go to war. "i remember well the day that dr. nellum, just as if it were yesterday, that we went to the court house to be set free. dr. nellum walked in front, of us behind him. when we got there the sheriff asked him if they were his slaves. the dr. said they were, but not now, after the papers were signed we all went back to the plantation. some stayed there, others went away. i came to baltimore and i have never been back since. i think i was about or years old when i came away. i worked for mr. marshall, a flour merchant, who lived on south charles street, getting $ . per month. i have been told by both white and colored people of virginia who knew dr. nellum, he lost his mind." maryland sept. , rogers rev. silas jackson, ex-slave. reference: personal interview with rev. silas jackson, ex-slave, at his home, n. gilmor st., baltimore. "i was born at or near ashbie's gap in virginia, either in the year of or . i do not know which, but i will say i am years of age. my father's name was sling and mother's sarah louis. they were purchased by my master from a slave trader in richmond, virginia. my father was a man of large stature and my mother was tall and stately. they originally came from the eastern shore of maryland, i think from the legg estate, beyond that i do not know. i had three brothers and two sisters. my brothers older than i, and my sisters younger. their names were silas, carter, rap or raymond, i do not remember; my sisters were jane and susie, both of whom are living in virginia now. only one i have ever seen and he came north with general sherman, he died in . he was a baptist minister like myself. "the only things i know about my grandparents were: my grandfather ran away through the aid of harriet tubman and went to philadelphia and saved $ , and purchased my grandmother through the aid of a quaker or an episcopal minister, i do not know. i have on several occasions tried to trace this part of my family's past history, but without success. "i was a large boy for my age, when i was nine years of age my task began and continued until . you see _i saw and_ i was a slave. "in virginia where i was, they raised tobacco, wheat, corn and farm products. i have had a taste of all the work on the farm, besides of digging and clearing up new ground to increase the acreage to the farm. we all had task work to do--men, women and boys. we began work on monday and worked until saturday. that day we were allowed to work for ourselves and to garden or to do extra work. when we could get work, or work on some one else's place, we got a pass from the overseer to go off the plantation, but to be back by nine o'clock on saturday night or when cabin inspection was made. some time we could earn as much as cents a day, which we used to buy cakes, candies, or clothes. "on saturday each slave was given pounds corn meal, a quart of black strap, pounds of fat back, pounds of flour and vegetables, all of which were raised on the farm. all of the slaves hunted or those who wanted, hunted rabbits, opossums or fished. these were our choice food as we did not get anything special from the overseer. "our food was cooked by our mothers or sisters and for those who were not married by the old women and men assigned for that work. "each family was given acres to raise their chickens or vegetables and if a man raised his own food he was given $ . at christmas time extra, besides his presents. "in the summer or when warm weather came each slave was given something, the women, linsey goods or gingham clothes, the men overalls, muslin shirts, top and underclothes, two pair of shoes, and a straw hat to work in. in the cold weather, we wore woolen clothes, all made at the sewing cabin. "my master was named tom ashbie, a meaner man was never born in virginia--brutal, wicked and hard. he always carried a cowhide with him. if he saw anyone doing something that did not suit his taste, he would have the slave tied to a tree, man or woman, and then would cowhide the victim until he got tired, or sometimes, the slave would faint. "the ashbie's home was a large stone mansion, with a porch on three sides. wide halls in the center up and down stairs, numerous rooms and a stone kitchen built on the back connected with dining room. "mrs. ashbie was kind and lovely to her slaves when mr. ashbie was out. the ashbies did not have any children of their own, but they had boys and girls of his own sister and they were much like him, they had maids or private waiter for the young men if they wanted them. "i have heard it said by people in authority, tom ashbie owned acres of farm land besides of wood land. he was a large slave owner having more than slaves on his farm. they were awakened by blowing of the horn before sunrise by the overseer, started work at sunrise and worked all day to sundown, with not time to go to the cabin for dinner, you carried your dinner with you. the slaves were driven at top speed and whipped at the snap of the finger, by the overseers, we had four overseers on the farm all hired white men. "i have seen men beaten until they dropped in their tracks or knocked over by clubs, women stripped down to their waist and cowhided. "i have heard it said that tom ashbie's father went to one of the cabins late at night, the slaves were having a secret prayer meeting. he heard one slave ask god to change the heart of his master and deliver him from slavery so that he may enjoy freedom. before the next day the man disappeared, no one ever seeing him again; but after that down in the swamp at certain times of the moon, you could hear the man who prayed in the cabin praying. when old man ashbie died, just before he died he told the white baptist minister, that he had killed zeek for praying and that he was going to hell. "there was a stone building on the farm, it is there today. i saw it this summer while visiting in virginia. the old jail, it is now used as a garage. downstairs there were two rooms, one where some of the whipping was done, and the other used by the overseer. upstairs was used for women and girls. the iron bars have coroded, but you can see where they were. i have never seen slaves sold on the farm, but i have seen them taken away, and brought there. several times i have seen slaves chained taken away and chained when they came. "no one on the place was taught to read or write. on sunday the slaves who wanted to worship would gather at one of the large cabins with one of the overseers present and have their church. after which the overseer would talk. when communion was given the overseer was paid for staying there with half of the collection taken up, some time he would get ¢. no one could read the bible. sandy jasper, mr. ashbie's coachman was the preacher, he would go to the white baptist church on sunday with family and would be better informed because he heard the white preacher. "twice each year, after harvest and after new year's, the slaves would have their protracted meeting or their revival and after each closing they would baptize in the creek, sometimes in the winter they would break the ice singing _going to the water_ or some other hymn of that nature. and at each funeral, the ashbies would attend the service conducted in the cabin there the deceased was, from there taken to the slave graveyard. a lot dedicated for that purpose, situated about / of a mile from cabins near a hill. "there were a number of slaves on our plantation who ran away, some were captured and sold to a georgia trader, others who were never captured. to intimidate the slaves, the overseers were connected with the patrollers, not only to watch our slaves, but sometimes for the rewards for other slaves who had run away from other plantations. this feature caused a great deal of trouble between the whites and blacks. in two white men were murdered near warrenton on the road by colored people, it was never known whether by free people or slaves. "when work was done the slaves retired to their cabins, some played games, others cooked or rested or did what they wanted. we did not work on saturdays unless harvest times, then saturdays were days of work. at other times, on saturdays you were at leisure to do what you wanted. on christmas day mr. ashbie would call all the slaves together, give them presents, money, after which they spent the day as they liked. on new year's day we all were scared, that was the time for selling, buying and trading slaves. we did not know who was to go or come. "i do not remember of playing any particular game, my sport was fishing. you see i do not believe in ghost stories nor voodooism, i have nothing to say. we boys used to take the horns of a dead cow or bull, cut the end off of it, we could blow it, some having different notes. we could tell who was blowing and from what plantation. "when a slave took sick she or he would have to depend on herbs, salves or other remedies prepared by someone who knew the medicinal value. when a valuable hand took sick one of the overseers would go to upper ville for a doctor." maryland [--]- - rogers james calhart james, ex-slave. reference: personal interview with james calhart james, ex-slave, at his home, druid hill ave., baltimore. "my father's name was franklin pearce randolph of virginia, a descendant of the randolphs of virginia who migrated to south carolina and located near fort sumter, the fort that was surrendered to the confederates in or the beginning of the civil war. my mother's name was lottie virginia james, daughter of an indian and a slave woman, born on the rapidan river in virginia about or , i do not know which; she was a woman of fine features and very light in complexion with beautiful, long black hair. she was purchased by her master and taken to south carolina when about years old. she was the private maid of mrs. randolph until she died and then continued as housekeeper for her master, while there and in that capacity i was born on the randolph's plantation august , . i was a half brother to the children of the randolphs, four in number. after i was born mother and i lived in the servants' quarters of the big house enjoying many pleasures that the other slaves did not: eating and sleeping in the big house, playing and associating with my half-brothers and sisters. "as for my ancestors i have no recollection of them, the history of the randolphs in virginia is my background. "my father told mother when i became of age, he was going to free me, send me north to be educated, but instead i was emancipated. during my slave days my father gave me money and good clothes to wear. i bought toys and games. "my clothes were good both winter and summer and according to the weather. "my master was my father; he was kind to me but hard on the field hands who worked in the rice fields. my mistress died before i was born. there were girls and one boy, they treated me fairly good--at first or when i was small or until they realised their father was my father, then they hated me. we lived in a large white frame house containing about rooms with every luxury of that day, my father being very rich. "i have heard the randolph plantation contained about acres and about slaves. we had white overseers on the plantation, they worked hard producing rice on a very large scale, and late and early. i know they were severely punished, especially for not producing the amount of work assigned them or for things that the overseers thought they should be punished for. "we had a jail over the rice barn where the slaves were confined, especially on sundays, as punishment for things done during the week. "i could read and write when i was years old. i was taught by. the teacher who was the governess for the randolph children. mother could also read and write. there was no church on the plantation; the slaves attended church on the next plantation, where the owner had a large slave church, he was a baptist preacher, i attended the white church with the randolph children. i was generally known and called jim randolph. i was baptised by the white baptist minister and christened by a methodist minister. "there was little trouble between the white and blacks, you see i was one of the children of the house, i never came in contact much with other slaves. i was told that the slaves had a drink that was made of corn and rice which they drank. the overseers sometimes themselves drank it very freely. on holidays and sundays the slaves had their times, and i never knew any difference as i was treated well by my father and did not associate with the other slaves. "in the year of , i left south carolina, went to washington, entered howard university , graduated in , taught schools in virginia, north carolina and maryland, retired . since then i have been connected with a.m.e. educational board. now i am home with my granddaughter, a life well spent. "one of the songs sung by the slaves on the plantation i can remember a part of it. they sang it with great feeling of happiness---- oh where shall we go when de great day comes an' de blowing of de trumpets and de bangins of de drums when general sherman comes. no more rice and cotton fields we will hear no more crying old master will be sighing. "i can't remember the tune, people sang it according to their own tune." maryland sept. , rogers mary moriah anne susanna james, ex-slave. reference: personal interview with mary james, ex-slave, sept. , , at her home, haw st., baltimore, md. "my father's name was caleb harris james, and my mother's name was mary moriah. both of them were owned by silas thornton randorph, a distant relative of patrick henry. i have seen the picture of patrick henry many a time in the home place on the library wall. i had three sisters and two brothers. two of my sisters were sold to a slave dealer from georgia, one died in . one brother ran away and the other joined the union army; he died in the soldiers' home in washington in at the age of . "how let me ask you, who told you about me? i knew that a stranger was coming, my nose has been itching for several days. how about my home life in virginia, we lived on the james river in virginia, on a farm containing more than , acres, fronting - / miles on the river, with a landing where boats used to come to load tobacco and unload goods for the farm. "the quarters where we lived on the plantation called randolph manor were built like horse stables that you see on race tracks; they were - / story high, about feet wide, and about feet long, with windows in the sides of the roofs. a long shelter on the front and at the rear. in front, people would have benches to sit on, and on the back were nails to hang pots and pans. each family would have rooms according to the size of the family. there were such houses, for families and one for the girls and the other for the boys. in the quarters we had furniture made by the overseer and colored carpenters; they would make the tables, benches and beds for everybody. our beds were ticking filled with straw and covers made of anything we could get. "i have a faint recollection of my grandparents. my grandfather was sold to a man in south carolina, to work in the rice field. grandmother drowned herself in the river when she heard that grand-pap was going away. i was told that grandpap was sold because he got religious and prayed that god would set him and grandma free. "when i was ten years old i was put to work on the farm with other children, picking weeds, stone up and tobacco worms and to do other work. we all got new shoes for christmas, a dress and $ . for christmas or suits of clothes. we spent our money at mr. randorph's store for things that we wanted, but was punished if the money was spent at the county seat at other stores. "we were allowed fat meat, corn meal, black molasses and vegetables, corn and grain to roast for coffee. mother cooked my food after stopping work on the farm for the day, i never ate possum. we would catch rabbits in guns or traps and as we lived on the rivers, we ate any kind of fish we caught. the men and everybody would go fishing after work. each family had a garden, we raised what we wanted. "as near as i can recall, we had about sheep on the farm, producing our own wool. the old women weaved clothes; we had woolen clothes in the winter and cotton clothes in the summer. on sunday we wore the clothes given to us at christmas time and shoes likewise. "i was married on the farm and married my same husband by a baptist preacher in as i was told i had not been legally married. i was married in the dress given to me at christmas of . i did not get one in . "old silas randolph was a mean man to his slaves, especially when drunk. he and the overseer would always be together, each of whom carried a whip, and upon the least provocation would whip his slaves. my mistress was not as mean as my master, but she was mean there was only one son in the randolph family. he went to a military school somewhere in virginia. i don't know the name. he was captured by the union soldiers. i never saw him until after the war, when he came home with one arm. "the overseer lived on the farm. he was the brother of mrs. randolph. he would whip men and women and children if he thought they were not working fast. "the plantation house was a large brick house over-looking the river from a hill, a porch on three sides, two-stories and attic. in the attic slept the house servants and coachman. we did not come in contact with the white people very much. our place was away from the village. "there were , acres to the plantation, with more than slaves on it. i do not know the time slaves woke up, but everybody was at work at sunrise and worked to sundown. the slaves were whipped for not working fast or anything that suited the fancy of the master or overseer. "i have seen slaves sold on the farm and i have seen slaves brought to the farm. the slaves were brought up the river in boats and unloaded at the landing, some crying and some seem to be happy. "no one was taught to read or write. there was no church on the farm. no one was allowed to read the bible or anything else. "i have heard it said that the randolph's lost more slaves by running away than anyone in the county. the patrollers were many in the county; they would whip any colored person caught off the place after night. whenever a man wanted to run away he would go with someone else, either from the farm or from some other farm, hiding in the swamps or along the river, making their way to some place where they thought would be safe, sometimes hiding on trains leaving virginia. "the slaves, after going to their quarters, cooked, rested or did what they wanted. saturdays was no different from monday. "on christmas morning all the slaves would go up to the porch, get the $ . , shoes and clothes, go back to the cabins and do what they wanted. "on new year's day everybody was scared as that was the day that slaves were taken away or brought to the farm. "you have asked about stories, i will tell you one i know. it is true. "during the war one day some union soldiers came to the farm looking for rebels. there were a number of them in the woods near the landing; they had come across the river in boats. at night while the union soldiers were at the landing, they were fired on by the rebels. the union soldiers went after them, killed ten, caught i think six and some were drowned in the river. among the six was the overseer, and from that night people have heard shooting and seen soldiers. one night many years after the civil war, while visiting a friend who now lives within feet from the landing where the fighting took place, there appeared some soldiers carrying a man out of the woods whom i recognized as being the overseer. he had been seen hundreds of times by other people. white people will tell you the same thing. i will tell you for sure this is true. "you must excuse me i wanted to see some friends this evening." maryland / / guthrie phillip johnson, an ex-slave. ref: phillip johnson, r.f.d. poolesville, md. the subject of this sketch is a pure blooded negro, whose kinky hair is now white, likewise his scraggy beard. he is of medium size and somewhat stooped with age, but still active enough to plant and tend a patch of corn and the chores about his little place at sugarlands. his home is a small cabin with one or two rooms upstairs and three down, including the kitchen which is a leanto. the cabin is in great disrepair. phillip john is above the average in intelligence, has some education and is quite well versed in the holy scriptures, having been for many years a methodist preacher among his people. he uses fairly good english and freely talks in answer to questions. without giving the questions put to him by this writer, his remarks given in the first person and as near his own idiom are as follows: "i'll be ninety years old next december. i dunno the day. my missis had the colored folks ages written in a book but it was destroyed when the confederate soldiers came through. but she had a son born two or three months younger than me and she remember that i was born in december, , but she had forgot the day of the month. "i was born down on the river bottom about four miles below edwards' ferry, on the eight mile level, between edwards' ferry and seneca. i belonged to ole doctah white. he owned a lot o' lan down on de bottom. i dunno his first name. everybody called him doctah white. yes, he was related to doctah elijah white. all the whites in montgomery county is related. yes sah, doctah white was good to his slaves. yes sah, he had many slaves. i dunno how many. my missis took me away from de bottom when i was a little boy, 'cause de overseer he was so cruel to me. yes sah he was _mean_. i promised him a killin if ever i got big enough. "we all liked the missis. everybody in dem days used to ride horseback. she would come ridin her horse down to de bottom with a great big basket of biscuits. we thought they were fine. we all glad to see de missis a comin. we always had plenty to eat, such as it was. we had coarse food but there was plenty of it. "the white folks made our clothes for us. they made linsey for the woman and woolen cloth for de men. they gave clothes sufficient to keep em warm. the men had wool clothes with brass buttons that had shanks on em. they looked good when they were new. they had better clothes then than most of us have now. "they raised mostly corn an oats an wheat down on de river bottom in those days. they didn't raise tobacco. but i've heard say that they used to raise it long before i was born. they cut grain with cradles in dem days. they had a lot 'o men and would slay a lot 'o wheat in a day. it was pretty work to see four or five cradlers in a field and others following them raking the wheat in bunches and others following binding them in bundles. the first reapers that came were called dorsey reapers. they cut the grain and bunched it. it was then bound by hand. "when my missis took me away from the river bottom i lived in poolesville where the kohlhoss home and garage is. i worked around the house and garden. i remember when the yankee and confederate soldiers both came to poolesville. capn sam white (son of the doctor) he join the confederate in virginia. he come home and say he goin to take me along back with him for to serve him. but the yankees came and he left very sudden and leave me behind. i was glad i didn't have to go with him. i saw all that fightin around poolesville. i used to like to watch em fightin. i saw a yankee soldier shoot a confederate and kill him. he raised his gun twice to shoot but he kept dodgin around the house an he didn' want to shoot when he might hit someone else. when he ran from the house he shot him. "yes sah, them confederates done more things around here than the yankees did. i remember once during the war they came to town. it was sunday morning an i was sittin in the gallery of the ole brick methodist church. one of them came to de door and he pointed his pistol right at that preacher's head. the gallery had an outside stairs then. i ran to de door to go down de stairs but there was another un there pointing his gun and they say don't nobody leave dis building. the others they was a cleanin up all the hosses and wagons round the church. the one who was guarding de stairs, he kept a lookin to see if dey was done cleaning up de hosses, and when he wasn't watching i slip half way down de stairs, an when he turn his back i jump down and run. when he looks he jus laugh. "my father he lived to be eighty nine. he died right here in this house and he's buried over by the church. his name was sam. they called my mother willie ann. she died when i was small. i had three brothers and one sister. my father married again and had seven or eight other children. "i've had eleven children; five livin, six dead. i've been preaching for forty years and i have seen many souls saved. i don't preach regular anymore but once in a while i do. i have preached in all these little churches around here. i preached six years at sugar loaf mountain. the presidin elder he wants me to go there. the man that had left there jus tore that church up. i went up there one sunday and i didn't see anything that i could do. i think i'm not able for this. i said they needs a more experienced preacher than me. but the presidin elder keeps after me to go there and i says, well, i go for one year. next thing it was the same thing. i stays on another year and so on for six years. when i left there that church was in pretty good shape. "i think preaching the gospel is the greatest work in the world. but folks don't seem to take the interest in church that they used to." maryland sept. , rogers george jones, ex-slave. reference: personal interview with george jones, ex-slave, at african m.e. home, aisquith st., baltimore. "i was born in frederick county, maryland, years ago or . my father's name was henry and mother's jane; brothers dave, joe, henry, john and sisters annie and josephine. i know my father and mother were slaves, but i do not recall to whom they belonged. i remember my grandparents. "my father used to tell me how he would hide in the hay stacks at night, because he was whipped and treated badly by his master who was rough and hard-boiled on his slaves. many a time the owner of the slaves and farm would come to the cabins late at night to catch the slaves in their dingy little hovels, which were constructed in cabin fashion and of stone and logs with their typical windows and rooms of one room up and one down with a window in each, the fireplaces built to heat and cook for occupants. "the farm was like all other farms in frederick county, raising grain, such as corn, wheat and fruit and on which work was seasonable, depending upon the weather, some seasons producing more and some less. when the season was good for the crop and crops plentiful, we had a little money as the plantation owner gave us some to spend. "when hunting came, especially in the fall and winter, the weather was cold, i have often heard say father speak of rabbit, opossum and coon hunting and his dogs. you know in frederick county there are plenty of woods, streams and places to hunt, giving homes and hiding places for such game. "we dressed to meet the weather condition and wore shoes to suit rough traveling through woods and up and down the hills of the country. "in my boyhood days, my father never spoke much of my master, only in the term i have expressed before, or the children, church, the poor white people in the neighborhood or the farm, their mode of living, social condition. i will say this in conclusion, the white people of frederick county as a whole were kind towards the colored people and are today, very little race friction one way or the other." ellen b. warfield may , alice lewis. (alice lewis, ex-slave, , years old, in charge of sewing-room at provident hospital (negro), baltimore. tall, slender, erect, her head crowned by abundant snow white wool, with a fine carriage and an air of poise mud self respect good to behold, alice belies her years.) "yes'm, i was born in slavery, i don't look it, but i was! way down in wilkes county, georgia, nigh to a little town named washington which ain't so far from augusta. my pappy, he belong to the alexanders, and my mammy, she belong to the wakefiel' plantation and we all live with the wakefiel's. no _ma'am_, none of the wakefiel' niggers ever run away. they was too well off! they knew who they friends was! _my_ white folkses was good to their niggers! them was the days when we had good food and it didn't cost nothing--chickens and hogs and garden truck. saturdays was the day we got our 'lowance for the week, and lemme tell you, they didn't stint us none. the best in the land was what we had, jest what the white folkses had. "clothes? yes'm. we had two suits of clothes, a winter suit and a summer suit and two pairs of shoes, a winter pair and a summer pair. yes'm, my mammy, she spin the cotton, yes'm picked right on the plantation, yes'm, cotton picking was fun, believe me! as i was saying, mammy she spin and she wears the cloth, and she cut it out and she make our clothes. that's where i git my taste to sew, i reckon. when i first come to baltimore, i done dressmaking, 'deed i did. i sewed for the best fam'lies in this yere town. i sewed for the howards and the slingluffs and the jenkinses. jest the other day, i met miss c'milla down town and she say. 'alice, ain' this you? and i say, 'law me, miss c'milla', and 'she say, 'alice, why don' you come to see mother? she ain' been so well--she love to see you....' "well, as i was a saying, we didn't work so hard, them days. we got up early, 'cause the fires had to be lighted to make the house warm for the white folks, but in them days, dinner was in the middle of the day--the quality had theirs at twelve o'clock--and they had a light supper at five and when we was through, we was through, and free to go the quarters and set around and smoke a pipe and rest. "yes'm they taught us to read and write. sunday afternoons, my young mistresses used to teach the pickaninnies to read the bible. yes'm we was free to go to see the niggers on other plantations but we had to have a pass an' we was checked in an' out. no'm, i ain't never seen no slaves sold, nor none in chains, and i ain't never seen no ku kluxers. "i live with the wakefiel's till i was 'leven and then marse wakefiel' give me to my young mistress when she married and went to north carolina to live. and 'twas in north carolina that i seed sherman, 'deed i did! i seed sherman and his sojers, gathering up all the hogs and all the hosses, and all the cows and all the little cullud chillen. them was drefful days! these is drefful days, too. old man satan, he sure am on earth now. "yes'm, i believes in ghos'ses. i ain't never seed 'em but i is feel 'em. i live once in a house where a man was killed. i lie in my bed and they close in on me! no'm, i ain't afraid. the landlord say when i move out, 'you is stay there longer than anybody i ever had.' 'nother house i live in (this was in north carolina too), it had been a gamblin' house and it had hants. on rainy nights, i'd lie awake and hear "drip, drip ... drip, drip...." what was that? why, that was the blood a dripping ... why on rainy night? why, on rainy nights, the blood gets a little fresh...!" maryland sept. , rogers perry lewis, ex-slave. reference: personal interview with perry lewis, ex-slave, at his home, e. lexington st., baltimore. "i was born on kent island, md. about years ago. my father's name was henry and mother's louise. i had one brother john, who was killed in the civil war at the deep bottom, one sister as i can remember. my father was a freeman and my mother a slave, owned by thomas tolson, who owned a small farm on which i was born in a log cabin, with two rooms, one up and one down. "as you know the mother was the owner of the children that she brought into the world. mother being a slave made me a slave. she cooked and worked on the farm, ate whatever was in the farmhouse and did her share of work to keep and maintain the tolsons. they being poor, not having a large place or a number of slaves to increase their wealth, made them little above the free colored people and with no knowledge, they could not teach me or any one else to read. "you know the eastern shore of maryland was in the most productive slave territory and where farming was done on a large scale; and in that part of maryland where there were many poor people and many of whom were employed as overseers, you naturally heard of patrollers and we had them and many of them. i have heard that patrollers were on kent island and the colored people would go out in the country on the roads, create a disturbance to attract the patrollers' attention. they would tie ropes and grape vines across the roads, so when the patrollers would come to the scene of the disturbance on horseback and at full tilt, they would be throwing those who would come in contact with the rope or vine off the horse; sometimes badly injuring the riders. this would create hatred between the slaves, the free people, the patrollers and other white people who were concerned. "in my childhood days i played marbles, this was the only game i remember playing. as i was on a small farm, we did not come in contact much with other children, and heard no children's songs. i therefore do not recall the songs we sang. "i do not remember being sick but i have heard mother say, when she or her children were sick, the white doctor who attended the tolsons treated us and the only herbs i can recall were life-everlasting boneset and woodditney, from each of which a tea could be made. "this is about all i can recall." maryland sept. , rogers richard macks, ex-slave. reference: personal interview with richard macks, ex-slave, at his home, w. biddle st., baltimore. "i was born in charles county in southern maryland in the year of . my father's name was william (bill) and mother's harriet mack, both of whom were born and reared in charles county--the county that james wilkes booth took refuge in after the assassination of president lincoln in . i had one sister named jenny and no brothers: let me say right here it was god's blessing i did not. near bryantown, a county center prior to the civil war as a market for tobacco, grain and market for slaves. "in bryantown there were several stores, two or three taverns or inns which were well known in their days for their hospitality to their guests and arrangements to house slaves. there were two inns both of which had long sheds, strongly built with cells downstairs for men and a large room above for women. at night the slave traders would bring their charges to the inns, pay for their meals, which were served on a long table in the shed, then afterwards, they were locked up for the night. "i lived with my mother, father and sister in a log cabin built of log and mud, having two rooms; one with a dirt floor and the other above, each room having two windows, but no glass. on a large farm or plantation owned by an old maid by the name of sally mcpherson on mcpherson farm. "as a small boy and later on, until i was emancipated, i worked on the farm doing farm work, principally in the tobacco fields and in the woods cutting timber and firewood. i slept on a home-made bed or bunk, while my mother and sister slept in a bed made by father on which they had a mattress made by themselves and filled with straw, while dad slept on a bench beside the bed and that he used in the day as a work bench, mending shoes for the slaves and others. i have seen mother going to the fields each day like other slaves to do her part of the farming. i being considered as one of the household employees, my work was both in the field and around the stable, giving me an opportunity to meet people some of whom gave me a few pennies. by this method i earned some money which i gave to my mother. i once found a gold dollar, that was the first dollar i ever had in my life. "we had nothing to eat but corn bread baked in ashes, fat back and vegetables raised on the farm; no ham or any other choice meats; and fish we caught out of the creeks and streams. "my father had some very fine dogs; we hunted coons, rabbits and opossum. our best dog was named ruler, he would take your hat off. if my father said: 'ruler, take his hat off!', he would jump up and grab your hat. "we had a section of the farm that the slaves were allowed to farm for themselves, my mistress would let them raise extra food for their own use at nights. my father was the colored overseer, he had charge of the entire plantation and continued until he was too old to work, then mother's brother took it over, his name was caleb. "when i was a boy, i saw slaves going through and to bryansville town. some would be chained, some handcuffed, and others not. these slaves were bought up from time to time to be auctioned off or sold at bryantown, to go to other farms, in maryland, or shipped south. "the slave traders would buy young and able farm men and well-developed young girls with fine physiques to barter and sell. they would bring them to the taverns where there would be the buyers and traders, display them and offer them for sale. at one of these gatherings a colored girl, a mulatto of fine stature and good looks, was put on sale. she was of high spirits and determined disposition. at night she was taken by the trader to his room to satisfy his bestial nature. she could not be coerced or forced by him [tr: 'by him' lined out] so she was attacked by him. in the struggle she grabbed a knife and with it, she sterilized[hw:?] him and from the result of injury he died the next day. she was charged with murder. gen. butler, hearing of it, sent troops to charles county to protect her, they brought her to baltimore, later she was taken to washington where she was set free. she married a government employe, reared a family of children, one is a doctor practicing medicine in baltimore and the other a retired school teacher, you know him well if i were to tell you who the doctor is. this attack was the result of being goodlooking, for which many a poor girl in charles county paid the price. there are several cases i could mention, but they are distasteful to me. "a certain slave would not permit this owner to whip him, who with overseer and several others overpowered the slave, tied him, put him across a hogshead and whipped him severely for three mornings in succession. some one notified the magistrate at bryantown of the brutality. he interfered in the treatment of this slave, threatening punishment. he was untied, he ran away, was caught by the constable, returned to his owner, melted sealing wax was poured over his back on the wounds inflicted by him, when whipping, the slave ran away again and never was caught. "there was a doctor in the neighborhood who bought a girl and installed her on the place for his own use, his wife hearing of it severely beat her. one day her little child was playing in the yard. it fell head down in a post hole filled with water and drowned. his wife left him; afterward she said it was an affliction put on her husband for his sins. "during hot weather we wore thin woolen clothes, the material being made on the farm from the wool of our sheep, in the winter we wore thicker clothes made on the farm by slaves, and for shoes our measures were taken of each slave with a stick, they were brought to baltimore by the old mistress at the beginning of each season, if she or the one who did the measuring got the shoe too short or too small you had to wear it or go barefooted. "we were never taught to read or write by white people. "we had to go to the white church, sit in the rear, many times on the floor or stand up. we had a colored preacher, he would walk miles, then walk back. i was not a member of church. we had no baptising, we were christened by the white preacher. "we had a graveyard on the place. whites were buried inside of railing and the slaves on the outside. the members of the white family had tombstones, the colored had headstones and cedar post to show where they were buried. "in charles county and in fact all of southern maryland tobacco was raised on a large scale. men, women and children had to work hard to produce the required crops. the slaves did the work and they were driven at full speed sometimes by the owners and others by both owner and overseers. the slaves would run away from the farms whenever they had a chance, some were returned and others getting away. this made it very profitable to white men and constables to capture the runaways. this caused trouble between the colored people and whites, especially the free people, as some of them would be taken for slaves. i had heard of several killings resulting from fights at night. "one time a slave ran away and was seen by a colored man, who was hunting, sitting on a log eating some food late in the night. he had a corn knife with him. when his master attempted to hit him with a whip, he retaliated with the knife, splitting the man's breast open, from which he died. the slave escaped and was never captured. the white cappers or patrollers in all of the counties of southern maryland scoured the swamps, rivers and fields without success. "let me explain to you very plain without prejudice one way or the other, i have had many opportunities, a chance to watch white men and women in my long career, colored women have many hard battles to fight to protect themselves from assault by employers, white male servants or by white men, many times not being able to protect, in fear of losing their positions. then on the other hand they were subjected to many impositions by the women of the household through woman's jealousy. "i remember well when president buchanan was elected, i was a large boy. i came to baltimore when general grant was elected, worked in a livery stable for three years, three years with dr. owens as a waiter and coachman, years with mr. thomas winanson baltimore street as a butler, years with mr. oscar stillman of boston, then years with mr. robert garrett on mt. vernon place as head butler, after which i entered the catering business and continued until about twelve years ago. in my career i have had the opportunity to come in contact with the best white people and the most cultured class in maryland and those visiting baltimore. this class is about gone, now we have a new group, lacking the refinement, the culture and taste of those that have gone by. "when i was a small boy i used to run races with other boys, play marbles and have jumping contests. "at nights the slaves would go from one cabin to the other, talk, dance or play the fiddle or sing. christmas everybody had holidays, our mistress never gave presents. saturdays were half-day holidays unless planting and harvest times, then we worked all day. "when the slaves took sick or some woman gave birth to a child, herbs, salves, home liniments were used or a midwife or old mama was the attendant, unless severe sickness miss mcpherson would send for the white doctor, that was very seldom." maryland dec. , rogers tom randall, ex-slave. reference: personal interview with tom randall, at his home, oella, md. "i was born in ellicott city, howard county, maryland, in , in a shack on a small street now known as new cut road--the name then, i do not know. my mother's name was julia bacon. why my name was randall i do not know, but possibly a man by the name of randall was my father. i have never known nor seen my father. mother was the cook at the howard house; she was permitted to keep me with her. when i could remember things, i remember eating out of the skillets, pots and pans, after she had fried chicken, game or baked in them, always leaving something for me. when i grew larger and older i can recall how i used to carry wood in the kitchen, empty the rinds of potatoes, the leaves of cabbages and the leaves and tops of other plants. "there was a colored man by the name of joe nick, called old nick by a great many white people of me city. joe was owned by rueben rogers, a lawyer and farmer of howard county. the farm was situated about - / miles on a road that is the extension of main street, the leading street of ellicott city. they never called me anything but tomy or randy, other people told me that thomas randall, a merchant of ellicott city, was my father. "mother was owned by a man by the name of o'brien, a saloon or tavern keeper of the town. he conducted a saloon in ellicott city for a long time until he became manager, or operator, of the howard house of ellicott city, a larger hotel and tavern in the city. mother was a fine cook, especially of fowl and game. the howard house was the gathering place of the formers, lawyers and business men of howard and frederick counties and people of baltimore who had business in the courts of howard county and people of western maryland on their way to baltimore. "joe could read and write and was a good mechanic and wheelright. these accomplishments made him very valuable to rogers' farm, as wagons, buggies, carriages, plows and other vehicles and tools had to be made and repaired. "when i was about eight or nine years old joe ran away, everybody saying to join the union army. joe nick drove a pair of horses, hitched to a covered wagon, to ellicott city. the horses were found, but no nick, rogers offered a reward of $ . for the return of nick. this offer drew to ellicott city a number of people who had bloodhounds that were trained to hunt negroes--some coming from anne arundel, baltimore, howard and counties of southern maryland, each owner priding his pack as being the best pack in the town. they all stopped at the howard house, naturally drinking, treating their friends and each other, they all discussed among themselves the reward and their packs of hounds, each one saying that his pack was the best. this boasting was backed by cash. some cash, plus the reward on their hounds. in the meantime old joe was thinking, not boasting, but was riding the rail. "old joe left ellicott city on a freight train, going west, which he hopped when it was stalled on the baltimore and ohio railroad a short distance from the railroad station at ellicott city. old joe could not leave on the passenger trains, as no negro would be allowed on the trains unless he had a pass signed by his master or a free negro, and had his papers. "at dawn the hunters left the howard house with the packs, accompanied by many friends and people who joined up for the sport of the chase. they went to rogers' farm where the dogs were taken in packs to nick's quarters so they could get the odor and scent of nick. they had a twofold purpose, one to get the natural scent, the other was, if old nick had run away, he might come back at night to get some personal belongings, in that way the direction he had taken would be indicated by the scent and the hounds would soon track him down. the hounds were unleashed, each hunter going in a different direction without result. then they circled the farm, some going miles beyond the farm without result. after they had hunted all day they returned to the howard house where they regaled themselves in pleasures of the hotel for the evening. "in june of old nick returned to ellicott city dressed in a uniform of blue, showing that he had joined the federal army. mr. rueben rogers upon seeing him had him arrested, charging him with being a fugitive slave. he was confined in the jail there and held until the u.s. marshal of baltimore released him, arresting rogers and bringing him to baltimore city where he was reprimanded by the federal judge. this story is well known by the older people of howard county and traditionally known by the younger generation of ellicott city, and is called 'old nick: rogers' lemon.'" maryland sept. , stansbury dennis simms, ex-slave. reference: personal interview with dennis simms, ex-slave, september , , at his home, mosher st., baltimore. born on a tobacco plantation at contee, prince georges county, maryland, june , , dennis simms, negro ex-slave, mosher street, baltimore, maryland, is still working and expects to live to be a hundred years old. he has one brother living, george simms, of south river, maryland, who was born july , . both of them were born on the contee tobacco plantation, owned by richard and charles contee, whose forbears were early settlers in the state. simms always carries a rabbit's foot, to which he attributes his good health and long life. he has been married four times since he gained his freedom. his fourth wife, eliza simms, years old, is now in the providence hospital, suffering from a broken hip she received in a fall. the aged negro recalls many interesting and exciting incidents of slavery days. more than a hundred slaves worked on the plantation, some continuing to work for the contee brothers when they were set free. it was a pretty hard and cruel life for the darkeys, declares the negro. describing the general conditions of maryland slaves, he said: "we would work from sunrise to sunset every day except sundays and on new year's day. christmas made little difference at contee, except that we were given extra rations of food then. we had to toe the mark or be flogged with a rawhide whip, and almost every day there was from two to ten thrashings given on the plantations to disobedient negro slaves. "when we behaved we were not whipped, but the overseer kept a pretty close eye on us. we all hated what they called the 'nine ninety-nine', usually a flogging until fell over unconscious or begged for mercy. we stuck pretty close to the cabins after dark, for if we were caught roaming about we would be unmercifully whipped. if a slave was caught beyond the limits of the plantation where he was employed, without the company of a white person or without written permit of his master, any person who apprehended him was permitted to give him lashes across the bare back. "if a slave went on another plantation without a written permit from his master, on lawful business, the owner of the plantation would usually give the offender lashes. we were never allowed to congregate after work, never went to church, and could not read or write for we were kept in ignorance. we were very unhappy. "sometimes negro slave runaways who were apprehended by the patrollers, who kept a constant watch for escaped slaves, besides being flogged, would be branded with a hot iron on the cheek with the letter 'r'." simms claimed he knew two slaves so branded. simms asserted that even as late as the constitution of maryland enacted that a negro convicted of murder should have his right hand cut off, should be hanged in the usual manner, the head severed from the body, divided into four quarters and set up in the most public places of the county where the act was committed. he said that the slaves pretty well knew about this barbarous maryland law, and that he even heard of dismemberments for atrocious crimes of negroes in maryland. "we lived in rudely constructed log houses, one story in heighth, with huge stone chimneys, and slept on beds of straw. slaves were pretty tired after their long day's work in the field. sometimes we would, unbeknown to our master, assemble in a cabin and sing songs and spirituals. our favorite spirituals were--_bringin' in de sheaves_, _de stars am shinin' for us all_, _hear de angels callin'_, and _the debil has no place here_. the singing was usually to the accompaniment of a jew's harp and fiddle, or banjo. in summer the slaves went without shoes and wore three-quarter checkered baggy pants, some wearing only a long shirt to cover their body. we wore ox-hide shoes, much too large. in winter time the shoes were stuffed with paper to keep out the cold. we called them 'program' shoes. we had no money to spend, in fact did not know the value of money. "our food consisted of bread, hominy, black strap molasses and a red herring a day. sometimes, by special permission from our master or overseer, we would go hunting and catch a coon or possum and a pot pie would be a real treat. "we all thought of running off to canada or to washington, but feared the patrollers. as a rule most slaves were lazy." simms' work at contee was to saddle the horses, cut wood, and make fires and sometimes work in the field. he voted for president lincoln and witnessed the second inauguration of lincoln after he was set free. maryland / / rogers jim taylor (uncle jim), ex-slave. reference: personal interview with jim taylor, at his home, e. rd st., baltimore. "i was born in talbot county, eastern shore, maryland, near st. michaels about . mr. mason shehan's father knew me well as i worked for him for more than years after the emancipation. my mother and father both were owned by a mr. davis of st. michaels who had several tugs and small boats. in the summer, the small boats were used to haul produce while the tugs were used for towing coal and lumber on the chesapeake bay and the small rivers on the eastern shore. mr. davis bought able-bodied colored men for service on the boats. they were sail boats. i would say about or feet long. on each boat, besides the captain, there were from to men used. on the tugs there were more men, besides the mess boy, than on the sail boats. "i think a man by the name of robinson who was in the coal business at havre de grace engaged mr. davis to tow several barges of soft coal to st. michaels. it was on july th when we arrived at havre de grace. being a holiday, we had to wait until the th, before we could start towards st. michaels. "mr. tuttle, the captain of the tug, did not sleep on the boat that night, but went to a cock fight. the colored men decided to escape and go to pennsylvania. (i was a small boy). they ran the tug across the bay to elk creek, and upon arriving there they beached the tug on the north side, followed a stream that harriett tubman had told them about. after traveling about seven miles, they approached a house situated on a large farm which was occupied by one of the deputy sheriffs of the county. the sheriff told them they were under arrest. one of the escaping man seized the sheriff from the rear, after he was thrown they tied him, then they continued on a road towards pennsylvania. they reached pennsylvania about dawn. after they had gone some distance in pennsylvania three men with guns overtook them; but five men and one woman of pennsylvania with guns and clubs stopped them. in the meantime the sheriff and two of his deputies come up. the sheriff said he had to hold them for the authorities of the county. they were taken by the sheriff from the three men, carried about miles further in pennsylvania and then were told to go to chester where they would be safe. "mr. davis came to chester with mr. tuttle to claim the escaping slaves. they were badly beaten, mr. tuttle receiving a fractured skull. there were several white men in chester who were very much interested in colored people, they gave us money to go to philadelphia. after arriving in philadelphia, we went to allen's mission, a colored church that helped escaping slaves. i stayed in philadelphia until i was about years old, then all the colored people were free. i returned to talbot, there remained until , came to baltimore where i secured a job with james hitchens, a colored man, who had six furniture vans drawn by two horses each and sometimes by three and four horses. mr. hitchens' office and warehouse were on north street near pleasant. i stayed there with mr. hitchens until he sold his business to mr. o. farror after he had taken sick. "in march i will be years old. i have been sick three times in my life. i am, and have been a member of north street baptist church for thirty-three years. i am the father of nine children, have been married twice and a grandfather of twenty-three granddaughters and grandsons and forty-five great grand-children. "while in philadelphia i attended free school for colored children conducted at allen's mission; when i returned to talbot county i was in the sixth grade or the sixth reader. since then i have always been fond of reading. my favored books are the _bible_, bunyan's _pilgrim's progress_, _uncle tom's cabin_, the lives of napoleon, frederick douglass and booker t. washington, and church magazines and the afro-american." maryland [--]- - rogers james wiggins, ex-slave. reference: personal interview with james wiggins, ex-slave, at his home, barre st. "i was born in anne arundel county, on a farm near west river about or , i do not know which. i do not know my father or mother. peter brooks, one of the oldest colored men in the county, told me that my father's name was wiggins. he said that he was one of the revells' slaves. he acquired my father at an auction sale held in baltimore at a high price from a trader who had an office on pratt street about . he was given a wife by mr. revell and as a result of this union i was born. my father was a carpenter by trade, he was hired out to different farmers by mr. revell to repair and build barns, fences and houses. i have been told that my father could read and write. once he was charged with writing passes for some slaves in the county, as a result of this he was given lashes by the sheriff of the county, immediately afterwards he ran away, went to philadelphia, where he died while working to save money to purchase mother's freedom, through a white baptist minister in baltimore. "i was called "gingerbread" by the revells. they reared me until i reached the age of about nine or ten years old. my duty was to put logs on the fireplaces in the revells' house and work around the house. i remember well when i was taken to annapolis, how i used to dance in the stores for men and women, they would give me pennies and three cent pieces, all of which was given to me by the revells. they bought me shoes and clothes with the money collected. "mr. revell died in or . the sheriff and men came from annapolis, sold the slaves, stock and other chattels. i was purchased by a mr. mayland, who kept a store in annapolis. i was sold by him to a slave trader to be shipped to georgia. i was brought to baltimore, and was jailed in a small house on paca near lombard. the trader was buying other slaves to make a load. i escaped through the aid of a german shoemaker, who sold shoes to owners for slaves. "the german shoeman had a covered wagon, i was put in the wagon covered by boxes, taken to a house on south sharp street and there kept until a mr. george stone took me to frederick city where i stayed until , when mr. stone, a member of the lutheran church, had me christened giving me the name of james wiggins. this is how i got the name of wiggins, after my father, instead of gingerbread, through the investigation and the information given by mr. brooks. "you know the revells are well known in anne arundel county, consisting of a large family, each family a large property owner. i can't say how many acres were owned by jim revell, he was a general farmer having a few slaves, you see i was a small boy. i can't answer all the questions you want. "there were a great many people in anne arundel who did not believe in slavery and many free colored people. these conditions caused conflicts between the free colored who many times were charged with aiding the slaves and the whites who were not favorably impressed with slavery and the others who believed in slavery. as a result, the patrollers were numerous. i remember of seeing jim revell coming home very much battered and beaten up as a result of an encounter with a number of free people and white people and those who were members of the patrollers. "as a child i was very fond of dancing, especially the jig and buck. i made money as i stated before, i played children's plays of that time, top, marbles and another game we called skinny. skinny was a game played on trees and grape vines. "as a boy i was very healthy, i never had a doctor until i was over years old. i don't know anything about the medical treatment of that day, you never need medicine unless you are ailing and i never ailed." maryland sept. , stansbury "parson" rezin williams, ex-slave. references: baltimore morning sun, december , . registration books of board of election supervisors baltimore court house. personal interviews with "parson" rezin williams, on thursday afternoon, september and , , at his home, pierpont street, mount winans, baltimore, md. maryland historical magazine, vol ( ), p. . buchholz: _governors of maryland_--pp. - , - . (p.l.g. b .) "parson" williams---- oldest living negro civil war veteran; now years old. oldest registered voter in maryland and said to be the oldest "freeman" in the united states. said to be oldest member of negro family in america with sister and brother still living, more than a century old. father worked for george washington. in when the state constitution abolished slavery and freed about , negro slaves in maryland, there was one, "parson" rezin williams, already a freeman. he is now living at the age of years, in baltimore city, maryland, credited with being the oldest of his race in the united states who served in the civil war. he was born march , , at "fairview", near bowie, prince georges county, maryland--a plantation of acres, then belonging to governor oden bowie's father. "parson" williams' father, rezin williams, a freeman, was born at "mattaponi", near nottingham, prince georges county, the estate of robert bowie of revolutionary war fame, friend of washington and twice governor of maryland. the elder rezin williams served the father of our country as a hostler at mount vernon, where he worked on washington's plantation during the stormy days of the revolution. there is perhaps nowhere to be found a more picturesque and interesting character of the colored race than "parson" williams, who, besides serving as a colored bishop of the union american methodist church (colored) for more than a half century, is the composer of negro spirituals which were popular during their day. he attended president lincoln's inauguration and subsequently every republican and democratic presidential inauguration, although he himself is a republican. lincoln, according to williams, shook hands with him in washington. one of williams' sons, of a family of fourteen children, was named after george washington, and another after abraham lincoln. the son, george washington williams, died in at the age of seventy-three years. "parson" williams, serving the union forces as a teamster, hauled munitions and supplies for general grant's army, at gettysburg. on trips to the rear, he conveyed wounded soldiers from the line of fire. he also served under general mcclellan and general hooker. although now confined to his home with infirmities of age, he posesses all his faculties and has a good memory of events since his boyhood days. due to the fact that his grandmother was an indian the daughter of an indian chieftan, alleged to be buried in a vault in baltimore county, williams was a freeman like his father and hired himself out. williams claims that his father, when a boy, accompanied robert bowie, for whom he was working, to mount vernon, where he first met george washington. he said that general washington once became very angry at his father because he struck an unruly horse, exclaiming: "the brute has more sense than some slaves. cease striking the animal." robert bowie, the third son of capt. william and margaret (sprigg) bowie, was born at "mattaponi", near nottingham, march . as a captain of a company of militia organized at nottingham, he accompanied the maryland forces when they joined washington in his early campaign near new york. he and washington became friends. in , when captain william bowie died, his son robert inherited "mattaponi". he was the first democratic governor to be elected, one of the presidential electors for madison, and a director of the first bank established at annapolis. williams recalls hearing his father say that when washington died, december , , many paid reverence by wearing mourning scarfs and hatbands. he recalls many interesting incidents during slavery days. he said that slaves could not buy or sell anything except with the permission of their master. if a slave was caught ten miles from his master's home, and had no signed permit, he was arrested as a runaway and harshly punished. there was a standing reward for the capture of a runaway. the indians who caught a runaway slave received a "match coat." the master gave the slave usually ten to ninety-nine lashes for running off. what slaves feared most was what they called the "nine ninety-nine" or lashes with a rawhide whip, and sometimes they were unmercifully flogged until unconcious. some cruel masters believed negroes had no souls. the slaves at bowie, however, declared "parson" williams, were pretty well treated and usually respected the overseers. he said that the slaves at bowie mostly lived in cabins made of slabs running up and down and crudely furnished. working time was from sunrise until sunset. the slaves had no money to spend and few masters allowed them to indulge in a religious meeting or even learn about the bible. slaves received medical attention from a physician if they were seriously ill. when a death occured, a rough box would be made of heavy slabs and the dead negro buried the same day on the plantation burying lot with a brief ceremony, if any. the grieving darkeys, relatives, after he was "eased" in the ground, would sing a few spirituals and return to their cabins. familiar old spirituals were composed by "parson" williams, including _roll de stones away_, _you'll rise in de skies_, and _ezekiel, he'se comin home_. following is one of williams' spirituals: when dat are ole chariot comes, i'm gwine to lebe you: i'm bound for de promised land i'm gwine to lebe you. i'm sorry i'm gwine to lebe you, farewell, oh farewell but i'll meet you in de mornin farewell, oh farewell. still another favorite of "parson" williams, which he composed on col. bowie's plantation just before the civil war, a sort of rallying song expressing what canada meant to the slaves at that time, runs thus: i'm now embarked for yonder shore there a man's a man by law; the iron horse will bear me o'er to shake de lion's paw. oh, righteous father, will thou not pity me and aid me on to canada, where all the slaves are free. oh, i heard queen victoria say that if we would forsake our native land of slavery, and come across de lake that she was standin' on de shore wid arms extended wide, to give us all a peaceful home beyond de rollin' tide. interesting reminiscences are recalled by "parson" williams of his early life. he said that he still remembers when mr. oden bowie (later governor) left with the army of invasion of mexico ( - ), and of his being brought home ill after several years was nursed back to health at "fairview". governor bowie died on his plantation in and is buried in the family burying ground there. he was the first president of the maryland jockey club. governor bowie raised a long string of famous race horses that became known throughout the country. from the "fairview" stables went such celebrated horses as dickens, catespy, crickmore, commensation, creknob, who carried the bowie colors to the front on many well-contested race courses. after governor bowie's death, the estate became the property of his youngest son, w. booth bowie. "fairview" is located in the upper part of what was called the "forest" of prince georges county, a few miles southwest of collington station. it is a fine type of old colonial mansion built of brick, the place having been in the posession of the family for some time previous. "fairview" is one of the oldest and finest homes in maryland. the mansion contains a wide hall and is a typical southern home. baruch duckett married kitty bean, a granddaughter of john bowie, sr., the first of his name to come to prince georges county. they had but one daughter, whose name was kitty bean duckett, and she married in william bowie of walter. baruch duckett outlived his wife and died in . he devised "fairview" to his son-in-law and the latter's children, and it ultimately became the property of his grandson, afterward known as col. william b.[tr.?] bowie, who made it his home until , when he gave it to his eldest son, oden, who in became governor of maryland. governor bowie was always identified with the democratic party. "parson" williams' wife, amelia addison williams died august , , at the age of years. the aged negro is the father of children, one still living,--mrs. amelia besley, years old, pierpont street, mount winans, baltimore, maryland. his brother, marcellus williams, and a single sister, amelia williams, both living, reside on rubio street, philidelphia, pa. according to "parson" williams, they are both more than a century old and are in fairly good health. besides his children and a brother and a sister, williams has several grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren living. president lincoln, williams says, was looked upon by many slaves as a messenger from heaven. of course, many slave masters were kind and considerate, but to most slaves they were just a driver and the slaves were work horses for them. only once during his lifetime does williams recall tasting whisky, when his cousin bought a pint. it cost three cents in those days. he said his mother used to make beer out of persimmons and cornhusks, but they don't make it any more, so he doesn't even drink beer now. he would much rather have a good cigar. he has since a boy, smoked a pipe. by special permission of plantation owners in prince georges, st. marys, baltimore and other counties in maryland, he was often permitted to visit the darkeys and conduct a religious meeting in their cabins. he usually wore a long-tailed black "kentucky" suit with baggy trousers and sported a cane. usually when servants or slaves in those days found themselves happy and contented, it was because they were born under a lucky star. as for eating, they seldom got chicken, mostly they ate red herring and molasses--they called black strap molasses. they were allowed a herring a day as part of their food. slaves as a rule preferred possums to rabbits. some liked fish best. williams' favorite food was cornpone and fried liver. "once before de wah, i was ridin lazy, my donkey, a few miles from de boss' place at fairview, when along came a dozen or more patrollers. dey questioned me and decided i was a runaway slave and dey wuz gwine to give me a coat of tar and feathers when de boss rode up and ordered my release. he told dem dreaded white patrollers dat i was a freeman and a 'parson'." when the slaves were made free, some of the overseers tooted horns, calling the blacks from their toil in the fields. they were told they need no longer work for their masters unless they so desired. most of the darkeys quit "den and dar" and made a quick departure to other parts, but some remained and to this day their descendants are still to be found working on the original plantations, but of course for pay. describing the clothing worn in summer time by the slaves, he said they mostly went barefooted. the men and boys wore homespun, three-quarter striped pants and sometimes a large funnel-shaped straw hat. some wore only a shirt as a covering for their body. "in winter oxhide shoes were worn, much too large, and the soles contained several layers of paper. we called them 'program' shoes, because the paper used for stuffing, consisted of discarded programs. we gathered herbs from which we made medicine, snake root and sassafras bark being a great remedy for many ailments." williams, though himself not a slave by virtue of the fact that his grandmother was an indian, was considered a good judge of healthy slaves, those who would prove profitable to their owners, so he often accompanied slave purchasers to the baltimore slave markets. he told of having been taken by a certain slave master to the baltimore wharf, boarded a boat and after the slave dealer and the captain negotiated a deal, he, williams, not realizing that he was being used as a decoy, led a group of some thirty or forty blacks, men, women and children, through a dark and dirty tunnel for a distance of several blocks to a slave market pen, where they were placed on the auction block. he was told to sort of pacify the black women who set up a wail when they were separated from their husbands and children. it was a pitiful sight to see them, half naked, some whipped into submission, cast into slave pens surrounded by iron bars. a good healthy negro man from to would bring from $ to $ . women would bring about half the price of the men. often when the women parted with their children and loved ones, they would never see them again. such conditions as existed in the baltimore slave markets, which were considered the most important in the country, and the subsequent ill treatment of the unfortunates, hastened the war between the states. the increasing numbers of free negroes also had much to do with causing the civil war. the south was finding black slavery a sort of white elephant. everywhere the question was what to do with the freeman. nobody wanted them. some states declared they were a public nuisance. "uncle rezin", by which name some called him, since slavery days, was, besides being engaged in preaching the gospel, journeying from one town to another, where he has performed hundreds of marriages among his race, baptised thousands, performed numerous christenings and probably preached more sermons than any negro now living. he preached his last sermon two years ago. he says his life's work is now through and he is crossing over the river jordan and will soon be on the other side. since the civil war he has made extra money for his support during depression times by doing odd jobs of whitewashing, serving as a porter or janitor, cutting wood, hauling and running errands, also serving as a teamster, picking berries and working as a laborer. he has had several miraculous escapes from death during his long life. twice during the past quarter of a century his home at mount winans has been destroyed by fire, when firemen rescued him in the nick of time, and some years ago, when he was suddenly awakened during a severe windstorm, his house was unroofed and blew down. when workmen were clearing away the debris in search for "uncle" rezin, some hours later, a voice was heard coming from a large barrel in the cellar. it was from williams, who somehow managed to crawl in the barrel during the storm, and called out: "de lord hab sabed me. you all haul me out of here, but i'se all right." scabo, his pet dog, was killed by the falling debris during the storm. firemen at westport state that three years ago, when fire damaged "uncle" rezin's home, the aged negro preacher refused to be rescued, and walked out of the building through stifling smoke, as though nothing had happened. when veterans of a great war have been mowed down by the scythe of father time until their numbers are few, an added public interest attaches to them. baltimore septuagenarians remember the honor paid to the last surviving "old defenders", who faced the british troops at north point in , and now the few veterans of the war of secession, whether they wore the blue or the gray, receive similar attention. a far different class, one peculiarly associated with the strife between the north and the south, are approaching the point of fading out from the life of today--the old slaves, and original old freemen. "parson" williams tops the list of them all. images provided by the library of congress, manuscript division. [tr: ***] = transcriber note [hw: ***] = handwritten note slave narratives a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress washington volume ii arkansas narratives part prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of arkansas informants vaden, charlie vaden, ellen van buren, nettie vaughn, adelaide j. wadille [tr: waddille], emmeline wadille (waddell), emmeline (emiline) waldon, henry walker, clara walker, henry walker, jake walker, jake wallace, willie warrior, evans washington, anna washington, eliza washington, jennie washington, parrish watson, caroline watson, mary wayne, bart weathers, annie mae weathers, cora webb, ishe wells, alfred wells, douglas wells, john wells, sarah wells, sarah williams wesley, john wesley, robert wesmoland, maggie west, calvin west, mary mays wethington, sylvester whitaker, joe white, julia a. white, lucy whiteman, david whiteside, dolly whitfield, j.w. whitmore, sarah wilborn, dock wilks, bell williams, bell williams, charley williams, charlie williams, columbus williams, frank williams, gus williams, henrietta williams, henry andrew (tip) williams, james williams, john williams, lillie williams, mary williams, mary williams, mary williams, rosena hunt williams, iii, william ball (soldier) williamson, anna williamson, callie halsey willis, charlotte wilson, ella wilson, robert windham, tom wise, alice wise, frank withers, lucy woods, anna woods, cal woods, maggie word, sam worthy, ike wright, alice wright, hannah brooks yates, tom young, annie young, john folklore subjects name of interviewer: irene robertson subject: negro lore story:--information this information given by: charlie vaden place of residence: hazen, green grove, ark. occupation: farming age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] charlie vaden's father ran away and went to the war to fight. he was a slave and left his owner. his mother died when he was five years old but before she died she gave charlie to mrs. frances owens (white lady). she came to des arc and ran the city hotel. he never saw his father till he was grown. he worked for mrs. owens. he never did run with colored folks then. he nursed her grandchildren, guy and ira brown. when he was grown he bought a farm at green grove. it consisted of a house and forty-seven acres of land. he farmed two years. a fortune teller came along and told him he was going to marry but he better be careful that they wouldn't live together or he might "drop out." he went ahead and married like he was "fixing" to do. they just couldn't get along, so they got divorced. they had the wedding at her house and preacher isarel thomas (colored) married them and they went on to his house. he don't remember how she was dressed except in white and he had a "new outfit too." next he married lorine rogers at the green grove church and took her home. she fell off the porch with a tub of clothes and died from it just about a year after they married. he married again at the church and lived with her twenty years. they had four girls and four boys. she died from the change of life. the last wife he didn't live with either. she is still living. had another fortune teller tell his fortune. she said, "uncle, you are pretty good but be careful or you'll be walking around begging for victuals." he said it had nearly come to that now except it hurt him to walk. (he can hardly walk.) he believes some of what the fortune tellers tell comes true. he has been on the same farm since , which is forty-nine years, and did fine till four years ago. he can't work, couldn't pay taxes, and has lost his land. he was paralized five months, helpless as a baby, couldn't dress himself. an herb doctor settled at green grove and used herbs for tea and poultices and cured him. the doctors and the law run him out of there. his name was hopkins from popular bluff, missouri. charlie vaden used to have rheumatism and he carried a buckeye in each pants pocket to make the rheumatism lighter. he thought it did some good. he has a birthmark. said his mother must have craved pig tails. he never had enough pig tails to eat in his life. the butchers give them to him when he comes to hazen or des arc. he said he would "fight a circle saw for a pig tail." he can't remember any old songs or old tales. in fact he was too small when his mother died (five years old). he believes in herb medicine of all kinds but can't remember except garlic poultice is good for neuralgia. sassafras is a good tea, a good blood purifier in the spring of the year. he knows a weather sign that seldom or never falls. "thunder in the morning, rain before noon." "seldom rains at night in july in arkansas." he has seen lots of lucky things but doesn't remember them. "it's bad luck to carry hoes and rakes in the living house." "it's bad luck to spy the new moon through bushes or trees." he doesn't believe in witches, but he believes in spirits that direct your course as long as you are good and do right. he goes to church all the time if they have preaching. green grove is a baptist church. he is not afraid of dead people. "they can't hurt you if they are dead." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: ellen vaden devalls bluff, ark. age: "i am years old. my mother come from georgia. she left all her kin. our owner was dave and luiza johnson. they had two girls and a boy--meely, colly and tobe. my mother's aunt come to memphis in slavery time and come to see us. she cooked and bought herself free. the folks what owned her hired her out till they got paid her worth. she died in memphis. i never heard father say where he come from or who owned him. he lived close by somewhere. "my mother cooked. me and dave johnson's boy nursed together. when they had company, miss luiza was so modest she wouldn't let tobe have 'titty'. he would come lead my mother behind the door and pull at her till she would take him and let him nurse. she said he would lead her behind the door. "i don't remember freedom. i know the ku klux was bad around augusta, arkansas. one time when i was little a crowd of ku klux come at about dusk. they told dave johnson they wanted water. he told them there was a well full but not bother that woman and her children in the kitchen. dave johnson was a ku klux himself. they went on down the road and met a colored woman. she knowed their horses. she called some of them by name and they let her alone. "one time a colored man was settin' by the fire. his wife was sick in bed. he seen the ku klux coming and said 'lord god, here comes the devil.' he run off. they didn't bother her. she told them she was sick. when she got up and well she wouldn't live with that husband no more. "up at bowens ridge they took some colored men out one night and if they said they was republicans they let them go but if they said they was democrats they whooped them so hard they nearly killed some of them. some said they was bushwhackers or carpet baggers and not ku klux. "i am a country-raised woman. i had a light stroke and cain't work in the field. i get $ . and commodities. i like to live here very well. i don't meddle with young folks business. seems like they do mighty foolish things to me. times been changing ever since i come in this world. it is the people cause the times to change. i wouldn't know how to start to vote." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: nettie van buren, clarendon, arkansas ex school-teacher age: "my mother was named isabel porter smith. she come from springville. rev. porter brought her to mississippi close to holly springs. then she come to batesville, arkansas. he owned her. he was a circuit rider. i think he was a presbyterian minister. i heard her say they brought her to arkansas when she was a small girl. she nursed and cooked all the time. after freedom she went with reverend porter's relatives to work for them. i know so very little about what she said about slavery. "my father was raised in north carolina. his name was jerry smith and his master he called judge smith. my father made all he ever had farmin'. he knew how to raise cotton. he owned a home. this is his home (a nice home on river street in clarendon) and acres. he sold this farm two miles from here after he had paralysis, to live on. "my parents had two girls and two boys. they all dead but me. my mother's favorite song was "oh how i love jesus because he first loved me." they come here because my mother had a brother down here and she heard it was such fine farmin' land. "when i was a little girl my father was a presbyterian so he sent me to boardin' school in cotton plant and then sent me to jacksonville, illinois. i worked my board out up there. mrs. dr. carroll got me a place to work. my sister learned to sew. she sewed for the public till her death. she sewed for both black and white folks. i stretches curtains now if i can get any to stretch and i irons. it give me rheumatism to wash. i used to wash and iron. "my husband cooks on a government derrick boat. he gets $ . and his board. they have the very best things to eat. he likes the work if he can stay well. he can cook pies and fancy cookin'. they like that. say they can't hardly get somebody work long because they want to be in town every night. "we have one child. i used to be a primary teacher here at clarendon. "i never have voted. my husband votes but i don't know what he thinks about it. "i try to look at the present conditions in an encouraging way. the young people are so extravagant. the old folks in need. the thing most discouraging is the strangers come in and get jobs home folks could do and need and they can't get jobs and got no money to leave on nor no place to go. people that able to work don't work hard as they ought and people could and willin' to work can't get jobs. some of the young folks do sure live wild lives. they think only of the present times. a few young folks are buying homes but not half of them got a home. they work where they let 'em have a room or a house. different folks live all kinds of ways." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: adelaide j. vaughn cross street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in huntsville, alabama. my mother brought me from there when i was five years old. she said she would come to arkansas because she had heard so much talk about it. but when she struck the arkansas line, she didn't like it and she wanted to go back. i have heard her say why but i don't remember now; i done forgot. she thought she wouldn't like it here, but she did after she stayed a while. "my bronchial tubes git all stopped up and make it hard for me to talk. phlegm gits all around. i been bothered with them a good while now. "my mother, she was sold from her father when she was four years old. the rest of the children were grown then. master hickman was the one who bought her. i don't know the one that sold her. hickman had a lot of children her age and he raised her up with them. they were nice to her all the time. "once the pateroles came near capturing her. but she made it home and they didn't catch her. "mr. candle hired her from her master when she was about eighteen years old. he was nice to her but his wife was mean. just because mother wouldn't do everything the other servants said mis' candle wanted to whip her. mother said she knew that mis' candle couldn't whip her alone. but she was 'fraid that she would have sallie, another old negro woman slave, and kitty, a young negro woman slave, to help whip her. "one day when it was freezing cold, she wanted mother to stand out in the hall with sallie and clara and wash the glasses in boiling hot water. she was making her do that because she thought she was uppity and she wanted to punish her. when mother went out, she rattled the dishes 'round in the pan and broke them. they was all glasses. mis' candle heard them breaking and come out to see about it. she wanted to whip mother but she was 'fraid to do it while she was alone; so she waited till her husband come home. when he come she told him. he said she oughtn't to have sent them out in the cold to wash the glasses because nobody could wash dishes outside in that cold weather. "the first morning she was at mis' candle's, they called her to eat and they didn't have nothing but black molasses and corn bread for mother's meal. the other two ate it but mother didn't. she asked for something else. she said she wasn't used to eating that--that she ate what her master and mistress ate at home. "mis' candle didn't like that to begin with. she told my mother that she was a smart nigger. she told mother to do one thing and then before she could do it, she would tell her do something else. mother would just go on doing the first thing till she finished that, and mis' candle would git mad. but it wasn't nobody's fault but her own. "she asked mother to go out and git water from the spring on a rainy day. mother wouldn't go. finally mother got tired and went back home. her mistress heard what she had to tell her about the place she'd been working. then she said mother did right to quit. she had worked there for three or four months. they meant to keep her but she wouldn't stay. mis' hickman went over and collected her money. "when mother worked out, the people that hired her paid her owners. her owners furnished her everything she wanted to eat and clothes to wear, and all the money she earned went to them. "mis' candle begged mr. hickman to let him have mother back. he said he'd talk to his wife and she wouldn't mistreat her any more but mama said that she didn't want to go back and mrs. hickman said, 'no, she doesn't want to go back and i wouldn't make her.' and the girls said, 'no, mama, don't let her go back.' and mis' hickman said, 'no, she was raised with my girls and i am not going to let her go back.' "the hickmans had my mother ever since she was four years old. my grandfather was allowed to go a certain distance with her when she was sold away from him. he walked and carried her in his arms. mama said that when he had gone as far as they would let him go, he put her in the wagon and turned his head away. she said she wondered why he didn't look at her; but later she understood that he hated so bad to 'part from her and couldn't do nothing to prevent it that he couldn't bear to look at her. "since i have been grown i have worked with some people at newport. i stayed with them there and married there, and had all my children there. "i heard the woman i lived with, a woman named diana wagner, tell how her mistress said, 'come on, diana, i want you to go with me down the road a piece.' and she went with her and they got to a place where there was a whole lot of people. they were putting them up on a block and selling them just like cattle. she had a little nursing baby at home and she broke away from her mistress and them and said, 'i can't go off and leave my baby.' and they had to git some men and throw her down and hold her to keep her from goin' back to the house. they sold her away from her baby boy. they didn't let her go back to see him again. but she heard from him after he became a young man. some one of her friends that knowed her and knowed she was sold away from her baby met up with this boy and got to questioning him about his mother. the white folks had told him his mother's name and all. he told them and they said, 'boy, i know your mother. she's down in newport.' and he said, 'gimme her address and i'll write to her and see if i can hear from her.' and he wrote. and the white people said they heard such a hollering and shouting goin' on they said, 'what's the matter with diana?' and they came over to see what was happening. and she said, 'i got a letter from my boy that was sold from me when he was a nursing baby.' she had me write a letter to him. i did all her writing for her and he came to see her. i didn't get to see him. i was away when he come. she said she was willing to die that the lord let her live to see her baby again and had taken care of him through all these years. "my father's name was peter warren and my mother was named adelaide warren. before she was married she went by her owner's name, hickman. my daddy belonged to the phillips but he didn't go in their name. he went in the warren's name. he did that because he liked them. phillips was his real father, but he sold him to the warrens and he took their name and kept it. they treated him nice and he just stayed on in their name. he didn't marry till after both of them were free. he met her somewheres away from the hickman's. they married in alabama. "mama was born and mostly reared in virginia and then come to alabama. that's where i was born, in alabama. and they left there and came here. i was four years old when they come here. "i never did hear what my father did in slavery time. he was a twin. the most he took notice of he said was his brother and him settin' on an old three-legged stool. and his mother had left some soft soap on the fire. his brother saw that the pot was goin' to turn over and he jumped up. my father tried to get up too but the stool turned over and caught him, caught his little dress and held him and the hot soap ran over his dress and on to his bare skin. it left a big burn on his side long as he lived. his mother was there close to the house because she knowed the soap was on and those two little boys were in there. she heard him crying and ran in and carried him to her master. he got the doctor and saved him. my father's mother didn't do nothing after that but 'tend to that baby. her master loved those little boys and kept her and _didn't sell her because of them_. (the underscoring is the interviewer's--ed.) that was his last master--warren. warren loved him more than his real father did. warren said he knew my father would never live after he had such a burn. but he did live. they never did let him do much work after the accident. "i think my father's master, warren--i can't remember his first name--farmed for a living. "my father and mother had five children. i don't know how many brothers my father had. i have heard my mother say she had four sisters. i never heard her say nothin' 'bout no brothers--just sisters. "i had six children. got three living and three dead. they was grown though when they died. i had three boys and three girls. i got two boys living and one girl. the boy in st. louis does pretty well. but the other in little rock doesn't have much luck. if he'd get out of little rock, he would find more to do. the one in st. louis don't make much now because they done cut wages. he's a dining-car waiter. this girl what's here, she does all she can for me. she has a husband and my husband is dead. he's been dead a long time. "i belong to bethel a.m.e. church. you know where that is. rev. campbell is a good man. we had him eight years. then we got brother wilson one year and then they put campbell back. "i don't know what to think of these young people. some of them is running wild. "when i was working for myself, i was generally a maid. but that is been a long time ago. i washed and ironed and done laundry work when i was able a long time ago. but i can't do it now. i can't do it for myself now. i washed for myself a little and i got the flu and got in bad health. that was about four years ago. i reckon it was the flu; i never did have no doctor. when i take the least little cold, it comes back on me." interviewer's comment this old lady appears nearer eighty than sixty-nine, and she speaks with the sureness of an eyewitness. interviewer: mrs. blanche edwards person interviewed: emmeline waddille (deceased) lonoke county, arkansas age: she immigrated with her owner, l.w.c. waddille, to lonoke county in , coming to hickory plains and then to brownsville. they moved from hayburn, georgia in a covered wagon drawn by oxen. she lived with a great-granddaughter, mrs. john high, seven miles north of lonoke, until , when she died. she had nursed six generations of the waddille family. she was born a deaf-mute but her hearing and speech were restored many years ago when lightening struck a tree under which she was standing. emmeline told of how they would stop for the night on the rough journey, and while the men fed the stock, the women and slaves would cook the evening meal of hoecake, fried venison, and coffee. the women slept in the wagons and the men would sleep on the creek watching for wild life. with other pioneers, they suffered all the hardships and dangers incident to the settling of the new country more than three-fourths of a century ago. emmeline always had good care. she worked hard and faithfully and was amply rewarded. [hw: high] circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--blanche edwards address--lonoke, arkansas date--october , subject--an old slave [tr: emiline waddell] [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] . name and address of informant--mrs. john g. high, living nine miles north of lonoke, arkansas. . date and time of interview--october , . place of interview--at the home of mrs. john g. high, nine miles north of lonoke. . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant-- . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you-- . description of room, house, surroundings, etc. text of interview emiline waddell, a former slave of the l.w. waddell family, lived to be years old, and was active up to her death. she was born a slave in at haben county, georgia, a slave of claybourne waddell, who emigrated to brownsville, in , in covered wagons, oxen drawn. her "white folks" were three weeks making the trip from the ferry across the mississippi to old brownsville; after traveling all day through the bad and boggy woods, at the end of their rough journey at eventide, the movers dismounted and began hasty preparations for the night. while the men were feeding the stock and providing temporary quarters, the women assisted the slaves in preparing the evening meal, of hoe-cake, fried venison and coffee. then the women and children would sleep in the wagons while the men kept watch for wild life. mammy emiline was a faithful old black mammy, true to life and traditions, and refused her freedom, at the close of the war, as wanted to stay and raise "old massa's chilluns," which she did, for she was nursing her sixth generation in the waddell family at the time of her death. even to that generation there was a close tie between the southern child and his or her black mammy. a strange almost unbelievable thing happened to emiline; she was born a deaf mute, but her hearing and speech was restored many years before her death, when lightening struck a tree under which she was standing. superstitious beliefs were strong in her and her tales of "hants" were to "her little white chilluns", really true but hair-raising. then she would talk and live again the "days that are no more", telling them of the happy prosperous, sunny land, in her negro dialect, and then tell of the ruin and desolation behind the yankees; the hard times my white folks had in the reconstruction days--negro and carpetbag rule; then give them glimpses of good--much courage, some heart and human feeling; perhaps ending with an outburst of the negro spiritual, her favorite being, "swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home." after a faithful service of years, emiline died in at the home of mrs. john g. high, a great-granddaughter of l.w.c. waddell living nine miles north of lonoke, and the grown up great-great-grandchildren still miss mammy. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: henry waldon walnut street. north little rock, arkansas age: "i was plowing when they surrendered. i had just learned to plow, and was putting up some land. my young master come home and was telling me the war was ended and we was all free. "i was born in lauderdale county, mississippi. i think it was about . my father's name [hw: was] ----, my mother's [hw: was] ----, i knew them both. "my mother belonged to sterling and my father belonged to a man named huff--richmond huff. "we lived in lauderdale county. huff wouldn't sell my father and my people wouldn't sell my mother. they lived about a mile or so apart. they didn't marry in them days. the niggers didn't, that is. father would just come every saturday night to see my mother. his cabin was about three miles from her's. we moved from lauderdale county to scott county, mississippi, and that separated mama and papa. they never did meet again. of course, i mean it was the white people that moved, but they carried mama and us with them. papa and mama never did meet again before freedom, and they didn't meet afterwards. "my mother had twelve children--eight girls and four boys. she had one by a man named peter smith. she was away from her husband then. she had four by my father--two boys and two girls; my father's name was peter huff. my mother's name was mary sterling. i never did see my father no more after we moved away from him. "my father made cotton and corn, plowed and hoed in slavery time. his old master had seventy-five or eighty hands. his old master treated him pretty rough. he whipped them about working. he never hired no overseer over them. when he whipped them he took their shirts off and whipped them on their naked backs. he cut the blood out of some of them. he never did rub no salt nor vinegar in their wounds. his youngest son done his overseeing. he would whip them sometime but he wasn't tight on them like some that i knowed. "a fellow by the name of jim holbert was mean to his slaves as a man could be. he would whip them night and day. work them till dark; then they would eat supper. cook their own supper. had nothing to cook but a little meat and bread and molasses. then they would go back and bale up three or four bales of cotton. some nights they work till twelve o'clock then get up before daylight--'round four o'clock--and cook their breakfast and go to work again. that was on jim holbert and lard moore's place. them was two different men and two different places--plantations. they whipped their slaves a good deal--always beating down on somebody. they made their backs sore. their backs would be bleeding just like they cut it with knives. then they would wash it down with water and salt. "on my master's farm, each one cooked in his own cabin. while the hands were working, my master left one child, the largest, stay there and taken care of the little ones. "they had bloodhounds too; they'd run you away in the woods. send for a man that had hounds to track you if you run away. they'd run you and bay you, and a white man would ride up there and say, 'if you hit one of them hounds, i'll blow your brains out.' he'd say 'your damn brains.' them hounds would worry you and bite you and have you bloody as a beef, but you dassent to hit one of them. they would tell you to stand still and put your hands over your privates. i don't guess they'd have killed you but you believed they would. they wouldn't try to keep the hounds off of you; they would set them on you to see them bite you. five or six or seven hounds bitin' you on every side and a man settin' on a horse holding a doubled shotgun on you. "my old miss's sister hired slave women out to old jim holbert once. one of them was in a delicate state, and they dug a hole and put her stomach down in it and whipped her till she could hardly walk. "holbert lived to see the niggers freed. all of his slaves left him pretty well when freedom come. he managed to hold on to his money. he didn't go to the war. he was pretty old. he had two sons in the war--his wife had one in there and he had one. one of them got wounded but he didn't die. "my mistress's oldest son, ed sterling, got shot in the civil war. he got shot right in the side at franklin, tennessee. it tore his whole side off--near about killed him. but he lived to ride paterole. he was mean. catch a man in bed with his wife at night, he'd whip him and make him go home. he was the meanest man in the world. all the other sons were better than he was. his name was ed sterling. "the first thing i remember was work. you weren't allowed to remember nothing but work in slave times and you got whipped about that. you weren't allowed to go nowhere but carry the mules out to the pasture to eat grass. sometimes they jump the fence and go over in the field and eat corn. me and another fellow named sandy used to watch them all day sunday. watching the mules and working in the fields through the week was the first work i remember. me and my sister worked on one row. the two of us made a hand. she is down in texas somewheres now. they taken her from old lady sterling's place. she give them to her son and he carried them down in texas. he had a broken leg and never did go to the war. if he did, i never knowed nothing about it. "none of the masters never give me anything. none of them as i knows of never give anything to any of the slaves when they freed 'em. never give a devilish thing. told them that they was free as they was and that they could stay there and help them make crops if they wanted to. the biggest part of them stayed. the rest went away. their husbands taken them away. "right after the war my mother married an old fellow who used to be old holbert's nigger driver. he stayed on sterling's place one night. he stayed there a year. then he married my mother and went to old holbert's place and of course, we had to go too. i stayed there and worked for him. and my mama too and the two youngest sisters and the youngest brother stayed with me. i run away from him in ' . i went down the railroad about five miles and an old colored fellow give me a job. he used to belong to the railroad boss. "i worked nearly two years on that railroad; then i left and come on down to arkansas. i have been right here on this spot about forty years. i don't know how long it is been since i first come here, but it is been a long time ago. i paid fire insurance on this place for thirty-nine years. i lived over the river before i came to north little rock. i worked for the railroad company thirty-eight years. it's been fifteen years since i was able to work--maybe longer. "i belong to little bethel church (a.m.e.) here in north little rock. i been a member of that church more than thirty-five years. "i have been married twice, and i am the father of three children that are living and two that dead--tommy, jim, ewing, mayzetta, and the baby. he was too young to have a name when he died. "i think things is worse than they ever was. everything we get we have to pay for, and then pay for paying for it. if it wasn't for my wife i could hardly live because i don't get much from the railroad company." interviewer: mary d. hudgins person interviewed: aunt clara walker aged: home: "flatwoods" district, garland county. own property. story by aunt clara walker "you'll have to wait a minute ma'am. dis cornbread can't go down too fas'. yes ma'am, i likes cornbread. i eats it every meal. i wouldn't trade just a little cornbread for all de flour dat is. where-bouts was i born? i was born right here in arkansas. dat is it was between an on de borders of it an dat state to de south--yes ma'am, dat's right, louisiana. my mother was a slave before me. she come over from de old country, she was a-runnin' along one day front of a--a--dat stripedy animal--a tiger? an' a man come along on an elephant and scoop her up an' put her on a ship. yes ma'am. my name's clara walker. i was born clara jones, cause my pappy's name was jones. but lots of folks called me clara cornelius, cause mr. cornelius was de man what owned me. did you ever hear of a child born wid a veil over its face? well i was one of dem! what it mean? why it means dat you can see spirits an' ha'nts, an all de other creatures nobody else can see. yes ma'am, some children is born dat way. you see dat great grandchild of mine lyin' on de floor? he's dat way. he kin see 'em too. is many of 'em around here? lawsey dey's as thick as piss-ants. what does dey look like? some of 'em looks like folks; an' some of 'em looks like hounds. when dey sees you, dey says "howdy!" an' if you don't speak to 'em dey takes you by your shoulders an dey shakes you. maybe dey hits you on de back. an' if you go over to de bed an lies in de bed an' goes to sleep, dey pulls de cover off you. you got to be polite to 'em. what makes 'em walk around? well, i got it figgured out dis way. dey's dissatisfied. dey didn't have time to git dey work done while dey was alive. dat greatgrandchild of mine, he kin see 'em too. now my eight grandchildren an' my three children what's alivin' none of 'em can see de spirits. guess dat greatgrandchild struck way back. i goes way back. my ol' master what had to go to de war, little 'fore it was over told me when he left dat i was years old. somebody figgured it out for me dat i's now. dat makes me pretty old, don't it? there was another fellow on a joinin' plantation. he was a witch doctor. brought him over from africa. he didn't like his master, 'cause he was mean. so he make a little man out of mud. an' he stick thorns in its back. sure 'nuff, his master got down with a misery in his back. an' de witch doctor let de thorn stay in de mud-man until he thought his master had got 'nuff punishment. when he tuck it out, his master got better. did i got to school. no ma'am. not to book school. dey wouldn't let culled folks git no learnin'. when i was a little girl we skip rope an' play high-spy (i spy). all we had to do was to sweep de yard an go after de cows an' de pigs an de sheep. an' dat was fun, cause dey was lots of us children an we all did it together. when i was years old my ol' mistress put me wid a doctor who learned me how to be a midwife. dat was cause so many women on de plantation was catchin' babies. i stayed wid dat doctor, dr. mcgill his name was, for years. i got to be good. got so he'd sit down an' i'd do all de work. when i come home, i made a lot o' money for old miss. lots of times, didn't sleep regular or git my meals on time for three--four days. cause when dey call, i always went. brought as many white as culled children. i's brought most , white an' black since i's been in hot springs. brought a little white baby--to de wards it was--dey lived jest down de lane--brought dat baby 'bout year ago. i's brought lots of 'em an' i ain't never lost a case. you know why. it's cause i used my haid. when i'd go in, i'd take a look at de woman, an' if it was beyond me, i'd say, 'dis is a doctor case. dis ain't no case for a midwife. you git a doctor.' an' dey'd have to get one. i'd jes' stan' before de lookin' glass, an' i wouldn't budge. dey couldn't make me. i made a lot of money for ol' miss. but she was good to me. she give me lots of good clothes. those clothes an my mother's clothes burned up in de fire i had a few years ago right on dis farm. lawsey i hated loosin' dose clothes i had when i was a girl more dan anything i lost. an' i didn't have to work in de fields. in between times i cooked an' i would jump in de loom. yes, ma'am i could weave good. did my yards every day. i weave cloth for dresses--fine dresses you would use thread as thin as dat you sews wid today--i weaves cloth for underclothes, an fo handkerchiefs an for towels. den i weaves nits and lice. what's dat--well you see it was kind corse cloth de used for clothes like overalls. it mas sort of speckeldy all over--dat's why dey called it nits and lice. law, i used to be good once, but after i got all burned up i wasn't good for so much. it happened dis way. a salt lick was on a nearby plantation. ever body who wanted salt, dey had to send a hand to help make it. i went over one day--an workin' around i stepped on a live coal. i move quick an' i fall plum over into a salt vat. before dey got me out i was pretty near ruined. what did dey do? dey killed a hog--fresh killed a hog. an' dey fry up de fat--fry it up wid some of de hog hairs an' dey greesed me good. an' it took all de fire out of de burns. dey kept me greezed for a long time. i was sick nearly six months. dey was good to me. an one day, young miss, she married. ol' miss give me to her 'long of others. twenty four was all she could spare an' keep some for herself an save enough for de other children. we went to california. young miss was good, but her husband was mean. he give me de only white folks whippin i ever had. ol' miss never had to whip her slaves. i was tryin' to cook on an earth stove--dat's why it happen. did you ever hear of an earth stove? well, dey make sort of drawers out of dirt. you burn wood in 'em. after you git used to it you kin cook on it good. but dat day i was busy an' i burned de biscuits. an' he whip me. i run off. i knew in general de way home. when i come to de brazos river it looked most a mile across. but i jump in an' i swim it. one day i done found a pearl handled pocket knife. a few days later i meet up wid a white boy. an' he say its his knife, an' i say, 'white boy, i know dat ain't your knife, an' you know it ain't. but if you'll write me out a free pass, i'll give it to you.' an' so he wrote it. after dat, i could walk right up to de front gates an ask for somthin' to eat. cause i had a paper sayin' i was clara jones an' i was goin' home to my ol' mistress mis' cornelius. please paterollers to leave me alone. an' folks along de way, dey'd take me in an' feed me. dey'd give me a place to stay an fix me up a lunch to take along. dey'd say, "clara, you's a good nigger. you's a goin' home to your ol' miss, so we's goin' to do for you." an' i got within five miles of home before dey catch me. an' my ol' miss won't let me go back. she keep me an' send another one in my place. an' de war kept on, an ol' massa had to go. an' word come dat he been killed. yes, 'em, some folks run off, an' some of 'em stayed. finally ol' miss refugeed a lot of us to california. what is it to refugee. well, you see, suppose you was afraid dat somebody go in' to take your property an' you run 'em away off somewhere--how you come to know. when de war was over, young miss she come in an she say, 'clara, you's as free as i am.' 'no, i ain't.' says i. 'yes, you is,' says she. 'what you goin' to do?' 'i's goin' to stay an' work for you.' says i. 'no' says she, 'you ain't cause i can't pay you.' 'well,' says i, 'i'll go home to see my old mother.' 'tell you what,' says she, 'i ain't got nuff money to send you, only part--so you go down to whar' dey is a'pannin' gold. you kin git a job at $ . per day.' many's a day i've stood in water up to my waist pannin' gold. in dem days dey worked women jest like men. i worked hard, an' young miss took care of me. when i got ready to come home i bought my stage fare an' i carried $ on me back to my ol' mother. de trip took six weeks. everywhere de stage would stop young miss had writ a note to somebody and de stage coach men give it to 'em an dey took care of me--good care. when i got home to my mother i found dat ol' miss had give all of 'em somthin' along with settin 'em free. my mother had children so she git de mos'. she git a horse, a milk cow, killin' hogs and bushels of corn. she moved off to a little house on ol' miss's plantation and make a crop on halvers. she stay on dar for three--four years. den she move off into another county where she could go to meetin without havin' to cross de river. an' i stayed on wid her an help her farm--i could plow as good as a man in dem days. finally i hear dat you could make more money in hot springs, so i come to see. my mother was dead by dat time. de first year i made a crop for mr. clay--my granddaughter cooks and tends to children for some of his folks today. when i went to town an i washed at de arlington hotel. it wasn't de fine place it is today. it was jest boards like dis cabin of mine. an i washed at another hotel--what was it--down across de creek from de arlington. yes ma'am, dat's it. de grand central--it was grand too--for dem days. an' i cooked for dr. mcmasters. an' i cooked for colonel rector--de rectors had lots of money in dem days. i could make a weddin' cake good as anybody--with, a 'gagement ring in it. i could make it fine--tho i don't know but two letters in de book an' thoses is a and b. i married mr. walker. he was a hod carrier when dey built de old red brick arlington. i remember lots of things dat happened here. i remember seein' de smoke from de fire--dat big one. we was a livin' near picket springs--you don't know whare dat is. well, does you know where de soldier's breast work was--now i git you on to remembering. den, later on we moved out an' got a farm near hawes. i traded dat place for dis one. yes, ma'am i likes livin' in de country. never did like livin' in town. i don't right know whether culled folks wanted to be free or not. lots of 'em didn't rightly understand, ol' miss was good to hers. some of 'em wasn't. she give 'em things before an she give 'em things after. of course, we went back an' we washed for 'em. but one mortal blessin. ol' miss had made her girls learn how to cook an' wait on themselves. now take de combinders. dey was on de next plantation. dey was mean. many a time you could hear de bull whip, clear over to our place, plop, plop. an' if dey died, dey jest wrapped 'em in cloth an' dig a trench, an' plow right over 'em. an' when de war was over, dey wouldn't turn dey slaves loose. an de federals marched in an' marched 'em off. an' ol' mis' combinder she holler out an she say, 'what my girls goin' to do? dey ain't never dressed deyselves in dey life. we can't cook? what we do?' an' de soldiers didn't pay no attention. dey just marched 'em off. an' ol' man combinder he lay down an' he have a chill an' he die. he die because day take his property away from him. yes, ma'am, thank you for the quarter. i's goin' to buy snuff. i gets along good. my grandson he hauls wood for de paper mill. an' my granddaughters dey works for folks cooks an takes care of children. i had a good crop dis year. i'll have meat, i got lots of corn, an' i got other crops. we're gettin' along nice, mighty nice. thank you ma'am." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: henry walker, hazen, arkansas age: i was born nine miles south of nashville, tennessee. the first i ever knowed or heard of a war, i saw a lot of the funniest wagons coming up to the house from the road. i called the old mistress. she looked out the window and pushed me back up in the corner and shot the door. she was so scared. i thought them things they had on their coats (buttons) was pretty. i found out they was brass buttons. i peeped out a crack it was already closed 'cept a big crack, i seed through. well, the wagons was high in front and high in the back and sunk in the middle. had pens in the wheels instead of axels. wagon had a box instead of a bed. the wagons would hold a crib full of corn. they loaded up everything on the place there was to eat and carried it off. my folks and the other folks was in the field. colored folks didn't like 'em taking all they had to eat and had stored up to live on. they didn't leave a hog nor a chicken, nor anything else they could find. they drove off all the cows and calves they could find. colonel sam williams, the old master, soon did go to war then. the folks had a hard time making a living. old mistress had four girls and her baby ed was one day older than i was. the children of the hands played around in the woods and every place and stayed in the field if they was big enough to do any work. old mistress had all the children pick up scaley barks and hickory nuts and chestnuts and walnuts. she put them in barrels. she sold some of them. she had a heap of sugar maple trees. they put an elder funnel to run the sap in buckets. we carried that and she boiled it down to brown sugar. she had up pick up chips to burn when she simmered it down or made soap. she kept all the children hunting ginsing up in the mountains. she kept it in sacks. a man come by and buy it. we hunted chenqupins down in the swamps. there was lots of walnut trees in the woods. no the slaves didn't leave colonel williams. he left them. he brought me and ed and we went back and moved to the old williams farm on arkansas river close to little rock. then he sent for my folks. they come in wagons. they worked for him a long time and scattered about. i stayed at his house till he said "henry, you are grown; you better look out for yourself now." ed was gone. he sent all the girls off to school and ed too. they taught me if i wanted to learn but i didn't care much about it. i went to the colored school and ed to the white school. he learned pretty well. i never did like to 'sociate or stay 'bout colored folks and i didn't like to mind 'em. old mistress show did brush me out sometimes and they called my mother to tend to me. when i was real little they drove the hands to the block to be sold out along the road. old mistress say: "if you don't be good and mind we'll send yare off and sell you wid 'em." that scared me worse than a whooping. never did see anybody sold. heard them talk a heap about it. when one of them wouldn't work and lay out in the woods, or they wouldn't mind they soon got sold off. they mated a heap of them and sold them for speculation. no mam i didn't like slavery. we had plenty to eat but they worked for all they got. had good fires and good warm houses and good clothes but i did not like the way they give out the provisions. they blowed a horn and measured out the weeks paratta for every family. they cooked at the cabins for their own families. there was several springs and a deep rock walled well at old mistress' house. old mistress always lived in a fine house. i slept at my mother's house nearly all the time. she had a big family. white folks raised me up to play with ed till i thought i was white. they taught me to do right and i ain't forgot it. i never was arrested. i married three times, bought three marriage license all in prairie county. all three wives died. i owns dis house 'cept a mortgage of $ . one of my boys got in a difficulty. i don't know where he is to get him to pay it off. the other boy he's not man enough either to pay it off. i never did know jess when the civil war did close. i kept hearing 'em say we are free. i didn't see much difference only when colonel williams come back times wasn't so hard. then he sold out and come to arkansas. then each family raised his own hogs and chickens and finally got to have cows. i was as scared of the ku klux klan as of rattlesnakes. in tennessee they come up the road and back just after dark. they rode all night and if you wasn't on your master's own land and didn't have a pass from him or the overseer they would set the dogs on you and run you home. sometimes they would whip them. take them home to the old master. i never heard of no uprisings. people loved each other better then than now. they didn't have so much idle time. there was always some work to be doing. when they didn't mind they run them with dogs and whipped them. the overseer and paddyrollers seed about that. the first day of the year everybody went up to hear the rules and see who was to be the overseer. then they knowed what to do for the year. they never did kill nobody. no mam that was too costly. they had work according to their strength and age. the ku klux was to keep order. i been living in hazen forty or fifty years. all i ever have done was farm sometimes one-half-for-the-other and sometimes on share-crop. i have voted but not lately. i votes a republican ticket. i votes that way because it was the republicans that set us free, i always heard it said. i jess belongs to that party. seems lack we gets easier times when the democrats reign. colonel williams was a democrat. the young folks are not as well off as i was at their age. they are restless and won't work unless they gets big pay and they spends the money too easy. the colored people are too idle and orderless. they fight and hate one another and roam around in too much confusion. i gets from $ to $ last month from the sociable welfare. my children helps me mighty little. they got their own children to see after and don't make much. colonel williams and ed are both dead. they did give me a lot of fine clothes when i went to see them as long as they lived. i don't know where the girls hab gone. scattered around. i oughter never left my good old home and white folks. they was show always mighty good to me. i never could sing much. i used to give the rebbel yell. colonel yopp give me a dime every time i give it. since he died i ain't yelled it no more. i learned it from colonel williams. i jess took it up hearing him about the place. folklore subjects name of interviewer: irene robertson subject: ex-slave-hunting story:--information this information given by: henry walker place of residence: hazen, arkansas occupation: farmer. age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] henry walker was born nine miles south of nashville, tennessee. remembered the soldiers and ran to the windows to see them pass. one day he saw a lot of soldiers coming to the house. henry ran in ahead and said out loud, "them yankeys are coming up here." the mistress slapped henry, hid him and slammed the doors. the soldiers did not get in but they did other damage that day. they took all the mules out of the lot and drove them away. they filled their "dugout wagons" with corn. a dugout wagon would hold nearly a crib full of corn. they were high in front and back and came down to a point, nearly touched the ground between the wheels. the wheels had pens instead of axles in them. the children ran like pigs every morning. the pigs ran to eat acorns and the children--white and black--to pick up chestnuts, scaly barks and hickory nuts. there were _lots_ of black walnuts. "we had barrels of nuts to eat all winter and the mistress sold some every year at nashville, tennessee. the woods were full of nut trees and we had a few maple and sweet gum trees. we simmered down maple sap for brown sugar and chewed the sweet gum. we picked up chips to simmer the sweet maple sap down. we used elder tree wood to make faucets for syrup barrels. there were chenquipins down in the swamps that the children gathered." henry walker said that they were sent upon the hills to find ginsing and often found long beds of it. they put it in sacks and a man came and bought it from the mistress. the mistress' name was mrs. williams. she kept the money for the ginsing and nuts too when she sold them. henry said he ate at mrs. williams', but the other children ate at the cabin. on saturday evening the horn would sound and every slave would come to get his allowance of provisions. they used a big bell hung up in a tree to call them to meals and to begin work. they could also hear other farm bells and horns. colored folks could have dances if they would get permission. some masters were overseers themselves and some hired overseers. patty rell was a white man and the bush-wackers give us trouble sometimes. on january first every year everybody ate peas and "hog jole" and received the new rules. the masters would say, "don't be running up here telling me on the overseer." they had a bush harbor church and the white preacher came to preach to black and white sometimes. they taught obedience and the golden rules. no schools--henry said since freedom the white men had cheated him out of all he had ever made, with pen-and-ink. he rather be whipped with a stick than a writing pen. he said mr. and mrs. williams were good people. henry learned to knit his socks and gloves at night watching the grown people. they made a certain number of broches every night. he liked that. henry said mr. williams let him carry his gun hunting with him and taught him how to shoot squirrels. they were plentiful. he had a lot of dogs. the master went to the deer stand and henry managed the twelve hounds. he didn't like to fox hunt. about a hundred men and thirty dogs, horns, etc. out for the chase. they came from nashville and in the country. a fox make three rounds from where he is jumped and then widens out. they brought "fine whiskey" out on the chases. when they had corn shuckings one negro would sit on the fence and lead the singing, the others shuck on each side. the master would pour out a tin cup full of whiskey from a big jug for each corn shucker, and mrs. williams would give each a square of gingerbread. mr. williams set aside a certain number of acres of land every year to be cleared, fenced and broke for cultivation by spring. six or eight men worked together. they used tong-hand sticks to carry the logs to the piles where they were burning them. a saw was a side show, they used mall, axe and wedge. after the log rolling there would be a big supper and a good one. the visitors got what they wanted from the table first. "that was manners." "we took turns going to the methodist church at nashville with mr. and mrs. williams. they went in the fine carriage and the maid held the baby but anybody else rode along behind on horseback. the carriage horses were curried every day, kept up and ate corn and fodder. mr. and mrs. williams came to nashville to big weddings and dances often." after henry walker came to hazen, colonel yopp had him feed his dogs and attend him on big fox hunting trips. since colonel yopp died january henry seldom, or perhaps has never sung the song he sang to colonel for dimes if he needed a little change. he learned the song and whoop back in in slavery days. he said william dorch (colored boy) took it up from hearing him sing for colonel yopp and would write it for me and sing it and give it with the old carolina, georgia and tennessee whoop. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: jake walker short w. ninth avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: "well, i was here--i was born in , august the th. that makes me ninety-five in the clear. if i live till next august i'll be ninety-six. "no ma'am, i wasn't born in arkansas, i was born in alabama. i been here in arkansas bout forty or fifty years. i used to live in mississippi when i first left the old country. "oh yes'm, i was bout big enough to go durin' the war, but i wouldn't run off. couldn't a had no better master. that's the reason i'm livin' like i do. always took good care of myself. never had no exposure. "i _did_ work fore the war, i'll say! done anything they said. "john carmichael was my old master and miss nancy was old missis. "oh yes ma'am, i seed the yankees. they stopped there. i wasn't askeered of nobody. i have went to the well and drawed water for em. "i member when the war was gwine on. i didn't know why they was fightin'. if i did i done forgot--i'll be honest with you. i didn't know nothin' only they was fightin'. most of my work was around the house. i never paid no tention to that war. i was livin' too fine them days. i was livin' a hundred days to the week. yes ma'am, i did get along fine. "oh yes ma'am, i had good white folks. i never was sold. no ma'am, i born right on the old home place. "patrollers? had to get a pass from your master to go over there. oh yes, i know all about them. i have seed the ku klux too. yes ma'am, i know all about them things. "i never been to school but half a day. i went to work when i was eight years old and been workin' ever since. "my father died in slave times and my mother died the fourth year after surrender. "after freedom, i worked there bout the course of three or four years. then i emigrated and come on to mississippi. the most i done them times was farmin'. reckon i stayed in mississippi five or six years. "the most work i done here in arkansas is carpenter work. i'm the first colored man ever contracted in pine bluff. "if i wasn't able to work, i don't think i'd stay here long. "used to drive the mule in the gin in slave times. "we didn't have a bit of expense on us. our doctor bills was paid and had clothes give to us and had plenty of something to eat. "yes'm, i used to vote but it's been for years since i voted. voted republican. i don't know why the colored people is republican. you askin' me something now i don't know nothin' about, but i believe in votin' for the man goin' to do good--do the country good. "oh, don't talk about the younger generation--i jist can't accomplish em, i sure can't. they ain't got the 'regenious' and get-up about em they had in my time. they is more wiser, that's about all. the young race these days--i don't know what's gwine come of em. if twasn't for we old fogies, don't know what they'd do. "we ain't never had that world war yet told about in the bible. called this last war the world war but twasn't. "i've always tried to keep my place and i ain't never been in any kind of trouble." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: jake walker, wheatley, arkansas age: "i was born seven or eight miles from hernando, mississippi. my pa was a slave over twenty years. he belong to master will walker, and his white mistress was ann. they brought him from 'round athens, georgia. he was heired through his master. his own mother died at his birth and he was the son of a peddler through the country. he was a furriner but pa never could tell. his young master never told him. his ma was the nurse about the place. the peddler was a white man of some kind. he kept coming about selling goods. the dogs made a bad racket. they never bought nothing much. old master suspicioned him trying to get away with something about the place. he come right out and accused him to being up to something. he denied it. he told the peddler not to come back. he never. after it was over she told her mistress. he wanted her to go on off with him. that made them mad. but he never was seen about there. "when will walker got married he wanted my pa and he was give to him, a horse and buggy, two mules, a lamb, and five young cows. he had some money and he come to mississippi. i reckon he did buy some land. he got to be a slave owner before freedom. pa said he drove the horse to the buggy and his master rode a mule, led a mule and brought his cows, and they kept the lamb in the buggy with them nearly all the way. "i think they was good to him. his young mistress cried so much they all went back once before freedom. they went on christmas time. only time he ever was drunk. he got down and nearly froze to death. the white folks heard he was somewhere down. they went and got him one sunday morning in a two-horse wagon. he was nearly dead. that was his first and last spree. "pa said he nursed three of his young mistress' babies, alfred, tom, and kenneth. "after freedom pa went to texas with alfred walker. he owned a ranch out on the desert and raised texas ponies and big horn cows. they sent a carload of young cattle to st. louis and pa stopped back in mississippi and married ma. she was a walker too, libbie walker. there was fourteen of us children. they nearly all went to louisiana to work in the timber. i come to clarendon. i been married three times. my last wife left me and took my onliest child. only child i ever had. they was at hot springs last account i had of them. she was cooking for a woman over there. my girl is up 'bout grown now. she come to clarendon to see me three years ago. i sent for her but she wouldn't stay. she writes to me, but i have to get somebody to write for me and somebody to read her letters. i can read print real good. i never went to school a day in my whole life. we had to work early and late when i come up. "i farmed, sawmilled, worked in the timber. i do public work, haul wood, cut wood, and work in the field by day labor. "i votes a republican ticket. i haven't voted since mr. taft run. i don't have no way to keep up with elections now. folks used to talk more, now they keeps quiet. "i never heard pa say how he come to know about freedom. ma said she was refugeed to texas and when they brung them back, master will walker met them at the creek on his place and he said, 'you all are free now. you can go on my place or hunt other places.' they went on his place and they lived there a long time. i don't remember ever living on that place. pa wasn't there then. i don't know where be could been. ma and pa was both walkers but no blood kin. ma didn't talk much about old times. she was sold once, she said. bass kelly bought her. i don't know if will walker traded for her. she never did say. bass kelly was mean to her. he beat her and one time she hid and kept hid till she nearly starved, she said. she hid in the corn crib. it was a log house. she didn't enjoy slavery. pa had a very good time, better than us boys had it when we come up. he worked and kept us with him. he and ma died the same week. they had pneumonia in mississippi. "i got one sister. she lives close to shreveport. she keeps up with us all. i go down there every now and then. she's not stove up like i am. she wants me to stay with her all the time. i gets work down there easier but i have the rheumatism bad down there. "i don't know what will become of young folks. i wish i had their chance. they can't wait for nothing. they in too big a hurry for the crop to grow. busy living by the day. when the year gone they ain't no better off. times is good in places. hard in places. times better in louisiana than up here. work easier to get. folks got more living. "i'm chopping cotton on mr. hill's place. i gets ninety cents a day. i can't get over the ground fast." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: willie wallace th and georgia streets, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in green county, alabama. elihu steele was my old master. miss julia was old missis. she was elihu's wife. her mother's name was penny hatter. miss penny give my mother to her daughter julia. "i was a twin and they choosed us for the cook and washer and ironer, but surrender come along 'fore we got big enough to do anything. "my father was crippled and couldn't work in the field, and i remember he used to carry the children out to the field to be suckled. "they had a right smart of slaves. my mother had twelve children and i'm the baby. "i remember they'd make up a big pot of corn bread and pot-liquor and they'd say, 'eat, chillun, eat.' "i remember one time the white folks had some stock tied out, and i know my sister's little boy didn't know no better and he showed the yankees where they was. "i remember when they said the people was free, but our folks stayed right on there--i don't know how many years--'cause my mother thought a heap of her old missis, penny. "i went to school after freedom and learned how to read and write and figger. i worked in the field till i got disabled. i never did wash and iron and cook for the white folks. "i was fifteen--somewhere in there--when i married and i'm the mother of twelve children. "i have lived in thomas, west virginia; pittsburg, pennsylvania; cumberland, maryland; milliken, louisiana; and birmingham, alabama. i just lived in all them places following my children around. "i fell through a trestle in birmingham and injured myself comin' from church. "i think the people is gettin' terrible now. you think they're gettin' better? i think they're gettin' wuss. "i got a book here called 'uncle tom' and i hates to read it sometimes 'cause the people suffered so. "i don't think old master had any overseers. miss julia wouldn't 'low any of her people to be beat." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: evans warrior e. rd avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born here in arkansas in dallas county. i don't know zackly what year but i was bout five when they drove us to texas. stayed there three years till the war ceasted. "old master's name was nat smith. he was good to me. i was big enough to plow same year the war ceasted. "yankees come through texas after peace was 'clared. they'd come by and ask my mother for bread. she was the cook. "we left arkansas 'fore the war got busy. everything was pretty ragged after we got back. white folks was here but colored folks was scattered. my folks come back and went to their native home in dallas county. "never did nothin' but farm work. worked on the shares till i got able to rent. paid five or six dollars a acre. made some money. "i heered of the ku klux. some of em come through the clemmons place and put notice on the doors. say vacate. all the women folks got in one house. then the boss man come down and say there wasn't nothin' to it. boss man didn't want em there. "i went to school a little. kep' me in the field all the tims. didn't get fur enuf to read and write. "yes'm, i voted. voted the republican ticket. that's what they give me to vote. i couldn't read so i'd tell em who i wanted to vote for and they'd put it down. some of my friends was justice of the peace and constables. "i been in pine bluff bout four years--till i got disabled to work. "i been married five times. all dead but two. don't know how many chillun we had--have to go back and study over it. "some of the younger generation is out of reason. ain't strict on chillun now like the old folks was." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: anna washington, clarendon, arkansas (back of mrs. maynard's home in the alley) age: "i've forgot who my mother's owner was. she was born in virginia. she was put on a block and sold. she was fifteen years old and she never seen her mother again after she left her. her master was george birdsong. he bought my papa too. they was onliest two he owned. he wanted them both light so the children would be light for house girls and waiting boys. light colored folks sold for more money on the block. "the boss man over grandpa and grandma in virginia was john glover. but he was not their owner. my grandpa was about white. he said his owners was good to him but now grandma had a pided back where she had been whooped. grandpa come down from the washington slaves so my papa said. that is the reason i holds to his name and my boy holds to it. papa said he had to plough and clean up new ground for master birdsong. he was a young man starting out and papa and mama was young too. (she left and came back with some old scraps of yellow and torn papers dimly written all over: anna washington, born at hines county at big rock. mother born at capier county. father born at white county, virginia--ed.) "this is what was told to me by my papa: his grandmother was born of george washington's housemaid. that was one hundred forty years ago. his papa was educated under a fine mechanic and he help build the old state-house at washington. major rousy paten was the washington nigger 'ministrator. "i had a sister named martha curtis after his young wife. i had a brother named housy patton. they are both dead now. pa lived to be ninety-eight years old. my mama was as white as you is but she was a nigger woman. pa was lighter than i is now. i'm getting darker 'cause i'm getting old. my pa was named benjamin washington. "i heard my pa talk about nat turner. (she knew who he was o.k.--ed.) he got up a rebellion of black folk back in virginia. i heard my pa sit and tell about him. moses kinnel was a rich white man wouldn't sell nellie 'cause of what his wife said. she was a housemaid. he wrote own free pass book and took her to maryland. father's father wanted to buy nellie but her owner wouldn't sell her. he took her. "my mother had fourteen children. we and archie was the youngest. "moses kinnel was a rich white man and had lots of servants. he promised never to sell nellie and keep her to raise his white children. she was his maid. he promised that her dying bed. but father's father stole her and took her to maryland. "pa run away and was sold twice or more. when he was small chile his mother done fine washing. she seat him to go fetch her some fine laundry soap what they bought in the towns. two white men in a two-wheel open buggy say, 'hey, don't you want to ride?' 'i ain't got time.' 'get in buggy, we'll take you a little piece.' one jumped out and tied his hands together. they sold him. they let him go to nigger traders. they had him at a doctor's examining his fine head see what he could stand. the doctor say, 'he is a fine man. could trust him with silver and gold--his weight in it.' they brung him to mississippi and sold him for a big price. he had these papers the doctor wrote on him to show. "then he sent for my mama after they sat him free. his name was ben washington. "he never spoke much of freedom. he said his master in mississippi told them and had them sign up contracts to finish that year's crop. he took back his old virginia name and i don't recollect that master's name. heard it too. yes ma'am, heap er times. my recollection is purty nigh gone. "i don't get no younger in feelings 'cause i'm getting old." folklore subjects name of interviewer: s.s. taylor subject: slave memories--birth, mother, father, separation house subject: slaves--dwellings, food, clothes subject: corn shucking, dances, quiltings, weddings among slaves subject: slaves--fight with master (junior); slave uprisings subject: confederate army negroes; ex-slave occupations story:--information [tr: topics moved from subsequent pages.] this information given by: eliza washington place of residence: west seventeenth little rock, arkansas occupation: washing and ironing (when able) age: about [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] the first thing i remember was living with my mother about six miles from scott's crossing in arkansas, about the year . i know it was because it was the year after the surrender, and we know the surrender was in . i know the dates after . you don't know nothin' when you don't know dates. if you get up in court and say somethin', the lawyers ask you when it happened and then they ask you where did it happen, and if you can't tell them, they say "witness is excused. you don't know nothin'." mother and father my mother was born in north carolina in mecklinberg in henderson county. i don't know when she came to arkansas, and i don't know when she went to tennessee. my father was born in tennessee. i don't know the county like i did in north carolina. i don't know the town either, but i think it was in the rurals somewhere. the white folks separated my mother and father when i was a little baby in their arms. the people to whom my father belonged stayed in tennessee, but my mother's people came to arkansas. it must have been along in the time of the war that they come to arkansas. dwelling my mother lived in a log house chinked with wood chinks. the chinks looked like gluts. you know what a glut is? no? well a glut looks like the pattern of a shoe. they lay the logs together, and then chink up the cracks with wood blocks made up like the pattern of a shoe. these were chinks, wooden things about a foot long, shaped like a wedge. they were used for chinking. after the logs were laid together, chinks would be needed to stop up the holes between the logs. after the chinking was finished, clay was stuffed in to stop up the cracks and make the house warm. i've seen a many a one built. wide planks were used for the floors. the doors were hung on wooden hinges. the doors were never locked. they didn't have any looks on them. you could bar them on the inside if you wanted to. they didn't have no fear of burglars in them days. people wasn't bad then as they is now. they had just one window and one door in the house. the chimney was built up like a ladder and clay and straw was stuffed in the framework. i have seen such houses built right down here in scott's. my mother was a field hand. she lived in such a house in tennessee. there wasn't no brick about the house, not even in the chimney. in later years, they have covered up all those logs with weather boards and made the houses look like what they call "modern", but theyr'e the same old log houses. food my mother said her white folks fed her well. she had whatever they had. when she came to arkansas, they issued rations, but she never was issued rations before. when they issued rations, they gave them so much food each week--so much corn meal, so much potatoes, so much cabbage, so much molasses, so much meat--mostly rubbish-like food. we went out in the garden and dug the potatoes and got the cabbage. but in tennessee, my mother got what ever she wanted whenever she wanted it. if she wanted salt, she went and got it. if she wanted meat, she went to the smokehouse and got it. whatever she wanted, she went and got it, and they didn't have no times for issuing out. social affairs--corn shuckings, quiltings and dances the biggest time i remember on the plantations was corn shucking time. plenty of corn was brought in from the cribs and strowed along where everybody could get to it freely. then they would all get corn and shuck it until near time to quit. the corn shucking was always at night, and only as much corn as they thought would be shucked was brought from the cribs. just before they got through, they would begin to sing. some of the songs were pitiful and sad. i can't remember any of them, but i can remember that they were sad. one of them began like this: "the speculator bought my wife and child and carried her clear away." when they got through shucking, they would hunt up the boss. he would run away and hide just before. if they found him, two big men would take him up on their shoulders and carry him all around the grounds while they sang. my mother told me that they used to do it that way in slave time. dances they didn't dance then like they do now all hugged up and indecent. in them days, they danced what you call square dances. they don't do those dances now, they're too decent. there were eight on a set. i used to dance those myself. quiltings i heard mother say she went to a lot of quiltings. i suppose they had them much the same as they do now. everybody took a part of the quilt to finish. they talked and sang and had a good time. and they had somethin' to eat at the close just as they did in the corn shucking. i never went to a quilting. worship some of the niggers went to church then just as they do now, and some of them weren't allowed to go. reverend winfield used to preach to the colored people that if they would be good niggers and not steal their master's eggs and chickens and things, that they might go to the kitchen of heaven when they died. an old lady once said to me, "i would give anything if i could have maria in heaven with me to do little things for me." my mother told me that the niggers had to turn the pots down to keep their voices from sounding when they were praying at night. and they couldn't sing at all. weddings i can remember that they used to have weddings when i was a child around the years and . my mother told me of marriages and weddings. she never saw no paint on anybody's face. they used to have powder, but they never used any paint. girls were better then than they are now. fight with master my mother's first master was named rasly, and her second was named neely. she and her young master, john mcneely, who was raised with her and who was about the same age as she was, got to fighting one day and she whipped him clear as a whistle. after she whipped him that fight went all over the country. she was between sixteen and seventeen years old an he was about the same. she had never been whipped by the white folks. she was in the kitchen. i don't know what the trouble started over. but they had an argument. there were some other white boys in the kitchen with her young master, and they kept pushing the two of them up to fight. he wanted to show off; so he told her what he would do to her if she didn't hush her mouth. she told him to just try it, and the fight was on. so they fought for about an hour, and the other white boys egged them on. she said that her old master never did whip her, and she sure wasn't going to let the young one do it. i never heard that they punished her for whipping her young master. i never heard her say that anybody tried to whip her at any other time. my mother was a strong woman. she could lift one end of a log with any man. slave uprisings my mother used to say that when she was about fourteen years old, (that was about the time that the stars fell, and the stars fell in [hw:*]. so she must have been born in . in , she was sold for a fourteen year old girl. that was the only time that she ever was sold. that left her about eighty-three years old when she died in .) she used to say that when she was about fourteen years old, and was living in north carolina in mecklinburg co, in henderson county, that the white folks called all the slaves up to the big house and kept them there a few days. there wasn't no trouble on my mother's place, but they had heard that there was an uprising among the slaves, and they called all the niggers up to the house. they didn't do nothin' to them. they just called them up to the house, and kept them there. it all passed over soon. i don't know nothin' else about it. confederate army negroes i've "heered" old brother zachary who used to belong to bethel church tell about the surrender. brother zachary is dead now. he was a soldier in the confederate army. he fought all through the war and he used to tell lots of stories about it. you know, lee was a tall man, fine looking and dignified. grant was a little man and short. those two generals walked up to each other with a white flag in their hands. and they talked and agreed just when they would fight. and then they both went back to their armies, and they fought the awfulest battle you ever "heered" of. the men lay dead in rows and rows and rows. the dead men covered whole fields. and general lee said that there wasn't any use doing any more fighting. general grant let all the rebels keep their guns. he didn't take nothin' away from them. i saw general grant when he came to little rock. there was an old white man who had never been to little rock in his life. he said "i just had to come up here to see this great general that they are talking about." occupations we always worked in the field in slave time. i don't know nothin about share cropping because i always did days work. i used to get four and five dollars a week for washing. but now they wants the young folks and they don't pay them five dollars for everything. i can't get a pension. why you reckon they won't give me one. they don't understand that that little house i own doesn't even keep itself up. my daughter-in-law is good to me but she needs everything she makes. i can't get much to do now, and what little i gets, they don't pay me much for. i don' remember nothin' else. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: jennie washington, devalls bluff, arkansas age: "my mother was a slave and my father too i recken. they belonged to jack walton when i remembered. i was born at st. charles. my mother died in time of the war at st. louis. this is whut i remembers. my mother was sold twice. the prices owned her and the wakefields owned her before she was owned by old jack walton. i was the youngest child. i had one brother went to war and he drawed a pension long as he lived. we children all got scattered out. mr. walton bout the age of my father and he said some day all these niggers be set free and warnt long fore they sho was. i had one older sister i recollect mighty well. my mother named fannie, my father named abe walton. he had a young master james walton. "when i was nuthin but a chile i remembers james dressed up like ku klux klan and scared me. the old master sho did whoop him bout that. they take care of the little black children and feed em good an don't let em do too hard er work to stunt em so they take em off and sell em for a good price. "i remembers the little old log house my granma and granpa way back over on the place stayed in till they died. we went back after the war and lived ten years on the same place. we lived close to the white folks in a bigger house. "i don't recollect no big change after freedom cept they quit selling and working folks without giving them money. i was too small to notice much change then i speck. times has always been tight wid me. i ain't never had very much. i did work an a livin is all i ever got out of it. never could make enough to get ahead. "the white folks never give the darky nothing when freedom declared. we used to raise tobacco and sell it to smoke and make snuff. and he had em make ax handles to sell on the side for money till the crops gathered. "if you believe in the bible you won't believe in women votin' i never did vote. i ain't goner never vote. "the present condition is fine. mrs. robinson carries a great big truck load to her farm every day to pick cotton. she sent word up here she take anybody whut wanter work. i wish i was able to go. i loves to pick cotton. she pay em seventy-five cents a hundred. she'll pay em too! i don't know what they do this winter. set by the fire i recken. but next spring she'll let hoe that crop. she took em this past year to hoe out that very cotton they pickin now. her husband, he's sick. he keeps their store up town. she takes a few white hands too if they wanter work. i don't think the present generation no worse en they ever been. they drawed up closer together than they used to be. they buys everything now an they don't raise nuthin. it's the bible fulfillin. everything so high they caint save nuthin! "i married twice. first time in the church, other time at home. i had four children. i had two in detroit. i don't know where my son is. he may be there yet. my daughter there got fourteen children her own. i don't know where the others are. nom [hw: long "o" diacritical] they don't help me a bit, do well helpin theirselves. i gets the welfare sistance and i works my garden back here." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: parrish washington spruce street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in --born in arkansas. sam warren was my old master. "i remember some of the rebel generals--general price and general marmaduke. "we had started to texas but the yankees got in ahead of us in the saline bottoms and we couldn't go no further. "my boss had so much faith in his own folks he wouldn't leave here 'til it was too late. he left home on saturday night and got into the bottoms on sunday and made camp. then the yankees got in ahead of him and he couldn't go no further, so we come back to jefferson county. "the yankees had done took little rock and come down to pine bluff. "my father died in and my mother in . "i can remember when they whipped the slaves. never whipped me though--they was just trainin' me up. "had an old lady on the place cooked for the children and we just got what we could. "i remember when peace was declared, the people shouted and rejoiced--a heavy load had fell off. "all the old hands stayed on the place. i stayed there with my uncle and aunt. we was treated better then. i was about years old when i left there. "i farmed 'til ' . then i joined the conference and preached nearly forty years when i was superannuated. "i remember when the rebels was camped up there on my boss's place. i used to love to see the soldiers. used to see the horses hitched to the artillery. "two or three of sam warren's hands run off and joined the yankees. they didn't know what it was goin' to be and two of 'em come back--stayed there too. "i used to vote the republican ticket. i was justice of the peace four years--two terms. "i went to school here in pine bluff about two or three terms and i was school director in district number two about six or seven years. "i have great hope for the young people of the future. 'course some of 'em are not worth killin' but the better class--i think there is a bright future for 'em. "but for the world in general, if they don't change they goin' to the devil. but god always goin' to have some good people in reserve 'til the judgment." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: caroline watson e. st avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in ' in march on the th on sunday morning in time for breakfast. i was born in mississippi. i never will forget my white folks. oh, i was raised good. i had good white folks. wish i could see some of em now. "well, i specs i do remember when the war started. i member when twas goin' on. oh lord, i member all bout it. old mistress' name was miss ellen shird. "oh the yankees used to come around. i can see us chillun sittin' on the gallery watchin' em. i disremember what color uniform they had on, but i seen a heap of em. "my old master, i can see him now--old joe shird. just as good as they could be. "i should say i do remember when they surrendered. i know everybody was joyous. but they done better fore surrender than they did afterwards--that is them that had to go off to themselves. "i was always so fast tryin' to work i wasn't studyin' bout no books, but i went to school after surrender. my father and mother was smart old folks and made us work. "i just been married once. i did pretty well. i like to been married since he's dead but i seen so many didn't do so well. i has four sons and one daughter. my son made me quit workin'. they gets me anything i want. i got a religion that will do to die with. i done give up everything. "younger generation? what we goin' do with em? they ought to be sent off some place and put to work. they just gone to the dogs. the lord have mercy. my heart just aches and moans and groans for em." circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] . name and address of informant--mary watson, cross street, little rock. . date and time of interview-- . place of interview-- cross street, little rock. . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant-- . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you-- . description of room, house, surroundings, etc.-- personal history of informant . ancestry--father, abram mccoy; mother, louise mccoy. . place and date of birth--mississippi. no date. . family-- . places lived in, with dates--lived in mississippi until then moved to arkansas. . education, with dates-- . occupations and accomplishments, with dates-- . special skills and interests-- . community and religious activities-- . description of informant-- . other points gained in interview--this person tells very little of life, but tells of her parents. text of interview (unedited) "my mother and father were mccoys. his name was abram and her name was louise. my mother died right here when brewer was pastor of wesley. you ought to remember her. my mother died in . my father died in when joe sherrill was pastor. joe sherrill went to africa, you know. he was a missionary. "my mother was owned by bill mitchell. he came from alabama. i can't call the name of the town, just now. yes, i can; it was tuscaloosa. my father came from south carolina. mccoy was his owner. but how come him to leave south carolina he was sold after his master died and the property was divided. he was sold away from his family. he had a large family--about nine children. my mother was sold away from her mother too. she was little and couldn't help herself. my grandma didn't want to come. and she managed not to; i don't know how she managed it. "before freedom my father was a farmer. my mother was a farmer too. my mother wasn't so badly treated. she was a slave but she worked right along with the white children. she had two brothers. the other sister stayed with her mother. she was sold--my mother's mother. but i don't know to whom. "my father was a preacher. he could word any hymn. how could he do it, i don't know. on his sunday, when the circuit rider wasn't there, he would have me read the bible to him and then he could get up and tell it to the people. i don't know how he managed it. he didn't know how to read. but he had a wonderful memory. he always had his exhorting license renewed and he exhorted the people both methodists and baptists. after freedom, when i went to school i knew and always helped him. "my father voted on the election days all the time. be was a republican, and he rallied to them all the time. before the war, my father farmed. he commenced in the early fall hauling the cotton from abbeville, south carolina to augusta, georgia. that was his business--teamster, hauling cotton. he never did talk like his owners were so mean to him. of course, they weren't mean. when her master died and the property had to be sold, his master bought her and her babies. "my father met my mother before the war started. colored people were scarce in the locality where she lived. these white people saw my father and liked him. and they encouraged her to marry him. she was only seventeen. my father was much older. he remembered the dark day in may and when the stars fell. "he didn't show his age much though till he came to little rock. he had been used to farming and city life didn't agree with him. he left about seven years after coming here. "my father and mother met and married in mississippi. he came from south carolina and she came from alabama. they had nine children. all of them were born after the war. i am the oldest. lee mccoy is my youngest brother. you know him, i'm sure. he is the president of rust college. i was born right after the war. don't put me down as no ex-slave. i was born right after the war. "right after the war, my father farmed in mississippi. he took a notion to come to arkansas in . he brought his whole family with him. and i have been out here ever since. "i never saw any slave houses. i wasn't a slave. i have been to the place where my mother was raised. i was teaching school near there and just wanted to see. after her master died, sam mccallister, his cousin, took the slave children and was their guardian. years later it come up in court and they took all his land. bill mitchell was her first master. he died during slave time. mccallister was made administrator of the estate. he was made guardian of all the children too. he was made guardian of the white children and of the colored children. he raised them all. there was ma and her auntie and three or four children of her auntie's. later on, way after the war, there was a lawsuit. i was grown then. the courts made him pay the white children their share as far as he was able. of course, the colored children got nothing because they were slaves when he took them. "i don't know nothing about the ku klux klan bothering my family. i don't remember anything except that i hear them talking about the ku klux and the pateroles. i wasn't here. "don't put me down as an ex-slave. i am not an ex-slave. i was born after the war. i don't know nothing about slavery except what i heard others say. i expect i have talked too much anyway." extra comment the constant reiteration of the phrase, "i'm not an ex-slave" roused my curiosity and drove me to a superficial investigation. persons who are acquainted with her and her family estimate that mary watson is nearer eighty than seventy. she started her story pleasantly enough. but when she got the obsession that she would be put down as an ex-slave, she refused to tell more. there is one thing not to be overlooked. mary watson has a mind that is still keen. she tells what she wants to tell, and she doesn't state a thing that she does not want to state. the hidden facts are to be discerned only by subtle inference. this trait interested me, for her younger brother, mentioned in the story, is a distinguished character, president of rust college, holly springs, mississippi, and known to be experienced and efficient in his work. whatever she may have reserved or stated, in reading her story, we are reading at least a sidelight on a family of which some of the members have done some fine work within the race. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: bart wayne, helena, arkansas age: "i was born at holly springs in . it was in the springtime. ma said i was born two years after the surrender. ma was named mary and pa dan--dan wayne. they never was sold. in dr. leard was living in a big fine house at sardia, mississippi. he was our last owner. mallard jones owned them too. pa didn't have no name. he was called for his owners. i don't know if he named hisself dan wayne or not. the way i think it was, mr. jones give dr. leard's wife them. he give her a big plantation. i knowed dr. leard my own self all my life. i'd go to see him. "the present times is hard. i get ten dollars a month. i don't know what to say about folks now--none of them." interviewer: pernella anderson person interviewed: annie mae weathers east bone street el dorado, ark. age: ? "i was born bout the second year after surrender right down here at caledonia. now the white folks that ma and pa and me belonged to was named fords. we farmed all the time. the reason we farmed all the time was because that was all for us to do. you see there wasn't nothin' else for us to do. there wasn't no schools in my young days to do no good, and this time of year we was plowin' to beat the band and us always planted corn in february and in april our corn was. "we fixed our ground early and planted early and we had good crops of everything. we went to bed early and rose early. we had a little song that went like this: early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. and the early bird catches the worm. cooked breakfast every morning by a pine torch. "i member hearin' my pa say that when somebody come and hollowed: 'yer niggers is free at last' say he just dropped his hoe and said in a queer voice: 'thank god for that.' it made old miss and old moss so sick till they stopped eating a week. pa said old moss and old miss looked like their stomach and guts had a law suit and their navel was called in for a witness, they was so sorry we was free. "after i got a good big girl i was hired out for my clothes and something to eat. my dresses was made out of cotton stripes and my chemise was made out of flannelette and my under pants was made out of homespun. "our games was 'honey, honey bee,' 'ball i can't yall,' and a nother one of our games was 'old lady hypocrit.'" interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: cora weathers chester street, little rock, arkansas age: "i have been right on this spot for sixty-three years. i married when i was sixteen and he brought me here and put me down and i have been here ever since. no, i don't mean he deserted me; i mean he put me on this spot of ground. of course, i have been away on a visit but i haven't been nowheres else to live. "when i came here, there was only three houses--george winstead lived on chester and eighth street; dave davis lived on ninth and ringo; and george gray lived on chester and eighth. rena lee lived next to where old man paterson stays now, chester. rena thompson lived on chester and tenth. the old people that used to live here is mostly dead or moved up north. "on seventh and ringo there was a little store. it was the only store this side of main street. there was a little old house where coffin's drug store is now. the branch ran across there. old man john peyton had a nursery in a little log house. you couldn't see it for the trees. he kept a nursery for flowers. on the next corner, old man sinclair lived. that is the southeast corner of ninth and broadway. next to him was the hall of the sons of ham. "that was the first place i went to school. lottie stephens, robert lacy, and gus richmond were the teacher. hollins was the principal. that was in the sons of ham's hall. "i was born in dallas county, arkansas. it must have been 'long 'bout in eighty-fifty-nine, 'cause i was sixteen years old when i come here and i been here sixty-three years. "during the war, i was quite small. my mother brought me here after the war and i went to school for a while. mother had a large family. so i never got to go to school but three months at a time and only got one dollar and twenty-five cents a week wages when i was working. my father drove a wagon and hoed cotton. mother kept house. she had--lemme see--one, two, three, four--eight of us, but the youngest brother was born here. "my mother's name was millie stokes. my mother's name before she was married was--i don't know what. my father's name was william stokes. my father said he was born in maryland. i met richard weathers here and married him sixty-three years ago. i had six children, three girls and three boys. children make you smart and industrious--make you think and make you get about. "i've heard talk of the pateroles; they used to whip the slaves that was out without passes, but none of them never bothered us. i don't remember anything myself, because i was too small. i heard of the ku klux too; they never bothered my people none. they scared the niggers at night. i never saw none of them. i can't remember how freedom came. first i knowed, i was free. "people in them days didn't know as much as the young people do now. but they thought more. young people nowadays don't think. some of them will do pretty well, but some of them ain't goin' to do nothin'. they are gittin' worse and worser. i don't know what is goin' to become of them. they been dependin' on the white folks all along, but the white folks ain't sayin' much now. my people don't seem to want nothin'. the majority of them just want to dress and run up and down the streets and play cards and policy and drink and dance. it is nice to have a good time but there is something else to be thought of. but if one tries to do somethin', the rest tries to pull him down. the more education they get, the worse they are--that is, some of them." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: ishe webb cross street, little rock, arkansas age: , or more "i was born october . that was in slavery time. the record is burnt up. i was born in atlanta, georgia. my father's master was a webb. his first name was huel. my father was named after him. i came here in , and i was a boy eleven or twelve years old then. "my father was sold to another man for seventeen hundred dollars. my mother was sold for twenty hundred. i have heard them say that so much that i never will forget it. webb sold my father and bought him back. my mother's folks were calverts. the calverts and the webbs owned adjoining plantations. "my grandmother on my mother's side was a calvert too. her first name was joanna. i think my father's parents got beat to death in slavery. grandfather on my mother's side was tied to a stump and whipped to death. he was double jointed and no two men could whip him. they wanted to whip him because he wouldn't work. that was what they would whip any one for. they would run off before they would work. stay in the woods all night. "my grandma calvert was buried over here in galloway on the rock island road on the john eynes plantation. "my folks' masters were all right. but them nigger drivers were bad, just like the county farm. a man sitting in the house and putting you over a lot of men, you gwinter go up high as you want to. "my father was a blacksmith and my mother was a weaver. there was a lot of those slavery folks 'round the house, and they tell me they didn't work them till they were twenty-one, they put them in the field when they were twenty-two. if you didn't work they would beat you to death. my father killed his overseer and went on off to the war. "the pateroles used to drive and whip them. they would catch the slaves off without a pass and whip them and then make the boss pay for them when they took them back. i never seen the pateroles but i have seen the ku klux and they were the same thing. "the jayhawkers would catch you when the pateroles didn't. they would carry you to the pateroles and get pay for you, and the pateroles would turn you over to the owners. you had to have a pass. if you didn't the pateroles would catch you and wear you out, keep you till the next morning, and then send you home by the jayhawkers. they didn't call them that though, they called them bushwhackers. "the ku klux came after the war. they was the same thing as the pateroles--they come out from them. i know where the ku klux home is over here on eighteenth and broadway. that is where they broke up. it ain't never been open since. (not correct--ed.) "i saw the yankees come in the yard on the webb place. that was in the time of the war. the old man got on his horse and flew. the yankees went in the smokehouse, broke it open, got all the meat they wanted. they didn't pay you nothing in slavery time. but what meat the yankees didn't take for themselves, they give to the niggers. "my folks never got anything for their work that i know of. i heard my mother say that nobody got paid for their work. i don't know whether they had a chance to make anything on the side or not. "the yankees, when they come in the yard that morning, told my father he was free. i remember that myself. they come up riding horses and carryin' long old guns with bayonets on them, and told him. they rode all over the country from one place to another telling the niggers they were free. master didn't get a chance to tell us because he left when he saw them comin'. "when my mother and father were living on the plantation, they lived in an old frame building. a portion of it was log. my father stayed with the calverts--his wife's white folks. at first old man webb sold him to them; then he bought him back and bought my mother too. they were together when freedom came. you know they auctioned you off in slavery time. every year, they would, they put you up on the auction block and buy and sell. that was down in georgia. we was in georgia when we was freed--in atlanta. my father and mother had fourteen children altogether. my mother died the year after we came out here. that would be about . i never had but three children because my wife died early. two of them are dead. "right after freedom, my father plaited baskets and mats. he shucked mops, put handles on rakes and did things like that in addition to his farming. he was a blacksmith all the time too. he used to plait collars for mules. he farmed and got his harvests in season. the other things would be a help to him between times. "my father came here because he thought that there was a better situation here than in georgia. of course, the living was better there because they had plenty of fruit. then he worked on a third and fourth. he got one bale of cotton out of every three he made. the slaves left many a plantation and they would grow up in weeds. when a man would clear up the ground like this and plant it down in something, he would get all he planted on it. that was in addition to the ground that he would contract to plant. he used to plant rice, peas, potatoes, corn, and anything else he wanted too. it was all his'n so long as it was on extra ground he cleared up. "but they said, 'cotton grows as high as a man in arkansas.' then they paid a man two dollars fifty cents for picking cotton here in arkansas while they just paid about forty cents in georgia. so my father came here. times was good when we come here. the old man cleared five bales of cotton for himself his first year, and he raised his own corn. he bought a pony and a cow and a breeding hog out of the first year's money. he died about thirty-five years ago. "when i was coming along i did public work after i became a grown man. first year i made crops with him and cleared two bales for myself at twelve and a half cents a pound. the second year i hired out by the month at forty-five dollars per month and board. i had to buy my clothes of course. after seven years i went to doing work as a millwright here in arkansas. i stayed at that eighteen months. then i steamboated. "we had a captain on that steamboat that never called any man by his name. we rolled cotton down the hill to the boat and loaded it on, and if you weren't a good man, that cotton got wet. i never wetted my cotton. but jus' the same, i heard what the others heard. one day after we had finished loading, i thought i'd tell him something. the men advised me not to. he was a rough man, and he carried a gun in his pocket and a gun in his shirt. i walked up to him and said, 'captain, i don't know what your name is, but i know you's a white man. i'm a nigger, but i got a name jus' like you have. my name's webb. if you call webb, i'll come jus' as quick as i will for any other name and a lot more willing. if you don't want to say webb, you can jus' say "let's go," and you'll find me right there.' he looked at me a moment, and then he said, 'where you from?' i said, 'i'm from georgia, but i came on this boat from little hock.' he put his arm around my shoulder and said, 'come on upstairs.' we had two or three drinks upstairs, and he said, 'you and your pardner are the only two men i have that is worth a damn.' then he said, 'but you are right; you have a name, and you have a right to be called by it.' and from then on, he quit callin' us out of our names. "but i only stayed on the boat six months. it wasn't because of the captain. them niggers was bad. they gambled all the time, and i gambled with them. but they wouldn't stop at that. they would argue and fight and cut and shoot. a man would shoot a man down, and then kick him off into the river. then when there was roll call, nobody would know what became of him. i didn't like that. i knew that i was goin' to kill somebody if i stayed on that boat 'cause i didn't intend for nobody to kill me. so i stopped. "after that, i went back to the man that i worked for the month for and stayed with him till i married. i took care of the stock. i was only married once. my wife died the fourteenth of october. we had three children, and i have one daughter living. "i have voted often. i never had no trouble. i am a colored man and i ain't got nothin' but my character, but i take care of that. i let them know i am in arkansas. i ain't been out of arkansas but to memphis and vicksburg, and i took them trips on the boat i was working on. i was a good man then. "i can't say nothing about these wild-headed young people. they ain't got no sense. take god to handle them. "some parts of politics are all right and some are all wrong. it is like grant. he was straddled the fence part of the time. i believe roosevelt wants eight more years. of course, he did a great deal for the people but the working man isn't getting enough money. prices are so high and wages so low that a man keeps up to the grindstone and never gets ahead. they don't mean for a colored man to prosper by money. senator robinson said a nigger wasn't worth but fifty cents a day. but the nigger is coming anyhow. he is stinching hisself and doing without. the young folks ain't doing it though. these young folks doing every devilishment on earth they can. look at that boy they caught the other day who had robbed twenty houses. this young race ain't goin' to stan' what i stood for. they goin' to school every day but they ain't learning nothin'. what will take us through this tedious journey through the world is his manners, his principle, and his behavior. money ain't goin' to do it. you can't get by without principles, manner, and good behavior. niggers can't do it. and white folks can't either." pine bluff district folklore subjects name of interviewer: martin - barker subject: (negro lore)--ex-slave story:--information this information given by: alfred wells place of residence: occupation: age [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] i has de eye of an eagle. one in my haid, de other in my chest. sometimes us slaves would stay out later at night than ole marster seid we could and they send the patrols out for us. and we started a song; "run nigger run, the petlo' catch you, run nigger run, its almost day." my brother run off and hid in the pasture. i wuz a small boy, dey called me nigger cowboy, cause i drive de cows up at night, and took em to de paster in the mornings. i knowed my brother runned off, but i wouldn't tell on him. he run off to join the yankees. they never found him, although, they used the nigger dogs, who were taken out by men who were looking for runaway nigger slaves. ef i had my choice, i'd ruther be a slave. but we cant always have our ruthers. them times i had good food, plenty to wear, and no more work than was good for me. now i is kinder miliated, when i think of what a high stepper i used to be. having, to hang around with a sack on my back begging de government to keep me fum starving. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: douglas wells alabama street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i'se just a kid 'bout six or seven when the war started and 'bout ten or twelve when it ceasted. "i'se born in mississippi on miss nancy davis' plantation. old jeff davis was some relation. "my brother jeff jined the yankees but i never seen none till peace was declared. "i heered the old folks talkin' and they said they was fightin' to keep the people slaves. "i 'member old mistress, miss nancy. she was old when i was a kid. she had a big, large plantation. she had a lot of hands and big quarter houses. oh, i 'member you could go three miles this way and three miles that way. oh, she had a big plantation. i reckon it was mighty near big as this town. i 'member they used to take the cotton and hide it in the woods. i guess it was to keep the yankees from gettin' it. "i lived in the quarters with my father and mother and we stayed there after the war--long time after the war. i stayed there till i got to be grown. i continued there. i 'member her house and yard. had a big yard. "i can read some. learned it at miss nancy davis' plantation after the war. they had a little place where they had school. i went to church some a long time ago. "abraham lincoln was a white man. he fought in the time of the war, didn't he? oh, yes, he issued freedom. the yankees and the rebels fought. "after the war i worked at farm work. i ain't did no real hard work for over a year." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: john wells, edmondson, arkansas age: "i was born down here at edmondson, arkansas. my owner was a captain in the rebel war (civil war). he run us off to texas close to greenville. he was keeping us from the yankees. in fact my father had planned to go to the yankees. my mother died on the way to texas close to the arkansas line. she was confined and the child died too. we went in a wagon. uncle tom and his wife and uncle granville went too. he left his wife. she lived on another white man's farm. my master was captain r. campbell jones. he took us to texas. he and my father come back in the same wagon we went to texas in. my father (joe jones wells) told captain r. campbell jones if he didn't let him come back here that he would be here when he got here--beat him back. that's what he told him. captain brought him on back with him. "what didn't we do in texas? hooeee! i had five hundred head of sheep belonging to j. gardner, a texan, to herd every day--twice a day. carry 'em off in the morning early and watch 'em and fetch 'em back b'fore dark. i was a shepherd boy is right. i liked the job till the snow cracked my feet open. no, i didn't have no shoes. little round cactuses stuck in my feet. "i had shoes to wear home. captain jones gave leather and everything needed to uncle granville. he was a shoemaker. he made us all shoes jus' before we was to start back. captain jones sent the wagon back for us. my father come back right here at edmondson and farmed cotton and corn. uncle tom and uncle granville raised wheat out in texas. they didn't have no overseer but they said they worked harder 'an ever they done in their lives, 'fore or since. "my father went to war with his master. captain jones served 'bout three years i judge. my father went as his waiter. he got enough of war, he said. "captain r. campbell jones had a wife, miss anne, and no children. i seen mighty near enough war in texas. they fit there. yes ma'am, they did. i seen soldiers in greenville, texas. i seen the cavalry there. they looked so fine. prettiest horses i ever seen. "freedom! master campbell jones come to us and said, 'you free this morning. the war is over.' it been over then but travel was slow. 'you all can go back home, i'll take you, or you can go root hog or die.' we all got to gatherin' up our belongings to come back home. tired of no wood neither, besides that hard work. we all share cropped with captain r. campbell jones two years. i know that. we got plenty wood without going five or six miles like in texas. after freedom folks got to changing 'bout to do better i reckon. i been farmin' right here all my life. we didn't have a lot to eat out in texas neither. mother was a farm woman too. "i never seen a ku klux. bad ku klux sound sorter like good santa claus. i heard 'em say it was real. i never seen neither one. "i did own ten acres of land. i own a home now. "my father drove a grub wagon from memphis to lost swamp bottom--near edmondson--when they built this railroad through here. "father never voted. i have voted several times. "present times is tougher now than before it come on. things not going like it ought somehow. we wants more pension. us old folks needs a good living 'cause we ain't got much more time down here. "present generation--they are slack--i means they slack on their parents, don't see after them. they can get farm work to do. they waste their money more than they ought. some folks purty nigh hungry. that is for a fact the way it is going. edmondson, arkansas "master henry edmondson owned all the land to the chatfield place to lehi, arkansas. he owned four or five thousand acres of land. it was bottoms and not cleared. they had floods then, rode around in boats sometimes. colored folks could get land through andy flemming (colored man). mr. henry edmondson and whole family died with the yellow fever. he had several children--miss emma, henry, and will i knowed. it is probably his father buried at far side of this town. a rattlesnake bit him. lake rest or scantlin was a boat landing and that was where the nearest white folks lived to the edmondsons. i worked for mr. henry edmondson, the one died with yellow fever. he was easy to work for. land wasn't cleared out much. he was here before the civil war. good many people, in fact all over there, died of yellow fever at indian mound. me and my brother waited on white folks all through that yellow fever plague. very few colored folks had it. none of 'em i heered tell of died with it. white folks died in piles. now when the smallpox raged the colored folks had it seem like heap more and harder than white folks. smallpox used to rage every few years. it break out and spread. that is the way so many colored folks come to own land and why it was named edmondson. named for master henry--edmondson, arkansas. "mrs. cynthia ann earle wrote a diary during the civil war. it was partly published in the crittenden county times--west memphis paper--fridays, november and december , . she tells interesting things happening. mentions two books she is reading. she tells about a flood, etc. she tells about visiting and spending over a thousand dollars. mrs. l.a. stewart or mrs. h.e. weaver of edmondson owns copies if they cannot be obtained at the printing office at west memphis." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: sarah wells w. sixteenth street, little rock, arkansas age: occupation: field hand "i was born in warren county, mississippi, on ben watkins' plantation. that was my master--ben worthington. i don't know nothin' about the year but it was before the war--the civil war. i was born on christmas day. "isaac irby was my father. i don't know how you spell it. i can't read and write. i can tell you this. my mother's dead. she's been dead since i was twelve years old. her name was jane irby. my name is wells because i have been married. willis was my husband's name. i have just been married once. i was married to him fifty years. he has been dead thirteen years the fifteenth of october. i don't know how old i was when i was married. but i know i am eighty-four years old now. i must have been about twenty or twenty-one when i married. slave houses "the slaves lived in log houses, dirt chimneys, plank floors. they had beds made out of wood--that's all i know. i don't know where they kept their food. they kept it in the house when they had any. the slaves didn't have to cook much. mars ben had a slave to cook for them. they all et breakfast together, and lunch in the fiel'. food and cooking "there was a great big shed. they'd all go up there and eat--the slaves would all go up and eat. i don't know what the grown folks had. they used to give us children milk and corn bread for breakfast. they'd give us greens, peas, and all like that for dinner. didn't know nothin' about no lunch. work and runaways; day's work "my mother and father worked in the field hoeing, plowing and all like that--doing whatever they told 'em to do. they raised corn and ground meal. some of the slaves would pick five hundred pounds of cotton in a day; some of them would pick three hundred pounds; and some of them only picked a hundred. if you didn't pick two hundred fifty pounds, they'd punish you, put you in the stocks. if you'd run off, they put the nigger hounds behind you. i never run off, but my mother run off. "she would go in the woods. i don't know where she'd go after she'd get in the woods. she would go in the woods and hide somewheres. she'd take somethin' to eat with her. i couldn't find her myself. she take somethin' to eat with her. she didn't know what flour bread was. i don't remember what she'd take--somethin' she could carry. sometimes she would stay in the woods two months, sometimes three months. they'd pay for the nigger hounds and let them chase her back. she'd try to get away. she never took me with her when she ran away. buying and selling "my mother and her sister were bought in old virginny. ben watkins was the one that bought her. he bought my father too. then he sold my father to the leightons. leighton bought my father from ben watkins for a carriage driver. i was never bought nor sold. i was born on ben watkins' plantation and freed on it. patrollers "i've heered them say the pateroles is out. i don't know who they was. i know they'd whip you. i was a child then. i would just know what i was told mostly. how freedom came "the yankees told my mother she was free. they had on blue clothes. they said them was the yankees. i don't know what they told her. i know they said she was free. that's all i know. "sometimes the soldiers would do right smart damage. they set a lot of houses on fire. they done right smart damage. jeff davis "i have seen jeff davis. i never seen lincoln. they said it was jeff davis i seen. i seen him in vicksburg. that was after the war was over. ku klux klan "i have heered about the ku klux, but i don't know what it was i heered. they never bothered me. right after the war "right after the war, my mother and father hired out to work. they did most any kind of work--whatever they could get to do. mother cooked. father would generally do house cleaning. mother didn't live long after the war. blood poisoning "i lost my finger because of blood poisoning. i had a scratch on my finger. pulled a hangnail out of it. i went around a lady who had a high fever and she asked me to sponge her off and i did it. i got the finger in the water that i sponged with and it got blood poisoned. i like to have died. father's death "i was married and had three children when my father died. i don't know what he died with nor what year. "my mother had had seven children--all girls. i had seven children. but three of mine were boys and four were girls. ain't none of them living now. little rock "my son was living in little rock and he kept after me to come here and i come. after i come, he left and went to kansas city. he died there. i used to do laundry work. i quit that. i commenced to do sellin' for different companies. i sold for mack brady, crawford & reeves, and a lot of 'em. opinions "i don't know what i think about the young people. they ain't nothin' like i was when i was a gal. things have changed since i come along. i better not say what i think." interviewer's comment the interviewee says she is eighty-four, and her story hangs together. her husband died thirteen years ago, and they had been married fifty years when he died. she "recollects" being about twenty years old when she married. she says she was about twelve years old when her mother died, one year after the close of the civil war. this data seems to be rather conclusive on the age of eighty-four. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: sarah williams wells, biscoe, arkansas age: born "i jess can't tell much; my memory fails me. my white folks was john and mary williams but i was born two years after the surrender. soon after the surrender they went to lebanon, tennessee. my folks stayed on wha i was born round in murry county. my father was killed after the war but i was little. my mother died same year i married. i heard em say there was john and frank. they may be living over there now. i heard em talking bout war times. they said my father was a blacksmith in the war. i come here wid four little children on a ticket to crocketts bluff. we was sick all that year. made a fine crop. the man let another man have us to work. he was a colored man. his wife she was mean to us. she never come to see or do one thing when we all had fever. the babies nearly starved. took all for doctor bills and medicine. had $ when all bills settled out of the whole crop. in all i had fifteen children. but two girls and one boy all that livin now. i farmed and washed and ironed all my life. my husband was born a slave. (he recently died.) "the present generation ain't got no religion. they dances and cuts up a heap. they don't care nothing bout settlin down. when they marry now, that man say he got the law on her. she belongs to him. he thinks he can make her do like he wants her all the time and they don't get along. now that's what i hear round. i sho got married and we got along good till he died. we treated one another best we knowed how. the times is what the folks making it. time ain't no different, is like the folks make. this depression is whut the folks is making. some so scared they won't get it all. they leave mighty little for the rest to get. they ain't nothin matter with nothin but the greedy people want it all to split through wid. i don't know what going to come of it all. nothin i tell you bout it ain't no good. young folks done smarter than i is. they don't listen to nobody." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: john wesley, helena, arkansas age: ? "i was full grown when the civil war come on. i was a slave till 'mancipation. i was born close to lexington, kentucky. my master in kentucky was master griter. he was 'fraid er freedom. father belong to averys in tennessee. he was a farm hand. they wouldn't sell him. i was sold to master boone close to moscow. i was sold on a scaffold high as that door (twelve feet). i seen a lot of children sold on that scaffold. i fell in the hands of george coggrith. we come to helena in wagons. we crossed the river out from memphis to hopefield. i lived at wittsburg, arkansas during the war. they smuggled us about from the yankees and took us to texas. before the war come on we had to fight the indians back. they tried to sell us in texas. george coggrith's wife died. mother was the cook for all the hands and the white folks too. she raised two boys and three girls for him. she went on raising his children during the war and after the war. during the war we hid out and raised cotton and corn. we hid in the woods. the yankees couldn't make much out in the woods and canebrakes. we stayed in texas about a year. four years after freedom we didn't know we was free. we was on his farm up at wittsburg. that is near madison, arkansas. mother wouldn't let the children get far off from our house. she was afraid the indians would steal the children. they stole children or i heard they did. the wild animals and snakes was one thing we had to look out for. grown folks and children all kept around home unless you had business and went on a trip. "my wife died three years ago. i stay with a grandchild. i got a boy but i don't know where he is now. "i had a acre and a home. i got in debt and they took my place. "i voted. the last time for president wilson. we got a good president now. i voted both kinds of tickets some. i think they called me a democrat. i quit voting. i'm too old. "i farmed in my young days. i oil milled. i saw milled. i still black smithing (in helena now). i make one or two dollars a week. work is hard to git. times is tight. i don't get help 'ceptin' some friend bring us some work. i stay up here all time nearly. "i don't know about the young generation. "well, we had a gin. during of the war it got burnt and lots of bales of cotton went 'long with it. "the ku klux come about and drink water. they wanted folks to stay at home and work. that what they said. we done that. we didn't know we was free nohow. we wasn't scared." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: robert wesley, holly grove, arkansas age: "i was born in shelby county, alabama. my parents was mary and thomas wesley. their master was mary and john watts. "john watts tried to keep me. i stayed round him all time and rode up behind him on his horse. he was a soldier. "both my parents was sold but i don't know how it was done. there was thirteen children in our family. the white folks had a picnic and took colored long to do round. some heard bout freedom and went home tellin' bout it. we stayed on and worked. "the ku klux sure did run some of em. seem like they didn't know what freedom meant. some of em run off and kept goin'. never did get back. i don't know a thing bout the ku klux. i heard em say they got whoopin's for doin' too much visitin'. i was a baby so i don't know. "i do not vote. i voted for mckinley in mississippi. "i been farmin' all my life. i got one hog and a garden, three little grand babies. my daughter died and their papa went off and left em. course i took em--had to. i pay $ house rent. i get $ from the pwa. "the times is mighty fast. i recken the young folks do fair. there has been big changes since i come on." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: maggie wesmoland, brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born in arkansas in slavery time beyond des arc. my parents was sold in mississippi. they was brought to arkansas. i never seed my father after the closing of the war. he had been refugeed to texas and come back here, then he went on back to mississippi. mama had seventeen children. she had six by my stepfather. when my stepfather was mustered out at de valls bluff he come to miss (mrs.) holland's and got mama and took her on wid him. i was give to miss holland's daughter. she married a cargo. the hollands raised me and my sister. i never seen mama after she left. my mother was jane holland and my father was smith woodson. they lived on different places here in arkansas. i had a hard time. i was awfully abused by the old man that married miss betty. she was my young mistress. he was poor and hated negroes. he said they didn't have no feeling. he drunk all the time. he never had been used to negroes and he didn't like em. he was a middle age man but miss betty holland was in her teens. "no, mama didn't have as hard a time as i had. she was miss holland's cook and wash woman. miss betty told her old husband, 'papa don't beat his negroes. he is good to his negroes.' he worked overseers in the field. nothing miss betty ever told him done a bit of good. he didn't have no feeling. i had to go in a trot all the time. i was scared to death of him--he beat me so. i'm scarred up all over now where he lashed me. he would strip me start naked and tie my hands crossed and whoop me till the blood ooze out and drip on the ground when i walked. the flies blowed me time and again. miss betty catch him gone, would grease my places and put turpentine on them to kill the places blowed. he kept a bundle of hickory switches at the house all the time. miss betty was good to me. she would cry and beg him to be good to me. "one time the cow kicked over my milk. i was scared not to take some milk to the house, so i went to the spring and put some water in the milk. he was snooping round (spying) somewhere and seen me. he beat me nearly to death. i never did know what suit him and what wouldn't. didn't nothing please him. he was a poor man, never been used to nothin' and took spite on me everything happened. they didn't have no children while i was there but he did have a boy before he died. he died fore i left dardanelle. when miss betty holland married mr. cargo she lived close to dardanelle. that is where he was so mean to me. he lived in the deer and bear hunting country. "he went to town to buy them some things for christmas good while after freedom--a couple or three years. two men come there deer hunting every year. one time he had beat me before them and on their way home they went to the freemens bureau and told how he beat me and what he done it for--biggetness. he was a biggity acting and braggy talking old man. when he got to town they asked him if he wasn't hiding a little negro girl, ask if he sent me to school. he come home. i slept on a bed made down at the foot of their bed. that night he told his wife what all he said and what all they ask him. he said he would kill whoever come there bothering about me. he been telling that about. he told miss betty they would fix me up and let me go stay a week at my sister's christmas. he went back to town, bought me the first shoes i had had since they took me. they was brogan shoes. they put a pair of his sock on me. miss betty made the calico dress for me and made a body out of some of his pants legs and quilted the skirt part, bound it at the bottom with red flannel. she made my things nice--put my underskirt in a little frame and quilted it so it would be warm. christmas day was a bright warm day. in the morning when miss betty dressed me up i was so proud. he started me off and told me how to go. "i got to the big creek. i got down in the ditch--couldn't get across. i was running up and down it looking for a place to cross. a big old mill was upon the hill. i could see it. i seen three men coming, a white man with a gun and two negro men on horses or mules. i heard one say, 'yonder she is.' another said, 'it don't look like her.' one said, 'call her.' one said, 'margaret.' i answered. they come to me and said, 'go to the mill and cross on a foot log.' i went up there and crossed and got upon a stump behind my brother-in-law on his horse. i didn't know him. the white man was the man he was share croppin' with. they all lived in a big yard like close together. i hadn't seen my sister before in about four years. mr. cargo told me if i wasn't back at his house new years day he would come after me on his horse and run me every step of the way home. it was nearly twenty-five miles. he said he would give me the worst whooping i ever got in my life. i was going back, scared not to be back. had no other place to live. "when new year day come the white man locked me up in a room in his house and i stayed in there two days. they brought me plenty to eat. i slept in there with their children. mr. cargo never come after me till march. he didn't see me when he come. it started in raining and cold and the roads was bad. when he come in march i seen him. i knowed him. i lay down and covered up in leaves. they was deep. i had been in the woods getting sweet-gum when i seen him. he scared me. he never seen me. this white man bound me to his wife's friend for a year to keep mr. cargo from getting me back. the woman at the house and mr. cargo had war nearly about me. i missed my whoopings. i never got none that whole year. it was mrs. brown, twenty miles from dardanelle, they bound me over to. i never got no more than the common run of negro children but they wasn't mean to me. "when i was at cargo's, he wouldn't buy me shoes. miss betty would have but in them days the man was head of his house. miss betty made me moccasins to wear out in the snow--made them out of old rags and pieces of his pants. i had risings on my feet and my feet frostbite till they was solid sores. he would take his knife and stob my risings to see the matter pop way out. the ice cut my feet. he cut my foot on the side with a cowhide nearly to the bone. miss betty catch him outer sight would doctor my feet. seem like she was scared of him. he wasn't none too good to her. "he told his wife the freemens bureau said turn that negro girl loose. she didn't want me to leave her. he despised nasty negroes he said. one of them fellows what come for me had been to cargo's and seen me. he was the negro man come to show patsy's husband and his share cropper where i was at. he whooped me twice before them deer hunters. they visited him every spring and fall hunting deer but they reported him to the freemens bureau. they knowed he was showing off. he overtook me on a horse one day four or five years after i left there. i was on my way from school. i was grown. he wanted me to come back live with them. said miss betty wanted to see me so bad. i was so scared i lied to him and said yes to all he said. he wanted to come get me a certain day. i lied about where i lived. he went to the wrong place to get me i heard. i was afraid to meet him on the road. he died at dardanelle before i come way from there. "after i got grown i hired out cooking at $ . a week and then $ . a week. when i was a girl i ploughed some. i worked in the field a mighty little but i have done a mountain of washing and ironing in my life. i can't tell you to save my life what a hard time i had when i was growing up. my daughter is a blessing to me. she is so good to me. "i never knowed nor seen the ku klux. the bushwhackers was awful after the war. they went about stealing and they wouldn't work. "conditions is far better for young folks now than when i come on. they can get chances i couldn't get they could do. my daughter is tied down here with me. she could do washings and ironings if she could get them and do it here at home. i think she got one give over to her for awhile. the regular wash woman is sick. it is hard for me to get a living since i been sick. i get commodities. but the diet i am on it is hard to get it. the money is the trouble. i had two strokes and i been sick with high blood pressure three years. we own our house. times is all right if i was able to work and enjoy things. i don't get the old age pension. i reckon because my daughter's husband has a job--i reckon that is it. i can't hardly buy milk, that is the main thing. the doctor told me to eat plenty milk. "i never voted." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: calvin west, widener, arkansas age: "mother belong to parson renfro. he had a son named jim renfro. she was a cook and farm hand too. i never heard her speak much of her owners. pa's owner was dr. west and miss jensie west. he had a son orz west and his daughter was miss lillie west. i never was around their owners. some was dead before i come on. my pa was a cripple man. his leg was drawn around with rheumatism. during slavery he would load up a small cart wid cider and ginger cakes and go sell it out. he sold ginger cakes two for a nickel and i never heard how he sold the cider. i heard him tell close speriences he had with the patrollers. some of the landowners didn't want him trespassing on their places. he got a part of the money he sold out for. i judge from what he said his owner got part for the wagon and horse. he sold some at stores before freedom. he farmed too. his name was phillip west and mother's name was lear west. he was a crack hand at making ginger cakes. he sold wagon loads in town on saturday till he died. i was a boy nearly grown. they had ten children in all. i was born in tate county, mississippi. "mr. miller had land here. i didn't work for him but he wanted me to come here and work his land. he give us tickets. he said this was new land and we could do better. we work a lot and make big crops and don't hardly get a living out of it. we come on the train here. "we come in . the way we got down here now it is bad. we make big crops and don't get much for it. we have no place to raise things to help out and pay big prices for everything. i work. but times is hard. that is the very reason it is hard. we got no place to raise nothing. (hard road and ditch in front and cotton field all around it except a few feet of padded dirt and a wood pile.) times is good and if a fellow could ever get a little ahead i believe he could stay ahead. since my wife been sick we jes' can make it. "we never called for no help. she cooked and i worked. she signed up but it will be a long time, they said, till they could get to her." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mary mays west, widener, arkansas age: "my parents' names was josie vesey and henry mays. they had ten children and five lived to be full grown. i was born in tate county, mississippi. mother died in childbirth when she was twenty-eight years old. i'm the mother of twelve and got five living. i been cooking out for white people since i was nine years old. i am a good cook they all tell me and i tries to be clean with my cooking. "mother died before i can remember much about her. my father said he had to work before day and all day and till after night in the spring and fall of the year. they ploughed with oxen and mules and horses all. he said how they would rest the teams and feed and still they would go on doing something else. they tromped cotton at night by torchlight. tromped it in the wagons to get off to the gin early next morning. "in the winter they built fences and houses and got up wood and cleared new ground. they made pots of lye hominy and lye soap the same day. they had a ashhopper set all time. in the summer is when they ditched if they had any of that to do. farming has been pretty much the same since i was a child. i have worked in the field all my life. i cook in the morning and go to the field all evening. "we just had a hard time this winter. i had a stroke in october and had to quit cooking. (her eye is closed on her left side--ed.) i love farm life. the flood last year got us behind too. we could do fine if i had my health." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: sylvester wethington holly grove, arkansas age: "i recollect seeing the malish (malitia) pass up and down the road. i can tell you two things happened at our house. the yankee soldiers come took all the stock we had all down to young mistress' mule. they come fer it. young mistress got a gun, went out there, put her side saddle on the mule and climbed up. they let her an' that mule both be. nother thing they had a wall built in betwix er room and let hams and all kinds provisions swing down in thor. it went unnoticed. i recken it muster been ft. wide and long as the room. had to go up in the loft from de front porch. the front porch wasn't ceiled but a place sawed out so you could get up in the loft. they used a ladder and went up there bout once a week. they swung hams and meal, flour and beef. they swung sacks er corn down in that place. that all the place where they could keep us a thing in de world to eat. they come an' got bout all we had. look like starvation ceptin' what we had stored way." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: joe whitaker, madison, arkansas age: plus "i'm a blacksmith; my pa was a fine blacksmith. he was a blacksmith in the old war (civil war). he never got a pension. he said he loss his sheep skin. his owners was george and bill whitaker. mother always said her owners was pretty good. i never heard my pa speak of them in that way. they was both born in tennessee. she was never sold. i was born in murray county, tennessee too. my mother was named fronie whitaker and pa ike whitaker. mother had eleven children. my wife is a full-blood cherokee indian. we have ten children and twenty-three grandchildren. "i don't have a word to say against the times; they are close at present. nor a word to say about the next generation. i think times is progressing and i think the people are advancing some too." [tr: the following is typed, but scratched out by hand:] interviewer's comment some say his wife is a small part african. interviewer: beulah sherwood hagg person interviewed: mrs. julia a. white, cross st., little rock, ark. age: idiom and dialect are lacking in this recorded interview. mrs. white's conversation was entirely free from either. on being questioned about this she explained that she was reared in a home where fairly correct english was used. my cousin emanuel armstead could read and write, and he kept the records of our family. at one time he was a school director. of course, that was back in the early days, soon after the war closed. my father was named james page jackson because he was born on the old jackson plantation in lancaster county, virginia. he named one of his daughters lancaster for a middle name in memory of his old home. clarice lancaster jackson was her full name. a man named galloway bought my father and brought him to arkansas. some called him by the name of galloway, but my father always had all his children keep the name jackson. there were fourteen of us, but only ten lived to grow up. he belonged to mr. galloway at the time of my birth, but even at that, i did not take the name galloway as it would seem like i should. my father was a good carpenter; he was a fine cook, too; learned that back in virginia. i'll tell you something interesting. the first cook stove ever brought to this town was one my father had his master to bring. he was cook at the anthony house. you know about that, don't you? it was the first real fine hotel in little rock. when father went there to be head cook, all they had to cook on was big fireplaces and the big old dutch ovens. father just kept on telling about the stoves they had in virginia, and at last they sent and got him one; it had to come by boat and took a long time. my father was proud that he was the one who set the first table ever spread in the anthony house. you see, it was different with us, from lots of slave folks. some masters hired their slaves out. i remember a drug store on the corner of main and markham; it was mcalmont's drug store. once my father worked there; the money he earned, it went to mr. galloway, of course. he said it was to pay board for mother and us little children. my mother came from a fine family,--the beebe family. angeline beebe was her name. you've heard of the beebe family, of course. roswell beebe at one time owned all the land that little rock now sets on. i was born in a log cabin where fifth and spring streets meet. the jewish synagogue is on the exact spot. once we lived at third and cumberland, across from that old hundred-year-old-building where they say the legislature once met. what you call it? yes, that's it; the hinterlider building. it was there then, too. my father and mother had the kind of wedding they had for slaves, i guess. yes, ma'am, they did call them "broom-stick weddings". i've heard tell of them. yes, ma'am, the master and mistress, when they find a couple of young slave folks want to get married, they call them before themselves and have them confess they want to marry. then they hold the broom, one at each end, and the young folks told to jump over. sometimes they have a new cabin fixed all for them to start in. after peace, a minister came and married my father and mother according to the law of the church and of the land. the master's family was thoughtful in keeping our records in their own big family bible. all the births and deaths of the children in my father's family was in their bible. after peace, father got a big bible for our family, and--wait, i'll show you.... here they are, all copied down just like out of old master's bible.... here's where my father and mother died, over on this page. right here's my own children. this space is for me and my husband. no ma'am, it don't make me tired to talk. but i need a little time to recall all the things you want to know 'bout. i was so little when freedom came i just can't remember. i'll tell you, directly. i remember that the first thing my father did was to go down to a plantation where the bigger children was working, and bring them all home, to live together as one family. that was a plantation where my mother had been; a man name moore--james moore--owned it. i don't know whether he had bought my mother from beebe or not. i can remember two things plain what happened there. i was little, but can still see them. one of my mother's babies died and master went to little rock on a horse and carried back a little coffin under his arm. the mistress had brought mother a big washing. she was working under the cover of the wellhouse and tears was running down her face. when master came back, he said: "how come you are working today, angeline, when your baby is dead?" she showed him the big pile of clothes she had to wash, as mistress said. he said: "there is plenty of help on this place what can wash. you come on in and sit by your little baby, and don't do no more work till after the funeral." he took up the little dead body and laid it in the coffin with his own hands. i'm telling you this for what happened later on. a long time after peace, one evening mother heard a tapping at the door. when she went, there was her old master, james moore. "angeline," he said, "you remember me, don't you?" course she did. then he told her he was hungry and homeless. a man hiding out. the yankees had taken everything he had. mother took him in and fed him for two or three days till he was rested. the other thing clear to my memory is when my uncle tom was sold. another day when mother was washing at the wellhouse and i was playing around, two white men came with a big, broad-shouldered colored man between them. mother put her arms around him and cried and kissed him goodbye. a long time after, i was watching one of my brothers walk down a path. i told mother that his shoulders and body look like that man she kissed and cried over. "why honey," she says to me, "can you remember that?" then she told me about my uncle tom being sold away. so you see, miss, it's a good thing you are more interested in what i know since slave days. i'll go on now. the first thing after freedom my mother kept boarders and done fine laundry work. she boarded officers of the colored union soldiers; she washed for the officers' families at the arsenal. sometimes they come and ask her to cook them something special good to eat. both my father and mother were fine cooks. that's when we lived at third and cumberland. i stayed home till i was sixteen and helped with the cooking and washing and ironing. i never worked in a cottonfield. the boys did. all us girls were reared about the house. we were trained to be lady's maids and houseworkers. i married when i was sixteen. that husband died four years later, and the next year i married this man, joel randolph white. married him in march, . in those days you could put a house on leased ground. could lease it for five years at a time. my father put up a house on tenth and scott. old man haynie owned the land and let us live in the house for $ . a year until father's money was all gone; then we had to move out. the first home my father really owned was at spring street, what is now. course then, it was away out in the country. a white lawyer from the north--b.f. rice was his name--got my brother jimmie to work in his office. jimmie had been in school most all his life and was right educated for colored boy then. mr. rice finally asked him how would he like to study law. so he did; but all the time he wanted to be a preacher. mr. rice tell jimmie to go on studying law. it is a good education; it would help him to be a preacher. mr. rice tell my father he can own his own home by law. so he make out the papers and take care of everything so some persons can't take it away. all that time my family was working for mr. rice and finally got the home paid for, all but the last payment, and mr. rice said jimmie's services was worth that. so we had a nice home all paid for at last. we lived there till father died in , and about ten years more. then sold it. my father had more money than many ex-slaves because he did what the union soldiers told him. they used to give him "greenbacks" money and tell him to take good care of it. you see, miss, union money was not any good here. everything was confederate money. you couldn't pay for a dime's worth even with a five dollar bill of union money then. the soldiers just keep on telling my father to take all the greenbacks he could get and hide away. there wasn't any need to hide it, nobody wanted it. soldiers said just wait; someday the confederate money wouldn't be any good and greenbacks would be all the money we had. so that's how my father got his money. if you have time to listen, miss, i'd like to tell you about a wonderful thing a young doctor done for my folks. it was when the gun powder explosion wrecked my brother and sister. the soldiers at the arsenal used to get powder in tins called canteens. when there was a little left--a tablespoon full or such like, they would give it to the little boys and show them how to pour it in the palm of their hand, touch a match to it and then blow. the burning powder would fly off their hand without burning. we were living in a double house at eighth and main then; another colored family in one side. they had lots of children, just like us. one canteen had a lot more powder in. my brother was afraid to pour it on his hand. he put a paper down on top of the stove and poured it out. it was a big explosion. my little sister was standing beside her brother and her scalp was plum blowed off and her face burnt terribly. his hand was all gone, and his face and neck and head burnt terribly, too. there was a young doctor live close by name deuell. father ran for him. he tell my mother if she will do just exactly what he say, their faces will come out fine. he told her to make up bread dough real sort of stiff. he made a mask of it. cut holes for their eyes, nose holes and mouths, so you could feed them, you see. he told mother to leave that on till it got hard as a rock. then still leave it on till it crack and come off by itself. nobody what ever saw their faces would believe how bad they had been burnt. only 'round the edges where the dough didn't cover was there any scars. dr. deuell only charged my father $ . apiece for that grand work on my sister and brother. _yes ma'am_, i'll tell you how i come to speak what you call good english. first place, my mother and father was brought up in families where they heard good speech. slaves what lived in the family didn't talk like cottonfield hands. my parents sure did believe in education. the first free schools in little rock were opened by the union for colored children. they brought young white ladies for teachers. they had sunday school in the churches on sunday. in a few years they had colored teachers come. one is still living here in little rock. i wish you would go see her. she is years old now. she founded the wesley chapel here. on her fiftieth anniversary my club presented her a gold medal and had "mother wesley" engraved on it. her name is charlotte e. stevens. she has the first school report ever put out in little rock. it was in the class of . two of my sisters were graduated from philander smith college here in little rock and had post graduate work in fisk university in nashville, tennessee. my brothers and sisters all did well in life. allene married a minister and did missionary work. cornelia was a teacher in dallas, texas. mary was a caterer in hot springs. clarice went to colorado springs, colorado and was a nurse in a doctor's office. jimmie was the preacher, as i told you. gus learned the drug business and willie got to be a painter. our adopted sister, molly, could do anything, nurse, teach, manage a hotel. yes, our parents always insisted we had to go to school. it's been a help to me all my life. i'm the only one now living of all my brothers and sisters. well ma'am, about how we lived all since freedom; it's been good till these last years. after i married my present husband in , he worked in the missouri pacific railroad shops. he was boiler maker's helper. they called it iron mountain shops then, though. years, months and days he worked there. in , on big strike, all men got laid off. when they went back, they had to go as new men. don't you see what that done to my man? he was all ready for his pension. yes ma'am, had worked his full time to be pensioned by the railroad. but we have never been able to get any retirement pension. he should have it. urban league is trying to help him get it. he is out on account of disability and old age. he got his eye hurt pretty bad and had to be in the railroad hospital a long time. i have the doctor's papers on that. then he had a bad fall what put him again in the hospital. that was in . he has never really been discharged, but just can't get any compensation. he has put in his claim to the railroad retirement office in washington. i'm hoping they get to it before he dies. we're both mighty old and feeble. he had a stroke in , since he been off the railroad. how we living now? it's mighty poorly, please believe that. in his good years we bought this little home, but taxes so high, road assessments and all make it more than we can keep up. my granddaughter lives with us. she teaches, but only has school about half a year. i was trying to educate her in the university of wisconsin, but poor child had to quit. in summer we try to make a garden. some of the neighbors take in washing and they give me ironing to do. friends bring in fresh bread when they bake. it takes all my granddaughter makes to keep up the mortgage and pay all the rest. she don't have clothes decent to go. i have about sold the last of the antiques. in old days the mistress used to give my mother the dishes left from broken sets, odd vases and such. i had some beautiful things, but one by one have sold them to antique dealers to get something to help out with. my church gives me a donation every fifth sunday of a collection for benefit. sometimes it is as much as $ . and that sure helps on the groceries. today i bought four cents worth of beans and one cent worth of onions. i say you have to cut the garment according to the cloth. you ain't even living from hand to mouth, if the hand don't have something in it to put to the mouth. no ma'am, we couldn't get on relief, account of this child teaching. one relief worker did come to see us. she was a case worker, she said. she took down all i told her about our needs and was about ready to go when she saw my seven hens in the yard. "whose chickens out there?" she asked. "i keep a few hens," i told her. "well," she hollered, "anybody that's able to keep chickens don't need to be on relief roll," and she gathered up her gloves and bag and left. yes ma'am, i filed for old age pension, too. it was in april, i filed. when a year passed without hearing, i took my husband down so they could see just how he is not able to work. they told me not to bring him any more. said i would get $ . a month. two years went, and i never got any. i went by myself then, and they said yes, yes, they have my name on file, but there is no money to pay. there must be millions comes in for sales tax. i don't know where it all goes. of course the white folks get first consideration. colored folks always has to bear the brunt. they just do, and that's all there is to it. what do i think of the younger generation? i wouldn't speak for all. there are many types, just like older people. it has always been like that, though. if all young folks were like my granddaughter--i guess there is many, too. she does all the sewing, and gardening. she paints the house, makes the draperies and bed clothing. she can cook and do all our laundry work. she understands raising chickens for market but just don't have time for that. she is honest and clean in her life. yes ma'am, i did vote once, a long time ago. you see, i wasn't old enough at first, after freedom, when all the colored people could vote. then, for many years, women in arkansas couldn't vote, anyhow. i can remember when m.w. gibbs was police judge and asa richards was a colored alderman. no ma'am! the voting law is not fair. it's most unfair! we colored folks have to pay just the same as the white. we pay our sales tax, street improvement, school tax, property tax, personal property tax, dog license, automobile license--they what have cars--; we pay utility tax. and we should be allowed to vote. i can tell you about three years ago a white lady come down here with her car on election day and ask my old husband would he vote how she told him if she carried him to the polls. he said yes and she carried him. when he got there they told him no colored was allowed to vote in that election. poor old man, she didn't offer to get him home, but left him to stumble along best he could. i'm glad if i been able to give you some help. you've been patient with an old woman. i can tell you that every word i have told you is true as the gospel. circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] . name and address of informant--julia white, cross street, little rock. . date and time of interview-- . place of interview-- cross street, little rock, arkansas . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant-- . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you-- . description of room, house, surroundings, etc.-- personal history of informant . ancestry-- . place and date of birth--little rock, arkansas, . family--two children . places lived in, with dates--little rock all her life. . education, with dates-- . occupations and accomplishments, with dates-- . special skills and interests-- . community and religious activities-- . description of informant-- . other points gained in interview--she tells of accomplishments made by the negro race. text of interview (unedited) "i was born right here in little rock, arkansas, eighty years ago on the corner of fifth and broadway. it was in a little log house. that used to be out in the woods. at least, that is where they told me i was born. i was there but i don't remember it. the first place i remember was a house on third and cumberland, the southwest corner. that was before the war. "we were living there when peace was declared. you know, my father hired my mother's time from james moore. he used to belong to dick galloway. i don't know how that was. but i know he put my mother in that house on third and cumberland while she was still a slave. and we smaller children stayed in the house with mother, and the larger children worked on james moore's plantation. "my father was at that time, i guess, you would call it, a porter at mcalmont's drug store. he was a slave at that time but he worked there. he was working there the day this place was taken. i'll never forget that. it was on september th. we were going across third street, and there was a union woman told mamma to bring us over there, because the soldiers were about to attack the town and they were going to have a battle. "i had on a pair of these brogans with brass plates on them, and they were flapping open and i tripped up just as the rebel soldiers were running by. one of them said, "there's a like yeller nigger, les take her." mrs. farmer, the union woman ran out and said, "no you won't; that's my nigger." and she took us in her house. and we stayed there while there was danger. then my father came back from the drug store, she said she didn't see how he kept from being killed. "at that time, there were about four houses to the block. on the place where we lived there was the big house, with many rooms, and then there was the barn and a lot of other buildings. my father rented that place and turned the outbuildings into little houses and allowed the freed slaves to live in them till they could find another place. "my husband was an orphan child, and the people he was living with were george phelps and ann phelps. they were freed slaves. that was after the war. they came here and had this little boy with them, that is how i come to meet that gentlemen over there and get acquainted with him. when they moved away from there phelps was caretaker of the oakland cemetery. we married on the twenty-seventh day of march, . i still have the marriage license. i married twice; my first husband was george w. glenn and my maiden name was jackson. i married the first time june , . i had two children in my first marriage. both of than are dead. glenn died shortly after the birth of the last child, february , . "mr. white is a mighty good man. he is put up with me all these years. and he took mighty good care of my children, them by my first husband as well as his own. when i was a little girl, he used to tell me that he wouldn't have me for a wife. after we were married, i used to say to him, 'you said you wouldn't have me, but i see you're mighty glad to get me.' "i have the marriage license for my second marriage. "there's quite a few of the old ones left. have you seen mrs. gillam, and mrs. stephen, and mrs. weathers? cora weathers? her name is cora not clora. she's about ninety years old. she's at least ninety years old. you say she says that she is seventy-four. that must be her insurance age. i guess she is seventy-four at that; she had to be seventy-four before she was ninety. when i was a girl, she was a grown woman. she was married when my husband went to school. that has been more than sixty years ago, because we've been married nearly sixty years. my sister mary was ten years older than me, and cora weathers was right along with her. she knew my mother. when these people knew my mother they've been here, because she's been dead since ' and she would have been if she had lived. "my mother used to feed the white prisoners--the federal soldiers who were being held. they paid her and told her to keep the money because it was union money. you know at that time they were using confederate money. my father kept it. he had a little box or chest of gold and silver money. whenever he got any paper money, he would change it into gold or silver. "mother used to make these ginger cakes--they call 'em stage planks. my brother jimmie would sell them. the men used to take pleasure in trying to cheat him. he was so clever they couldn't. they never did catch him napping. "somebody burnt our house; it was on a sunday evening. they tried to say it caught from the chimney. we all like to uv burnt up. "my father was a carpenter, whitewasher, anything. he was a common laborer. we didn't have contractors then like we do now. mother worked out in service too. jimmie was the oldest boy. he taught school too. "my father set the first table that was ever set in the anthony hotel, he was the cause of the first stove being brought here to cook on. "some of the children of the people that raised my mother are still living. they are beebes. roswell beebe was a little one. they had a colored man named peter and he was teaching roswell to ride and the pony ran away. peter stepped out to stop him and roswell said, 'git out of the way peter, and let billie button come'. "i get some commodities from the welfare. but i don't get nothing like a pension. my husband worked at the missouri pacific shops for fifty-two years, and he don't git nothing neither. it was the iron mountain when he first went there on june , . he was disabled in because of injuries received on the job in march, . but they hurried him out of the hospital and never would give him anything. that monday morning, they had had a loving cup given them for not having had accidents in the plant. and at three p.m., he was sent into the hospital. he had a fall that injured his head. they only kept him there for two days and two hours. he was hurt in the head. dr. elkins himself came after him and let him set around in the tool room. he stayed there till he couldn't do nothing at all. "in , he got his eye hurt on the job in the service of the missouri pacific. it was the iron mountain then. he was off about three or four months. they didn't pay his wages while he was off. they told him they would give him a lifetime job, but they didn't. his eye gave him trouble for the balance of his life. sometimes it is worse than others. he had to go to the st. louis hospital quite often for about three or four years. "when the house on third and cumberland was burnt, he rebuilded it, and the owners charged him such rent he had to move. he rebuilt it for five hundred dollars and was to get pay in rent. the owners jumped the rent up to twenty-five dollars a month. that way it soon took up the five hundred dollars. then we moved to eighth and main. my brother jimmie was in an accident there. "he was pouring powder on a fire from an old powder horn and the flames jumped up in the horn and exploded and crippled his hand and burnt his face. dr. duel, a right young doctor, said he could cure them if father would pay him fifty dollars a piece. my sister was burnt at the same time as my brother. he had them make a thin dough, and put it over their faces and he cut pieces out for their eyes, and nose, and mouth. they left that dough on their faces and chest till the dough got hard and peeled off by itself. it left the white skin. gradually the face got back to itself and took its right color again, so you couldn't tell they had ever been burnt. the only medicine the doctor gave them was epsom salts. fifty dollars for each child. i used that remedy on a school boy once and cured him, but i didn't charge him nothing. "i have a program which was given in . they don't give programs like that now. people wouldn't listen that long. we each of us had two and three, and some of us had six and seven parts to learn. we learnt them and recited them and came back the next night to give a christmas eve program. you can make a copy of it if you want. "a.c. richmond is mrs. childress' brother. anna george is bee daniels' mother (bee daniels is mrs. anthony, a colored public school teacher here). corinne jordan is living on gaines between eighth and ninth streets. she is about seventy-five years old now. she was about mollie's age and i was about five years older than molly. mary riley is c.c. riley's sister. c.c. riley is haven riley's father. c.c. is dead now. haven riley was a teacher, at philander smith, for a while. he's a stenographer now. august jackson and j.w. jackson are my brothers. w.o. emory became one of our pastors at wesley. john bush, everybody's heard of him. he had the mosaic temple and got a big fortune together before he died, but his children lost it all. annie richmond is annie childress, the wife of professor e.c. childress, the state supervisor. corinne winfrey turned out to be john bush's wife. willie lane married w.o. emery. scipio jordan became the big man in the tabernacle. h.h. gilkey went to the post office. he married lizzie hull. she's living still too." extra comment the marriage license which mrs. white showed me, was issued march , , by a.w. worthen, county clerk, per w.h.w. booker to julia glen and j.r. white. it carries the name of reverend w.h. crawford who was the pastor of wesley chapel church at that time. the license was issued in pulaski county. grand entertainment at wesley chapel wednesday evening, dec'r. , * * * * * programme part i address by the general manager mr. a.c. richmond song--we come today by the school prayer rev. william henry crawford declamation--my mother's bible miss annie george dialogue--three little graves miss m. upshaw and miss m.a. scruggs dialogue--about heaven miss julia jackson and miss alice richardson declamation--mud pie miss amelia rose declamation--ducklins and miss goren jordan ducklins dialogue--the beggar mr. h.h. gilkey and mr. w.a.m. cypers declamation--work while master albert pryor you work dialogue--the miser mr. c.c. riley and mr. charles hurtt, jr. declamation--pretty pictures miss cally sanders declamation--into the sunshine miss mollie jackson song--joy bells by the school dialogue--sharp shooting master asa richmond, scipio jordan, and miss laura a. morgan declamation--what i know master morton hurtt declamation--the side to look on miss dora frierson dialogue--the tattler miss mary alexander, miss m.a. scrugg, miss mary rose declamation--little clara miss rebecca ferguson dialogue--john williams' choice scipio jordan, h.h. gilkey and julia jackson declamation--a good rule miss lilly pryor declamation--complaint of the poor miss riley dialogue--the examination l.h. haney, jackson crawford and john richmond the end. part ii. dialogue--the maniac miss willie lane, a.c. richmond, rafe may, and master a. pryon dialogue--father, dear father; or the fruits of drunkenness john e. bush, w.a.m. cypers, wm. emery, miss coren winfrey, miss maggie green, and others. dialogue--an awakening miss mollie pryor and miss annie richmond dialogue--betsy and i are out alex. scruggs and w.a.m. cypers declamation--lily of the valley miss mary foster dialogue--hasty judgment c.c. riley, a.c. richmond, cypers and haney declamation--the little shooter master august jackson dialogue--practical lesson miss julia jackson, and august jackson declamation--bird and the baby miss julia foster dialogue--scenes in the police court richmond, bush, and emery ballad--yankee doodle dandy j.e. bush part iii dialogue--colloquy in church alice richardson and mollie declamation--lucy gray miss alice moore dialogue--matrimony miss willie lane, m.a. scruggs, mary alexander, mr. c.c. riley dialogue--traveler morton hurtt and scipio jordan declamation--truth in parenthesis alice moore. dialogue--forty years ago ales, scruggs, and j.p. winfrey declamation--the last footfall lizzie hull declamation--gone with a john e. bush, miss maggie green, handsomer man than me and h.g. clay declamation--golden side annie richmond declamation--the union was swan jeffries saved by the colored volunteers dialogue--relief aid saving maggie scruggs, mary ross, society lizzie hull, alice moore, mary alexander, mollie pryor, annie fairchild, lizzie wind, julia jackson, j.e. bush, j.w. jackson song-dutch band a.c. richardson, wm. emery, j.h. haney, w.a.m. cypers, j.o. alexander, j.e. bush, j.w. jackson declamation--number one alice richardson declamation--what to wear, and miss coren winfrey how to wear it dialogue--a desirable j.e. bush, j.w. jackson, a.c. richmond dialogue-the little bill marion henderson, j.e. bush, miss willie lane, miss laura a. morgan, asa richmond, jr. dialogue--country aunt's visit henry jackson, misses allice and julia crawford, maggie howell, julia jackson dialogue--beauty and the beast marion henderson, julia jackson, (six scenes) laura morgan, mary scruggs, mary ross, coren winfrey, willie lane, lizzie wind, alice crawford, j.e. bush, j.p. winfrey dialogue--how not to get m.a. scruggs and mary alexander and answer declamation--the incidents of john richmond travel * * * * * interviewer's comment this program was given on one night, and the participants doubled right back the next night on another lengthy program celebrating christmas eve. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: julia white (continued) cross street, little rock, arkansas age: "the commissary was on the northeast corner of third and cumberland. they used to call it the government commissary building. it took up a whole half block. mrs. farmer, the white woman, was living in what you call the old henderliter place, the building on the northwest corner, during the war. she was a union woman, and was the one that took us in when the confederate soldiers were passing and wanted to take us to texas with them. "i was so small i didn't know much about things then. when peace was declared a preacher named hugh brady, a white man, came here and he had my mother and father to marry over again. "mrs. stephens' father was one of the first school-teachers here for colored people. there were a lot of white people who came here from the north to teach. peabody school used to be called the union school. mrs. stephens has the first report of the school dated . it gives the names of the directors and all. j.h. benford was one of the northern teachers. anna ware and louise coffman and miss henley were teachers too. "mrs. stephens is the oldest colored teacher in little rock. the a-b-c children didn't want the old men to teach us. so they would teach 'lottie'--she was only twelve years old then--and she would hear our lessons. then at recess time, we would all get out and play together. she was my play mama. her father, william wallace andrews, the first pastor of wesley chapel m.e. church, was the head teacher and mr. gray was the other. they were teaching in wesley chapel church. it was then on eighth and broadway. this was before benford's time. it was just after peace had been declared. i don't know where andrews come from nor how much learning he had. most of the people then got their learning from white children. but i don't know where he got his. "wesley was his first church as far as i know. before the war all the churches were in with the white people. after freedom, they drew out. whether wesley was his first church or not, he was wesley's first pastor. i got a history of the church." "they had a real sunday-school in those days. my sister when she was a child about twelve years old said three hundred bible verses at one time and received a book as a prize. the book was named 'a wonderful deliverance' and other stories, printed by the american tract society, new york, nassau street. my sister's name was mollie jackson." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lucy white, marianna, arkansas age: "i was born on jim banks' place close to felton. his wife named miss puss. mama and all of young master's niggers was brought from mississippi. i reckon it was 'fore i was born. old master name mack banks. i never heard mama say but they was good to my daddy. they had a great big place in mississippi and a good big place over here. "i recollect seeing the soldiers prance 'long the road. i thought they looked mighty pretty. their caps and brass buttons and canteens shining in the sun. they rode the prettiest horses. one of 'em come in our house one day. he told miss puss he was goiner steal me. she say, 'don't take her off.' he give me a bundle er bread and i run in the other room and crawled under the bed 'way back in the corner. it was dark up under there. i didn't eat the bread then but i et it after he left. it sure was good. i didn't recollect much but seeing them pass the road. i like to watch 'em. my parents was field folks. i worked in the field. i was raised to work. i keep my clothes clean. i washed 'em. i cooked and washed and ironed and done field work all. when i first recollect marianna, mr. lon tau and mr. free landing (?) had stores here. dr. steven (stephen?) and dr. nunnaly run a drug store here. there was a big road here. folks started building houses here and there. they called the town mary ann fo' de longest time. "well, the white folks told 'am, 'you free.' my folks worked on fer about twenty years. they'd give 'em a little sompin outer dat crap. they worked all sorter ways--that's right--they sure did. they rented and share cropped together i reckon after the war ended. "the ku klux never bothered us. i heard 'bout 'em other places. "i never voted and i never do 'sepect to now. what i know 'bout votin'? "well, i tell you, these young folks is cautions. they don't think so but they is. lazy, no'count, spends every cent they gits in their hands. some works, some work hard. they drink and carouse about all night sometimes. no ma'am, i did not do no sich er way. i woulder been ashamed of myself. i would. times what done run away wid us all now. i don't know what to look fer now but i know times changing all the time. "i gets ten dollars and some little things to eat along. i say it do help out. i got rheumatism and big stiff j'ints (enlarged wrist and knuckles)." interviewer: bernice bowden. person interviewed: david whiteman (c) age: home: n. kansas street, pine bluff, arkansas. "how de do lady. oh yes, i was a pretty good sized boy when the war started. my old marster was sponsible smith. my young marster was his son-in-law. i member 'bout the yankees and the "revels". i member when a great big troop of 'em went to war. some of 'em was cryin' and some was laughin'. i tried to get young marster to let me go with him, but he wouldn't let me. old marster was too old to go and his son dodged around and didn't go either. i member he caught hisself a wild mustang and tied hisself on it and rode off and they never did see him again. "i know when they was fightin' we use to hear the balls when they was goin' over. i used to pick up many a ball. "i wish my recollection was with me like it used to be." (at this point his wife spoke up and said "seems like since he had the flu, his mind is kinda frazzled.") "yes'm, i member the ku klux. they used to have the colored folks dodgin' around tryin' to keep out of their way." interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: dolly whiteside (c) age: home: oregon street, pine bluff, ark. "i reckon i did live in slavery times--look at my hair. "i been down sick--i been right low and they didn't speck me to live. "well, i'll tell you. i was old enough to know when they runned us to texas so the yankees couldn't overtaken us. we was in texas when freedom come, i remember i was sittin on the fence when the soldiers in them blue uniforms with gold buttons come. he said, "i come to tell you you is free". i didn't know what it was all about but everybody was sayin' "thank god". i thought it was the judgment day and i was lookin' for god. i said to myself, i'm goin' have some buttons like that some day. "colonel williams was my marster. my mother was a nurse and took care of the colored folks when they was sick. i remember when people wasn't given nothin' but blue mass, calomel, castor oil and gruel, and every body was healthier than they is now. "i'm the only one livin' that my mother birthed in this world. i was born here, but i been travelin', i been to memphis and around. "no mam, i don't remember nothin' else. i done tole you all i know." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: j.w. whitfield w. seventeenth street, little rock, arkansas age: about occupation: preacher "my father's name was luke whitfield. he was sixty-three years old when he died in . he was twenty-six years old when the civil war ended. he was a slave. there were three other boys in the family besides him. no girls. "his old mars' name was bill carraway. they lived at nubian [hw: new bern], north carolina. "my father said that his work in slavery time was blacksmithing. he had to fix the wagons and the plow too. he said that was his work during the civil war too. he worked in the confederate army too. "i remember him saying how they whipped him when he ran off. the overseer got after him to whip him and he and one of his friends ran off. as they jumped over the fence to go into the woods the old mars hit my daddy with a cat-o-nine tails. you see, they took a strap of harness leather and cut it into four thongs and then they took another and cut it into five thongs, and they tied them together. when you got one blow you got nine and when you got five blows you got forty-five. as his old mars hit him, he said. 'i got him one, sir; it was a good one too, sir, and a go-boy.'[hw: ?] but it was nine. "my father told me how they married in slavery times. they didn't count marriage like they do now. if one landowner had a girl and another wanted that girl for one of his men, they would give him her to wife. when a boy-child was born out of this marriage they would reserve him for breeding purposes if he was healthy and robust. but if he was puny and sickly they were not bothered about him. many a time if the boy was desirable, he was put on the stump and auctioned off by the time he was thirteen years old. they called that putting him on the block. different ones would come and bid for him and the highest bidder would get him. "my father spoke of a pass. that was when they wanted to see the girls they would have to get a pass from the old mars. my father would speak to his mars and get a pass. if he didn't have a pass, the other mars would give him a whipping and sent him back. i told you about how they whipped them. they used to use those cat-o-nine tails on them when they didn't have a pass. "they lived in a log cabin dobbed with dirt and their clothes were woven on a loom. they got the cotton, spun it on the spinning-wheel, wove it on the loom on rainy days. the women spun the thread and wove the cloth. for the boys from five to fifteen years old, they would make long shirts out of this cloth. the shirts had deep scallops in them. then they would take the same cloth and dye it with indigo and make pants out of it. the boys never wore those pants in the field. no young fellow wore pants until he began to court. "my mother was a girl that was sold in lenoir county, near kenston, [hw: kinston?] north carolina. my father met her in a place called buford, [hw: beaufort? carteret co.] north carolina. my father was sold several times. the owner sold her to his owner and they jumped over a broomstick and were married. my daddy's mars bought my mother for him. her name was penny." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: sarah whitmore, clarendon, arkansas age: _note_--the interviewer found this ex-slave in small quarters. the bed, the room and the negro were filthy. a fire burned in an ironing bucket, mostly papers and trash for fuel. during the visit of the interviewer a white girl brought a tray with a measuring cup of coffee and two slices of bread with butter and fruit spread between. when asked where she got her dinner she said "the best way i can" meaning somebody might bring it to her. her hands are too stiff and shaky to cook. her eye sight is so bad she cannot clean her room. two wpa county visitors, girls, bathe her at intervals. "i was born between jackson and brandon. sure i was born down in mississippi. my mother's name they tole me was rosie. she died when i was a baby. my father named richard chamber. they called him dick. he was killed direckly after the war by a white man. he was a rebel scout. the man named hodge. i seed him. he shot my father. them questions been called over to me so much i most forgot 'em. well some jes' lack 'em. my father's master was hal chambers and his wife virginia. recken i do 'member the ku klux. they scared me to death. i go under the bed every time when i see them about. then was when my father was killed. he went off with a crowd of white men. they said they was rebel scouts. all i know i never seed him no more since that evening. they killed him across the line, not far from mississippi. chambers had two or three farms. i was on the village farm. i had one brother. chambers sent him to the salt works and i never seed him no more. i was a orphant. "chambers make you work. i worked in the field. i come wid a crowd to helena. i come on a boat. i been a midwife to black and white. i used to cook some. i am master hand at ironin'. i have no children as i knows of. i never born none. i help raise some. i come on a fine big steamboat wid a crowd of people. i married in arkansas. my husband died ten or twelve years ago. i forgot which years it was. i been livin' in this bery house seben years. "the government give me $ a month. i would wash dishes but i can't see 'bout gettin' 'round no more. "don't ax me 'bout the young niggers. they too fast fo me. if i see 'em they talkin' a passel of foolish talk. whut i knows is times is hard wid me shows you born. "you come back to see me. if you don't i wanter meet you all in heaben. by, by, by." interviewer: watt mckinney person interviewed: dock wilborn a mile or so from marvell, arkansas age: dock wilborn was born a slave near huntsville, alabama on january , , the property of dan wilborn who with his three brothers, elias, sam, and ike, moved to arkansas and settled near marvell in phillips county about . according to "uncle dock" the four wilborn brothers each owning more than one hundred slaves acquired a large body of wild, undeveloped land, divided this acreage between them and immediately began to erect numerous log structures for housing themselves, their negroes, and their stock, and to deaden the timber and clear the land preparatory to placing their crops the following season. the wilborns arrived in arkansas in the early fall of the year and for several months they camped, living in tents until such time that they were able to complete the erection of their residences. good, substantial, well constructed and warm cabins were built in which to house the slaves, much better buildings "uncle dock" says than those in which the average negro sharecropper lives today on southern cotton plantations. and these negroes were given an abundance of the same wholesome food as that prepared for the master's family in the huge kettles and ovens of the one common kitchen presided over by a well-trained and competent cook and supervised by the wife of the master. during the period of slavery the more apt and intelligent among those of the younger negroes were singled out and given special training for those places in which their talents indicated they would be most useful in the life of the plantation. girls were trained in housework, cooking, and in the care of children while boys were taught blacksmithing, carpentrying, and some were trained for personal servants around the home. some were even taught to read and to write when it was thought that their later positions would require this learning. according to "uncle dock" wilborn, slaves were allowed to enjoy many pleasures and liberties thought by many in this day, especially by the descendants of these slaves, not to have been accorded them, were entirely free of any responsibility aside from the performance of their alloted labors and speaking from his own experience received kind and just treatment at the hands of their masters. the will of the master was the law of the plantation and prompt punishment was administered for any violation of established rules and though a master was kind, he was of necessity invariably firm in the administration of his government and in the execution of his laws. respect and obedience was steadfastly required and sternly demanded, while indolence and disrespect was neither tolerated or permitted. in refutation to often repeated expressions and beliefs that slaves were cruelly treated, provided with insufficient food and apparel and subjected to inhuman punishment, it is pointed out by ex-slaves themselves that they were at that time very valuable property, worth on the market no less than from one thousand to fifteen hundred dollars each for a healthy, grown negro and that it is unreasonable to suppose that these slaveowners did not properly safeguard their investments with the befitting care and attention such valuable property demanded or that these masters would by rule or action bring about any condition adversely effecting the health, efficiency or value of their slaves. the spiritual and religious needs of the slaves received the attention of the same minister who attended the like needs of the master and his family, and services were often conducted on sunday afternoons exclusively for them at which times the minister exhorted his congregation to live lives of righteousness and to be at all times obedient, respectful and dutiful servants in the cause of both their earthly and heavenly masters. in the days of slavery, on occasion of the marriage of a couple in which the participants were members of slave-owning families, it was the custom for the father of each to provide the young couple with several negroes, the number of course depending on the relative wealth or affluence of their respective families. it seems, however, that no less than six or eight grown slaves were given in most instances as well as a like number of children from two to four years of age. this provision on the part of the parents of the newly-wedded pair was for the purpose as "uncle dock" expressed it to give them a "start" of negroes. the children were not considered of much value at such an age and the young master and his wife found themselves possessed with the responsibility attached to their proper care and rearing until such time as they reached the age at which they could perform some useful labor. these responsibilities were bravely accepted and such children received the best of care and attention, being it is said often kept in a room provided for than in the master's own house where their needs could be administered to under the watchful eye and supervision of their owners. the food given these young children according to informants consisted mainly of a sort of gruel composed of whole milk and bread made of whole wheat flour which was set before them in a kind of trough and from which they ate with great relish and grew rapidly. slaveowners, as a rule, arranged for their negroes to have all needed pleasure and enjoyment, and in the late summer after cultivation of the crops was complete it was the custom for a number of them to give a large barbecue for their combined groups of slaves, at which huge quantities of beef and pork were served and the care-free hours given over to dancing and general merry-making. "uncle dock" recalls that his master, dan wilborn, who was a good-natured man of large stature, derived much pleasure in playing his "fiddle" and that often in the early summer evenings he would walk down to the slave quarters with his violin remarking that he would supply the music and that he wished to see his "niggers" dance, and dance they would for hours and as much to the master's own delight and amusement as to theirs. dock wilborn's "pappy" sam was in some respects disobedient, prompted mainly so it seems by his complete dislike for any form of labor and which dan wilborn due to their mutual affection appeared to tolerate for long periods or until such time that his patience was exhausted when he would then apply his lash to sam a few times and often after these periodical punishments sam would escape to the dense forests that surrounded the plantation where he would remain for days or until wilborn would enlist the aid of nat turner and his hounds and chase the negro to bay and return him to his home. "uncle dock" wilborn and his wife "aunt becky" are among the oldest citizens of phillips county and have been married for sixty-seven years. dan wilborn performed their marriage ceremony. the only formality required in uniting them as man and wife was that each jump over a broom that had been placed on the floor between them. this old couple are the parents of four children, the eldest of whom is now sixty-three. they live alone in a small white-washed cabin only a mile or so from marvell being supported only by a small pension they receive each month from the social security board. they have a garden and a few chickens and a hog or two and are happy and content as they dip their snuff and recall those days long past during which they both contend that life was at its best, "aunt becky" is religious and a staunch believer, a long-time member of mount moriah baptist church while "uncle dock" who has never been affiliated with any religious organization is yet as he terms himself "a sinner man" and laughingly remarks that he is going to ride into heaven on "aunt becky's" ticket to which comment she promptly replies that her ticket is good for only one passage and that if he hopes to get there he must arrange for one of his own. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: bell wilks, holly grove, arkansas age: "i was raised in pulaski, tennessee, giles county. the post office was at one end of the town, bout half mile was the church down at the other end. yes'm, that way pulaski looked when i lived there. my father's master was peter or jerry garn--i don't know which. they brothers? yes'm. "my mother's master was john wilks and miss betty. mama's name was callie wilks and papa's name was freeman. mama had seven children. she was a field hand. she said all on their place could do nearly anything. they took turns cooking. seems like it was a week about they took milkin', doin' house work, field work, and she said sometimes they sewed. "father told my mother one day he was going to the yankees. she didn't want him to go much. he went. they mustered out drilling one day. he had to squat right smart. he saw some cattle in the distance looked like army way off. he fell dead. they said it was heart disease. they brought him home and some of dem stood close to him drillin' told her that was way it happened. "the man what owned my mother was sorter of a yankee hisself. we all stayed till he wound up the crop. he sold his place and went to collyoka on the l. and n. railway. he give us two and one-half bushels corn, three bushels wheat, and some meat at the very first of freedom. when it played out we went and he give us more long as he stayed there. "when mama left she went to a new sorter mill town and cooked there till . she carried me to a young woman to nurse for her what she nursed at mostor wilks befo freedom. i stayed wid her till . i sure does remember dem dates. (laughed) "yes'm, i was nursin' for dr. rothrock when that ku klux scare was all bout. they coma to our house huntin' a boy. they didn't find him. i cover up my head when they come bout our house. some folks they scared nearly to death. i bein' in a strange place don't know much bout what all i heard they done. "i don't vote. i don't know who to vote for, let people vote know how. "i get bout $ and some commodities. it sure do help me out too. i tell you it sure do." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: bell williams, forrest city, arkansas age: "we was owned by master rucker. it seems i was about ten years old when the civil war started. it seems like a dream to me now. mother was a weaver. they said she was a fine weaver. she wove for all on the place and some special pieces of cloth for outsiders. she wove woolen cloth too. i don't know whether they paid for the extra weaving or not. people didn't look on money like they do now. they was free with one another about eating and visiting and work too when a man got behind with the work. the fields get gone in the grass. sometimes they would be sick or it rained too much. the neighbor would send all his slaves to work till they caught up and never charge a cent. i don't hear about people doing that way now. "my parents was named clinton and billy bell. there was nine of us children. "i never seen nobody sold. mother was darker. papa was light--half white. they didn't talk in front of children about things and i never did know. i've wondered. "after freedom my folks stayed on at master rucker's. i got to be a midwife. i nursed and was a house girl after the war. then the doctors got to sending for me to nurse and i got to be a midwife. "my father was a good bible scholar. he preached all around murfreesboro, tennessee. he was a methodist. he died when he was seventy-seven years old. he had read the bible through seventy-seven times--one time for every year old he was." mrs. mildred thompson mrs. carol graham el dorado district federal writers project union county, arkansas charley williams, ex-slave. "mawnin' missy. yo say wha aint fanny whoolah live? she live right down de road dar in dat fust house. yas'm. dat wha she live. yo say whut mah name? mah name is charley. yas'm, charley williams. did ah live in slavery time? yas'm sho' did. mah marster wuz dr. reed williams and he live at kew london (se part of union county) or ah speck ah bettuh say near new london caise he live on de mere-saline road, de way de soldiers went and come. marster died befo' de civil wah. does ah membah hit? yas'm ah say ah does. ah wuz bo'n in . mah ole mutha died befo' de wah too. huh name wuz charity. mah young marster went tuh de wah an come back. he fit at vicksburg an his name wuz bennie williams. but he daid now tho. dere was a hep uv dem white william chillun. dere wuz miss narcissi an she am a livin now at stong. den dere's mr. charley. ah wuz named fuh him. he am a livin now too. den dere is mr. race williams. he am a livin at strong too. dere wuz miss annie, miss martha jane and miss madie. dey is all daid. when young marster would come by home or any uv de udder soldiers us little niggers would steal de many balls (bullets or shot) fum dey saddul bags and play wid em. ah nevah did see so many soldiers in mah life. hit looked tuh me like dey wuz enough uv em to reach clear cross de united states. an ah nevah saw de like uv cows as they had. dey wuz nuff uv em to rech clar to camden. is ah evah been mahried and does ah have any chillun? yes'm. yas'm. ah's been mahried three times. me an mah fust wife had seven chillun. when we had six chillun me and mah wife moved tuh kansas. we had only been der days when mah wife birthed a chile and her an de chile both died. dat left me wid carey dee, lizzie, arthur, richmond, ollie and lillie to bring back home. ah mahried agin an me an dat wife had one chile name robert. me an mah third wife has three: joe verna, lula mae an johnnie b. is dey hents? ah've hearn tell uv em but nevah have seed no hants. one uv mah friens whut lived on the hommonds place at hillsboro could see em. his name wuz elliott. one time me an elliott wuz drivin along an elliott said: "charley, somebody got hole uv mah horse!" sho nuff dat horse led right off inter de woods an comminced to buckin so elliott and his hoss both saw de haint but ah couldn' see hit. yo know some people jes caint see em. yas'm right up dere is wha aint fannie live. yas'm. goodday missy." folk customs we found fannie wheeler at home but not an ex-slave. she was making a bedspread of tobacco sacks. "yas'm chillun ah'm piecing mahsef a bedspraid from dese heah backy sacks. yas'm dey sho does make er nice spraid. see dat'n on mah baid. aint hit purty. hit wuz made fum backy sacks. don yo all think dat yaller bodah (border) set hit off purty? ah'm aimin to bodah dis'n wid pink er blue. what am dat up dar in dat picture frame? why dat am plaits of har (hair). hits uv mah kin and frien's. when we would move way off dey would cut off a plait and give hit tuh us tuh membah dem by. mos' uv dem is daid now but ah still membahs dem and ah kin name evah plait now." we were told that sallie sims was an old negress and went to see her she was not an ex-slave either but she told us an interesting little story about haints and body marks "no'm, ah'm purty ole but ah wuz bo'n aftuh surrender. is ah evah seen a hant? now ah nevah did but once and mah ma said dat wuz a hant. ah wuz out in de woods waukin (walking) an ah saw sumpin dat looked lak a squirrel start up a tree and de fudder up hit got the bigger hit got an hit wuz big as a bear when hit got to de top and ma said dat hit was a haint. dat is de only time ah evah seed one. now mah granchillun can all see hants and mah little great gran' chile too. an evah one uv dem wuz bo'n wid a veil ovah dey face. now when a chile is bo'n wid a veil ovah his face--if de veil is lifted up de sho can see hants and see evah thing but if'n de veil is pulled down stid up bein lifted up de won't see em. after de veil is pulled down an taken off, wrap hit up in a tissue paper and put hit in de trunk and let hit stay dar till hit disappear and de chile won't nevah see hants. mah grandaughter what lives up north in missouri come down heah to visit mah son's fambly an me ah an brang huh li'l boy wid huh. dat chile is bout seben years ole an dat chile could see hants all in de house an he wouldn' go tuh baid till his gran'pappy come home an went tuh baid wid him." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: charlie williams brassfield; ark. age: "i was born four miles from holly springs, mississippi. my parents was named patsy and tom williams. they had twenty children. nat williams and miss carrie williams owned them both. they had four children. "at freedom he was nice as could be--wanted em to stay on with him and they did. he didn't whip em. they liked that in him. his wife was dead and he come out to arkansas with us. he died at lonoke--mr. tom williams at lonoke. "i farmed nearly all my life. i worked on a steamboat on white river five or six years--_the ralph_. "i never saw a ku klux. mr. williams kept us well protected. "my mother's mother couldn't talk plain. my mother talked tolerably plain. she was a 'molly glaspy' woman. my father had a loud heavy voice; you could hear him a long ways off. "i have no home. i am a widower. i have no land. i get a small check and commodities. "i vote. i haven't voted in a long time. i'm not educated to know how that would serve us best." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: columbus williams temporary: howard street, little rock, arkansas permanent: box , route , ouachita county, stevens, arkansas age: "i was born in union county, arkansas, in , in mount holly. "my mother was named clora tookes. my father's name is jordan tookes. bishop tookes is supposed to be a distant relative of ours. i don't know my mother and father's folks. my mother and father were both born in georgia. they had eight children. all of them are dead now but me. i am the only one left. "old ben heard was my master. he come from mississippi, and brought my mother and father with him. they were in mississippi as well as in georgia, but they were born in georgia. ben heard was a right mean man. they was all mean 'long about then. heard whipped his slaves a lot. sometimes he would say they wouldn't obey. sometimes he would say they sassed him. sometimes he would say they wouldn't work. he would tie them and stake them out and whip them with a leather whip of some kind. he would put five hundred licks on them before he would quit. he would buy the whip he whipped them with out of the store. after he whipped them, they would put their rags on and go on about their business. there wouldn't be no such thing as medical attention. what did he care. he would whip the women the same as he would the men. "strip 'em to their waist and let their rags hang down from their hips and tie them down and lash them till the blood ran all down over their clothes. yes sir, he'd whip the women the same as he would the men. "some of the slaves ran away, but they would catch them and bring them back, you know. put the dogs after them. the dogs would just run them up and bay them just like a coon or 'possum. sometimes the white people would make the dogs bite them. you see, when the dogs would run up on them, they would sometimes fight them, till the white people got there and then the white folks would make the dogs bite them and make them quit fighting the dogs. "one man run off and stayed twelve months once. he come back then, and they didn't do nothin' to him. 'fraid he'd run off again, i guess. "we didn't have no church nor nothing. no sunday-schools, no nothin'. worked from monday morning till saturday night. on sunday we didn't do nothin' but set right down there on that big plantation. couldn't go nowhere. wouldn't let us go nowhere without a pass. they had the paterollers out all the time. if they caught you out without a pass, they would give you twenty-five licks. if you outrun them and got home, on your master's plantation, you saved yourself the whipping. "the black people never had no amusement. they would have an old fiddle--something like that. that was all the music i ever seen. sometimes they would ring up and play 'round in the yard. i don't remember the games. sing some kind of old reel song. i don't hardly remember the words of any of them songs. "wouldn't allow none of them to have no books nor read nor nothin'. nothin' like that. they had corn huskin's in mississippi and georgia, but not in arkansas. didn't have no quiltin's. women might quilt some at night. didn't have nothin' to make no quilts out of. "the very first work i did was to nurse babies. after that when i got a little bigger they carried me to the field--choppin' cotton. then i went to picking cotton. next thing--pullin' fodder. then they took me from that and put me to plowin', clearin' land, splittin' rails. i believe that is about all i did. you worked from the time you could see till the time you couldn't see. you worked from before sunrise till after dark. when that horn blows, you better git out of that house, 'cause the overseer is comin' down the line, and he ain't comin' with nothin' in his hand. "they weighed the rations out to the slaves. they would give you so many pounds of meat to each working person in the family. the children didn't count; they didn't git none. that would have to last till next sunday. they would give them three pounds of meat to each workin' person, i think. they would give 'em a little meal too. that is all they'd give 'em. the slaves had to cook for theirselves after they come home from the field. they didn't get no flour nor no sugar nor no coffee, nothin' like that. "they would give the babies a little milk and corn bread or a little molasses and bread when they didn't have the milk. some old person who didn't have to go to the field would give them somethin' to eat so that they would be out of the way when the folks come out of the field. "the slaves lived in old log houses--one room, one door, _one window_, one everything. there were _plenty windows_ though. there were windows all [hw: ?] around the house. they had cracks that let in more air than the windows would. they had plank floors. didn't have no furniture. the bed would have two legs and would have a hole bored in the side of the house where the side rail would run through and the two legs would be out from the wall. didn't have no springs and they made out with anything they could git for a mattress. master wouldn't furnish them nothin' of that kind. "the jayhawkers were white folks. they didn't bother we all much. that was after the surrender. they go 'round here and there and git after white folks what they thought had some money and jerk them 'round. they were jus' common men and soldiers. "i was not in the army in the war. i was right down here in union county then. i don't know just when they freed me but it was after the war was over. the old white man call us up to the house and told us now we was free as he was; that if we wanted to stay with him it was all right, if we didn't and wanted to go away anywheres, we could have the privilege to do it. "marriage wasn't like now. you would court a woman and jus' go on and marry. no license, no nothing. sometimes you would take up with a woman and go on with her. didn't have no ceremony at all. i have heard of them stepping over a broom but i never saw it. far as i saw there was no ceremony at all. "when the slaves were freed they expected to get forty acres and a mule. i never did hear of anybody gettin' it. "right after the war, i worked on a farm with ben heard. i stayed with him about three years, then i moved off with some other white folks. i worked on shares. first i worked for half and he furnished a team. then i worked on third and fourth and furnished my own team. i gave the owner a third of the corn and a fourth of the cotton and kept the rest. i kept that up several years. they cheated us out of our part. if they furnished anything, they would sure git it back. had everything so high you know. i have farmed all my life. farmed till i got so old i couldn't. i never did own my own farm. i just continued to rent. "i never had any trouble about voting. i voted whenever i wanted to. i reckon it was about three years after the war when i began to vote. "i never went to school. one of the white boys slipped and learned me a little about readin' in slave time. right after freedom come, i was a grown man; so i had to work. i married about four or five years after the war. i was just married once. my wife is not living now. she's gone. she's been dead for about twelve years. "i belong to the a.m.e. church and my membership is in the new home church out in the country in ouachita county." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: frank williams county hospital, ward eleven, little rock, arkansas age: , or more "i'm a hundred years old. i know i'm a hundred. i know from where they told me. i don't know when i was born. "i been took down and whipped many a time because i didn't do my work good. they took my pants down and whipped me just the same as if i'd been a dog. sometimes they would whip the people from saturday night till monday morning. "i run off with the yankees. i was young then. i was in the civil war. i don't know how long i stayed in the army. i ain't never been back home since. i wish i was. i wouldn't be in this condition if i was back home. "mississippi was my home. i come up here with the yankees and i ain't never been back since. laconia, mississippi was the place i used to be down there. i been wanting to go home, but i couldn't git off. i want to git you to write there for me. i belong to the baptist church. write to the elders of the church. i belong to the mission baptist church on the other side of rock creek here. "they just lived in log houses in slave time. "i want to go back home. they made me leave laconia. "pateroles!! oh, my god!!! i know 'nough 'bout them. child, i've heard 'em holler, 'run, nigger, run! the pateroles will catch you.' "the jayhawkers would catch people and whip them. "i would be back home yet if they hadn't made me come away. "they didn't have no church in slavery time. they jus' had to hide around and worship god any way they could. "i used to live in laconia. i ain't been back there since the war. i want to go back to my folks." interviewer's comment frank williams is like a man suffering from amnesia. he is the first old man that i have interviewed whose memory is so far gone. he remembers practically nothing. he can't tell you where he was born. he can't tell you where he lived before he came to little rock. only when his associates mention some of the things he formerly told them can he remember that little of his past that he does state in any remote approach to detail. there is a strong emotional set which relates to his slave time experiences. the emotion surges up in his mind at any mention of slave time matters. but only the emotion remains. the details are gone forever. names, times, places, happenings are gone forever. he does not even recall the name of his father, the name of his mother, or the name of any of his relatives or masters, or old-time friends. no single definite thing rises above the horizon of his mind and defines itself clearly to him. and always after every sentence he utters, there rises the old refrain: "i want to go back home. i wouldn't be in this condition if i was back home. i live in laconia. they made me come away." and that is the substance of the story he remembers. interviewer: thomas elmore lucy person interviewed: gus williams, russellville, arkansas age: "was you lookin' for me t'oder day? sure, my name's williams--gus williams--not wilson. dey gits me mixed up wid dat young guy, wilson. "yes, i remembers you--sure--talks to yo' brother sometimes. "i was born in chatham county, georgia--savannah is de county seat. my marster's name was jim williams. never seen my daddy cause de yankees carried him away durin' de war, took him away to de north. old marster was good to his slaves, i was told, but don't ricollect anything about em. of course i was too young. was born on christmas day, --but i don't see anything specially interestin' in bein' a christmas present; never got me nothin', and never will. "was workin' on wpa--this big tech. buildin'--but got laid off t'other day. "my mamma brought us to arkansas in , but we stopped and lived for several years in tennessee. worked for twelve years out of memphis on the old anchor line steamboats on de mississippi, runnin' from st. louis to n'orleans. plenty work in dem days. "no, i ain't voted in a long time; can't afford to vote because i never have the dollar. no dollar--no vote. depression done fixed my votin'. "jest me and my wife, but it takes pluggin' away to get along. we belongs to the c.m.e. church since . i was janitor at the west ward school for seven years, and sure liked dat job. "don't ask me anything about dese boys and gals livin' today. much difference in dem and de young folks livin' in my time as between me and you. no dependence to be put in em. my _estimony_ is dat de black servants today workin' for de whites learns things from dem white girls dat dey never knowed before, and den goes home and does things dey never done before. "don't ricollect many of de old-time songs, but one was somep'n like--"am i born to die?" and--oh, yes,--lots of times we sung 'amazin' grace, how sweet de soun' dat saves a _race_ like me.' "no suh, i ain't got no education--never had a chance to git one." note: the underscored words are actual quotations. "estimony" for "opinion" was a characteristic in gus' vocabulary; "race" for the original "wretch" in the song may have been a general error in some local congregations. interviewer: pernella m. anderson person interviewed: henrietta williams b. avenue, el dorado, arkansas age: about "i am about years old. i was born in georgia down in the cotton patch. i did not know much about slavery, for i was raised in the white folks' house, and my old mistress called me her little nigger, and she didn't allow me to be whipped and drove around. i remember my old master whipped me one time and old mistress fussed with him so much he never did whip me any more. "i never had to get out and do any real hard work until i was nearly grown. my mother did not have but one child. my father was sold from my mother when i was about two years old and he was carried to texas and i did not see him any more until i was years old. so my mother married again when she was set free. i didn't stay with my mother very much. she stayed off in a little log house with a dirt floor, and she cooked on the fireplace with a skillet and lid, and the house had one window with a shutter. she had to cut logs and roll them like a man and split rails and plow. i would sometimes ask old mistress to let me go out where my mother was working to see her plow and when i got to be a big girl about nine years she began learning me how to plow. "i often told the niggers the white folks raised me. the niggers tell me, 'yes, the white folks raise you but the niggers is going to kill you.' "after freedom my mistress and master moved to louisiana. they farmed. they owned a big plantation. i did the housework. "the biggest snow i remember was the big centennial snow. oh, that's been years ago. the snow was so deep you couldn't get out of the house. the boys had to take the shovel and the hoe and keep the snow raked away from around the door. "there was a big old oak tree that stood in the corner of the yard. people say that tree was a hundred years old. we could not get no wood, so master had the boys to cut the big old oak tree for wood. "rabbits had a scant time. the boys would go out and track six or eight rabbits at a time. we had rabbits of all descriptions. we had rabbits for breakfast, rabbits for dinner, rabbits for supper time. we had fried rabbits, baked rabbits, stewed rabbits, boiled rabbits. had rabbits, rabbits, rabbits the whole six or eight weeks the snow stayed on the ground. "i remember when i was about twelve years old a woman had two small children. she went away from home and for fear that the children would get hurt on the outside she put them in the house and locked the door. in some way they got a match and struck it and the house caught fire. all the neighbors were a long ways off and by the time they reched the house it had fallen in. finally the mother came and looked for her children and asked the neighbors did they save them. they said no, they did not know they were in the house. in fact they were too late anyway. so the fire was still hot and they had to wait for the ashes to cool and when the ashes got cool they went looking for the children and found the burned buttons that were on their little clothes, so they began raking around in the ashes and at last found each of their little hearts that had not burned, but the little hearts were still jumping and the man who found the hearts picked them up in his hand and stood speechless. he became so nervous he could not move. their little hearts just quivered. they let their hearts lay out for a couple of days and when they buried their hearts they was still jumpin'. that was a sad time. from that day to this day i never lock no one up in the house." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: henry andrew (tip) williams biscoe, arkansas age: born in , "i was born three and one-half miles from jackson, north carolina. i was born a slave. i was put to work at six years old. they started me to cleaning off new ground. i thinned corn on my knees with my hands. we planted six or seven acres of cotton and got four or five cents a pound. balance we planted was something to live on. my master was jason and betsy williams. he had a small plantation; the smaller the plantation the better they was to their slaves. "jim johnson's farm joined. he had nine hundred ninety-nine niggers. it was funny but every time a nigger was born one died. when he bought one another one would die. he was noted as having nine hundred ninety-nine niggers. it happened that way. he was rough on his place. he had a jail on his place. it was wood but close built. couldn't get out of there. put them in there and lock them up with a big padlock. he kept a male hog in the jail to tramp and walk over them. they said they kept them tied down in that place. five hundred lashes and shot 'em up in jail was light punishment. they said it was light brushing. i lived up in the piney woods. it was big rich bottom plantations from weldon bridge to halifax down on the river. they was rough on 'em, killed some. no, i never seen jim johnson to know him. he lived at edenton, north carolina. i recollect mighty well the day he died we had a big storm, blowed down big trees. that jail was standing when i come to arkansas forty-seven years ago. it was a 'bill brew' (stocks) they put men in when they put them in jail. turned male hog in there for a blind. "part of jim johnson's overseers was black and part white. hatterway was white and nat was black. they was the head overseers and both bad men. i could hear them crying way to our place early in the morning and at night. "lansing kahart owned grandma when i was a little boy. "they took hands in droves one hundred fifty miles to richmond to sell them. richmond and new orleans was the two big selling blocks. my uncle was sold at richmond and when i come to arkansas he was living at helena. i never did get to see him but i seen his two boys. they live down there now. i don't know how my uncle got to helena but he was turned loose down in this country at 'mancipation. they told me that. "when a man wanted a woman he went and axed the master for her and took her on. that is about all there was to it. no use to want one of the women on jim johnson's, debrose, tillery farms. they kept them on their own and didn't want visitors. they was big farms. kershy had a big farm. "the yankees never went to my master's house a time. the black folks knowd the yankees was after freedom. they had a song no niggers ever made up, 'i wanter be free.' "my master was too old to go to war but bill went. i think it was better times in slavery than now but i'm not in favor of bringing it back on account of the cruelty and dividing up families. my master was good to us. he was proud of us. we fared fine. he had a five or six horse farm. his land wasn't strong but we worked and had plenty. mother cooked for white and colored. we had what they et 'cepting when company come. when they left we got scraps. then when christmas come we had cakes and pies stacked up setting about for us to cut. they cut down through a whole stack of pies. cut them in halves and pass them among us. we got hunks of cake a piece. we had plain eating er plenty all the time. you see i'm a big man. i wasn't starved out till i was about grown, after the war was over. times really was hard. hard, hard times come on us all. "mama got one whooping in her life. i seen that. jason williams whipped only two grown folks in my life, mama and my brother. mama sassed her mistress or that what they called it then. since then i've heard worse jawing not called sassing, call it arguing now. sassing was a bad trait in them days. brother was whooped in the field. he was seven years older than me. i didn't see none of that. they talked a right smart about it. "the williams was good to us all. master's wife heired two women and a girl. mama cooked, ironed, and worked in the field in time of a push (when necessary). "i was hauling for the rebel soldiers one rainy evening. it was dark and lightning every now and then. general ransom was at the hotel porch when sherman turned the bend one mile to come in the town. it was about four o'clock in the evening i judge. general ransom's company was washing at boom's mill three miles. about one thousand men was out there cooking and in washing, resting. general ransom went hollering, 'yankees!' went to his men. they got away i reckon. sherman killed sixty men in that town i know. general ransom went on his horse hollering, 'yankees coming!' he went to his home eight miles from there. they went on through rough as could be. "i hauled when it was so dark the team had to take me in home at night. my circuit was ten miles a day. "my young master bill williams come in april soon as he got home and told us we was free but didn't have to leave. we stayed on and worked. he said he had nothing but the land and we had nothing. at the end of the year he paid off in corn and a little money. us boys left then and mother followed us about. we ain't done no better since then. we didn't go far off. "forty-seven years ago i went to weldon, north carolina in a wagon, took the train to gettysburg and from there come to biscoe, arkansas. i been about here ever since. mr. biscoe paid our way. we worked three years to pay him back. i cleared good money since i cone out here. i had cattle i owned and three head of horses all my own. age crept up on me. i can't work to do much good now. i gets six dollars--welfare money. "times is a puzzle to me. i don't know what to think. things is got all wrong some way but i don't know whether it will get straightened out or not. folks is making the times. it's the folks cause of all this good or bad. people not as good as they was forty years ago. they getting greedy." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: james williams, brinkley, arkansas age: "i come from close to montgomery, alabama. man named john g. elliott sent and got a number famlees to work his land. he was the richest man in them parts round fryers point, mississippi. i was born after the civil war. they used to say we what was raisin' up havin' so much easier time an what they had in slavery times. that all old folks could talk about. said the onlies time the slaves had to comb their hair was on sunday. they would comb and roll each others hair and the men cut each others hair. that all the time they got. they would roll the childerns hair or keep it cut short one. saturday mornin' was the time the men had to curry and trim up the horses and mules. clean out the lot and stalls. the women would sweep and scour the floors for sunday. "i haven't voted for a long time. it used to be some fun votin'. din in mississippi the whites vote one way and us the other. my father was a republican. i was too. "i have cataracts growing on my eyes. that hinders my work now. i got a little garden. it help out. i ain't got no propety no kind. "the young folks seem happy. i guess they gettin' long fine. some folks jes' lucky bout gettin' ahead and stayin' ahead. i can't tell no moren nothin' how times goiner serve this next generation they changein' all time seems lack. if the white folks don't know what goiner become of the next generation, they need not be asking a fellow lack me. i wish i did know. "i ain't been on the pwa. i don't git no help ceptin' when i can work a little for myself." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: john williams county hospital, ward , little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in in texas right in the city of dallas right in the heart of the town. after the war our owners brought us back to little rock. that is where they left from. they left here on account of the war. they run off their slaves to keep the yankees from freeing them. all the old masters were dead. but the young ones were louis fletcher, john fletcher, dick fletcher, jeff fletcher, and len fletcher. five brothers of them. their home was here in little rock. the war was going on. it went on four years and prior to the end of it i was born. "my mother's name was mary williams. my father's name was john williams. i was named after him. "it is funny how they changed their names. now, his name was john scott before he went into the army. but after he went in, they changed his name into john williams. "his master's name was scott but i don't know the other part of it. all five of the brothers was named for their mother's masters. she raised them. she always called all of them master. 'cordin' to what i hear from the old folks, when one of them come 'round, you better call him master. "in slave time, my father was a field hand, i know that. but i know more about my mother. i heard her say she was always a cook. "i heard her speak about having cruel treatment from her first masters; i don't know who they were. but after the fletchers bought them, they had a good time. they come all the way out of louisiana up here. my mother was sold from her mother and sister-sold some two or three times. she never did get no trace of her sister, but she found her grandmother in baton rouge, louisiana and brought her here. her sister's name was fannie and her grandmother's name was crecie lander. that is an indian name. i couldn't understand nothing she would say hardly. she was bright. all my folks were bright but me. my mother had hair way down her shoulders and you couldn't tell my uncle from a dago. my grandmother was a regular indian color. she spoke indian too. you couldn't understand nothing she said. "when i woke up, they had these homemade beds. i couldn't hardly describe them, but they put the sides into the posts with legs. they were stout things too what i am talkin' 'bout. they made cribs for us little children and put them under the bed. they would pull the cribs out at night and run them under the bed during the day. they called them cribs trundles. they called them trundles because they run them under the bed. for chairs and tables accordin' to what i heard my mother say, she was cook and they had everything in the big house and et pretty much what the white folks et. but we just had boxes in the cabins. "them that was in the white folks' house had pretty good meals, but them that was in the field they would feed just about like they would the hogs. they had little wooden trays and they would put little fat meat and pot-liquor and corn bread in the tray, and hominy and such as that. biscuits came just on sunday. "they had old ladies to cook for the slave children and old ladies to cook for the hands. what was in the big house stayed in the big house. all the slave men ate in one place and all the slave women ate in one place. they weren't supposed to have any food in their homes unless they would go out foraging. sometimes they would get it that way. they'd go out and steal ol' master's sweet potatoes and roast them in the fire. they'd go out and steal a hog and kill it. all of it was theirn; they raised it. they wasn't to say stealin' it; they just went out and got it. if old master caught them, he'd give 'em a little brushin' if he thought they wouldn't run off. lots of times they would run off, and if he thought they'd run off because they got a whippin', he was kinda slow to catch 'em. if one run off, he'd tell the res', 'if you see so and so, tell 'im to come on back. i ain't goin' to whip 'im.' if he couldn't do nothin' with 'em, he'd sell 'em. i guess he would say to hisself, 'i can't do nothin' with this nigger. if i can't do nothing with 'im, i'll sell him and git my money outa him.' "i have heard my mother say that some of the slaves that ran away would get destroyed by the wild animals and some of them would even be glad to come back home. right smart of them got clean away and went to free states. "after the war was over, they all was brought back here and the owners let them know they was free. they had to let them know they were free. i never heard my mother tell the details. i never heard her say just who brought her word or how it was told to her when they was freed. "i never heard her say much about the church because she was a sinner. after they was freed, i would go many a night and set down in a corner where they was having a big dance. "the pateroles and jayhawkers were bad. many of them got hurt too. they tried to hurt the niggers and sometimes the niggers hurt them. "right after the war, my folks farmed for a living. they farmed on shares. they didn't have nothing of their own. they never did get nothing out of their work. i know they didn't get a thing. they farmed at first about seven miles out from little rock, below fourche dam on the fletcher place. there ain't but one of the fletchers living now, and that is molly daniels. she is old louis fletcher's daughter. all their brothers is dead. she's owning all the land now we used to till. it's over a thousand acres. she [hw: mother] stayed down there for about twenty or thirty years. then she moved here to town. here she cooked for white folks. my mother died about forty years ago--forty-two or three years; she's been dead sometime. my wife has been dead now for twelve years. "i didn't get but a little schooling, for my father used to send me after the mules. one day the wheelbarrow had a load of bricks on it. it was upset. they had histed the bricks up on a high platform. it turned over as i was passing underneath, and one fell on me and struck my head. it was a long time after that before they would let me go to school again. after that i never got used to studying any more. "my first teacher was lottie andrews (charlotte stephens). i had some more teachers too. lemme see--professor fish was a white man. we had colored teachers under him. then we had r.b. white. he was reuben white's brother. r.b. white's wife was a teacher. professor fish was the superintendent. there ain't no truth to the tale that reuben white was put in a coffin before he was dead. reuben white built the first baptist church here and milton white built a big church in helena. they were brothers. them was two sharp darkies. "when i first started working, i drove teams. i raised crops a while and farmed. then i left the country and come to town and got up to be a quarry man for years. then i quit that and went to driving teams for the merchant transfer company for years. then i quit that and run on the road--the mountain--for four years. then i taken a coal chute on the rock island and run it for four years. then i quit and went to working as an all-'round man in the shop. i stayed with them about nine years. then i taken down in the shape that i am now. "i have been out here to this hospital for twenty-four years going on twenty-five. been down so that i couldn't hit a lick of work for twenty-five years. i have been in this building for eleven years. i get along tolerable fair. as the old man says, we can just live. "i think the young people are going wild and if something isn't done to head them off pretty soon, they'll go too far. they ain't looking at what's going on up the road; they just call theirselves having a good time. they ain't looking to have nothing. they ain't looking to be nothing. they ain't looking to get nothing for the future. don't know what they would do if they had to work part of the time for nothing like we did. i see men working now for ten dollars a month. i could take a fishing line and go fishing and beat that when i was young. times is getting back almost as hard as they used to be. "i am a christian. i belong to shiloh baptist church in north little rock. i helped build that church. brother hawkins was the pastor." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lillie williams, madison, arkansas age: "i was born some place down in mississippi. my papa's papa come from georgia. he had a tar kiln; he cut splinters put them on it. it would smoke blackest smoke and drip for a week. he used it to grease the hubs of the wagons. we drunk pine tar tea for coughs. he split rails, made boards and shingles all winter. he had a draw-knife, a mall and wedges to use in his work. he learned that where he come from in georgia. he sold boards, pailings when i can recollects. grandma made tallow candles for everybody on our place in the fall when they killed the first yearling. they cooked up beeswax when they robbed bees. when i was a child i picked up pine knots for torches to quilt and knit by. we raised everything we lived on. i pulled sage grass to cure for brooms. grandpa planted some broom corn and we swept the yards and lots with brooms made out of brush. "grandma kept a barrel to make locust and persimmon beer in. we dried apples and peaches all summer and put chinaberry seed 'mongst them to keep out worms. "if we rode to church, it was in a steer wagon (ox wagon). our oxen named buck, brandy barley. "grandma raised me, two more girls, and a boy. mama worked out. our pa died. mama worked 'mongst the white folks. grandma was old-timey. she made our dresses to pick cotton in every summer. they was hot and stubby. they looked pretty. we was proud of them. mama washed and ironed. she kept us clean, too. grandma made us card and spin. i never could learn to spin but i was a good knitter. i could reel. i did love to hear it crack. that was a cut. we had a winding blade. we would fill the quills for our grandma to weave. grandma was mighty quiet and particular. she come from kenturkey. we all ploughed. i've ploughed and ploughed. "i had three little children to raise and now i have nine grandchildren. i got five here now to look after when their mother is out at work. i have worked. we farmed in up till and got this house paid out. (fairly good square-boxed, unpainted house--ed.) "my mother-in-law was sold in aberdeen, mississippi on a tall stump. she clem up a ladder. her ma was at the sale and said she was awful uneasy. but she was sold to folks close by. she could go to see her. "freedom come on. the colored folks slip about from place to place and whisper, 'we goiner be set free.' i think my mama left at freedom and come to twenty or twenty-two miles from oxford, mississippi. i don't know where i was born. but in mississippi somewheres. "there is something wrong about the way we are doing somehow. it is from hand to mouth. we buys too many paper sacks. they say work is hard to get. one thing now didn't used to be, you have to show the money before you can buy a thing. seem like we all gone money crazy. automobiles and silk stockings done ruined us all. white folks ought to straighten this out." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mary williams, clarendon, arkansas age: born light color "my father was a slavery man two and one-half miles from somerville, tennessee. colonel rivers owned him. argile rivers was papa's name. "he went to war. his job was hauling food to the soldiers. he lay out in the woods getting to his soldiers with provisions. he'd run hide under the feed wagon from the shot. him and old master would be together sometimes. his master died, or was hurt and died after the war a long while. "he said his master was good to him all time. they had to work hard. he raised one boy and me." [hw: ex-slave] name of interviewer: irene robertson subject: ex-slave--herbs "hant" experiences story:--information this information given by: mary williams place of residence: hazen, arkansas occupation: field worker age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] mary williams mother's name was mariah and before she married her master forced her to go wrong and she had a son by him. they all called him jim rob. he was a mulatta. then mariah married williams on general garretts farm. the rob roy farm and the garrett farm joined. mary was born at rob roy, arkansas near humphrey. mary said the master married her mother and father after her mother was stood up on a stump and auctioned off. her mother was a house girl. soon there were rumors of freedom but their family lived on where they were. her father said when he was a boy he attended the draw bars and met the old master to get a ride up behind him. once when her father was real small he was eating biscuit with a hole in it made by a grown person sticking finger down in it, then fill the hole with molasses. that was a rarity they had just cooked molasses. he was sitting in front of the fire place. big white bobby stuck his nose and mouth to take a bite of his bread. he picked the cat up and threw it in the fire. the cat ran out, smutty, just flying. the old mistress came in there and got after him about throwing the cat in the fire. one time when my father was going to see my mother. before they got married, across the field. he had a bag of potatoes. he felt something, felt like some one had caught his bag and was pulling him back. he was much off a man and thought he could whip nearly every body around but he was too scared to run and couldn't hardly get away. * * * * * mary's mother, mariah two children had been gone off. they were coming in on the boat some time in the night. the master sent two of the big boys down to build a fire and wait at the landing till they came. they went in the wagon. there was an old empty house up on the hill. so they went up there and built a fire and put their quilts down for pallets by the fire place. they heard hants outside, they peeped out the log cracks. they saw something white out there all the doors were buttoned and propped. when the boat came it blew and blew. the master wondered what in the world was the matter down there. the captian said he hated to put them out and nobody to meet them. it was after midnight. so some of the boat crew built them a fire and next morning when they got up on the hill they noticed somebody asleep as they peeped through the cracks and called them. saw their wagon and knew it too. they said they was afraid of them hants around the house, too afraid to go down to the boat landing if they did hear the boat. hants can't be seen in daytime only by people "what born with veils over their faces." her father was going to mill to have corn ground. it was before day light. he was driving an ox wagon. in front of him he saw a sweet maple limb moving up and down over the road in front of him. he went on and the ox butted and kicked at it and it followed them nearly to the mill. it sounded like somebody crying. it turned and went back still crying. her father said there were hants up in the tree and cut the limb off and followed him carrying it between themselves so he couldn't see what they looked like. * * * * * it is a sign of death for a hoot owl to come hollow in your yard. * * * * * interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mary williams north hickory, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes mam, i sure would be glad to talk to you 'bout slavery times. i can sure tell about it--i certainly can, lady. "i am so proud 'bout my white folks 'cause they learned me how to work and tell the truth. i had a good master and mistress. yes'm, i sure did. "i was borned in middle georgia and i just love the name of georgia. i was the second born of 'leven children and they is all dead 'cept me--i'm the only one left to tell the tale. "when the ginnin' started i was always glad 'cause i could ride the crank they had the mules hitched to. and then after the cotton was ginned they took it to the press and you could hear that screw go z-m-m-m and dreckly that 'block and tickle' come down. yes mam, i sure did have good times. "you ain't never seen a spinnin' wheel has you? well, i used to card and spin. i never did weave but i hope dye the hanks. they weaved it into cloth and called it muslin. "i can 'member all i want to 'bout the war. i 'member when the yankees come through georgia. i walked out in the yard with 'em and my white people just as scared of 'em as they could be. i heered the horses feet, then the drums, and then 'bout twenty-five or thirty bugles. i was so amazed when the yankees come. i heered their songs but i couldn't 'member 'em. "one thing i 'member jest as well as if 'twas this mornin'. that was the day young master henry lee went off to war. elisha pearman hired him to go and told him that when the war ceasted he would give him two or three darkies and let him marry his daughter. young master henry (he was just eighteen) he say he goin' to take old lincoln the first thing and swing him to a limb and let him play around awhile and then shoot his head off. but i 'member the morning old mistress got a letter that told how young master henry was in a pit with the soldiers and they begged him not to stick his head up but he did anyway and they shot it off. old mistress jest cry so. "one thing i know, the yankees took a lot of things. i 'member they took mrs. fuller to the well and said they goin' hang her by the thumbs--but they just done it for mischievous you know. they didn't take nothin' from my white people 'cept some chickens and a hog, and cut down the hams. they put the old rooster in the sack and he went to squawkin' so they took him out and wrung his neck. "my white people used to carry me with 'em anywhere they go. that's how come i learn so much. i sure did learn a heap when i was small. i 'member the first time my old mistress and my young mistress carried me to church. when the preacher got through preachin' (he was a big fine lookin' man with white gray hair) he come down from the pulpit and say 'come to me, you sinners, poor and needy.' and he told what jesus said to nicodemus how he must be born again. i wanted to go to the mourners' bench so bad, but old mistress wouldn't let me. when i got home i told my mother to borned me again. you see i was jest little and didn't know no better. "i never seen no ku klux but i could have. they never bothered us but they whipped the shirttails off some of 'em. some darkies is the meanest things god ever put breath in. "most generally the white folks was good to their darkies. my young master used to sneak out his blue back speller and learned my father how to read, and after the war he taught school. he started me off and then a teacher from the north come down and taught us. "i've done pitty near every kind a work there is to do. there is some few white people here can identify me. i most always work for 'ristocratic people. it seems that was just my luck. "i don't think nothin' of this here younger generation. they ain't nothin' to 'em. they say to me 'why don't you have your hair straightened' but i say 'i've got along this far without painted jaws and straight hair.' and i ain't goin' wear my dresses up to my knees or trail 'em in the mud, either. "i been married four times and every one of 'em is dead and buried. my las' husband was in the spanish-american war and now i gets a pension. yes'm it sure does help. "i only had two children is all i is had. they is both dead and when god took my last one, i thought he wasn't jest but i see now god knows what's best cause if i had my grandchildren now i'd sure beat 'em. i'd love 'em, but i sure wouldn't let 'em run around. "the biggest part of these niggers puts their mistakes on the white folks. it's easier to do right than wrong cause right whips wrong every time into a frazzle. "i don't read much now since my eyes ain't so good but tell me whatever become of teddy roosevelt? "i'm sorry i can't offer you no dinner but i'm just cookin' myself some peas. "well, lady, i sure am glad you come. i jest knew the lord was goin' send somebody for me to talk to. i loves to talk so well. good bye and come back again sometime." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mary williams hickory, pine bluff, arkansas age: [tr: apparently a second interview with same person despite age discrepancy.] "yes ma'am, i know all about slavery. i'll be eighty-four the twenty-fifth of this month. i was born in . "my mother had eleven children and they all said i could remember the best of all. i'm the second oldest. and they all dead but me. "i used to spin and on friday i'd set aside my wheel and on saturday morning we'd sweep yards. and saturday evening was our holiday. "i belonged to the lees and my white folks was good to me. i was the aptest one among 'em, so they'd give me a basket and a ginger cake and i'd go to the presly's after squabs. they'd be just nine days old 'cause they said if they was any older they'd be tough. "now, when the yankees come through ever'body was up in the house 'cept me. i was out in the yard with the yankees. no, i wasn't scared of 'em--i had better sense. "this is all the 'joyment i have now is to think back in slavery times. "in slavery times white folks used to carry me to church. they'd carry me to church in preference to anybody else. when they'd sing i'd be so happy i'd hop and skip. i'm one of the stewardess sisters of st. john's methodist church. we takes care of the sacrament table. "i believe in visions. i'm a great revisionist. i don't have to be asleep either. now if i see a vision of a black snake, it's a sign i got a black enemy. and if it's a light colored snake, it's a sign i got a white enemy. and if it's a kinda of a yellow snake, i got a enemy is a yellow nigger. "now, here's a true sign of death. if you dream of seen' nakedness, somebody sure goin' to die in your family or maybe your neighbors'. "in slavery times they mostly wove their own dresses. wove goods called muslin. "and they wore bonnets in slavery times made out of bull rush grass. called 'em bull rush bonnets. i knowed how to weave but they had me spinnin' all the time. "i've always worked for the 'ristocrat white people--lawyers, doctors, and bankers. mr. frank head was cashier of that old merchant and planters bank. he was a northern man. oh, from away up north. "when i cooked, the greatest trouble i had was gettin' away. nobody wanted me to leave. and i tell you those northern ladies wanted to call me mrs. williams. i'd say, 'don't do that. you know these southern people don't like that--don't believe in that.' but you know she would call me miss mary. but i said, 'don't do that.' "i'm just an old darky and can't 'spress myself but i try to do what's right and i think that's the reason the lord has let me live so long." interviewer's comment husband was a soldier in the spanish-american war and she receives a pension. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: rosena hunt williams r.f.d., brinkley, arkansas age: "my mother was amanda mcvey. she was born two years, six months after freedom in corinth, mississippi. my father was born in slavery. grandma lived with us at her death. her name was emily mcvey. she was sold in her girlhood days. uncle george was sold to a man in the settlement named lee. his name was joe lee (lea?). another of my uncles was sold to a man named washington. his name was george washington. they were sold at different times. being sold was their biggest dread. some of them wanted to be sold trusting to be treated better. "mother and grandma didn't have a hard time like my father said he come up under. he said he was brought up hard. he was raised (reared) at jackson, tennessee. he was never sold. master alf hunt owned him and his young master, willie hunt, inherited him. he said they never put him in the field till he was twelve years old. he started ploughing a third part of a day. a girl about grown and another boy a little older took turns to do a 'buck's' (a grown man) work. they was lotted of a certain tract and if it stay clear a certain time to get it all done. he said they got whooped and half fed. when the war was on, his white folks had to half feed their own selves. he talked like if the war had lasted much longer it would been a famine in the land. he hit this world in time to have a hard time of it. after freedom was worse time in his life. "in august when the crops was laid by master hunt called them to the house at one o'clock by so many taps of the farm bell. it hung in a great big tree. he read a paper from his side porch telling them they free. they been free several months then and didn't a one of them know it." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: "soldier" williams, forrest city, arkansas age: "my name is william ball williams iii. i was born in greensburg. my owners was robert and mary ball. they had four children i knowd. old man ball bought ma and two children for one thousand five hundred dollars. i never was sold. i want to live to be a hundred years old. i'm ninety-eight years old now. "ma was margarett ball. pa was william anderson. ma was a cook and pa a field hand. they whooped a plenty on the place where i come up. some of 'em run off. some they tied to a tree. bob ball didn't use no dogs. when they got starved out they'd come outen the woods. of course they would. bob ball raised fine tobacco, fine negroes, fine horses. he made us go to church. four or five of us would walk to the white folks' baptist church. the master and his family rode. it was a good piece. we had dances in the cabins every once in a while. we dance more in winter time so we could turn a pot down in the door to drown out the noise. we had plenty plain grub to eat. "i run away to louisville to j'ine the yankees one day. i was scared to death all the time. they put us in front to shield themselves. they said they was fighting for us--for our freedom. piles of them was killed. i got a flesh wound. i'm scarred up some. we got plenty to eat. i was in two or three hot battles. i wanted to quit but they would catch them and shoot them if they left. i didn't know how to get out and get away. i mustered out at jacksonville, florida and walked every step of the way back. when i got back it was fall of the year. my folks still at my master's. i was on picket guard at jacksonville, florida. we fought a little at pensacola, florida. "at the end of the war provisions got mighty scarce. if we didn't have enough to eat we took it. they hadn't raised nothing to eat the last two years. before i got back to kentucky the ku klux was about and it was hard to get enough to eat to keep traveling on. i was scared nearly to death all the time. i'm not in favor of war. i didn't stay on with the master but my folks lived on. they didn't want to hire negro soldiers. i traveled about hunting a good place and got to osceola, arkansas. i been here in forrest city twenty ard years. the best people in the world live in arkansas. "i'm going to try to go to the yankee reunion. they sent me a big letter (invitation). they going to send me a ticket and pay all my expenses. it is at gettysburg. it is from june th to july th. my grandson is going to take care of me. "i get one hundred dollars a month pension. it keeps us mighty well. i want to live to be a hundred years old." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: anna williamson, holly grove, arkansas age: between and "grandma come from north carolina. her master was rodes herndon, then cager booker. he owned my mama. my name is anna booker. i married wes williamson. "my papa's master was calvin winfree. he come from virginia. me and bert winfree (white) raised together close to somerville, tennessee. "grandma and grandpa was named maria and allen. her master was rodes herndon. i was fourth to the oldest of mama's children. she give me to grandma. that who raised me. mama took to the field after freedom. mama had seven or eight children. "mama muster been a pretty big sorter woman when she young. a ridin' boss went to whoopin' her once and she tore every rag clothes he had on offen him. i heard em say he went home strip start naked. i think they said he got turned off or quit, one. "when mama was in slavery she had three girl babies and long wid them she nursed some of the white babies. she cooked some but wasn't the regular white folks' cook. another black woman was the regular cook. i heard her say she was a field hand mostly durin' slavery. "folks was free two or three years fore they knowed it. nobody told em. "i used to have to go up the road to get milk for the old mistress. she boxed my ears. that when i was a child reckly after the war. "they had a latch and a hart bar cross the door. i never was out but once after dark. i never seen no ku klux. my folks didn't know they was free. "dr. washington lived in somerville, tennessee and brought us to arkansas to farm. he owned acres and acres of land here. i was grown and had a house full of children. i got five living now. "i don't vote. i don't know who to vote for. i would vote for the worst kinder officers maybe and i wouldn't wanter make times harder on us all 'an they is. "i been cookin' and farmin' all my life. now i get $ a month from the sociable welfare. "i used to pick up chips at mrs. willforms--pick up a big cotton basket piled up fore i quit. i seen the yankees, they camped at the fair grounds. i thought they wore the prettiest clothes and the brass buttons so pretty on the blue suits. i hear em beat the drum. i go peep out when they come by. "my old mistress slapped me till my eye was red cause one day i says 'ain't them men pretty?' they camped at what is now the fair grounds at somerville, tennessee, at sorter right of town. my papa was a ox driver. that is all he done bout. seem like there was haulin' to be done all the time. "the folks used to be heap better than they is now. some of the masters was mean to the slaves but they mortally had plenty to eat and wear and a house to live in. some of the houses was sorry and the snow come in the cracks but we had big fire places and plenty wood to cook and keep warm by. the children all wore flannel clothes then to keep em warm. they raised sheep. "it is a shame what folks do now. these young darky girls marries a boy and they get tired each other. they quit. they ain't got no sign of divorce! course they ain't never been married! they jes' take up and live together, then they both go on livin' with some other man an' woman. it ain't right! folks ain't good like they used to be. we old folks ain't got no use for such doin's. they done too smart to be told by us old folks. i do best i can an' be good as i knows how to be. "the times is fine as i ever seen in my life. i wish i was young and strong. i wouldn't ask nobody for sistance. tey ain't nuthin' wrong wid this year's crop as i sees. times is fine." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: callie halsey williamson, biscoe, arkansas age: ? "mother was born in alabama during slavery. her name was levisa halsey. neither of my parents were sold. mother was tranferred (transferred) to her young mistress. she had no children and still lived in the home with her people. her mother, emaline, was the cook. master bradford owned grandmother and grandfather both and my own father all. mother was the oldest and only child. "i don't know whether they was mean to all the slaves or not. seems they were not to my folks. the old man died sometime before freedom. the young master went to get a overseer. he brought a new man to take his own place. he whooped grandma and auntie and cut grandma's long hair off with his pocket-knife. "during that time grandpa slip up on the house top and take some boards off. grandma would sit up in her bed and knit by moonlight through the hole. he had to put the boards back. she had to work in the field in daytime. "during the war they were scared nearly to death of the soldiers and would run down in their master's big orchard and hide in the tall broom sage. they rode her young master on a rail and killed him. a drove of soldiers come by and stopped. they said, 'young man, can you ride a young horse?' they gathered him and took him out and brought him in the yard. he died. they hurt him and scared him to death. "another train come and loaded up all the slaves and somehow when freedom come on, my folks was here at arkadelphia. they said they lived in fear of the soldiers all the time. "mother said a woman come first and stuck a flag out a upstairs window and the yankees shot the guns off and some of them made talks on freedom to the negroes and white folks. they seen that at arkadelphia. "mama, grandma, and grandpa started on their way back home following soldier camps. they never got back to their homes. they never did like the yankees and grieved about the way they done their young master. he was like one of my father's own children. they seen hard times after freedom. it was hard to live and they was used to work but they had a good living. they had to die in arkansas. how come i'm here now." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: charlotte willis, madison, arkansas age: "grandpa said he walked every step of the way from old virginia to mississippi. they camped at night, cooked and fed them. they didn't eat no more till they camped next night. they was walked in a peart pace and the guards and traders rode. they stop every now and then for to be cried off and some more be took on. "grandpa said he didn't wanter be sold but they never ax 'em no diffurence. sold 'em and took 'em right along. they better keep their feelings hid, for them traders was same kind er stock these cattle men is today judging from the way he say it was then. grandpa loved virginia long as he have breath in him. "we used to sing 'old virginia nigger say he love hot mush; alabama nigger say, good god, nigger, hush.' (she sang it very fast and in a fashion negroes only can do--ed.) he wore a big straw hat and he'd get up and fan us out the way. "grandma was brought from south carolina by the willises to mississippi. i heard her say her and him was made to jump over the broom. called that getting 'em married. grandpa said that was the way white folks had of showing off the couples. then it would be 'nounced from the big house steps they was man and wife. sometimes more than two be 'nounced at the gatherin'. "they had good times sometimes. they talked 'bout corn shuckings, corn shellings, cotton traumpin's, (packing cotton in wagon beds by walking on it over and over, she said--ed.) and dances. "mother said she never was sold. she b'long to the willises in mississippi. "i reckon i sure do 'members my grandpa and grandma bof. seventeen of us all lived at grandpa wash hollivy's home. he was paying on it and died. the house have three rooms in it. in the fall of the year grandma took all the rancid grease and skins and get the drippings from the ash hopper and make soap 'nough to do 'er till sometime next year. she made it in the iron washpot. he raised meat to do us till sometime next year. we never run short on nothing to eat. "we never had but 'bout two dresses at the same time. when i come on, dresses was scarce. if we tore our dresses, we wore patches. we was sorter 'shamed to have our dresses patched up. "i heard 'em say grandpa's house was guarded to keep off the ku kluck one night. they come all right 'nough but went to another house. they started whooping. the guards left grandpa's house and went down there and shot into them. some of them was killed and the horses run off. some run off quick and got out the way. i never caught on to what they guarded grandpa for. "i had one girl baby what died. i been married once in my life. we rents our house. i never 'plied to the welfare yit. we been farming my enduring life. still farming; i says we is. "old folks give out and can't run on wid the work. young folks no 'count and works to sorter git by their own selfs. way i see it. we got so far off the track and can't git back. starve 'fore we git back like we used to be. we used to git credit. now there ain't no place to git it. we down and can't git up. way i sees it. young generation is so uneasy, ain't still a minute. they wanter be going all the time. they don't marry; they goes lives together. then they quits and take up wid somebody else. i don't know what make 'em do thater way. that the way the right young ones doing now. "my pa looked on me when i was three days old and left us. i ain't never seen him since." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: ella wilson mcgowan street, little rock, arkansas age: claims "i was born in atlanta, georgia. i don't remember the month. but when the civil war ceased i was here then and sixteen years old. i'm a hundred years old. some folks tries to make out like it ain't so. but i reckon i oughter know. "the white folks moved out from georgia and went to louisiana. i was raised in louisiana, but i was born in georgia. i have had several people countin' up my age and they all say i is a hundred years old. i had eight children. all of them are free born. four of them died when they were babies. i lost one just a few days ago. "i had such a hard time in slavery. them white folks was slashing me and whipping me and putting me in the buck, till i don't want to hear nothin' about it. "an old man named dr. polk got a dime from me and said it was for the old age pension. he lived in magnolia, arkansas. they ran him out of magnolia for ruining a colored girl and i don't know where he is now. i know he got ten cents from me. "the first work i ever did was nursing the white children. my old mis' called me in the house and told me that she wanted me to take care of her children and from then till freedom came, i stayed in the house nursing. i had to get up every morning at five when the cook got up and make the coffee and then i had to go in the dining-room and set the table. then i served breakfast. then i went into the house and cleaned it up. then i 'tended to the white children and served the other meals during the day. i never did work in the fields much. my old mars said i was too damned slow. "they carried me out to the field one evening. he never did show me nor tell me how to handle it and when i found myself, he had knocked me down. when i got up, he didn't tell me what to do, but when i picked up my things and started droppin' the seeds ag'in, he picked up a pine root and killed me off with it. when i come to, he took me up to the house and told his wife he didn't want me into the fields because i was too damned slow. "my mars used to throw me in a buck and whip me. he would put my hands together and tie them. then he would strip me naked. then he would make me squat down. then he would run a stick through behind my knees and in front of my elbows. my knees was up against my chest. my hands was tied together just in front of my shins. the stick between my arms and my knees held me in a squat. that's what they called a buck. you could [tr: sic: couldn't] stand up an' you couldn't git your feet out. you couldn't do nothin' but just squat there and take what he put on you. you couldn't move no way at all. just try to. you jus' fall over on one side and have to stay there till you turned over by him. "he would whip me on one side till that was sore and full of blood and then he would whip me on the other side till that was all tore up. i got a scar big as the place my old mis' hit me. she took a bull whip once--the bull whip had a piece of iron in the handle of it--and she got mad. she was so mad she took the whip and hit me over the head with the butt end of it, and the blood flew. it ran all down my back and dripped off my heels. but i wasn't dassent to stop to do nothin' about it. old ugly thing! the devil's got her right now!! they never rubbed no salt nor nothin' in your back. they didn't need to. "when the war come, they made him serve. he would go there and run away and come back home. one day after he had been took away and had come back, he was settin' down talkin' to old mis', and i was huddled up in the corner listenin', and i heered him tell her, 'tain't no use to do all them things. the niggers'll soon be free.' and she said, 'i'll be dead before that happens, i hope.' and she died just one year before the slaves was freed. they was a mean couple. "old mars used to strip my sister naked and make her lay down, and he would lift up a fence rail and lay it down on her neck. then he'd whip her till she was bloody. she wouldn't get away because the rail held her head down. if she squirmed and tried to git loose, the rail would choke her. her hands was tied behind her. and there wasn't nothin' to do but jus' lay there and take it. "i am almost a stranger here in little rock. my father was named lewis hogan and i had one sister named tina and one named harriet. his white folks what he lived with was mrs. thomas. he was a carriage driver for her. pleas collier bought him from her and took him to louisiana. all the people on my mother's side was left in georgia. my grandmother's name was rachel. her white folks she lived with was named dardens. they all lived in atlanta, georgia. i remember the train we got on when we left georgia. grandma rachel had one daughter named siney. siney had a son named billie and a sister named louise. and my grandmother was free when i first got big enough to know myself. i don't know how come she was free. that was a long time before the war. the part of georgia we lived in was where chestnuts grow, but they wasn't no chinkapins. all my grandmother's people stayed in atlanta, and they were living at the time i left there. "my mother's name was dinah hogans and my father's name was lewis hogans. i don't know where they were borned. but when i knowed him, they was in georgia. my mother's mars bought my father 'cause my mother heard that collier was goin' to break up and go to louisiana. my father told his mars that if he (collier) broke up and left, he never would be no more good to him. then my mother found out what he said to collier, so she told her old mis' if collier left, she never would do her no more good. you see, my mother was give to mrs. collier when old darden who was mrs. collier's father died. so collier bought my father. collier kept us all till we all got free. white folks come to me sometimes about all that. "you jus' oughter hear me answer them. i tells them about it just like i would colored folks. "'them your teeth in your mouth?' "'whose you think they is? suttinly they're my teeth.' "'ain't you sorry you free?' "'what i'm goin' to be sorry for? i ain't no fool.' "'how old is you?' "i tells them. some of 'em want to argue with me and say i ain't that old. some of 'em say, 'well, the lawd sure has blessed you.' sure he's blessed me. don't i know that? "i've seen 'em run away from slavery. there was a white man that lived close to us who had just one slave and he couldn't keep him out the woods to save his soul. the white man was named jim sales and the colored boy was named--shucks, i can't remember his name. but i know jim sales couldn't keep that nigger out the woods nohow. "i was freed endurin' the civil war. we was in at dinner and my old mars had been to town. old man pleas collier, our mean mars, called my daddy out and then he said, 'all you come out here.' i said to myself, 'i wonder what he's a goin' to do to my daddy,' and i slipped into the front room and listened. and he said, 'all of you come.' then i went out too. and he unrolled the government paper he had in his hand and read it and told us it meant that all of us was free. didn't tell us we was free as he was. then he said the government's going to send you some money to live on. but the government never did do it. i never did see nobody that got it. did you? they didn't give me nothin' and they didn't give my father nothin'. they just sot us free and turned us loose naked. "right after they got through reading the papers and told us we was free, my daddy took me to the field and put me to work. i'd been workin' in the house before that. "then they wasn't payin' nobody nothin'. they just hired people to work on halves. that was the first year. but we didn't get no half. we didn't git nothin'. just time we got our crop laid by, the white man run us off and we didn't get nothin'. we had a fine crop too. we hadn't done nothin' to him. he just wanted all the crop for hisself and he run us off. that's all. "well, after that my daddy took and hired me out up here in arkansas. he hired me out with some old poor white trash. we was livin' then in louisiana with a old white man named mr. smith. i couldn't tell what part of louisiana it was no more than it was down there close to homer, about a mile from homer. my mother died and my father come and got me and took me home to take care of the chillen. "i have been married twice. i married first time down there within four miles of homer. i was married to my first husband a number of years. his name was wesley wilson. we had eight children. my second husband was named lee somepin or other. i married him on thursday night and he left on monday morning. i guess he must have been taking the white folks' things and had to clear out. his name was lee hardy. that is what his name was. i didn't figure he stayed with me long enough for me to take his name. that nigger didn't look right to me nohow. he just married me 'cause he thought i was a working woman and would give him money. he asked me for money once but i didn't give 'im none. what i'm goin' to give 'im money for? that's what i'd like to know. "after my first husband died, i cooked and went on for them white folks. that was the only thing i could do. i was cooking before he died. i can't do no work now. i ain't worked for more than twenty years. i ain't done no work since i left magnolia. "i belong to the collins street baptist church--nichols' church. "i don't git no pension. i don't git nothin'. i been down to see if i could git it but they ain't give me nothin' yit. i'm goin' down ag'in when i can git somebody to carry me." interviewer's comment ella wilson insists that she is one hundred years old and that she was born sixteen years before freedom. the two statements conflict. from her appearance and manner, either might be true. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: robert wilson west pullen street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "my name is robert wilson. i was born in halifax county, virginia. how old am i? accordin' to my recollection i was twenty-three years old befo' the war started. old master tole me how old i was. i'm a hundred and one now. yes'm i _knows_ i am. "yes'm i been sold. they put us up on the auction block jest like we was a hoss. they put me up and white man ax 'who want to buy this boy?' one man say 'ten dollars' and then they run it up to a hundred. and they buy a girl to match you and raise you up together. when you want to get married you jump over the broomstick. i used to weigh one hundred and fifty-six pounds and a half, standin' weight. i could pick four and five hundred pounds of cotton in a day. "when the yankees come, old master make us boys take the sack of money and hide it in the big pond. yes'm, we drove the buggy right in the water. "durin' the time of the war i used to ride 'long side of the yankees. they give me a blue coat with brass buttons and a blue cap and brass-toed boots. i used to saddle and curry the bosses. i member company fifth and sixth. "they tole us the war was to make things better. we didn't know we was free till 'bout six months after the war was over. i didn't care whether i was free or not. "'bout slavery--well, i thinks like this. i think they fared better then. they didn't have to worry 'bout spenses. we had plenty chicken and everything. nowdays when you pay the rent you ain't got nothin' left to buy somethin' to eat. "yes'm, i been to school. i'se a preacher (showing me his certificate of ordination). i lives close to the lord. the lord done left me here for a purpose. "when we used to pray we put our heads under the wash pot to keep old master from hearin' us. old master make us put the chillun to bed fo' dark. i 'member one song he make us sing-- 'down in mobile, down in mobile how i love dat pretty yellow gal, she rock to suit me-- down in mobile, down in mobile.' "you 'member when grant took the fort at vicksburg? i 'member he and that general on the white hoss--yes'm, general lee, they eat dinner together and then after dinner they go to fightin'. "oh lord! don't talk about them ku klux. "cose i believes in spirits. don't you? well you ain't never been skeered. "after freedom my folks refugeed from virginia to tennessee so i went to memphis. we got things from the bureau. yes, lord! i had everything i wanted. i wouldn't care if that time would come back now. "'did you ever vote?' me? yes'm i voted. never had no trouble 'tall. i voted for garfield. i 'member when garfield was shot. i was settln' out in the yard. the moon was in the 'clipse. i'll never forget it. "i think the colored folks should have a legal right to vote, cause if ever they come another war--now listen--them darkies ain't never goin' to france again. the nigger ain't got no country--this is white man's town. "what i been doin' since the war? well, i'm a good cook. when i puts on the white apron, i knows what to do. then i preaches. the lord done revealed things to me. "i'll tell you 'bout this younger generation. they is goin' to destruction. they is not envelopin (developing) their education. "well i done tole you all i know. guess i tole you 'bout a book, ain't i?" interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: tom windham, missouri, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was twenty-one years old when the war was settled. my mother and my grandmother kep' my age up and after the death of them i knowed how to handle it myself. "my old master's name was butler and he was pretty fair to his darkies. he give em plenty to eat and wear. "i was born and raised in indian territory and emigrated from there to atlanta, georgia when i was about twelve or thirteen. we lived right in atlanta. i cleaned up round the house. yes ma'm, that's what i followed. when the yankees come to atlanta they just forced us into the army. after i got into the army and got used to it, it was fun--just like meat and bread. yankees treated me good. i was sorry when it broke up. when the bugle blowed we knowed our business. sometimes, the age i is now, i wish i was in it. father abraham lincoln was our president. i knowed the war was to free the colored folks. i run away from my white folks is how come i was in the yankee army. i was in the artillery. that deefened me a whole lot and i lost these two fingers on my left hand--that's all of my joints that got broke. "before the war my white folks was good to us. i had a better time than i got now. "my father and mother was sold away from me, but old mistress couldn't rest without em and went and got em back. they stayed right there till they died. us folks was treated well. i think we should have our liberty cause us ain't hogs or horses--us is human flesh. "when i was with the yankees, i done some livin'. "i went to school two months in my life. i should a gone longer but i found where i could get next to a dollar so i quit. if i had education now it might a done me some good. "i used to be in a brass band. i like a brass band, don't make no difference where i hear it. "there was one song we played when i was in the army. it was: 'rasslin jacob, don't weep weepin' mary, don't weep. before i'd be a slave i'd be buried in my grave, go home to my father and be saved.' the rebels was hot after us then. another one we used to sing was: 'my old mistress promised me when she die, she'd set me free.' "after the war i continued to work around the white folks and yes ma'm, i seen the ku klux many a time. they bothered me sometimes but they soon let me alone. they was a few yankees about and they come together and made the ku klux stay in their place. "one time after the war i went to ohio and stayed three months but it was too cold for me. man i worked for was named harper and as good a man as ever broke a piece of bread. "i come back south and learned how to farm. i been here in this country of arkansas a long time. i hoped clean up this place (pine bluff) and make a town of it. "i got a daughter and two sisters alive in africa today--in liberia. i went there after we was free. i liked it. just the thoughts of bein' where christ traveled--that's the good part of it. they furnished us transportation to go to africa after the war and a lot of the colored folks went. i come back cause i had a lot of kin here, but i sent my daughter and two sisters there and they're alive there today." folklore subjects interviewer: bernice bowden subject: apparitions this information given by: tom windham place of residence: missouri st. pine bluff, ark. occupation: none (age ) [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] "yes ma'm, i believe in spirits--you got two spirits--one bad and one good, and when you die your bad spirit here on this earth. now my mother comes to see me once in awhile at night. she been dead till her bones is bleached, but she comes and tells me to be a good boy. i always been obedient to old and young. she tell me to be good and she banish from me. my grandmother been to see me once. old father abraham lincoln, i've seen him since he been dead too. i got a gun old father abraham give me right out o' his own hand at vicksburg. i'm goin' to keep it till i die too. yes ma'm, i know they is spirits." pine bluff district folklore subjects name of interviewer: martin - barker subject: ex-slave story. information by: tom windham place of residence: georgia st. age: [tr: information moved from bottom of second page.] my master was an indian. lewis butler of oklahoma. i was born and raised in muskogee, okla. all of marse butler's people were creek indians. they owned a large plantation and raised vegetables. they lived in tepees, had floors and were set on a lot and a wall boarded up around them. this was done so that they could hide the slaves they had stolen. i was twelve or thirteen years old, when the indians had a small war. they wouldn't allow us to fight. if we did, we were punished. they had a place and made us work. i went to school two months also a little at night. cant read nor write. i am all alone now here in america. i have a daughter in ethiopia, teaching school, also two sisters. i served in several wars and i have been to ethiopia. we left monroe, la., took water, then went back by gun-boat to galveston. the government took us over and brought us back. after the civil war was over the indians let the slaves go. i had an indian wife and wore indian dress and when i went to milford, tenn., i had to send the outfit home to okla. i had long hair until . my indians believed in our god. they held their meetings in a large tent. they believed in salvation and damnation, and in heaven and hell. my idea of heaven is that it is a holy place with god. we will walk in heaven just as on earth. as in him we believe, so shall we see. the earth shall burn, and the old earth shall pass away and the new earth will be created. the saints will return and live on, that is the ones who go away now. the new earth is when jesus will cone to earth and reign. every one has two spirits. one that god kills and the other an evil spirit. i have had communication with my dead wife twice since i been in pine bluff. her spirit come to me at night, calling me, asking whar wuz baby? that meant our daughter whut is across the water. my first wifes name was arla windham. my second wife was just part indian. i have seen spirits of friends just as they were put away. i shore believe in ghosts. their language is different from ours. i knew my wife's voice cause she called me "tommy". interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: alice wise indiana street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in south carolina, and i sent and got my age and the man sent me my age. he said he remembered me. he said, 'you married marcus wise. i know you is seventy-nine 'cause i'm seventy-four and you're older'n me. why, i got a boy fifty-three years old. "we belonged to daniel draft. his wife was named maud. and my father's people was named wesley caughman and his wife was catherine caughman. "i can recollect hearin' the folks hollerin' when the yankees come through and singin' this old cornfield song 'i'm a goin' away tomorrow hoodle do, hoodle do.' that's all i can recollect. "i can recollect when we moved from the white folks. my father driv' a wagon and hauled lumber to columbia from lexington. "i don't know how old i was when i come here. my age got away from me, that's how come i had to write home for it, but i had three chillun when i come to this country; i know that. "i went to school a little, but chillun in them days had to work. i was always apt about washin' and ironin' and sewin' and so if anybody was stopped from school i was stopped. i used to set pockets in pants for mama. in them days they weaved and made their own. "they'd do better if they had a factory here now. things wouldn't be so high. "oh lord, yes, i could knit. i'd sit up some nights and knit a half a sock and spin and card. "my mother's boys would card and spin a broach when they wasn't doin' nothin' else, but nowadays you can't get 'em to bring you a bucket of water. "they say they is weaker and wiser, but i say they is weaker and foolisher. that's what i think. you know they ain't like the old folks was. folks works nowadays and keeps their chillun in school till they're grown, and it don't do 'em much good-some of 'em." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: frank wise, victory street, little rock, arkansas age: to birth and parents "i was born in burch county, georgia, in . i came to this state in ; i think i was about sixteen years old then. "my father was named jim wise and my mother was named harriet wise. my father belonged to the wises, and my mother to the crawfords. they didn't live on the same plantation. when they married, she was a crawford. her old master was named jim crawford. i don't know how she and my father happened to meet up. wise and crawford had adjoining plantations. both of them was in burch county. my father's father was named jacob wise and his mother was named martha. i don't remember the names of their master. i don't remember the names of my mother's people. war memories "i remember the year the war ended. i remember when the yankees came on the place that day the war ended. we children was all settin' out in the yard. some of them ran under the house when they saw the soldiers. they were shooting the chickens and everything, taking the horses, and anything else they thought they could use. they said to the old lady, 'lemme kill them little niggers.' old miss said, 'no, wait till you set them free.' he said, 'no, when we set them free, we ain't goin' to kill them.' they got around in the house, under the house, and in the yard. they asked the old lady, 'where is the horses?' she said, 'i don't know.' they said, 'go down in the woods and get them.' somebody went down and brought back a mare and a mule and a colt. they knocked the colt in the head and shot him. they took the mare and the mule. they took all the meat out of the smokehouse. they didn't set us free, and they didn't tell us anything about freedom. not then. how freedom came "i don't remember how we got the news of freedom. i don't remember what the slaves expected to get. i don't know what they got, if they got anything. i don't remember nothin' about that. schooling "i went to school about eight days. that's all the schooling i ever got. i had a brother and sister who went to school, but i never went much. i went to school what little i did right here in lonoke county, arkansas. my teacher was tom fuller. he was a colored man. he came from down in texas. i learned everything i know by watching people and listenin' to them. occupational experiences "the first thing i ever did was farming. i farmed all up till . i worked on steamboat till , and then i went out railroading. i worked at that a long time. i married in . i was about twenty-seven years old then, and a few months over. "while i was farming, i did some sharecropping, but i never got cheated out of anything. ku klux "i remember the folks had been off to see their people and the ku klux taken the stock while they were gone. i don't remember the ku klux klan interfering with the negroes much. i never saw them. voting "i never voted till cleveland began his campaign for president. i voted for eight presidents. nobody ever bothered me about it. family "there were six children in my mother's family. my father had six brothers. he made the seventh. i had nine children in all. four of them are living now. one is here; one, in st. louis; and two, in chicago. my boy is in chicago. opinions "the majority of the young people are just growing up. lots of them are not getting any raising at all." interviewer's comment wise is between eighty-one and eighty-five years old. the data he gives conflict, some of it indicating the earlier and some of it later years. he doesn't talk much and has to be pumped. he doesn't lose the thread of the discourse. his failure to talk on details of his early life seem to the interviewer due to unwillingness rather than lack of memory. while his age is advanced, his mind is sharp for one who has had such limited training. he has no definite means of support, but states that he has been promised a pension in september--he means old age assistance. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lucy withers, brinkley, arkansas age: i was born - / miles from abbeville, south carolina, in sight of little mountain. i do remember the civil war. i never seen them fight. they come to about twenty or thirty miles from where i lived. they didn't bother much in the parts where i lived. all the white men folks went to war. my mama's master was edward roach and his wife was miss sarah roach. my papa's master was peter radcliff and miss nancy radcliff. they give me to her niece, miss jennie shelitoe. when she married she wanted me. after freedom i married. in we come to a big farm close to pine bluff. then we lived close to memphis and i been living here in brinkley a long time. the ku klux put down a governor in south carolina right after the war. they rode everywhere night and day scaring everybody. they wouldn't let no colored people hold office. that governor was a colored man. the ku klux whipped both black and white folks. they run the yankees plumb out er that country. no sir ree i never voted and i ain't never goner vote! women is tearing dis world up. the ex-slaves was told that they would got things, different things. i don't know what all. i know they didn't got nothing and when freedom came they took their clothes and left. they scattered out and went to different places. it was hard to get work and there was no money cept what the yankees give em. when they all got run off there was no money. my husband was a yankee soldier and he decided he wanter come to this country. we come on the train and on the boat to pine bluff. we farmed. i got three children but just two living. one boy lives at fargo and the girl lives at chicago. my husband died. me and my sister lives here. i bought a place with my pension money. that since my husband died. the present times is hard. i don't know nithin about these young folks. i tends to my own business. i ain't got nothing to do with the young folks. i don't know what causes the times to be so hard. folks used to wear more clothes than they do and let colored folks have more ironing and bigger washings too. the washings bout played out. some few folks hire cooks. i farmed and washed and ironed and i have cooked along some here in brinkley. i am supported by my pension my husband left me. it ain't much but i make out with it. it is union soldiers pension. [hw: hot springs] interviewer: mary d. hudgins person interviewed: anna woods, grand avenue "yes ma'am. come on in. is you taking lists of folks for old age pensions? can you tell us what we going to get and when it's going to come? no? then--oh, i see you is writing us up. well maybe that will help us to get attention. cause we sure does need the pension. to be sure i remembers slave days. my grandmother--she was give away in the trading yard. she was aflicted. what was the matter with her? was she lame? no ma'am, she had the scrofula. so her mother was sold away from her, but she was give away. she was give away to a woman named glover. mrs. glover was a old woman when i knowed her. she was an old, old woman. she sort of studied before she'd say anything. she was a pretty good old woman though, mrs. glover was. she wouldn't let her colored folks be whipped. she wouldn't let me work in the field. old donovan wanted me to work in the field--but she wouldn't let him make me. donovan was mary's husband. mary was mrs. glover's girl's girl. mrs. glover's girl was named kate. mrs. glover had a whole flock of slaves. my mother and another woman named sallie cooked and did the washing. fannie, she was my sister, was old mrs. glover's maid. robert and sally and lucy--they was my brother and sisters--all of them worked in the field. they had to begin early and work late. they got them out way fore day. they worked them til dark. i remembers that sally and lucy used to wear boots and roll their skirts up nearly to their waistses. why--well you see sometimes it was muddy. did we raise rice--no, ma'am. we mostly raised corn and cotton, like everybody else. we lived near natchez. no ma'am, i never see but one colored person whipped. his name was robert. they laid him down on his stomach to whip him. never did hear what he had done. maybe he run off. they usually whipped them for that. no ma'am. i was right. mrs. glover didn't let her colored folks be whipped. robert, you see, was donovan's man. he didn't belong to mrs. glover. her folks never got whipped. maybe robert run off. i don't know. the folks did one thing special to keep them from running. they fastened a sort of yoke around they necks. from it there run up a sort of piece and there was a bell on the top of that. it was so high the folks who wore it couldn't reach the bell. but if they run it would tinkle and folks could find them. i don't quite know how it worked--i just slightly remembers. no, ma'am, i was just sort of a little girl before the war. you might say i was never a slave. cause i didn't have to work. mrs. glover wouldn't let me work in the field and i didn't have much work to do in the house either. mrs. glover was an old widow woman, but she was shore good. miss kate was her onliest child. kate's daughter was named mary. was i afraid of the soldiers? no ma'am. i wasn't. lots of them that came through were colored soldiers. i remember that they wore long tailed coats. they had brass buttons on they coats. but we had to move from natchez. first the soldiers run us off to tennisaw parish--an island there." (a check on maps in the atlas of encyclopedia britannica reveals a tenses parish, louisiana--across the river and a few miles north of natchez.) "we couldn't even stay there. they drove us along, and finally we wound up in texas. we wasn't there in texas long when the soldiers marched in to tell us that we was free. seems to me like it was on a monday morning when they come in. yes, it was a monday. they went out to the field and told them they was free. marched them out of the fields. they come a'shouting. i remembers one woman, she jumped up on a barrell and she shouted. she jumped off and she shouted. she jumped back on again and shouted some more. she kept that up for a long time, just jumping on a barrell and back off again. yes ma'am, we children played. i remembers that the grown folks used to have church--out behind an old shed. they'd shout and they'd sing. we children didn't know what it all meant. but every monday morning we'd get up and make a play house in an old wagon bed--and we'd shout and sing too. we didn't know what it meant, or what we was supposed to be doing. we just aped our elders. when the war was over my brother, he drove the carriage, he drove the white folks back to natchez. but we didn't go--my family. we stopped part way to natchez. never did see miss kate or mrs. glover again. never did see them again. lots later my brother learned where we was. he came back for us and took us to natchez. but we never did see mrs. glover again. i lived on in natchez. i worked for white folks--cooked for them. i did a lot of traveling. even went up into virginia. traveled most of the time. i'd go with one family and when we'd get back, there'd be another one who wanted me to go and take care of their children. been in hot springs since . worked for dr. ---- first. stayed right in the house. never did see such fine folks as dr. ----" (prominent local surgeon) "and his wife. then i worked for mr. ----" (prominent realtor) "yes, and i's worked at the army and navy hospital too. mighty nice up there. worked in the officer's mess--finest place up there. i's worked for the officers too. then i's worked for the levi hospital. worked for lots of folks. i's worked for lots of folks and in lots of places. but i haven't got anything now. how soon do you think they will begin paying us? i get just $ from the county every month. $ of that goes for my house. folks gives me clothes, but if they'd only give me groceries too, i could get along. when do you think they will begin to pay us?" interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: cal woods; r.f.d., biscoe, arkansas age: ? "i don't know zactly how old i is. i was good size boy when the war come on. we all belonged to a man named john woods. we lived in south carolina during slavery. slavery was prutty bad itself but the bad time come after the war. the land was hilly some red and some pore and sandy. had to plough a mule or horse. hard to make a living. some folks was rich, had heap of slaves and some bout one family. small farmer have acres and one family of slaves. when a man had one or two slave families he treated em better an if he had a great big acreage and fifteen or twenty families. the white folks trained the black man and woman. if he have so many they didn't learn how to do but one or two things. mas generally they all worked in the fields in the busy seasons and sometimes the white folks have to work out there too. sometimes they get in debt and have to sell off some slave to pay the debt. "things seemed heap mo plentiful. before the war folks wore fine clothes. they go to their nearest tradin point and sell cotton. they had fine silk clothes and fine knives and forks. they would buy a whole case o cheese at one time and a barrel of molasses. folks eat more and worked harder than they do now. "some folks was mean to their slaves and some slaves mean. it is lack it is now, some folks good no matter what dey color, other folks bad. black folks never knowed there was freedom till they was fighting and going to war. some say they was fightin to save their slaves, some say the union broke. the slave never been free since he come to dis world, didn't know nuthin bout freedom till they tole em bout it. "i recollect bout the ku klux after the war. some folks come over the country and tell you you free and equal now. they tell you what to do an how to run the country and then if you listen to them come the ku klux all dressed half mile down the road. that ku klux sprung up after the war bout votin an offis-holdin mong the white folks. the white folks ain't then nor now havin no black man rulin over him. them ku klux walked bout on high sticks and drink all the water you have from the spring. seem lack they meddled a whole heap. course the black folks knowed they was white men. they hung some slaves and white yankees too if they be very mean. they beat em. hear em hollowing and they hollow too. they shoot all directions round and up an down the road. that's how you know they comin close to yo house. if you go to any gatherins they come break it up an run you home fast as you could run and set the dogs on you. course the dogs bite you. they say they was not goiner have equalization if they have to kill all the yankees and niggers in the country. the masters sometime give em a home. my mother left john woods then. the family went back. he give her an my papa twenty acres their lifetime. where dey stayed on the old folks had a little at some places. they didn't divide up no plantations i ever heard of. they never give em no mules. if some tole em they would i know they sho didn't. didn't give em nuthin i tell you. my mother's name was sylvia and papa's name was hack woods. "i come to arkansas so my little boys would have a home. i had a little home an sold it to come out here. agents come round showin pictures how big the cotton grow. they say it grow like trees out here. the children climb the stalks an set on the limb lack birds to pick it. they show pictures like that. cotton basket way down under it on the ground. see droves of wild hogs coming up, look big as mules. men ridin em. no i didn't know they said it was so fine. we come in freight cars wid our furniture and everything we brought. we had our provision in baskets and big buckets. it lasted till we passed atlanta. we nearly starved the rest of the way. when we did stop you never hear such a hollein. we come two days and nights hard as we could come. we stayed up and eat, cooked meat an eggs on the stove in the store till daybreak. then they showed us wha to go to our places the next day. i been here ever since. "i hab voted. i done quit lettin votin bother me up. all i see it do is give one fellow out of two or three a job both of them maybe ought to have. the meanest man often gets lected. it the money they all after not the work in it. i heard em say what all they do and when they got lected they forgot to do all they say they would do. "i never knowed bout no slave uprisins. thed had to uprose wid rocks an red clods. the black man couldn't shoot. he had no guns. they had so much work they didn't know how to have a uprisin. the better you be to your master the better he treat you. the white preachers teach that in the church." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: maggie woods, brassfield, ark. deaner farm. age: "my parents was fannie and alfred douglas. they had three children, then he died and my mother married a man name thompson. my parents belong to the douglasses at summerville, tennessee. they had six children in their family. "i was born the second year of the surrender that make me seventy years old. my folks was all field hands. they was all pure african stock. all black folks like me. grandma liney douglass said she was sold and grandpa was sold too. my own parents never was sold. the douglass men-folks whooped the slaves but they was good masters outside of that. "they would steal off and have preachin' at night. had preachin' nearly all night sometimes. they'd hurry and get in home fore the day be breakin'. from the way they talked they done more prayin' than preachin'. "whenever they be sick they would send to the douglasses to know what to do. they would take them up to their house and doctor them or come down to the quarters and wait on whoever be sick. they had some white doctors about but not near enough. they trained black women to be midwives. "i think my folks had enough to eat and clothes too i recken. they eat meat to give them strength to work. my old stepdaddy always make us eat piece of meat if we eat garden stuff. he say the meat have strength in it. cornbread, meat, peas and potatoes used to be the biggest part of folks livin' in olden days. they had plenty milk. "children when i come on didn't have no use for money. we eat molasses. had a little candy once in a while. that be the best thing santa claus would bring me. we get ginger cakes in our new stockings too. santa claus been comin' ever since i been in the world. seem like christmas never would come round agin. it don't seem near so long now. "i was too young to know about freedom. we was livin' on douglas farm when george flenol (white) come and brought us to indian bay. we worked on dick mayo's place. i don't know what they expected from freedom but i'm pretty sure they never got nothing. "when the black folks come free then the ku klux took it up and made 'em work and stay at home. i heard that some folks wanted to stay in the road all the time. the ku klux nearly scared me to death to see pass by. they never did bother us. "i don't vote. don't know nothing about it. i don't like the way that is fixed for us to live now. we pay house rent and works as day laborers. it makes the work too heavy at some times and no work to do nearly all the time. it is making times hard. cotton and corn choppin' time and cotton pickin' time is all the times a woman like me can work. i raised a shoat. i got no room for garden and chickens. "i got one girl, she way from here, she sent me $ . for my christmas. "the young generation is weaker in body than us old folks has been. they ain't been raised to hard work and they don't hold out. "that is salve i'm making. what do it smell like? it smell like chitlings. in that sack is the inside of the chitlings (hog manure). i boil it down and strain it, then boll it down, put camphor gum and fresh lard in it, boil it down low and pour it up. it is a green salve. it is fine for piles, rub your back for lumbago, and swab out your throat for sore throat. it is a good salve. i had a sore throat and a black woman told me how to make it. it cures the sore throat right now. "i live on what i am able to work and make. i never have got no help from the government." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: sam word, missouri street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i'm a sure enough arkansas man, born in arkansas county near de witt. born february , , and belonged to bill word. i know marmaduke come down through arkansas county and pressed bill word's son tom into the service. "i 'member one song they used to sing called the 'bonnie blue flag.' 'jeff davis is our president and lincoln is a fool; jeff davis rides a fine white horse while lincoln rides a mule.' 'hurrah! hurrah! for southern rights, hurrah! hurrah for the bonnie blue flag that bears a single star!'" (the above verse was sung to the tune of "the bonnie blue flag." from the library of southern literature i find the following notation about the original song and its author, harry mccarthy: "like dixie, this famous song originated in the theater and first became popular in new orleans. the tune was borrowed from 'the irish jaunting car', a popular hibernian air. harry mccarthy was an irishman who enlisted in the confederate army from arkansas. the song was written in . it was published by a.e. blackmar who declared general ben butler 'made it very profitable by fining every man, woman, or child who sang, whistled or played it on any instrument twenty-five dollars.' blackmar was arrested, his music destroyed, and a fine of five hundred dollars imposed upon him.") "i stayed in arkansas county till . i was about seven years old and we moved here to jefferson county. then my mother married again and we went to conway county and lived a few years, and then i come back to jefferson county, so i've lived in jefferson county sixty-eight years. "in conway county when i was a small boy livin' on the milton powell place, i 'member they sent me out in the field to get some peaches about a half mile from the slave quarters. it was about three o'clock, late summer, and i saw something in the tree--a black lookin' concern. seem like it got bigger the closer i got, and then just disappeared all of a sudden and i didn't see it go. i know i went back without any peaches. "and another thing i can tell you. in the spring of the year we was hoein' and when they quit at night they'd leave the hoes in the field, stickin' down in the ground. and next morning they wouldn't be where you left 'em. you'd have to look for 'em and they'd be lyin' on top of the ground and crossed just like sticks. "i'll tell you what i do know. when we was livin' in conway county old man powell had about ten colored families he had emigrated from jefferson county. our folks was the only colored people in that neighborhood. and he had a white man that was a tenant on the place and he died. now my mother and his wife used to visit one another. in them days the white folks wasn't like they are now. and so mother went there to sit up with his wife. and while she was sittin' up the house was full of people--white and colored. they begin to hear a noise about the coffin. so they begin to investigate the worse it got and moved around the room and it lasted till he was took out of the house. now i've heard white and colored say that was true. they never did see it but they heard it. "i don't think there is any ghosts now but they was in the past generation. "i know many times me and my stepfather would be pickin' cotton and my dog would be up at the far end of the row and just before dark he'd start barkin' and come towards us a barkin' and we never could see anything. he'd do that every day. it was a dog named natch--an english bull terrier. he was give to me a puppy. he was a sure enough bulldog and he could whip any dog i ever saw. he was an imported dog. "i remember a house up in conway county made out of logs--a two-story one just this side of cadron creek on the military road. then they called it the wire road because the telegraph wire run along it. the house was vacant after the people that owned it had died, and people comin' along late at night would stop to spend the night, and in the middle of the night they'd have to get out. now i've heard that with my own ears. there was a spring not far from the house. it had been a fine house and was a beautiful place to stop. but in the night they'd hear chairs rattlin' and fall down. it's my belief they had spooks in them old days. "now i'll tell you another incident. this was in slave times. my mother was a great hand for nice quilts. there was a white lady had died and they were goin' to have a sale. now this is true stuff. they had the sale and mother went and bought two quilts. and let me tell you, we couldn't sleep under 'em. what happened? well, they'd pinch your toes till you couldn't stand it. i was just a boy and i was sleepin' with my mother when it happened. now that's straight stuff. what do i think was the cause? well, i think that white lady didn't want no nigger to have them quilts. i don't know what mother did with 'em, but that white lady just wouldn't let her have 'em. "now i'm puttin' the oil out of the can--i mean that what i say is true. people now will say they ain't nothin' to that story. at that time the races wasn't 'malgamated. but people are different now--ain't like they was seventy-five years ago. "visions? well, now i'm glad you asked me that. i'll take pleasure in tellin' you. two years before i moved to this place i had a vision and i think i saw every colored person that was ever born in america, i believe. i was on the east side of my house and this multitude of people was about four feet from me and they was as thick as sardines in a box and they was from little tots up. some had on derby hats and some was bareheaded. i talked with one woman--a brown skinned woman. they was sitting on seats just like circus seats just as far as my eyes could behold. looked like they reached clear up in the sky. that was when i fust went blind. you've read about how john saw the multitude a hundred forty and four thousand and i think that was about one-fourth of what i saw. they was happy and talkin' and nothin' but colored people--no white people. "another vision i had. i dreamed that the day that i lived to be sixty-five, that day i would surely die. i thought the man that told me that was a little old dried-up white man up in the air and he had scales like the monkey and the cat weighed the cheese. i thought he said, 'that day you will surely die,' and one side of the scales tipped just a little and then i woke up. you know i believed this strong. that was in and i went out and bought a lot in bellwood cemetery. but i'm still livin'. "old major crawley who owned what they called the reader place on this side of the river, four miles east of dexter, he was supposed to have money buried on his place. he owned it during slavery and after he died his relatives from mississippi come here and hired a carriage driver named jackson jones. he married my second cousin. and he took 'em up there to dig for the money, but i don't know if they ever found it. some people said the place was ha'nted." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: sam word missouri, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born february , . my birthplace was arkansas county. born in arkansas and lived in arkansas seventy-eight years. i've kept up with my age--didn't raise it none, didn't lower it none. "i can remember all about the war, my memory's been good. old man bill word, that was my old master, had a son named tom word and long about in ' a general come and pressed him into the civil war. i saw the blue and the gray and the gray clothes had buttons that said c.s., that meant secessioners. yankees had u.s. on their buttons. some of em come there so regular they got familiar with me. yankees come and wanted to hang old master cause he wouldn't tell where the money was. they tied his hands behind him and had a rope around his neck. now this is the straight goods. i was just a boy and i was cryin' cause i didn't want em to hang old master. a yankee lieutenant comes up and made em quit--they was just the privates you know. "my old master drove a ox wagon to the gold fields in california in ' . that's what they told me--that was fore i was born. "good? ben word good? my god amighty, i wish i had one-hundredth part of what i got then. i didn't exist--i lived. "ben word bought my mother from phil ford up in kentucky. she was the housekeeper after old mistress died. i'll tell you something that may be amusing. mother had lots of nice things, quilts and things, and kept em in a chest in her little old shack. one day a yankee soldier climbed in the back window and took some of the quilts. he rolled em up and was walking out of the yard when mother saw him and said, 'why you nasty, stinkin' rascal. you may you come down here to fight for the niggers, and now you're stealin' from em.' he said, 'you're a g-d--liar, i'm fightin' for $ a month and the union.' "i member there was a young man named dan brown and they called him red fox. he'd slip up on the yankees and shoot em, so the yankees was always lookin' for him. he used to go over to dr. allen's to get a shave and his wife would sit on the front porch and watch for the yankees. one day the yankees slipped up in the back and his wife said, 'lord, dan, there's the yankees.' course he run and they shot him. one of the yankees was tryin' to help him up and he said, 'don't you touch me, call dr. allen.' yes ma'm, that was in arkansas county. "i never been anywhere 'cept arkansas, jefferson, and conway counties. i was in conway county when they went to the precinct to vote for or against the fort smith & little rock railroad. the precinct where they went to vote was springfield. it used to be the county seat of conway county. "while the war was goin' on and when young tom word would come home from school, he learned me and when the war ended, i could read in mcguffy's third reader. after that i went to school three months for about four years. "directly after emancipation, the white men in the south had to take the oath of allegiance. old master took it but he hated to do it. now these are stubborn facts i'm givin' you but they's true. "after freedom mother brought me here to pine bluff and put me in the field. i picked up corn stalks and brush and carried water to the hands. children in them days worked. after they come from school, even the white children had work to do. trouble with the colored folks now, to my way of thinkin', is they are top heavy with literary learning and feather light with common sense and domestic training. "i remember a song they used to sing daring the war: 'jeff davis is our president lincoln is a fool; jeff davis rides a fine white horse while lincoln rides a mule.' "and here's another one: 'hurrah for southern rights, hurrah! hurrah for the bonny blue flag that bore the single star.' "yes, they was hants sixty years ago. the generation they was interested has bred em out. ain't none now. "i never did care much for politics, but i've always been for the south. i love the southland. only thing i don't like is they don't give a square deal when it comes between the colored and the whites. ten years ago, i was worth $ , and now i'm not worth fifteen cents. the real estate men got the best of me. i've been blind now for four years and all my wife and i have is what we get from the welfare." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: ike worthy w. th avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age "i was born in selma, alabama on christmas day and i'm goin' on . "i can 'member old missis' name miss liza ann bussey. i never will forget her name. fed us in a trough--eighteen of us. her husband was named jim bussey, but they all dead now. "when i got large enough to remember we went to louisiana. i was sixteen when we left alabama--six hundred head of us. dr. bonner emigrated us there for hisself and other white men. "there was nine of us boys in my parents' family. we worked every day and cleared land till twelve o'clock at night. on saturday we played ball and on sunday we went to sunday school. "we worked on the shares--got half--and in the fall we paid our debts. sometimes we had as much as $ in the clear. "most money i ever had was farmin'. i farmed years and never did buy no feed. raised my own meat and lard and molasses. had four milk cows and fifteen to twenty hogs. you see, i had eight children in the family. "never went to school but one day in my life, then my father put us to work. never learned to read. you see everybody in the pen now'days got a education. i don't think too much education is good for 'em. "i was christmas day. "garland, brewster--the sheriff and the judge--i missed them boys when they was little. worked at the brickyard. "i got shot accidental and lost my right leg years ago when i was farmin'. i've chopped cotton and picked cotton with this peg-leg. mr. emory say he don't see how i can do it but i goes right along. i made $ pickin' and $ choppin' last year. i picked up until thanksgiving night. "i worked at the long-bell lumber company since i had this peg-leg too. i stayed in little rock years. had a wood yard and hauled wood. "yes ma'am, i voted the 'publican ticket. no ma'am, i never did hold any office. "i don't know what goin' come of the younger generation. to my idea i don't think there's anything to 'em. they is goin' to suffer when all the old ones is dead. "i goes to the zion methodist church. no ma'am, i'm not a preacher--just a bench member." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: alice wright center street, little rock, arkansas age: about "i was born way yonder in slavery time. i don't know what part of alabama nor exactly when, but i was born in slavery time and it was in alabama. my oldest boy would be fifty-six years old if he were living. my father said he was born in slavery time and that i was born in slavery time. i was a baby, my papa said, when he ran off from his old master and went to mississippi. he lived in the thickets for a year to keep his old master from finding out where he was. father, mother and family "my father's name was jeff williams. he's been dead a long time. nobody living but me and my children. my mother's name was malinda williams. my father had seven children, four girls and five boys. four of the boys were buried on the cummins (?) place. it used to be the old place of old man flournoy's. my oldest brother was named isaac. "i had sixteen children; four of them are still living--two boys and two girls. the boys is married and the daughters is sick. no, honey, i can't tell how many of em all was boys and girls. house "my folks lived right in the white folks' yard. i don't know what kind of house it was. my mother used to cook and do for the white folks. she caught her death of cold going backward and forward milking and so on. how the children were fed "they'd put a trough on the floor with wooden spoons and as many children as could get around that trough got there and eat, they would. how freedom came "dolly and evelyn were upstairs spinning thread and overheard the old master saying that peace was declared but they didn't want the niggers to know it. father had them to throw their clothes out the windows. then he slipped out with them. malinda williams, my mother, came with them. dolly and evelyn were my sisters. i don't know my master's name, but it must have been williams because all the slaves took their old master's names when they were freed. i was a baby in my daddy's arms when he ran away. patrollers "i heard my papa talk about the patrollers. he said they used to run them in many a time. that is the reason he had to cross the bridge that night going over the mississippi into georgia. the slaves had been set free in georgia, and he wanted to get there from alabama. what the slaves got "the slaves never got nothin' when they were freed. they just got out and went to work for themselves. marriage "my father tended to the white folks' mules. he wasn't no soldier. when he married my mother, he was only fifteen years old. his master told him to go pick himself out a wife from a drove of slaves that were passing through, and he picked out my mother. they married by stepping over the broom. the old master pronounced them master and wife. slave droves "the drove passed through alabama, but my father didn't know where it came from nor where it went. they were selling slaves. they would pick up a big lot of them somewhere, and they would drive them across the country selling some every place they stopped. my master bought my mother out of the drove. droves came through very often. i don't know where they came from. war memories "my father remembered coming through alabama. he remembered the soldiers coming through alabama. they didn't bother any colored people but they killed a lot of white people, tore up the town and took some white babies out and busted their brains out. that is what my father said. my father died in . he was pushing eighty then and maybe ninety. he had a house full of grown children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. he wasn't able to do no work when he died. it was during the war that my father ran away into georgia with me, too. breeding "my father said they put medicine in the water (cisterns) to make the young slaves have more children. if his old master had a good breeding woman he wouldn't sell her. he would keep her for himself. worship "when they were praying for peace they used to turn down the wash kettles to keep the sound down. in the master's church, the biggest thing that was preached to them was how to serve their master and mississ. indians "my grandmother was a full-blood indian. i don't know from what tribe. buried treasure "people used to bury their money in iron pots and chests and things in order to keep the soldiers from getting it. in wabbaseka [hw: ark.] there they had money buried. they buried their money to keep the soldiers from getting it. ku klux "the ku klux klan came after freedom. they used to take the people out and whip them. just after the war "immediately after the war, papa farmed. most of it was down at the cummins place. when he ran away to georgia, he didn't stay there. he left and came back to mississippi. i don't know just when my papa came to the cummins' place. it was just after the war. after be left the cummins' place he worked at the smith place. then he was farming agent for sometime for old man cook in jefferson county. he would see after the hands. voting "i ain't never voted in my life. i know plenty men that used to vote but i didn't. i never heard of no women voting. occupation "i used to do field work. i washed and ironed until i got too old to do anything. i can't do anything now. i ain't able. support "i get the old age pension and the welfare give me some commodities for myself and my sick daughter. she ain't been able to walk for a year. marriage "i married willis wright in july . he did farming mostly. when he died in , he was working at the southern oil mill. he didn't leave any property." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: hannah brooks wright w. th, highland addition, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: laundress "yes ma'am, i was born in slavery times. i was born on elsa brooks' plantation in mississippi. i don't know what year 'twas but i know 'twas in slavery times. "i was a great big gal when the yankees come through. i was elsa brooks' house gal. "i remember when a man come through to 'vascinate' all the chillun that was born in slavery times. i cut up worse than any of 'em--i bit him. i thought he was gwine cut off my arm. old missis say our names gwine be sent to the white house. old missis was gwine around with him tryin' to calm 'em down. "and the next day the yankees come through. the lord have mercy! i think i was 'bout twelve years old when freedom come. we used to ask old missis how old we was. she'd say, 'go on, if i tell you how old you is, your parents couldn't do nothin' with you. jus' tell folks you was born in slavery times!' gramma wouldn't tell me neither. she'd say, 'you hush, you wouldn't work if you knowed how old you is.' "i used to sit on the lever a many a day and drive the mule at the gin. you don't know anything 'bout that, do you? "i remember one time when the yankees was comin' through. i was up on top of a rail fence so i could see better. i said, 'just look a there at them bluebirds.' when the yankees come along one of 'em said, 'you get down from there you little son of a b----.' i didn't wait to climb down, i jus' fell down from there. old missis come down to the quarters in her carriage--didn't have buggies in them days, just carriages--to see who was hurt. the yankees had done told her that one of her gals had fell off the fence and got hurt. i said, 'i ain't hurt but i thought them yankees would hurt me.' she said, 'they won't hurt you, they is comin' through to tell you you is free.' she said if they had hurt me she would jus' about done them yankees up. she said jeff davis had done give up his seat and we was free. "our folks stayed with old missis as long as they lived. my mammy cooked and i stayed in the house with missis and churned and cleaned up. old master was named tom brooks and her name was elsa brooks. sometimes i jus' called her 'missis.' "old missis told the patrollers they couldn't come on her place and interfere with her hands. i don't know how many hands they had but i know they had a heap of 'em. "sometimes missis would say it looked like i wanted to get away and she'd say, 'why, hannah, you don't suffer for a thing. you stay right here at the house with me and you have plenty to eat.' "i was the oldest one in my mammy's family. "i just went to school a week and mammy said they needed me at the house. "then my daddy put me in the field to plow. old missis come out one day and say, 'bill, how come you got hannah plowin'? i don't like to see her in the field.' he'd say, 'well, i want to learn her to work. i ain't gwine be here always and i want her to know how to work.' "they had me throwin' the shickles (shuttles) in slavery times. i used to handle the cyards (cards) too. then i used to help clean up the milk dairy. i'd be so tired i wouldn't know what to do. old missis would say, 'well, hannah, that's your job.' "we used to have plenty to eat, pies and cakes and custards. more than we got now. "i own this place if i can keep payin' the taxes. "old missis used to say, 'you gwine think about what i'm tellin' you after i'm dead and gone.' "young folks call us old church folks 'old _ism_ folks,' 'old fogies.' they say, 'you was born in slavery times, you don't know nothin.' you can't tell 'em nothin'. "i follows my mind. you ain't gwine go wrong if you does what your mind tells you." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: tom yates, marianna. arkansas age: "i was born in in mississippi, on moon lake. mama said she was orphan. she was sold when she was a young woman. she said she come from richmond, virginia to charleston, south carolina. then she was brought to mississippi and married before freedom. she had two husbands. her owners was master atwood and master curtis burk. i don't know how it come about nor which one bought her. she had four children and i'm the youngest. my sister lives in memphis. "my father was sold in raleigh, north carolina. his master was tom yeates. i'm named fer some of them. papa's name was william yeates. he told us how he come to be sold. he said they was fixing to sell grandma. he was one of the biggest children and he ask his mother to sell him and let grandma raise the children. she wanted to stay with the little ones. he said he cried and cried long after they brought him away. they all cried when he was sold, he said. i don't know who bought him. he must have left soon after he was sold, for he was a soldier. he run away and want in the war. he was a private and mustered out at devalls bluff, arkansas. that is how come my mother to come here. he died in at wilson, arkansas. he got a federal pension, thirty-six dollars, every three months. he wasn't wounded, or if he was i didn't hear him speak of it. he didn't praise war." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: annie young, west scull street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "my old master's name was sam knox. i 'members all my white people. my mother was the cook. "we had a good master and a good mistress too. i wish i could find some of my master's family now. but after the war they broke up and went up north. "i 'member well the day my old master's son got killed. my mother was workin' in the field and i know she come to the house a cryin'. i 'member well when we was out in the plum nursery and could hear the cannons. my white girl nannie told me 'now listen, that's the war a fightin'.' "the soldiers used to come along and sometimes they were in a hurry and would grab something to eat and go on and then sometimes they would sit down to a long table. "i could hear my great grandmother and my mother talkin' 'we'll be free after awhile.' "after the war my stepfather come and got my mother and we moved out in the piney woods. my stepfather was a preacher and sometimes he was a hundred miles from home. my mother hired out to work by the day. i was the oldest of seven chillun and when i got big enough to work they worked me in the field. when we cleaned up the new ground we got fifty cents a day. "i was between ten and twelve years old when i went to school. my first teacher was white. but i tell you the truth, i learned most after my children started to school. "i worked twenty-three years for the police headquarters. i was janitor and matron too. i washed and ironed too. i been here in pine bluff about fifty or sixty years. "if justice was done everybody would have a living. i earned the money to buy this place and they come and wanted me to sign away my home so i could get the old age pension but i just had sense enough not to do it. i'm not goin' sign away my home just for some meat and bread." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: john young e. th ave., pine bluff, ark. age: "well, i don't know how old i is. i was born in virginia, but my mother was sold. she was bought by a speculator and brought here to arkansas. she brought me with her and her old master's name was ridgell. we lived down around monticello. i was big enough to plow and chop cotton and drive a yoke of oxen and haul ten-foot rails. "oh lord, i don't know how many acres old master had. he had a territory--he had a heap a land. i remember he had a big old carriage and the carriage man was little alfred. the reason they called him that was because there was another man on the place called big alfred. they won't no relation--just happen to be the same name. "i remember when the yankees come and killed old master's hogs and chickens and cooked 'em. there was a good big bunch of yankees. they said they was fightin' to free the niggers. after that i runned away and come up here to pine bluff and stayed awhile and then i went to little rock and jined the th colored infantry. i was the kittle drummer. we marched right in the center of the army. we went from little rock to fort smith. i never was in a big battle, just one little scrummage. i was at fort smith when they surrendered and i was mustered out at leavenworth, kansas. "my grandfather went to war as bodyguard for his master, but i was with the yankees. "i remember when the ku klux come to my grandmother's house. they nearly scared us to death. i run and hid under the bed. they didn't do nothin', just the looks of 'em scared us. i know they had the old folks totin' water for 'em. seemed like they couldn't get enough. "after the war i come home and went to farmin'. then i steamboated for four years. i was on the kate adams, but i quit just 'fore it burned, 'bout two or three weeks. "i never went to school a minute in my life. i had a chance to go but i just didn't. "no'm i can't remember nothin' else. it's been so long it done slipped my memory." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: john young e. fifteenth, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i know i was born in arkansas. the first place i recollect i was in arkansas. "i was a drummer in the civil war. i played the little drum. the bass drummer was rheuben turner. "i run off from home in drew county. five or six of us run off here to pine bluff. we heard if we could get with the yankees we'd be free, so we run off here to pine bluff and got with some yankee soldiers--the twenty-eighth wisconsin. "then we went to little rock and i j'ined the fifty-seventh colored infantry. i thought i was good and safe then. "we went to fort smith from little rock and freedom come on us while we was between new mexico and fort smith. "they mustered us out at fort leavenworth and i went right back to my folks in drew county, monticello. "i've been a farmer all my life till i got too old." by the library of congress, manuscript division. [tr: ***] = transcriber note [hw: ***] = handwritten note [illustration: old slave] slave narratives a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project, - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress illustrated with photographs washington volume ii arkansas narratives part i prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of arkansas informants abbott, silas abernathy, lucian abromsom, laura adeline, aunt adway, rose aiken, liddie aldridge, mattie alexander, amsy o. alexander, diana alexander, fannie alexander, lucretia allen, ed allison, lucindy ames, josephine anderson, charles anderson, nancy anderson, r.b. anderson, sarah anderson, selie anderson, w.a. anthony, henry arbery, katie armstrong, campbell armstrong, cora baccus, lillie badgett, joseph samuel bailey, jeff baker, james baltimore, william banks, mose banner, henry barnett, john w.h. barnett, josephine ann barnett, lizzie barnett, spencer barr, emma barr, robert bass, matilda beal, emmett beard, dina beck, annie beckwith, j.h. beel, enoch belle, sophie d. bellus, cyrus benford, bob bennet, carrie bradley logan benson, george benton, kato bertrand, james biggs, alice billings, mandy birch, jane black, beatrice blackwell, boston blake, henry blakeley, adeline bobo, vera roy boechus, liddie bond, maggie (bunny) bonds, caroline boone, rev. frank t. boone, j.f. boone, jonas bowdry, john boyd, jack boyd, mal braddox, george bradley, edward bradley, rachel brannon, elizabeth brantley, mack brass, ellen bratton, alice briles, frank brooks, mary ann brooks, waters brown, casie jones brown, elcie brown, f.h. brown, george brown, j.n. brown, lewis brown, lewis brown, mag brown, mary brown, mattie brown, molly brown, peter brown, william brown, william broyles, maggie bryant, ida buntin, belle burgess, jeff burkes, norman burks, sr., will burris, adeline butler, jennie byrd, e.l. byrd, emmett augusta illustrations old slave _frontispiece_ interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: silas abbott r.f.d. brinkley, ark. age: "i was born in chickashaw county, mississippi. ely abbott and maggie abbott was our owners. they had three girls and two boys--eddie and johnny. we played together till i was grown. i loved em like if they was brothers. papa and mos ely went to war together in a two-horse top buggy. they both come back when they got through. "there was eight of us children and none was sold, none give way. my parents name peter and mahaley abbott. my father never was sold but my mother was sold into this abbott family for a house girl. she cooked and washed and ironed. no'm, she wasn't a wet nurse, but she tended to eddie and johnny and me all alike. she whoop them when they needed, and miss maggie whoop me. that the way we grow'd up. mos ely was 'ceptionly good i recken. no'm, i never heard of him drinkin' whiskey. they made cider and 'simmon beer every year. "grandpa was a soldier in the war. he fought in a battle. i don't know the battle. he wasn't hurt. he come home and told us how awful it was. "my parents stayed on at mos ely's and my uncle's family stayed on. he give my uncle a home and twenty acres of ground and my parents same mount to run a gin. i drove two mules, my brother drove two and we drove two more between us and run the gin. my auntie seen somebody go in the gin one night but didn't think bout them settin' it on fire. they had a torch, i recken, in there. all i knowed, it burned up and mos ely had to take our land back and sell it to pay for four or five hundred bales of cotton got burned up that time. we stayed on and sharecropped with him. we lived between egypt and okolona, mississippi. aberdeen was our tradin' point. "i come to arkansas railroading. i railroaded forty years. worked on the section, then i belong to the extra gang. i help build this railroad to memphis. "i did own a home but i got in debt and had to sell it and let my money go. "times is so changed and the young folks different. they won't work only nough to get by and they want you to give em all you got. they take it if they can. nobody got time to work. i think times is worse than they ever been, cause folks hate to work so bad. i'm talking bout hard work, field work. jobs young folks want is scarce; jobs they could get they don't want. they want to run about and fool around an get by. "i get $ . and provisions from the government." interviewer: watt mckinney person interviewed: lucian abernathy, marvell, arkansas age: "i was borned in de 'streme norf part of mississippi nigh de tennessee line. you mought say dat it was 'bout straddle of de state line and it wasn't no great piece from where us libed to moscow what was de station on de ole memfis en charston railroad. my white folks was de abernathys. you neber do hear 'bout many folks wid dat name these times, leastwise not ober in dis state, but dere sure used to be heap of dem abernathys back home where i libed and i spect dat mebbe some dere yit en cose it's bound to be some of the young uns lef' dar still, but de ole uns, mars luch en dem, dey is all gone. "mars luch, he was my young boss. though he name was lucian us all called him luch and dat was who i is named for. ole mars, he was name will and dat was mars luch's pa and my ole miss, she name miss cynthia and young miss, her name miss ellen. ole mars an' ole miss, dey just had de two chillun, mars luch and miss ellen; dat is what libed to be grown. mars luch, he 'bout two year older dan me and miss ellen, she 'bout two year older dan mars luch. miss ellen, she married er gentman from virginny and went dar to lib and mars luch, he married miss fannie keith. "miss fannie's folks, dey libed right nigh us on to 'j'ining place and dem was my ole man's peoples. yas sah, boss, dat ole man you see settin' right dar now in dat chere. she was ella keith, dats zackly what her named when us married and she named fer miss fannie's ma. dat she was. us neber did leave our folkses eben atter de war ober and de niggers git dey freedom, yit an' still a heap of de niggers did leave dey mars' and a heap of dem didn' an' us stayed on an farmed de lan' jus' like us been doin' 'cept dey gib us a contract for part de crop an' sell us our grub 'gainst us part of de crop and take dey money outen us part of de cotton in de fall just like de bizness is done yit and i reckon dat was de startin' of de sharecrop dat is still goin' on. "soon atter mars luch good and grown an' him an' miss fannie done married, ole mars and ole miss, dey bofe died and mars luch say he gwine sell out an' lebe 'cause de lan' gittin' so poor and wore out and it takin' three an' more acres to make a bale and he tell us all dat when we wind up de crop dat fall and say, 'you boys mebbe can stay on wid whoever i sell out to er if not den you can fin' you homes wid some one close if you wants to do dat.' and den he says dat he gwine fin' him some good lan' mebbe in arkansas down de riber from memfis. mighty nigh all de ole famblys lef' de place when mars luch sole it out. "my pappy and my mammy, dey went to memfis and me wid 'em. i was growed by den and was fixin' to marry ella just es soon es i could fin' a good home. i was a country nigger en liked de farm an' en cose wasn't satisfied in town, so 'twasn't long 'fore i heered 'bout han's beein' needed down de riber in mississippi and dats where i went en stayed for two years and boss, i sure was struck wid dat lan' what you could make a bale to a acre on an' i just knowed dat i was gwine git rich in a hurry an' so i writ er letter to ella en her peoples tellin' dem 'bout de rich lan' and 'vising dem to come down dere where i was and i was wantin' to marry ella den. boss, and you know what, 'twasn't long afore i gits er letter back an' de letter says dat ella an' her peoples is down de riber in arkansas from memfis at bledsoe wid mars luch an' miss fannie where mars luch had done moved him an' miss fannie to a big plantation dey had bought down dere. "dat was a funny thing how dat happened an' bledsoe, it was right 'cross de riber from where i was en had been for two years an' just soon es i git dat letter i 'range wid a nigger to take me 'cross da riber in er skift to de plantation where dey all was and 'bout fust folkses dat i see is ella an' her peoples en lots of de famblys from de ole home place back in tennessee an' i sure was proud to see mars luch en miss fannie. dey had built demselves a fine house at a p'int dat was sorter like a knoll where de water don' git when de riber come out on de lan' in case of oberflow and up de rode 'bout half mile from de house, mars luch had de store en de gin. dey had de boys den, dat is mars luch and miss fannie did, and de boys was named claude an' clarence atter miss fannie's two brudders. "dem was de finest boys dat one ever did see. at dat time claude, he 'bout two year old and clarence, he 'bout four er mebbe little less. ella, she worked in da house cooking for miss fannie an' nussin' de chillun and she plumb crazy 'bout de chillun an' dey just as satisfied wid her as dey was wid dere mama and ella thought more dem chillun dan she did anybody. she just crazy 'bout dem boys. mars luch, he gibe me job right 'way sort flunkying for him and hostling at de lot an' barn and 'twasn't long den 'fore ella and me, us git married an' libs in a cabin dat mars luch had built in de back of de big house. "us git 'long fine for more dan a year and mars luch, he raise plenty cotton an' at times us ud take trip up to memfis on de boat, on de phil allin what was 'bout de fineist boat on de riber in dem days and de one dat most frequent put in at us landin' wid de freight for mars luch and den he most ginally sont he cotton an' seed to memfis on dis same phil allin. "i jus' said, boss, dat us git 'long fine for more dan a year and us all mighty happy till miss fannie took sick an' died an' it mighty nigh killed mars luch and all of us and mars luch, he jus' droop for weeks till us git anxious 'bout him but atter while he git better and seam like mebbe he gwine git ober he sadness but he neber was like he used to be afore miss fannie died. "atter miss fannie gone, mars luch, he say, 'ella, you an' luch mus' mobe in de big house an' make you a bed in de room where de boys sleep, so's you can look atter 'em good, 'cause lots nights i gwine be out late at de gin an' store an' i knows you gwine take plumb good care of dem chillun.' an' so us fixed us bed in de big house an' de boys, dey sleeped right dar in dat room on dere bed where us could take care of 'em. "dat went on for 'bout two years an' den mars luch, he 'gun to get in bad health an' jus' wasted down like and den one night when he at de store he took down bad and dey laid him down on de bed in de back room where he would sleep on sich nights dat he didn' come home when he was so busy an' he sont a nigger on a mule for me to come up dar an' i went in he room an' mars luch, he say, 'lissen, luch, you is been a good faithful nigger an' ella too, an' i is gonna die tonight and i wants you to send er letter to miss ellen in virginny atter i is daid en tell her to come an' git de boys 'cause she is all de kin peoples dat dey habe lef' now cepn cose you an' ella an' it mought be some time afore she gits here so you all take good en faithful care dem till she 'rives an' tell her she habe to see dat all de bizness wind up and take de boys back wid her an' keep dem till dey is growed,' "well, boss, us done jus' like mars luch tell us to do an' us sure feel sorry for dem two little boys. dey jus' 'bout five an' seben year old den and day sure loved dere pa; day was plumb crazy 'bout mars luch and him 'bout dem too. "'bout two weeks from time dat mars luch daid, miss ellen come on de boat one night an' she stayed some days windin' up de bizness and den she lef' an' take de boys 'way wid her back to virginny where she libed. us sure did hate to 'part from dem chillun. dat's been nigh on to sixty years ago but us neber forgit dem boys an' us will allus lobe dem. dey used to sen' us presents an' sich every christmas for seberal years and den us started movin' 'bout an' i reckon dey don' know where we's at now. i sure would like to see dem boys ag'in. i betcha i'd know dem right today. mebbe i wouldn't, it's been so long since i seen 'em; but shucks, i know dat dey would know me." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: laura abromsom, r.f.d., holly grove, arkansas receives mail at clarendon, arkansas age: "my mama was named eloise rogers. she was born in missouri. she was sold and brought to three or four miles from brownsville, tennessee. alex rogers bought her and my papa. she had been a house girl and well cared for. she never got in contact wid her folks no more after she was sold. she was a dark woman. papa was a ginger cake colored man. mama talked like alex rogers had four or five hundred acres of land and lots of niggers to work it. she said he had a cotton factory at brownsville. "mistress barbara ann was his wife. they had two boys and three girls. one boy george went plumb crazy and outlived 'em all. the other boy died early. alex rogers got my papa in richmond, virginia. he was took outer a gang. we had a big family. i have eight sisters and one brother. "pa say they strop 'em down at the carriage house and give 'em five hundred lashes. he say they have salt and black pepper mixed up in er old bucket and put it all on flesh cut up with a rag tied on a stick (mop). alex rogers had a nigger to put it on the place they whooped. the lord puts up wid such wrong doings and den he comes and rectifies it. he does that very way. "pa say they started to whoop him at the gin house. he was a sorter favorite. he cut up about it. that didn't make no difference 'bout it. somehow they scared him up but he didn't git whooped thater time. "they fed good on alex rogers' place. they'd buy a barrel of coffee, a barrel molasses, a barrel sugar. some great big barrels. "alex rogers wasn't a good man. he'd tell them to steal a hog and git home wid it. if they ketch you over there they'll whoop you. he'd help eat hogs they'd steal. "one time papa was working on the roads. the neighbor man and road man was fixing up their eating. he purty nigh starved on that road work. he was hired out. "mama and papa spoke like they was mighty glad to get sat free. some believed they'd git freedom and others didn't. they had places they met and prayed for freedom. they stole out in some of their houses and turned a washpot down at the door. another white man, not alex rogers, tole mama and papa and a heap others out in the field working. she say they quit and had a regular bawl in the field. they cried and laughed and hollered and danced. lot of them run offen the place soon as the man tole 'em. my folks stayed that year and another year. "what is i been doing? ast me is i been doing? what ain't i been doing be more like it. i raised fifteen of my own children. i got four living. i living wid one right here in dis house wid me now. i worked on the farm purty nigh all my life. i come to dis place. wild, honey, it was! i come in . heap of changes since then. "present times--not as much union 'mongst young black and white as the old black and white. they growing apart. nobody got nothin' to give. no work. i used to could buy second-handed clothes to do my little children a year for a little or nothin'. won't sell 'em now nor give 'em 'way neither. they don't work hard as they used to. they say they don't git nothin' outen it. they don't want to work. times harder in winter 'cause it cold and things to eat killed out. i cans meat. we dry beef. in town this nickellodian playing wild wid young colored folks--these sea bird music boxes. they play all kind things. folks used to stay home saturday nights. too much running 'round, excitement, wickedness in the world now. this generation is worst one. they trying to cut the big apple dance when we old folks used to be down singing and praying, 'cause dis is a wicked age times is bad and hard." interviewer's comment mulatto, clean, intelligent. interviewer: mrs. zillah cross peel person interviewed: "aunt adeline" age: home: rock street, fayetteville, arkansas "i was born a slave about , in hickmon county, tennessee," said aunt adeline who lives as care taker in a house at rock street, fayetteville, arkansas, which is owned by the blakely-hudgens estate. aunt adeline has been a slave and a servant in five generations of the parks family. her mother, liza, with a group of five negroes, was sold into slavery to john p.a. parks, in tennessee, about . "when my mother's master come to arkansas about , looking for a country residence, he bought what was known as the old kidd place on the old wire road, which was one of the stage coach stops. i was about one year old when we came. we had a big house and many times passengers would stay several days and wait for the next stage to come by. it was then that i earned my first money. i must have been about six or seven years old. one of mr. parks' daughters was about one and a half years older than i was. we had a play house back of the fireplace chimney. we didn't have many toys; maybe a doll made of a corn cob, with a dress made from scraps and a head made from a roll of scraps. we were playing church. miss fannie was the preacher and i was the audience. we were singing "jesus my all to heaven is gone." when we were half way through with our song we discovered that the passengers from the stage coach had stopped to listen. we were so frightened at our audience that we both ran. but we were coaxed to come back for a dime and sing our song over. i remember that miss fannie used a big leaf for a book. "i had always been told from the time i was a small child that i was a negro of african stock. that it was no disgrace to be a negro and had it not been for the white folks who brought us over here from africa as slaves, we would never have been here and would have been much better off. "we colored folks were not allowed to be taught to read or write. it was against the law. my master's folks always treated me well. i had good clothes. sometimes i was whipped for things i should not have done just as the white children were. "when a young girl was married her parents would always give her a slave. i was given by my master to his daughter, miss elizabeth, who married mr. blakely. i was just five years old. she moved into a new home at fayetteville and i was taken along but she soon sent me back home to my master telling him that i was too little and not enough help to her. so i went back to the parks home and stayed until i was over seven years old. [ ]my master made a bill of sale for me to his daughter, in order to keep account of all settlements, so when he died and the estate settled each child would know how he stood. "i was about years old when the civil war ended and was still living with mrs. blakely and helped care for her little children. her daughter, miss lenora, later married h.m. hudgens, and i then went to live with her and cared for her children. when her daughter miss helen married professor wiggins, i took care of her little daughter, and this made five generations that i have cared for. "during the civil war, mr. parks took all his slaves and all of his fine stock, horses and cattle and went south to louisiana following the southern army for protection. many slave owners left the county taking with them their slaves and followed the army. "when the war was over, mr. parks was still in the south and gave to each one of his slaves who did not want to come back to arkansas so much money. my uncle george came back with mr. parks and was given a good mountain farm of forty acres, which he put in cultivation and one of my uncle's descendants still lives on the place. my mother did not return to arkansas but went on to joplin, missouri, and for more than fifty years, neither one of us knew where the other one was until one day a man from fayetteville went into a restaurant in joplin and ordered his breakfast, and my mother who was in there heard him say he lived in fayetteville, arkansas. he lived just below the hudgens home and when my mother enquired about the family he told her i was still alive and was with the family. while neither of us could read nor write we corresponded through different people. but i never saw her after i was eleven years old. later mr. hudgens went to joplin to see if she was well taken care of. she owned her own little place and when she died there was enough money for her to be buried. "civil war days are vivid to me. the courthouse which was then in the middle of the square was burned one night by a crazy confederate soldier. the old men in the town saved him and then put him in the county jail to keep him from burning other houses. each family was to take food to him and they furnished bedding. the morning i was to take his breakfast, he had ripped open his feather bed and crawled inside to get warm. the room was so full of feathers when i got there that his food nearly choked him. i had carried him ham, hot biscuits and a pot of coffee. "after the war many soldiers came to my mistress, mrs. blakely, trying to make her free me. i told them i was free but i did not want to go anywhere, that i wanted to stay in the only home that i had ever known. in a way that placed me in a wrong attitude. i was pointed out as different. sometimes i was threatened for not leaving but i stayed on. "i had always been well treated by my master's folks. while we lived at the old kidd place, there was a church a few miles from our home. my uncle george was coachman and drove my master's family in great splendor in a fine barouche to church. after the war, when he went to his own place, mr. parks gave him the old carriage and bought a new one for the family. "i can remember the days of slavery as happy ones. we always had an abundance of food. old aunt martha cooked and there was always plenty prepared for all the white folks as well as the colored folks. there was a long table at the end of the big kitchen for the colored folks. the vegetables were all prepared of an evening by aunt martha with someone to help her. "my mother seemed to have a gift of telling fortunes. she had a brass ring about the size of a dollar with a handwoven knotted string that she used. i remember that she told many of the young people in the neighborhood many strange things. they would come to her with their premonitions. "yes, we were afraid of the patyroles. all colored folks were. they said that any negroes that were caught away from their master's premises without a permit would be whipped by the patyroles. they used to sing a song: 'run nigger run, the patyroles will get you.' "yes'm, the war separated lots of families. mr. parks' son, john c. parks, enlisted in colonel w.h. brooks' regiment at fayetteville as third lieutenant. mr. jim parks was killed at the battle of getysburg. "i do remember it was my mistress, mrs. blakely, who kept the masonic building from being burned. the soldiers came to set it on fire. mrs. blakely knew that if it burned, our home would burn as it was just across the street. mrs. blakely had two small children who were very ill in upstairs rooms. she told the soldiers if they burned the masonic building that her house would burn and she would be unable to save her little children. they went away." while aunt adeline is nearing ninety, she is still active, goes shopping and also tends to the many crepe myrtle bushes as well as many other flowers at the hudgens place. she attends to the renting of the apartment house, as caretaker, and is taken care of by members of the blakely-hudgens families. aunt adeline talks "white folks language," as they say, and seldom associates with the colored people of the town. [footnote : this statement can be verified by the will made by john p.a. parks, and filed in probate court in the clerk's office in washington county.] interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: rose adway w. pullen, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born three years 'fore surrender. that's what my people told me. born in mississippi. let me see what county i come out of. smith county--that's where i was bred and born. "i know i seen the yankees but i didn't know what they was. my mama and papa and all of 'em talked about the war. "my papa was a water toter in durin' the war. no, he didn't serve the army--just on the farm. "mama was the cook for her missis in slavery times. "i think my folks went off after freedom and then come back. that was after they had done been sot free. i can remember dat all right. "i registered down here at the welfare and i had to git my license from mississippi and i didn't remember which courthouse i got my license, but i sent letters over there till i got it up. i got all my papers now, but i ain't never got no pension. "i been through so much i can't git much in my remembrance, but i was _here_--that ain't no joke--i _been_ here. "my folks said their owners was all right. you know they was 'cause they come back. i remember dat all right. "i been farmin' till i got disabled. after i married i went to farmin'. and i birthed fourteen head of chillun by dat one man! fourteen head by dat one man! stayed at home and took care of 'em till i got 'em up some size, too. all dead but five out of the fourteen head. "my missis' name was miss catherine and her husband named abe carr. "i went to school a little bit--mighty little. i could read but i never could write. "and i'm about to go blind in my old age. i need help and i need it bad. chillun ain't able to help me none 'cept give me a little bread and give me some medicine once in a while. but i'm thankful to the lord i can get outdoors. "i don't know what to think of this young race. that baby there knows more than i do now, nearly. back there when i was born, i didn't know nothin'. "i know they said it was bad luck to bring a hoe or a ax in the house on your shoulder. i heard the old folks tell dat--sure did. "and i was told dat on old christmas night the cows gets down on their knees and gives thanks to the lord. "i 'member one song: 'i am climbin' jacob's ladder i am climbin' jacob's ladder i am climbin' jacob's ladder for the work is almost done. 'every round goes higher and higher every round goes higher and higher every round goes higher and higher for my work is almost done. 'sister, now don't you get worried sister, now don't you get worried sister, now don't you get worried for the work is almost done.' my mother used to sing dat when she was spinnin' and cardin'. they'd spin and dye the thread with some kind of indigo. oh, i 'member dat all right." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: liddie aiken, wheatley, arkansas age: "my mother was born in southwest georgia close to the alabama line. her mother come from virginia. she was sold with her mother and two little brothers. her mother had been sold and come in a wagon to southwest georgia. they was all field hands. they cleaned out new ground. they was afraid of hoop-snakes. she said they look like a hoop rolling and whatever they stuck a horn or their tail in it died. they killed trees. "mama said she druther plough than chop. she was a big woman and they let her plough right along by her two little brothers, henry and will keller. will et so many sweet potatoes they called him 'tater keller.' after he got grown we come out here. folks called him 'tate keller.' henry died. i recollect uncle tate. "i was born close to mobile, alabama. mama was named sarah keller. grandma was called mariah. banks tillman sold her the first time. bill keller bought them all the last time. his wife was named ada keller. they had a great big family but i forgot what they said about them. mack clem up in a persimmon tree one day and the old man hollered at him, 'get out of that tree 'fore you fall.' 'bout then the boy turned 'loose and fell. it knocked the breath out him. it didn't kill him. three or four of miss ada's children died with congestive chills. mama said the reason they had them chills they played down at the gin pond all the time. it was shady and a pretty place and they was allowed to play in the pond. three or four of them died nearly in a heap. "one of the boys had a pet billy-goat. it got up on top mama's house one time. it would bleat and look down at them. they was afraid it would jump down on them if they went out. it chewed up things aunt beanie washed. she had them put out on bushes and might had a line too. they fattened it and killed it. mama said mr. bill keller never had nothing too good to divide with his niggers. i reckon by that they got some of the goat. "they lived like we live now. every family done his own cooking. i don't know how many families lived on the place. "i know about the yankees. they come by and every one of the men and boys went with them but uncle cal. he was cripple and they advised him not to start. didn't none of the women go. mama said she never seen but one ever come back. she thought they got killed or went on some place else. "mr. keller died and miss ada went back to her folks. they left everything in our care that they didn't move. she took all her house things. they sold or took all their stock. they left us a few cows and pigs. i don't know how long they stayed after the old man died. his children was young; he might not been so old. "i recollect grandma. she smoked a pipe nearly all the time. my papa was a livery stable man. he was a fine man with stock. he was a little black man. mama was too big. grandma was taller but she was slick black. he lived at mobile, alabama. i was the onliest child mama had. uncle 'tate keller' took grandma and mama to mobile. he never went to the war. he was a good carpenter and he worked out when he didn't have a lot to do in the field. he was off at work when all the black men and boys left mr. bill. he never went back after they left till freedom. "they didn't know when freedom took place. they was all scattering for two years about to get work and something to eat. tate come and got them. they went off in a wagon that tate made for his master, bill keller. we come to tupelo, mississippi from mobile when i was a little bit of a girl. then we made one crop and come to helena. uncle tate died there and mama died at crocketts bluff. my papa died back in mobile, alabama. he was breaking a young horse and got throwed up side a tree. he didn't live long then. "i got three boys now and i had seben--all boys. they farms and do public work. tom is in memphis. pete is in helena and i live wid macon between here (wheatley) and cotton plant. we farm. i done everything could be thought of on a farm. i ploughed some less than five year ago. i liked to plough. my boy ploughs all he can now and we do the chopping. we all pick cotton and get in the corn. we work day laborers now. "if i was young the times wouldn't stand in my way. i could make it. i don't know what is the trouble lessen some wants too much. they can't get it. we has a living and thankful for it. i never 'plied for no help yet. "i still knits my winter stockings. i got knitting needles and cards my own mother had and used. i got use for them. i wears clothes on my body in cold weather. one reason you young folks ain't no 'count you don't wear enough clothes when it is cold. i wear flannel clothes if i can get holt of them. "education done ruint the world. i learnt to read a little. i never went to school. i learnt to work. i learnt my boys to go with me to the field and not to be ashamed to sweat. it's healthy. they all works." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mattie aldridge age: ? hazen, arkansas "my mother's old owner named master sanders. she born somewhere in tennessee. i heard her say she lived in mississippi. i was born in tennessee. my pa was born in mississippi. i know he belong to the duncans. his name george washington duncan. there ain't nary drap white blood in none us. i got four brothers. i do remembers grandma. she set and tell us tales bout old times like you want to know. been so long i forgotten. ma was a house girl and pa a field hand. way grandma talked it must of been hard to find out what white folks wanted em to do, cause she couldn't tell what you say some times. she never did talk plain. "they was glad when freedom declared. they said they was hard on em. whoop em. pa was killed in crittenden county in arkansas. he was clearin' new ground. a storm come up and a limb hit him. it killed him. grandma and ma allus say like if you build a house you want to put all the winders in you ever goin' to want. it bad luck to cut in and put in nother one. sign of a death. i ain't got no business tellin' you bout that. white folks don't believe in signs. "i been raisin' up childern--'dopted childern, washin', ironin', scourin', hoein', gatherin' corn, pickin' cotton, patchin', cookin'. they ain't nothin' what i ain't done. "no'm, i sure ain't voted. i don't believe in women votin'. they don't know who to vote for. the men don't know neither. if folks visited they would care more bout the other an wouldn't be so much devilment goin' on." interviewer: samuel s. taylor. person interviewed: amsy o. alexander center street, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: helps build railroad] "i was born in the country several miles from charlotte in macklenberg, county, north carolina in . "my father's name was john alexander and my mother was esther mccolley. that was her maiden name of course. "my father's master was named silas alexander and my mother belonged to hugh reed. i don't know just how she and my father happened to meet. these two slaveholders were adjoining neighbors, you might say. "my father and my mother married during the war. i was the first child. i had three half brothers and three half sisters from the father's side. i didn't have no whole brothers and sisters. i am the only one on my mother's side. my father was not in the war. "i don't know that the pateroles bothered him very much. my father and mother were well treated by our master and then both she and my father were quiet and their masters were good to them naturally. "during slavery times, my father was a farmer. my mother farmed too. she was a hand in the field. they lived in a little log cabin, one room. they had a bed in there, a few chairs and a homemade table. they had a plank floor. i only know what i heard my people speak of. i don't know what was what for myself because i was too young. "from what i can understand they had a big room at the house and the slaves came there and ate there. they had a colored woman who prepared their meals. the children mostly were raised on pot liquor. while the old folk were working the larger young uns mongst the children would take care of the little ones. "their masters never forced any breeding. i have heard of that happening in other places but i never heard them speak of it in connection with our master. "when the master came back from the war, they told the slaves they were free. after slavery my people stayed on and worked on the old plantation. they didn't get much. something like fifty cents a day and one meal. my folks didn't work on shares. "back there in north carolina times got tight and it seemed that there wasn't much doing. agents came from arkansas trying to get laborers. so about seven or eight families of us emigrated from north carolina. that is how my folks got here. "the ku klux were bad in north carolina too. my people didn't have any trouble with them in arkansas, though. they weren't bothered so much in north carolina because of their owners. but they would come around and see them. they came at night. we came to arkansas in the winter of . "i went to public school after the war, in north carolina. i didn't get any further than the eighth grade. my father and mother didn't get any schooling till after the war. they could read a little but they picked it up themselves during slavery. i suppose their master's children learned it to them. "my father never did see any army service. i have heard him speak of seeing soldiers come through though. they looted the place and took everything they wanted and could carry. "when i first come to this state, i settled in drew county and farmed. i farmed for three years. during the time i was there, i got down sick with slow fever. when i got over that i decided that i would move to higher ground. there was a man down there who recommended little rock and so i moved here. i have been here forty-nine years. that is quite a few days. "i belong to the presbyterian church and have been a member of that church for fifty-five years. i have never gotten out publicly, but i even do my little preaching round in the house here. "when i came to little rock, i came in a very dull season. there wasn't even a house to be rented. it was in the winter. i had to rent a room at "jones" hall on ninth and gaines streets and paid one dollar a day for it. i stayed there about a month. finally there was a vacant house over on nineteenth street and common and i moved there. then i commenced to look for work and i walked the town over daily. no results whatever. finally i struck a little job with the contractor here digging ditches, grubbing stumps, grading streets and so forth. i worked with him for three years and finally i got a job with the street car company, as laborer in the parks. i worked at that job two years. finally i got a job as track laborer. i worked there a year. then i was promoted to track foreman. i held that seven years. "i quit that then and went to the railroads. i helped to build the choctaw oklahoma and gulf railway. when the road was completed, i made the first trip over it as porter. i remained there till august , . during that time i was operated on for prostatitis and doctors rendered me unfit for work, totally disabled; so that is my condition today. "i think the future looks bright. i think conditions will get better. i believe that all that is necessary for betterment is cooperation. "i believe the younger generation--the way it looks--is pretty bad. i think we haven't done anything like as much as we could do in teaching the youngsters. we need to give them an idea of things. they don't know. our future depends on our children if their minds aren't trained, the future will not be bright. our leaders should lecture to these young people and teach them. we have young people who dodge voting because of the poll tax. that is not the right attitude. i don't know what will become of us if our children are not better instructed. the white people are doing more of this than we are. "there was a time when children didn't know but what the foot was all there was of a chicken. the foot was all they had ever seen. but young folks nowaday should be taught everything." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: diana alexander, brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born in mississippi close to bihalia. our owner was myers(?) bogan. he had a wife and children. mama was a field woman. her name was sarah bogan and papa's name was hubberd bogan. "i heard them talk about setting the pot at the doors and having singing and prayer services. they all sung and prayed around the room. i forgot all the things they talked about. my parents lived on the same place after freedom a long time. they said he was good to them. "dr. bogan in forrest city, arkansas always said i was his brother's child. he was dead years ago, so i didn't have no other way of knowing. "the only thing i can recollect about the war was once my mistress took me and her own little girl upstairs in a kind of ceiling room (attic). they had their ham meat and jewelry locked up in there and other fine stuff. she told us to sit down and not move, not even grunt. me and fannie had to be locked up so long. it was dark. we both went to sleep but we was afraid to stir. the yankees come then but i didn't get to see them. i didn't want to be took away by 'em. i was big enough to know that. i heard 'em say we was near 'bout eat out at the closing of the war. i thought it muster been the yankees from what they was talking about, eating us out. "i been washing and ironing and still doing it. all my life i been doing that 'ceptin' when i worked in the field. "me and my daughter is paying on this house (a good house). i been making my own living--hard or easy. i don't get no relief aid. never have. i 'plied for the old people's pension. don't get it." interviewer's comment this must be myers bogan, yet she told me bogan myers. later she said dr. bogan of forrest city was thus and so. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: fannie alexander, helena, arkansas age: "i was an orphant child. my mother-in-law told me during slavery she was a field hand. one day the overseer was going to whoop one of the women 'bout sompin or other and all the women started with the hoes to him and run him clear out of the field. they would killed him if he hadn't got out of the way. she said the master hadn't put a overseer over them for a long time. some of 'em wouldn't do their part and he put one of the men on the place over the women. he was a colored foreman. the women worked together and the men worked together in different fields. my mother-in-law was named alice drummond. she said they would cut the hoecakes in half and put that in your pan, then pour the beef stew on top. she said on christmas day they had hot biscuits. they give them flour and things to make biscuit at home on sundays. when they got through eating they take their plate and say, 'thank god for what i received.' she said they had plenty milk. the churns was up high--five gallon churns. some churns was cedar wood. the children would churn standing on a little stool. it would take two to churn. they would change about and one brushed away the flies. she lived close to meridian and canton. "my mother talked the bright side to her children. she was born in tennessee. she had two older sisters sold from her. she never seen them no more. they was took to missouri. mother was never sold. she was real bright color. she died when i was real little. from what i know i think my parents was industrious. papa was a shoemaker. he worked on sunday to make extra money to buy things outside of what his master give them for his family. now i can remember that much. my papa was a bright color like i am but not near as light as mama. he had a shop when i was little but he wasn't 'lowed to keep it open on sunday. i heard him tell about working on sundays during slavery and how much he made sometimes. he tanned his own leather. "i went to mississippi and married. folks got grown earlier than they do now and i married when i was a young girl 'bout seventeen. we come to arkansas. i sewed for white and colored. i cooked some. i taught school in the public schools. i taught opportunity school two years. i had a class at the church in day and at the schoolhouse at night. i had two classes. "john hays was mama's owner in tennessee." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: lucretia alexander high street. little rock, arkansas age: "i been married three times and my last name was lucretia alexander. i was twelve years old when the war began. my mother died at seventy-three or seventy-five. that was in august --august the ninth. she was buried august twelfth. the reason they kept her was they had refugeed her children off to different places to keep them from the yankees. they couldn't get them back. my mother and her children were heir property. her first master was toliver. my mother was named agnes toliver. she had a boy and a girl both older than i were. my brother come home in ' . i never got to see my sister till . "my father died in and some say he was one hundred twelve and some say one hundred six. his name was beasley, john beasley, and he went by john beasley till he died. "my mother died and left four living children. i was the youngest. "i got religion in . i was baptized seventy-three years ago this august. "i ain't got nary living child. my oldest child would have been sixty-four if he were living. they claim my baby boy is living, but i don't know. i have four children. "the first overseer i remember was named kurt johnson. the next was named mack mckenzie. the next one was named pink womack. and the next was named tom phipps. mean! liked meanness! mean a man as he could be. i've seen him take them down and whip them till the blood run out of them. "i got ten head of grandchildren. and i been grandmother to eleven head. i been great-grandmother to twelve head of great-grandchildren. i got one twenty-three and another nineteen or twenty. her father's father was in the army. she is the oldest. lotas robinson, my granddaughter, has four children that are my great-grandchildren. gayden jenkins, my grandson, has two girls. i got a grandson named dan jenkins. he is the father of three boys. he lives in cleveland. he got a grandson named mark jenkins in memphis who has one boy. the youngest granddaughter--i don't remember her husband's name--has one boy. there are four generations of us. "i been here. you see i took care of myself when i was young and tried to do right. the lord has helped me too. yes, i am going on now. i been here a long time but i try to take care of myself. i was out visiting the sick last time you come here. that's the reason i missed you. i tries to do the best i can. "i am stricken now with the rheumatism on one side. this hip. "my mother was treated well in slavery times. my father was sold five times. wouldn't take nothin'. so they sold him. they beat him and knocked him about. they put him on the block and they sold him 'bout beatin' up his master. he was a native of virginia. the last time they sold him they sold him down in claiborne county, mississippi. just below where i was born at. i was born in copiah county near hazlehurst, about fifteen miles from hazlehurst. my mother was born in washington county. virginia. her first master was qualls tolliver. qualls moved to mississippi and married a woman down there and he had one son, peachy toliver. after he died, he willed her to peachy. then peachy went to the rebel army and got killed. "my mother's father was a free indian named washington. her mother was a slave. i don't know my father's father. he moved about so much and was sold so many times he never did tell me his father. he got his name from the white folks. when you're a slave you have to go by your owner's name. "my master's mother took me to the house after my mother died. and the first thing i remember doing was cleaning up. bringing water, putting up mosquito-bars, cooking. my master's mother was susan reed. i have done everything but saw. i never sawed in my life. the hardest work i did was after slavery. i never did no hard work during slavery. i used to pack water for the plow hands and all such as that. but when my mother died, my mistress took me to the house. "but lawd! i've seen such brutish doin's--runnin' niggers with hounds and whippin' them till they was bloody. they used to put 'em in stocks. when they didn't put 'em in stocks, used to be two people would whip 'em--the overseer and the driver. the overseer would be a man named elijah at our house. he was just a poor white man. he had a whip they called the black snake. "i remember one time they caught a man named george tinsley. they put the dogs on him and they bit 'im and tore all his clothes off of 'im. then they put 'im in the stocks. the stocks was a big piece of timber with hinges in it. it had a hole in it for your head. they would lift it up and put your head in it. there was holes for your head, hands and feet in it. then they would shut it up and they would lay that whip on you and you couldn't do nothin' but wiggle and holler, 'pray, master, pray!' but when they'd let that man out, he'd run away again. "they would make the slaves work till twelve o'clock on sunday, and then they would let them go to church. the first time i was sprinkled, a white preacher did it; i think his name was williams. "the preacher would preach to the white folks in the forenoon and to the colored folks in the evening. the white folks had them hired. one of them preachers was named hackett; another, williams; and another, gowan. there was five of them but i just remember them three. one man used to hold the slaves so late that they had to go to the church dirty from their work. they would be sweaty and smelly. so the preacher 'buked him 'bout it. that was old man bill rose. "the niggers didn't go to the church building; the preacher came and preached to them in their quarters. he'd just say, 'serve your masters. don't steal your master's turkey. don't steal your master's chickens. don't steal your master's hawgs. don't steal your master's meat. do whatsomeever your master tells you to do.' same old thing all the time. "my father would have church in dwelling houses and they had to whisper. my mother was dead and i would go with him. sometimes they would have church at his house. that would be when they would want a real meetin' with some real preachin'. it would have to be durin' the week nights. you couldn't tell the difference between baptists and methodists then. they was all christians. i never saw them turn nobody down at the communion, but i have heard of it. i never saw them turn no pots down neither; but i have heard of that. they used to sing their songs in a whisper and pray in a whisper. that was a prayer-meeting from house to house once or twice--once or twice a week. "old phipps whipped me once. he aimed to kill me but i got loose. he whipped me about a colored girl of his'n that he had by a colored woman. phipps went with a colored woman before he married his wife. he had a girl named martha ann phipps. i beat martha 'bout a pair of stockings. my mistress bought me a nice pair of stockings from the store. you see, they used to knit the stockings. i wore the stockings once; then i washed them and put them on the fence to dry. martha stole them and put them on. i beat her and took them off of her. she ran and told her father and he ran me home. he couldn't catch me, and he told me he'd get me. i didn't run to my father. i run to my mistress, and he knew he'd better not do nothin' then. he said, 'i'll get you, you little old black some thin'.' only he didn't say 'somethin'.' he didn't get me then. "but one day he caught me out by his house. i had gone over that way on an errand i needn't have done. he had two girls hold me. they was angeline and nancy. they didn't much want to hold me anyhow. some niggers would catch you and kill you for the white folks and then there was some that wouldn't. i got loose from them. he tried to hold me hisself but he couldn't. i got away and went back to my old mistress and she wrote him a note never to lay his dirty hands on me again. a little later her brother, johnson chatman, came there and ran him off the place. my old mistress' name was susan chatman before she married. then she married toliver. then she married reed. she married reed last--after toliver died. "one old lady named emily moorehead runned in and held my mother once for phipps to whip her. and my mother was down with consumption too. i aimed to git old phipps for that. but then i got religion and i couldn't do it. religion makes you forgit a heap of things. "susan reed, my old mistress, bought my father and paid fifteen hundred dollars for him and she hadn't never seen 'im. advertising. he had run away so much that they had to advertise and sell 'im. he never would run away from miss susan. she was good to him till she got that old nigger beater phipps. her husband, reed, was called a nigger spoiler. my father was an old man when phipps was on overseer and wasn't able to fight much then. "phipps sure was a bad man. he wasn't so bad neither; but the niggers was scared of him. you know in slave times, sometimes when a master would git too bad, the niggers would kill him--tote him off out in the woods somewheres and git rid of him. two or three of them would git together and scheme it out, and then two or three of them would git him way out and kill 'im. but they didn't nobody ever pull nothin' like that on phipps. they was scared of him. "one time i saw the yankees a long way off. they had on blue uniforms and was on coal black horses. i hollered out, 'oh, i see somethin'.' my mistress said, 'what?' i told her, and she said, 'them's the yankees.' she went on in the house and i went with her. she sacked up all the valuables in the house. she said, 'here,' and she threw a sack of silver on me that was so heavy that i went right on down to the ground. then she took hold of it and holp me up and holp me carry it out. i carried it out and hid it. she had three buckskin sacks--all full of silver. that wasn't now; that was in slavery times. during the war, jeff davis gave out confederate money. it died out on the folks' hands. about twelve hundred dollars of it died out on my father's hands. but there wasn't nothin' but gold and silver in them sacks. "i heard them tell the slaves they were free. a man named captain barkus who had his arm off at the elbow called for the three near-by plantations to meet at our place. then he got up on a platform with another man beside him and declared peace and freedom. he p'inted to a colored man and yelled, 'you're free as i am.' old colored folks, old as i am now, that was on sticks, throwed them sticks away and shouted. "right after freedom i stayed with that white woman i told you about. i was with her about four years. i worked for twelve dollars a month and my food and clothes. then i figured that twelve dollars wasn't enough and i went to work in the field. it was a mighty nice woman. never hit me in her life. i never have been whipped by a white woman. she was good to me till she died. she died after i had my second child--a girl child. "i have been living in this city fifteen years. i come from chicot county when i come here. we come to arkansas in slavery times. they brought me from copiah county when i was six or eight years old. when mrs. toliver married she came up here and brought my mother. my mother belonged to her son and she said, 'agnes (that was my mother's name), will you follow me if i buy your husband?' her husband's name was john beasley. she said, 'yes.' then her old mistress bought beasley and paid fifteen hundred dollars to get my mother to come with her. then peachy went to war and was shot because he come home of a furlough and stayed too long. so when he went back they killed him. my mother nursed him when he was a baby. old man toliver said he didn't want none of us to be sold; so they wasn't none of us sold. maybe there would have been if slavery had lasted longer; but there wasn't. "mother really belonged to peachy, but when peachy died, then she fell to her mistress. "i have been a widow now for thirty years. i washed and ironed and plowed and hoed--everything. now i am gittin' so i ain't able to do nothin' and the relief keeps me alive. i worked and took care of myself and my last husband and he died, and i ain't married since. i used to take a little boy and make ten bales of cotton. i can't do it now. i used to be a woman in my day. i am my mother's seventh child. "i don't buy no hoodoo and i don't believe in none, but a seventh child can more or less tell you things that are a long way off. if you want to beat the devil you got to do right. god's got to be in the plan. i tries to do right. i am not perfect but i do the best i can. i ain't got no bottom teeth, but my top ones are good. i have a few bottom ones. the lawd's keepin' me here for somepin. i been with 'im now seventy-three years." interviewer's comment i'll bet the grandest moment in the life of sister alexander's mother was when her mistress said, "agnes, will you follow me if i buy your husband?" fifteen hundred dollars to buy a rebellious slave in order to unite a slave couple. it's epic. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: ed allen, des arc, ark. age: ? "i know that after freedom they took care of my pa and ma and give em a home long as they lived. ma died wid young mistress here in des arc. "the present generation is going to the bad. have dealings wid em, not good to you. young folks ain't nice to you like they used to be. "white boys and colored boys, whole crowd of us used to go in the river down here all together, one got in danger help him out. they don't do it no more. we used to play base ball together. all had a good time. we never had to buy a ball or a bat. always had em. the white boys bought them. i don't know as who to blame but young folk changed." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lucindy allison, marked tree, arkansas with children at biscoe, arkansas age: "ma was a slave in arkansas. she said she helped grade a hill and help pile up a road between wicksburg and wynne. they couldn't put the road over the hill, so they put all the slaves about to grade it down. they don't use the road but it's still there to show for itself. "she was a tall rawbony woman. ma was a hillis and pa's name was adam hillis. he learned to trap in slavery and after freedom he followed that for a living. ma was a sure 'nough field hand. mama had three sets of children. i don't know how many she did have in all. i had eleven my own self. grandma was named tempy and i heard them tell about when she was sold. she and mama went together. they used to whoop the slaves when they didn't work up peart. "when the 'old war' come on and the yankees come they took everything and the black men folks too. they come by right often. they would drive up at mealtime and come in and rake up every blessed thing was cooked. have to go work scrape about and find something else to eat. what they keer 'bout you being white or black? thing they was after was filling theirselves up. they done white folks worse than that. they burned their cribs and fences up and their houses too about if they got mad. things didn't suit them. if they wanted a colored man to go in camp with them and he didn't go, they would shoot you down like a dog. ma told about some folks she knowd got shot in the yard of his own quarters. "us black folks don't want war. they are not war kind of folks. slavery wasn't right and that 'old war' wasn't right neither. "when my children was all little i kept aunt mandy buford till she died. she was a old slave woman. me and my husband and the biggest children worked in the field. she would sit about and smoke. my boys made cob pipes and cut cane j'ints for 'er to draw through. red cob pipes was the prettiest. aunt mandy said her master would be telling them what to do in the field and he say to her, 'i talking to you too.' she worked right among the men at the same kind of work. she was tall but not large. she carried children on her right hip when she was so young she dragged that foot when she walked. the reason she had to go with the men to the field like she did was 'cause she wasn't no multiplying woman. she never had a chile in all her lifetime. she said her mother nearly got in bad one time when her sister was carrying a baby. she didn't keep up. said the riding boss got down, dug a hole with the hoe to lay her in it 'cause she was so big in front. her mother told him if he put her daughter there in that hole she'd cop him up in pieces wid her hoe. he found he had two to conquer and he let her be. but he had to leave 'cause he couldn't whoop the niggers. "if i could think of all she tole i'd soon have enough to fill up that book you're getting up. i can't recollect who she belong to, and her old talk comes back to me now and then. she talked so much we'd get up and go on off to keep from hearing her tell things over so many times. "folks like me what got children think the way they do is all right. i don't like some of my children's ways but none of us perfect. i tells 'em right far as i knows. times what makes folks no 'count. times gets stiff around biscoe. heap of folks has plenty. some don't have much--not enough. some don't have nothing. "i don't believe in women voting. that ruined the country. we got along very well till they got to tinkering with the government." name of interviewer: pernella anderson subject: early days in caledonia--early days in el dorado name: josephine ames occupation: domestic resident: fordville age: not given. [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] ah wuz bo'n de first year niggers wuz free. wuz born in caledonia at de primm place. mah ma belonged tuh george thompson. after mah ma died ah stayed wid de wommacks, a while. aftuh dat mah pa taken me home. pa's name wuz jesse flueur. ah worked lak er slave. ah cut wood, sawed logs, picked pounds uv cotton evah day. ah speck ah married de first time ah wuz about fo'teen years ole. ah been mahrid three times. all mah husband's is daid. ole man england and ole man cullens run business places and ole man wooley. his name wuz reason wooley. de woolies got cemetery uv dey own right dar near de cobb place. no body is buried in dar but de fambly uv wooleys. ole man allen hale, he run er store dar too. he is yet livin right dar. he is real ole. de ole warren mitchell place whar ah use tuh live is guvment land. warren mitchell, he homesteaded the place. we lived dar and made good crops. de purtiest dar wuz eround, but not hit's growed up. don lived dar and made good crops. de purtiest dar wuz eround. dar is whah all mah chillun wuz bo'n. ah use tuh take mah baby an walk tuh el dorado to sevice. ah use tuh come tuh el dorado wid a oman by de name of sue foster. nothin but woods when dey laid de railroad heah. dey built dem widh horses and axes. ah saw em when dey whoop de hosses and oxen till dey fall out working dem when dey laid dat steel. ah wuz at de first buryin uv de fust pussen buried in caledonia graveyard. huh name wuz joe ann polk. we set up wid huh all night and sing and pray. an when we got nearly tuh de church de bells started tolling and de folks started tuh singin. when evah any body died dey ring bells tuh let yo know some body wuz daid. a wuz born on christmas day, an ah had two chilluns born on christmas day. dey wuz twins and one uv em had two teeth and his hair hung down on her shoulders when hit wuz born but hit did not live but er wek. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: charles anderson. helena, arkansas age: or , not sure "i was born in bloomfield, kentucky. my parents had the same owners. mary and elgin anderson was their names. they was owned by isaac stone. davis stone was their son. they belong to the stones as far back as they could remember. mama was darker than i am. my father was brighter than i am. he likely had a white father. i never inquired. mama had colored parents. master stone walked with a big crooked stick. he nor his son never went to war. masters in that country never went. two soldiers were drafted off our place. i saw the soldiers, plenty of them and plenty times. there never was no serious happenings. "the federal soldiers would come by, sleep in the yard, take our best horses and leave the broken down ones. very little money was handled. i never seen much. master stone would give us money like he give money to davis. they prized fine stock mostly. they needed money at wheat harvest time only. when a celebration or circus come through he give us all twenty-five or thirty cents and told us to go. there wasn't many slaves up there like down in this country. the owners from all i've heard was crueler and sold them off oftener here. "weaving was a thing the women prided in doing--being a fast weaver or a fine hand at weaving. they wove pretty coverlets for the beds. i see colored spreads now makes me think about my baby days in kentucky. "freedom was something mysterious. colored folks didn't talk it. white folks didn't talk it. the first i realized something different, master stone was going to whip a older brother. he told mama something i was too small to know. she said, 'don't leave this year, son. i'm going to leave.' master didn't whip him. "master stone's cousin kept house for him. i remember her well. they were all very nice to us always. he had a large farm. he had twenty servants in his yard. we all lived there close together. my sister and mama cooked. we had plenty to eat. we had beef in spring and summer. mutton and kid on special occasions. we had hog in the fall and winter. we had geese, ducks, and chickens. we had them when we needed them. we had a field garden. he raised corn, wheat, oats, rye, and tobacco. "once a year we got dressed up. we got shirts, a suit, pants and shoes, and what else we needed to wear. then he told them to take care of their clothes. they got plenty to do a year. we didn't have fine clothes no time. we didn't eat ham and chicken. i never seen biscuit--only sometimes. "i seen a woman sold. they had on her a short dress, no sleeves, so they could see her muscles, i reckon. they would buy them and put them with good healthy men to raise young slaves. i heard that. i was very small when i seen that young woman sold and years later i heard that was what was done. "i don't know when freedom came on. i never did know. we was five or six years breaking up. master stone never forced any of us to leave. he give some of them a horse when they left. i cried a year to go back. it was a dear place to me and the memories linger with me every day. "there was no secret society or order of ku klux in reach of us as i ever heard. "i voted republican ticket. we would go to jackson to vote. there would be a crowd. the last i voted was for theodore roosevelt. i voted here in helena for years. i was on the petit jury for several years here in helena. "i farmed in your state some (arkansas). i farmed all my young life. i been in arkansas sixty years. i come here february with distant relatives. they come south. when i come to helena there was but one set of mechanics. i started to work. i learned to paint and hang wall paper. i've worked in nearly every house in helena. "the present times are gloomy. i tried to prepare for old age. i had a apartment house and lost it. i owned a home and lost it. they foreclosed me out. "the present generation is not doing as well as i have. "my health knocked me out. my limbs swell, they are stiff. i have a bad bladder trouble. "i asked for help but never have got none. if i could got a little relief i never would lost my house. they work my wife to death keeping us from starving. she sewed till they cut off all but white ladies. when she got sixty-five they let her go and she got a little job cooking. they never give us no relief." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: nancy anderson street h, west memphis, arkansas age: "i was born at sanitobia, mississippi. mother died when i was a child. i was three months old, they said, when i lost her. father lived to be very old. my mother was ella geeter and my stepmother was lucy evans. my father's name was si hubbard. my parents married after the war. i remembers grandma harriett hubbard. she said she was sold. she was a cook and she raised my papa up with white folks. her children was sold with her. papa was sold too at the same time. papa fired a steam gin. they ground corn and ginned cotton. "i stayed with sam hall's family. she was good to me. i had a small bed by the fireplace. she kept me with two of her own children. some of the girls and boys i was raised up with live at sanitobia now and have fine homes. when we would be playing they would take all the toys from me. miss fannie would say, 'poor nancy ain't got no toys.' then they would put them on the floor and we would all play. they had a little table. we all eat at it. we had our own plates. we all eat out of tin plates and had tin cups. "they couldn't keep me at home when papa married. i slipped off across the pasture. there was cows and hogs in there all the time. i wasn't afraid of them. i would get behind miss fannie and hide in her dress tail when they come after me. they let me stay most of the time for about five years. sam hall was good to my father and miss fannie about raised me after my mother died. she made me mind but she was good to me. "grandma lived with papa. she was part indian. as long as papa lived he share cropped and ginned. he worked as long as he was able to hit a lick. he died four miles east out from sanitobia on mr. hayshaws place. what i told you is what i know. he said he was sold that one time. hubbards had plenty to eat and wear. he was a boy and they didn't want to stunt the children. papa was a water boy and filed the hoes for the chopping hands. he carried a file along with them hoeing and would sharpen their hoes and fetch 'em water in their jugs. aunt sallie, his sister, took keer of the children. "papa went to the war. he could blow his bugle and give all the war signals. he got the military training. him and his friend charlie grim used to step around and show us how they had to march to orders. his bugle had four joints. i don't know what went with it. from what they said they didn't like the war and was so glad to get home. "between the big farms they had worm fences (rail fences) and gates. you had to get a pass from your master to go visiting. the gates had big chains and locks on them. some places was tollgates where they traveled over some man's land to town. on them roads the man owned the place charged. he kept some boy to open and shut the gate. they said the gates was tall. "some of the slaves that had hard masters run off and stay in the woods. they had nigger dogs and would run them--catch 'em. he said one man (negro) was hollowing down back of the worm fence close to where they was working. they all run to him. a great long coachwhip snake was wrapped 'round him, his arms and all, and whooping him with its tail. it cut gashes like a knife and the blood poured. the overseer cut the snake's head off with his big knife and they carried him home bleeding. his master didn't whoop him, said he had no business off in the woods. he had run off. his master rubbed salt in the gashes. it nearly killed him. it burnt him so bad. that stopped the blood. they said sut (soot) would stopped the blood but it would left black mark. the salt left white marks on him. the salt helped kill the pison (poison). some masters and overseers was cruel. when they was so bad marked they didn't bring a good price. they thought they was hard to handle. "aunt jane peterson, old friend of mine, come to visit me nearly every year after she got so old. she told me things took place in slavery times. she was in virginia till after freedom. she had two girls and a boy with a white daddy. she told me all about how that come. she said no chance to run off or ever get off, you had to stay and take what come. she never got to marry till after freedom. then she had three more black children by her husband. she said she was the cook. old master say, 'jane, go to the lot and get the eggs.' she was scared to go and scared not to go. he'd beat her out there, put her head between the slip gap where they let the hogs into the pasture from the lot down back of the barn. she say, 'old missis whip me. this ain't right.' he'd laugh. said she bore three of his children in a room in the same house his family lived in. she lived in the same house. she had a room so as she could build fires and cook breakfast by four o'clock sometimes, she said. she was so glad freedom come on and soon as she heard it she took her children and was gone, she said. she had no use for him. she was scared to death of him. she learned to pray and prayed for freedom. she died in cold water, mississippi. she was so glad freedom come on before her children come on old enough to sell. part white children sold for more than black children. they used them for house girls. "i don't know ku klux stories enough to tell one. these old tales leave my mind. i'm and all that was before my time. "times is strange--hard, too. but the way i have heard they had to work and do and go i hardly ever do grumble. i've heard so much. i got children and i do the best i can by them. that is all i can do or say." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: r.b. anderson route , box (near granite) little rock, arkansas age: [hw: the brooks-baxter war] "i was born in little rock along about seventeenth and arch streets. there was a big plantation there then. dr. wright owned the plantation. he owned my mother and father. my father and mother told me that i was born in . they didn't know the date exactly, so i put it the last day in the year and call it december , . "my father's name was william anderson. he didn't go to the war because he was blind. he was ignorant too. he was colored. he was a pretty good old man when he died. "my mother's name was minerva anderson. she was three-fourths indian, hair way down to her waist. i was in hot springs blacking boots when my mother died. i was only about eight or ten years old then. i always regretted i wasn't able to do anything for my mother before she died. i don't know to what tribe her people belonged. "dr. wright was awful good to his slaves. "i don't know just how freedom came to my folks. i never heard my father say. they were set free, i know. they were set free when the war ended. they never bought their freedom. "we lived on tenth and near to center in a one-room log house. that is the earliest thing i remember. when they moved from there, my father had accumulated enough to buy a home. he bought it at seventh and broadway. he paid cash for it--five hundred and fifty dollars. that is where we all lived until it was sold. i couldn't name the date of the sale but it was sold for good money--about three thousand eight hundred dollars, or maybe around four thousand. i was a young man then. "i remember the brooks-baxter war. "i remember the king white fooled a lot of niggers and armed them and brought them up here. the niggers and republicans here fought them and run them back where they come from. "i know hot springs when the main street was a creek. i can't remember when i first went there. the government bath-house was called 'ral hole', because it was mostly people with bad diseases that went there. "after the war, my father worked for a rich man named hunter. he was yardman and took care of the horse. my mother was living then. "scipio jones and i were boys together. we slept on pool tables many a time when we didn't have no other place to sleep. he was poor when he was a boy and glad to get hold of a dime, or a nickel. he and i don't speak today because he robbed me. i had a third interest in my place. i gave him money to buy my place in for me. it was up for sale and i wanted to get possession. he gave me some papers to sign and when i found out what was happening, he had all my property. my wife kept me from killing him." interviewer's comment occupation: grocer, bartender, porter, general work interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: sarah anderson w. second avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: ? "i don't know when i was born. when the civil war ended, i was bout four or five years old. "i jes' remember when the people come back--the soldiers--when the war ended. we chillun run under the house. that was the yankees. "i was born in bibb county, georgia. that's where i was bred and born. "i been in arkansas ever since i was fourteen. that was shortly after the civil war, i reckon. we come here when they was emigratin' to arkansas. i'm tellin' you the truth, i been here a long time. "i member when the soldiers went by and we chillun run under the house. it was the yankee cavalry, and they made so much noise. dat's what the old folks told us. i member dat we run under the house and called our self hidin'. "my master was madison newsome and my missis was sarah newsome. named after her? must a done it. ma and her chillun was out wallowin' in the dirt when the yankees come by. sometimes i stayed in the house with my white folks all night. "my mother and father say they was well treated. that's what they say. "old folks didn't low us chillun round when they was talkin' bout their business, no ma'am. "we stayed with old master a good while after freedom--till they commenced emigratin' from georgia to arkansas. yes ma'am! "i'm the mother of fourteen chillun--two pairs of twins. i married young--bout fifteen or sixteen, i reckon. i married a young fellow. i say we was just chaps. after he died, i married a old settled man and now he's dead. "i been livin' a pretty good life. seems like the white folks just didn't want me to get away from their chillun. "all my chillun dead cept one son. he was a twin." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: selie anderson, holly grove, arkansas age: "i was born near decatur, alabama and lived there till i was fifteen years old. course i members hearin' em talk bout mars newt. i named fur my ma's old mistress--miss selie thompson and mars newt thompson. pa died when i was three years old. he was a soldier. ma had seven children. they have bigger families then than they have now. ma name emmaline thompson. pa name sam adair. i can't tell you about him. i heard em say his pa was a white man. he was light skinned. old folks didn't talk much foe children so i don't know well nough to tell you bout him. ma was a cook and a licensed midwife in alabama. she waited on both black and white. ma never staid at home much. she worked out. i come to mississippi after i married and had one child. ma and all come. ma went to tom mcgehee's to cook after freedom. she married old man named lewis chase and they worked on where he had been raised. his name was lewis sprangle. he looked after the stock and drove the carriage. daniel sprangle had a store and a big farm. he had three girls and three boys, i was their house girl. mama lived on the place and give me to em cause they could do better part by me than she could. i was six years old when she give me to em. they lernt me to sweep, knit, crochet, piece quilts. she lernt her children thater way sometimes. miss nancy sprangle didn't treat me no different from her own girls. miss dora married mr. pitt loney and i was dressed up and held up her train (long dress and veil). i stayed with miss dora after she married. one of the girls married mr. john galbreth. i married and went home then come to mississippi. mrs. gables, mr. gables was old people but they had two adopted boys. i took them boys to the field to work wid my children. she sewed for me and my children. her girls cooked all we et in busy times. they done work at the house but they didn't work in the field. "i been married five times. every time i married i married at home. mighty little marryin' goin' on now--mighty little. mama stayed wid mr. sprangle till we all got grown. miss nancy's girls married so that all the way i knowd how to do. i had a good time. i danced every chance i got. i been well blessed all my life till i'm gettin' feeble now. "papa run the gin on mr. sprangle's place, then he went to war, come back foe he died. i recken he come home sick cause he died pretty soon. "i jess can member this ku klux broke down our door wid hatchets. it scared us all to death. they didn't do nuthin' to us. they was huntin' uncle jeff. he wasn't bout our house. he was ox driver fer mr. sprangle. him and a family of pore white folks got to fussin' bout a bridle. some of em was dressed up when they come to our house ma said. after that mr. kirby killed him close to his home startin' out one mornin' to work. his name was uncle jeff saxon. ma knowd it was some of the men right on mr. sprangle's place whut come to our house. "i live wid my daughter. i get $ from the welfare. "if they vote for better it be all right. i never seen no poles. i don't know how they vote. i'm too old to start up votin'. "lawd you got me now. the times changed and got so fast. it all beyond me. i jes' listens. i don't know whut goner happen to this young generation." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: w.a. anderson (dark brown) w. th street, little rock, arkansas age: occupation: house and yard man [hw: serves the "lawd"] "i don't know nothin' about slavery. you know i wouldn't know nothin' bout it cause i was only four years old when the war ended. all i know is i was born in slavery; but i don't know nothin' bout it. "i don't remember nothin' of my parents. times was all confused and old folks didn't talk before chilun. they didn't have time. besides, my mother and father were separated. "i was born in arkansas and have lived here all my life. but i don't gossip and entertain. i just moved in this house last week. took a wheelbarrow and brought all these things here myself. "those boys out there jus' threw a stone against the house. i thought the house was falling. i work all day and when night comes, i'm tired. "i don't have no wife, no children, nothin'; nobody to help me out. i don't ask the neighbors nothin' cept to clear out this junk they left here. "i ain't goin' to talk about the ku klux. i got other things to think about. it takes all my time and strength to do my work and live a christian. folks got so nowadays they don't care bout nothin'. i just live here and serve the lawd." interviewer's comments anderson is separated from his wife who left him. he lost his home a short time ago. a few months ago, he was so sick he was expected to die. he supports himself through the friendliness of a few white people who give him odds and ends of work to do. i made three calls on him, helped him set up his stoves and his beds and clear up his house a little bit since he had just moved into it and had a good deal of work to do. his misfortunes have made him unwilling to talk just now, but he will give a good interview later i am certain. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: henry anthony; r.f.d. # biscoe, arkansas age: "i was born at jackson, north carolina. my master and mistress named betsy and jason williams but my pa's name was anthony. my young master was a orderly seargent. he took me wid him to return some mules and wagons. he showed me what he want done an i followed him round wid wagons. the wagons hauled ammunition and provisions. pa worked for the master and ma cooked. they got sold to lausen capert. when freedom come they went back and stayed a month or two at williams then we all went back to john odom. we stayed round close and farmed and worked till they died. i married and when i had four or five children i heard ob dis country. i come on immigration ticket to mr. aydelott here at biscoe. train full of us got together and come. one white man got us all up and brought us here to biscoe. i farmed for mr. aydelott four or five years, then for mr. bland, mr. scroggin. "i never went to school a day in my life. i used to vote here in biseoe right smart. i let the young folks do my votin. they can tell more about it. i sho do not think it is the woman's place to vote an hold all the jobs from the men. iffen you don't in the primary cause you don't know nuf to pick out a man, you sho don't know nuthin er tall bout votin in the general lection. in fact it ain't no good to our race nohow. "the whole world gone past my judgment long ago. i jess sets round to see what they say an do next. it is bad when you caint get work you able to do on that's hard on the old folks. i could saved. i did save right smart. sickness come on. sometimes you have a bad crop year, make nuthin, but you have to live on. young folks don't see no hard times if they keep well an able to work. "i get commodities and $ a month. i do a little if i can. "one time my son bought a place fo me and him. he paid all cept $ . i don't know whut it cost now. it was acres. i worked on it three years. he sold it and went to the sawmill. he say he come out square on it. i didn't wanter sell it but he did." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: katie arbery w. thirteenth, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i am eighty years old. my name 'fore i was a arbery was baxter. my mother was a baxter. born in union county. "my mother's first people was baxter and my grandmother was a baxter and they just went by that name; she never did change her name. "the boss man--that was what they called our master--his name was paul mccall. he was married twice. his oldest son was jim mccall. he was in the war. yes ma'am, the civil war. "paul mccall raised me up with his chillun and i never did call him master, just called him pappy, and jim mccall, i called him brother jim. just raised us all up there in the yard. my grandmother was the cook. "there wasn't no fightin' in union county but i 'member when the yankees was goin' through and singin' 'the union forever, hurrah, boys, hurrah we'll rally 'round the flag, boys, shouting the battle cry of freedom.' (she sang this--ed.) and i 'member this one good: 'old buckwheat cakes and good strong butter to make your lips go flip, flip, flutter. look away, look away, look away, dixie land.' "pappy used to play that on his fiddle and have us chillun tryin' to dance. used to call us chillun and say, 'you little devils, come up here and dance' and have us marchin'. "my cousin used to be a quill blower. brother jim would cut fishin' canes and plat 'em together--they called 'em a pack--five in a row, just like my fingers. anybody that knowed how could sure make music on 'em. tom rollins, that was my baby uncle, he was a banjo picker. "i can remember a heap a things that happened, but 'bout slavery, i didn't know one day from another. they treated us so nice that when they said freedom come, i thought i was always free. "i heered my grandmother talk about sellin' 'em, but i was just a little kid and i didn't know what they was talkin' about. i heered 'em say, 'did you know they sold aunt sally away from her baby?' i heered 'em talkin', i know that much. "after freedom, our folks stayed right on paul mccall's place. my grandmother cooked for the mccalls till i was eight or nine years old, then she cooked for the mccrays--they was all relatives--till i was twenty-one. then i married. "paul mccall first married in the baxter family and then he married into the mccray family. i lived on the mccall place till i was grown. they all come from alabama. yes'm, they come befo' the war was. "chillun in dem days paid attention. people _raised_ chillun in dem days. folks just feeds 'em now and lets 'em grow up. "i looks at the young race now and they is as wise as rabbits. "i never went to school but three months, but i never will forget that old blue back mcguffey's. sam porter was our teacher and i was scared of him. i was so scared i couldn't learn nothin'. "as far as i can remember i have been treated nice everywhere i been. ain't none of the white folks ever mistreated me. "lord, we had plenty to eat in slavery days--and freedom days too. "one time when my mother was cookin' for colonel morgan and my oldest brother was workin' some land, my mother always sent me over with a bucket of milk for him. so one day she say. 'snooky, come carry your brother's milk and hurry so he can have it for dinner.' i was goin' across a field; that was a awful deer country. i had on a red dress and was goin' on with my milk when i saw a old buck lookin' at me. all at once he went 'whu-u-u', and then the whole drove come up. there was mosely trees (i think she must have meant mimosa--ed.) in the field and i run and climbed up in one of 'em. a mosely tree grows crooked; i don't care how straight you put it in the ground, it's goin' to grow crooked. so i climb up in the mosely tree and begin to yell. my brother heard me and come 'cause he knowed what was up. he used to say, 'now, snipe, when you come 'cross that mosely field, don't you wear that old red dress 'cause they'll get you down and tear that dress off you.' i liked the dress 'cause he had give it to me. i had set the milk down at the foot of the tree and it's a wonder they didn't knock it over, but when my brother heard me yell he come a runnin', with a gun and shot one of the deer. i got some of the venison and he give some to colonel morgan, his boss man. colonel morgan had fought in the war. "the reason i can't tell you no more is, since i got old my mind goes this and that a way. "but i can tell you all the doctors that doctored on me. they give me up to die once. i had the chills from the first of one january to the next we had dr. chester and dr. mccray and dr. lewis--his name was perry--and dr. green and dr. smead. took quinine till i couldn't hear, and finally dr. green said, 'we'll just quit givin' her medicine, looks like she's goin' to die anyway.' and then dr. lewis fed me for three weeks steady on okra soup cooked with chicken. just give me the broth. then i commenced gettin' better and here i am. "but i can't work like i used to. when i was young i could work right along with the men but i can't do it now. i wish i could 'cause they's a heap a things i'd like that my chillun and grandchillun can't get for me. "well, good-bye, come back again sometime." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: campbell armstrong schiller street, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: boys liked corn shuckings] "i couldn't tell you when i was born. i was born a good while before freedom. i was a boy about ten years old in the time of the civil war. that would make me about eighty-five or six years old. "my father's name was cy armstrong. my mother's name was gracie armstrong. i don't know the names of my grandparents. they was gone when i got here. my sister died right there in the corner of the next room. house and furniture "i used to live in an old log house. take dirt and dob the cracks. the floors were these here planks. we had two windows and one door. that was in georgia, in houston county, on old dempsey brown's place. i know him--know who dug his grave. "they had beds nailed up to the side of the house. people had a terrible time you know. white folks had it all. when i come along they had it and they had it ever since i been here. you didn't have no chance like folks have nowadays. just made benches and stools to sit on. made tables out of planks. i never saw any cupboards and things like that. them things wasn't thought about then. the house was like a stable then. but them log houses was better than these 'cause the wind couldn't get through them. work as a boy "i wasn't doin' nothin' but totin' water. i toted water for a whole year when i was a boy about eight years old. i was the water boy for the field hands. later i worked out in the fields myself. they would make me sit on my mammy's row to help keep her up. free negroes "you better not say you were free them days. if you did, they'd tell you to get out of there. you better not stop on this side of the mason dixie line either. you better stop on the other side. whenever a nigger got so he couldn't mind, they'd take him down and whip him. they'd whip the free niggers just the same as they did the slaves. marriage "you see that broom there? they just lay that broom down and step over it. that was all the marriage they knowed about. corn shuckings "the boys used to just get down and raise a holler and shuck that corn. man, they had fun! they sure liked to go to those corn shuckings. they danced and went on. they'd give 'em whiskey too. that's all i know about it. rations "they'd weigh the stuff out and give it to you and you better not go back. they'd give you three pounds of meat and a quart of meal and molasses when they'd make it. sometimes they would take a notion to give you something like flour. but you had to take what they give you. they give out the rations every saturday. that was to last you a week. patrollers "i was at a ball one night. they had fence rails in the fire. patroller knocked at the door, stepped in and closed it behind him. nigger pulled a rail out of the fire and stuck it 'gainst the patroller and that patroller stepped aside and let that nigger get by. niggers used to tie ropes across the road so that the patrollers' horses would trip up. mulattoes "i never seed any mulattoes then. that thing is something that just come up. old dempsey brown, if he seed a white man goin' 'round with the nigger women on his place, he run him away from there. but that's gwine on in the full now. "that ought not to be. if god had wanted them people to mix, he'd have mixed 'em. god made 'em red and white and black. and i'm goin' to stay black. i ain't climbed the fence yet and i won't climb it now. i don't know. i don't believe in that. if you are white be white, and if you are black be black. children need to go out and play but these boys ought not to be 'lowed to run after these girls. whippings "your overseer carried their straps with them. they had 'em with 'em all the time. just like them white folks do down to the county farm. used to use a man just like he was a beast. they'd make him lay down on the ground and whip him. they'd had to shoot me down. that is the reason i tend to my business. if he wouldn't lay down they'd call for help and strap him down and stretch him out. put one man on one arm and another on the other. they'd pull his clothes down and whip the blood out of him. them people didn't care what they done since they didn't do right. freedom "when i first heard them talking about freedom, i didn't know what freedom was. i was there standin' right up and looking at 'em when they told us we was free. and master said, 'you all free now. you can go where you want to.' "they never give you a thing when they freed you. they give you some work to do. they never looked for nothin' only to go to work. the white folks always had the best of it. "when abe lincoln first freed 'em, they all stood together. if this one was ill the others went over and sit up with him. if he needed something they'd carry it to him. they don't do that now. they done well then. as soon as they quit standing together then they had trouble. wages then "fellow said to me, 'campbell, i want you to split up them blocks and pile 'em up for me.' i said, 'what you goin' to pay me?' he said, 'i'll pay you what is right.' i said, 'that won't do; you have to tell me what you goin' to give me before i start to work.' and he said to me, 'you can git to hell out of here.' selling and buying slaves "they'd put you up on the block and sell you. that is just what they'd do--sell you. these white folks will do anything,--anything they want to do. they'd take your clothes off just like you was some kind of a beast. "you used to be worth a thousand dollars then, but you're not worth two bits now. you ain't worth nothin' when you're free. refugees--jeff davis "they used to come to my place in droves. wagons would start coming in in the morning and they wouldn't stop coming in till two or three in the evening. they'd just be travelin' to keep out the way of the yankees. they caught old jeff davis over in twiggs county. that's in georgia. caught him in buzzard's roost. that was only about four or five miles from where i was. i was right down yonder in houston county. twigg county and houston county is adjoinin'. i never saw any of the soldiers but they was following them though. voters "i have seen plenty of niggers voting. i wasn't old enough to vote in georgia. i come in arkansas and i found out how the folks used themselves and i come out that business. they was selling themselves just like cattle and i wouldn't have nothing to do with that. "i knew jerry lawson, who was justice of peace. he was a nigger, a low-down devil. man, them niggers done more dirt in this city. the republicans had this city and state. i went to the polls and there was very few white folks there. i knew several of them niggers--mack armstrong, he was justice of peace. i can't call the rest of them. nothing but old thieves. if they had been people, they'd been honest. wouldn't sell their brother. it is bad yet. they still stealin' yet. ku klux "that's another devil. man, i'll tell you we seen terrible times. i don't know nothing much about 'em myself. i know one thing. abe lincoln said, 'kill him wherever you see him.' self-support and support of aged slaves in slave times "a white man asked me how much they givin' me. i said, 'eight dollars.' he said, 'you ought to be gittin' twenty-five.' i said, 'maybe i ought to be but i ain't.' "i ain't able to do no work now. i ain't able to tote that wood hardly. i don't git as much consideration as they give the slaves back yonder. they didn't make the old people in slavery work when they was my age. my daddy when he was my age, they turned him out. they give him a rice patch where he could make his rice. when he died, he had a whole lot of rice. they stopped putting all the slaves out at hard labor when they got old. that's one thing. white folks will take care of their old ones. our folks won't do it. they'll take a stick and kill you. they don't recognize you're human. their parents don't teach them. folks done quit teaching their children. they don't teach them the right thing no more. if they don't do, then they ought to make them do. little rock "i been here about twenty years in little rock. i went and bought this place and paid for it. somebody stole seventy-five dollars from me right here in this house. and that got me down. i ain't never been able to git up since. "i paid a man for what he did for me. he said, 'well, you owe me fifteen cents.' when he got done he said, 'you owe me fifty cents.' you can't trust a man in the city. "i was living down in england. that's a little old country town. i come here to little rock where i could be in a city. i done well. i bought this place. "i reckon i lived in arkansas about thirty years before i left and come here to little rock. when i left georgia, i come to arkansas and settled down in lonoke county, made crops there. i couldn't tell you how long i stayed there. i didn't keep no record of it at all. i come out of lonoke county and went into jefferson. "man, i was never in such shape as i am in now. that devilish stock law killed me. it killed all the people. nobody ain't been able to do nothin' since they passed the stock law. i had seventy-five hogs and twenty cows. they made a law you had to keep them chickens up, keep them hogs up, keep them cows up. they shoots at every right thing, and the wrong things they don't shoot at. god don't uphold no man to set you up in the jail when you ain't done nothin'. you didn't have no privilege then (slave time), and you ain't got none now." interviewer: pernella anderson, colored. el dorado division federal writers' project union county. arkansas _ex-slave and riddles_ "i was born in the junction city community and belonged to the cooks. i was ten years old at surrender. mother and father had children and we lived in a one room log cabin and cooked on a fireplace and oven. mos and miss cook did not allow ma and pa to whip me. when ever i do something and i knew i was going to get a whipping i would make it to old miss. she would keep me from getting that whipping. i was a devilish boy. i would do everything in the world i could think of just for devilment. old mos was sure good to his slaves. i never went to school a day in my life. old miss would carry me to church sometimes when it was hot so we could fan for her. we used palmeter fan leaves for fans. we ate pretty good in slavery time, but we did not have all of this late stuff. some of our dishes was possum stew, vegetables, persimmon pie and tato bread. ma did not allow us to sit around grown folks. when they were talking she always made us get under the bed. our bed was made from pine poles. we children slept on pallets on the floor. the way slaves married in slavery time they jumped over the broom and when they separated they jumped backward over the broom. times were better in slavery time to my notion than they are now because they did not go hungry, neither necked. they ate common and wore one kind of clothes." a duck, a bullfrog and a skunk went to a circus, the duck and the bullfrog got in, why didn't the skunk get in? (answer). the duck had a bill, the bullfrog had a greenback but the skunk had nothing but a scent. if your father's sister is not your aunt what kin is she to you? (your mother). what is the difference between a four quart measure and a side saddle? (answer). they both hold a gallon. (a gal on) --cora armstrong, colored. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lillie baccus, madison, arkansas age: "i'll tell you what i heard. i was too little to remember the civil war. mama's owner was ---- dillard. she called him 'master' dillard. papa's owner was ---- smith. he called him 'master' smith. mama was named ann and papa arthur smith. i was born at west point, mississippi. i heard ma say she was sold. she said pattick sold her. she had to leave her two children cherry and ann. mama was a field hand. so was grandma yet she worked in the house some she said. after freedom cherry and ann come to mama. she was going to be sold agin but was freed before sold. "mama didn't live only till i was about three years old, so i don't know enough to tell you about her. grandma raised us. she was sold twice. she said she run out of the house to pick up a star when the stars fell. they showered down and disappeared. "the yankees camped close to where they lived, close to west point, mississippi, but in the country close to an artesian well. the well was on their place. the yankees stole grandma and kept her at their tent. they meant to take her on to wait on them and use but when they started to move old master spicioned they had her hid down there. he watched out and seen her when they was going to load her up. he went and got the head man to make them give her up. she was so glad to come home. glad to see him cause she wanted to see him. they watched her so close she was afraid they would shoot her leaving. she lived to be years old. she raised me. she used to tell how the overseer would whip her in the field. they wasn't good to her in that way. "i have three living children and eleven dead. i married twice. my first husband is living. my second husband is dead. i married in day time in the church the last time. all else ever took place in my life was hard work. i worked in the field till i was too old to hit a tap. i live wid my children. i get $ and commodities. "i come to arkansas because they said money was easy to get--growed on bushes. i had four little children to make a living for and they said it was easier. "i think people is better than they was long time ago. times is harder. people have to buy everything they have as high as they is, makes money scarce nearly bout a place as hen's teeth. hens ain't got no teeth. we don't have much money i tell you. the welfare gives me $ ." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: joseph samuel badgett wright avenue, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: mother was a fighter] "my mother had indian in her. she would fight. she was the pet of the people. when she was out, the pateroles would whip her because she didn't have a pass. she has showed me scars that were on her even till the day that she died. she was whipped because she was out without a pass. she could have had a pass any time for the asking, but she was too proud to ask. she never wanted to do things by permission. birth "i was born in . i was born right here in dallas county. some of the most prominent people in this state came from there. i was born on thursday, in the morning at three o'clock, may the twelfth. my mother has told me that so often, i have it memorized. persistence of slave customs "while i was a slave and was born close to the end of the civil war, i remember seeing many of the soldiers down here. i remember much of the treatment given to the slaves. i used to say 'master' myself in my day. we had to do that till after ' or ' . i remember the time when i couldn't go nowhere without asking the 'white folks.' i wasn't a slave then but i couldn't go off without asking the white people. i didn't know no better. "i have known the time in the southern part of this state when if you wanted to give an entertainment you would have to ask the white folks. didn't know no better. for years and years, most of the niggers just stayed with the white folks. didn't want to leave them. just took what they give 'em and didn't ask for nothing different. "if i had known forty years ago what i know now! first negro doctor in tulip, arkansas "the first negro doctor we ever seen come from little rock down to tulip, arkansas. we were all excited. there were plenty of people who didn't have a doctor living with twenty miles of them. when i was fourteen years old, i was secretary of a conference. schooling "what little i know, an old white woman taught me. i started to school under this old woman because there weren't any colored teachers. there wasn't any school at tulip where i lived. this old lady just wanted to help. i went to her about seven years. she taught us a little every year--'specially in the summer time. she was high class--a high class christian woman--belonged to the presbyterian church. her name was mrs. gentry wiley. "i went to school to scipio jones once. then they opened a public school at tulip and j.c. smith taught there two years in the summer time. then lula baily taught there one year. she didn't know no more than i did. then scipio came. he was there for a while. i don't remember just how long. "after that i went to pine bluff. the county judge at that time had the right to name a student from each district. i was appointed and went up there in ' and ' from my district. it took about eight years to finish branch normal at that time. i stayed there two years. i roomed with old man john young. "you couldn't go to school without paying unless you were sent by the board. we lived in the country and i would go home in the winter and study in the summer. professor j.c. corbin was principal of the pine bluff branch normal at that time. dr. a.h. hill, professor booker, and quite a number of the people we consider distinguished were in school then. they finished, but i didn't. i had to go to my mother because she was ill. i don't claim to have no schooling at all. "forty acres and a mule" "my mother received forty acres of land when freedom came. her master gave it to her. she was given forty acres of land and a colt. there is no more to tell about that. it was just that way--a gift of forty acres of land and a colt from her former master. "my mother died. there is a woman living now that lost it (the home). mother let malinda live on it. mother lived with the white folks meanwhile. she didn't need the property for herself. she kept it for us. she built a nice log house on it. fifteen acres of it was under cultivation when it was given to her. my sister lived on it for a long time. she mortgaged it in some way i don't know how. i remember when the white people ran me down there some years back to get me to sign a title to it. i didn't have to sign the paper because the property had been deeded to susan badgett and heirs; lawyers advised me not to sign it. but i signed it for the sake of my sister. father and master "my mother's master was named badgett--captain john badgett. he was a methodist preacher. some of the badgetts still own property on main street. my mother's master's father was my daddy. marriage "i was married july , . next year i will have been married fifty years. my wife's name was elizabeth owens. she was born in batesville, mississippi. i met her at brinkley when she was visiting her aunt. we married in brinkley. very few people in this city have lived together longer than we have. july , , will make forty-nine years. by july , we will have reached our fiftieth anniversary. patrollers, jayhawkers, ku klux, and ku klux klan "pateroles, jayhawkers, and the ku klux came before the war. the ku klux in slavery times were men who would catch negroes out and keep them if they did not collect from their masters. the pateroles would catch negroes out and return them if they did not have a pass. they whipped them sometimes if they did not have a pass. the jayhawkers were highway men or robbers who stole slaves among other things. at least, that is the way the people regarded them. the jayhawkers stole and pillaged, while the ku klux stole those negroes they caught out. the word 'klan' was never included in their name. "the ku klux klan was an organization which arose after the civil war. it was composed of men who believed in white supremacy and who regulated the morals of the neighborhood. they were not only after jews and negroes, but they were sworn to protect the better class of people. they took the law in their own hands. slave work "i'm not so certain about the amount of work required of slaves. my mother says she picked four hundred pounds of cotton many a day. the slaves were tasked and given certain amounts to accomplish. i don't know the exact amount nor just how it was determined. opinions "it is too bad that the young negroes don't know what the old negroes think and what they have done. the young folks could be helped if they would take advice." interviewer's comment badgett's distinctions between jayhawkers, ku klux, patrollers, and ku klux klan are most interesting. i have been slow to catch it. all my life, i have heard persons with ex-slave background refer to the activities of the ku klux among slaves prior to . i always thought that they had the klux klan and the patrollers confused. badgett's definite and clear-cut memories, however, lead me to believe that many of the negroes who were slaves used the word ku klux to denote a type of persons who stole slaves. it was evidently in use before it was applied to the ku klux klan. the words "ku klux" and "ku klux klan" are used indiscriminately in current conversation and literature. it is also true that many persons in the present do, and in the past did, refer to the ku klux klan simply as "ku klux." it is a matter of record that the organization did not at first bear the name "ku klux klan" throughout the south. the name "ku klux" seems to have grown in application as the organization changed from a moral association of the best citizens of the south and gradually came under the control of lawless persons with lawless methods--whipping and murdering. it is antecedently reasonable that the change in names accompanying a change in policy would be due to a fitness in the prior use of the name. the recent use of the name seems mostly imitation and propaganda. histories, encyclopedias, and dictionaries, in general, do not record a meaning of the term ku klux as prior to the reconstruction period. circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave . name and address of informant--jeff bailey, w. ninth street, little rock. . date and time of interview-- . place of interview-- w. ninth street, little rock. . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant-- . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you-- . description of room, house, surroundings, etc. personal history of informant state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave name and address of informant--jeff bailey, w. ninth street, little rock. . ancestry--father, jeff wells; mother, tilda bailey. . place and date of birth--born in in monticello, arkansas. . family-- . places lived in, with dates--reared in monticello. lived in pine bluff thirty-two years, then moved to little rock and has lived here thirty-two years. . education, with dates-- . occupations and accomplishments, with dates--hostler . special skills and interests-- . community and religious activities-- . description of informant-- . other points gained in interview-- text of interview (unedited) state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject-ex-slave name and address of informant--jeff bailey, w. ninth street, little rock. [hw: a hostler's story] "i was born in monticello. i was raised there. then i came up to pine bluff and stayed there thirty-two years. then i came up here and been here thirty-two years. that is the reason the white folks so good to me now. i been here so long, i been a hostler all my life. i am the best hostler in this state. i go down to the post office they give me money. these white folks here is good to me. "what you writing down? yes, that's what i said. these white folks like me and they good to me. they give me anything i want. you want a drink? that's the best bonded whiskey money can buy. they gives it to me. well, if you don't want it now, come in when you do. "i lost my wife right there in that corner. i was married just once. lived with her forty-three years. she died here five months ago. josie bailey! the white folks thought the world and all of her. that is another reason they give me so much. she was one of the best women i ever seen. "i gits ten dollars a month. the check comes right up to the house. i used to work with all them money men. used to handle all them horses at the post office. they ought to give me sixty-five dollars but they don't. but i gits along. god is likely to lemme live ten years longer. i worked at the post office twenty-two years and don't git but ten dollars a month. they ought to gimme more. "my father's name was jeff wells. my mother's name was tilda bailey. she was married twice. i took her master's name. jeff wells was my father's name. governor bailey ought to give me somethin'. i got the same name he has. i know him. "my father's master was stanley--jeff stanley. that was in slavery time. that was my slave time people. i was just a little bit of a boy. i am glad you are gittin' that to help the colored people out. are they goin' to give the old slaves a pension? what they want to ask all these questions for then? well, i guess there's somethin' else besides money that's worth while. "my father's master was a good man. he was good to him. yes baby! jeff wells, that my father's name. i was a little baby settin' in the basket 'round in the yard and they would put the cotton all 'round me. they carried me out where they worked and put me in the basket. i couldn't pick no cotton because i was too young. when they got through they would put me in that big old wagon and carry me home. there wasn't no trucks then. jeff wells (that was my father), when they got through pickin' the cotton, he would say, 'put them children in the wagon; pick 'em up and put 'em in the wagon.' i was a little bitty old boy. i couldn't pick no cotton then. but i used to pick it after the surrender. "i remember what they said when they freed my father. they said, 'you're free. you children are free. go on back there and work and let your children work. don't work them children too long. you'll git pay for your work.' that was in the monticello courthouse yard. they said, 'you're free! free!' "my mistress said to me when i got back home, 'you're free. go on out in the orchard and git yoself some peaches.' they had a yard full of peaches. baby did i git me some peaches. i pulled a bushel of 'em. ku klux klan "the ku klux run my father out of the fields once. and the white people went and got them 'bout it. they said, 'times is hard, and we can't have these people losin' time out of the fields. you let these people work.' a week after that, they didn't do no mo. the ku klux didn't. somebody laid them out. i used to go out to the fields and they would ask me, 'jeff bailey, what you do in' out here?' i was a little boy and you jus' ought to seen me gittin' 'way frum there. whooo-eeee! "i used to pick cotton back yonder in monticello. i can't pick no cotton now. naw lawd! i'm too old. i can't do that kind of work now. i need help. carl bailey knows me. he'll help me. i'm a hostler. i handle horses. i used to pick cotton forty years ago. my mother washed clothes right after the war to git us children some thin' to eat. sometimes somebody would give us somethin' to help us out. "tilda bailey, that was my mother. she and my father belonged to different masters. bailey was her master's name. she always called herself bailey and i call myself bailey. if i die, i'll be bailey. my insurance is in the name of bailey. my father and mother had about eight children. they raised all their children in monticello. you ever been to monticello? i had a good time in monticello. i was a baby when peace was declared. just toddling 'round. "my father drank too much. i used to tell him about it. i used to say to him, 'i wouldn't drink so much whiskey.' but he drank it right on. he drank hisself to death. "i believe roosevelt's goin' to be president again. i believe he's goin' to run for a third term. he's goin' to be dictator. he's goin' to be king. he's goin' to be a good dictator. we don't want no more republic. the people are too hard on the poor people. president roosevelt lets everybody git somethin'. i hope he'll git it. i hope he'll be dictator. i hope he'll be king. yuh git hold uh some money with him. "you couldn't ever have a chance if cook got to be governor. i believe carl bailey's goin' to be a good governor. i believe he'll do better. they put miz carraway back; i believe she'll do good too." extra comment state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave name and address of informant--jeff bailey, w. ninth street, little rock. jeff bailey talked like a man of ninety instead of a man of seventy-six or seven. it was hard to get him to stick to any kind of a story. he had two or three things on his mind and he repeated those things over and over again--governor bailey, hostler, post office. he had to be pried loose from them. and he always returned the next sentence. interviewer: mary d. hudgins. person interviewed: james baker aged: home: with daughter who owns home at wade st. the outskirts of eastern hot springs resemble a vast checkerboard--patterned in black and white. within two blocks of a house made of log-faced siding--painted a spotless white and provided with blue shutters will be a shack which appears to have been made from the discard of a dozen generations of houses. some of the yards are thick with rusting cans, old tires and miscelaneous rubbish. some of them are so gutted by gully wash that any attempt at beautification would be worse than useless. some are swept--farm fashion--free from surface dust and twigs. some attempt--others achieve grass and flowers. vegetable gardens are far less frequent then they should be, considering space left bare. the interviewer frankly lost her way several times. one improper direction took her fully half a mile beyond her destination. from a hilltop she could look down on less elevated hills and into narrow valleys. the impression was that of a cheaply painted back-drop designed for a "stock" presentation of "mrs. wiggs of the cabbage patch." moving along streets, alleys and paths backward "toward town" the interviewer reached another hill. almost a quarter of a mile away she spied an old colored man sunning himself on the front porch of a well kept cottage. somthing about his white hair and erectly-slumped bearing screamed "ex-slave" even at that distance. a negro youth was passing. "i beg your pardon, can you tell me where to find wade street and james baker?" "ya--ya--ya--s ma'am. dat--dat--dat's de house over da--da--da--da--r. he--he--he lives at his daughter's" "could that be he on the porch?" "ya--ya--yas ma'am. dat--dat--dat's right." "yes, ma'am i'm james baker. yes ma'am i remembers about the war. you want to talk to me about it. let me get you a chair. you'd rather sit right there on the step? all right ma'am. i was born in hot spring county, below melvern it was. i was borned on the farm of a man named hammonds. but i was pretty little when he sold me to some folks named fenton. wasn't with them so very long. you know how it goes--back in them days. when a girl or a boy would marry, why they'd givem them as many black folks as they could spare. i was give to one of the daughters when she married. she was mrs. samuel gentry. i wasn't so very big before the war. so i didn't have to work in the fields. just sort of played around. can't remember very much about what happened then. we never did see no fighting about. they was men what passed through. they was soldiers. they come backwards and forewards. i was about as big as that boy you see there"--pointing to a lad about years old--"some of them they was dressed in blue--sort of blue. we was told that they was federals. then some of them was in grey--them was the southerners. no, we wasn't scared of them--either of them. they didn't never bother none of us. didn't have anything to be scared of not at all. it wasn't really malvern we was at--that was sort of before malvern come to be. malvern didn't grow up until after the railroad come through. the town was across the river, sort of this side. it was called rockport. ma'am--you know about rockport"--a delighted chuckle. "yes, ma'am, don't many folks now-a-days know about rockport. yes ma'am the river is pretty shoaly right there. pretty shoaly. yes ma'am there was lots of doings around rockport. yes ma'am. dat's right. before garland county was made, rockport was the capitol o--i mean de county seat of hot spring county. hot springs was in that county at that time. there was big doings in town when they held court. real big doings. no, ma'am i didn't do nothing much when the war was over. no, i didn't go to be with my daddy. i moved over to live with a man i called uncle billy--uncle billy bryant he was. he had all his family with him. i stayed with him and did what he told me to--'til i grew up. he was always good to me--treated me like his own children. uncle billy lived at rockport. i liked living with him. i remember the court house burned down--or blowed down--seems like to me it burned down. uncle billy got the job of cleaning bricks. i helped him. that was when they moved over to malvern--the court house i mean. no--no they didn't. not then, that was later--they didn't build the railroad until later. they built it back--sort of simple like--built it down by judge kieth's. no ma'am. i don't remember nothing about when they built the railroad. you see we lived across the river--and i guess--well i just didn't know nothing about it. but rockport wasn't no good after the railroad come in. they moved the court house and most of the folks moved away. there wasn't nothing much left. i started farming around there some. i moved about quite a bit. i lived down sort of by benton too for quite a spell. i worked around at most any kind of farming. 'course most of the time we was working at cotton and corn. i's spent most of my life farming. i like it. moved around pretty considerable. sometimes i hired out--sometimes i share cropped--sometimes i worked thirds and fourths. what does i mean by hired out--i means worked for wages. which way did i like best--i'll take share-cropping. i sort of like share-cropping. i been in hot springs for years. come to be with my daughter." (an interruption by a small negro girl--neatly dressed and bright-eyed. not content with watching from the sidelines she had edged closer and squatted comfortably within a couple of feet of the interviewer. a wide, pearly grin, a wee pointing forefinger and, "granddaddy, that lady's got a tablet just like aunt ellen. see, granddaddy.") "you mustm't bother the lady. didn't your mother tell you not to stop folks when they is talking."--the voice was kindly and there was paternal pride in it. a nickle--tendered the youngster by the interviewer--and guaranteed to produce a similar tablet won a smile and childish silence. "yes, ma'am, i lives with my daughter--her name is lulu mitchell. she owns her house--yes ma'am it helps. but it's sure hard to get along. seems like it's lots harder now than it used to be when i was gitting started. lulu works--she irons. another daughter lives right over there. her name's ellen. she works too--at what she can get to do. she owns her house too. three of my daughters is living. been married twice--i has. didn't stay with the last one long. yes ma'am i been coming backwards and forewards to hot springs all my life--you might say. 'twasn't far over and i kept a'coming back. been living all around here. it's pretty nice being with my daughter. she's good to me. i loves my granddaughter. we has a pretty hard time--harder dan what i had when i was young--but then it do seem like it's harder to earn money dan what it was when i was young." interviewer: r.s. taylor person interviewed: uncle william baltimore resident: route # , pine bluff, arkansas, jefferson county. age: . "you wants to know how old i is? i'se lived a long time. i'se goin' on . my gran'mammy was over years. my mamma was . my pappy was . they was twelve chilluns. i don't know if any of my sisters or brothers is livin'. don't know if one of my friends back in my boy days is livin'. i'se like a poor old leaf left hangin' to a tree. "yes--i sho do member back befo' the war. i was borned on the dr. waters place about twelve miles out of pine bluff on the east side of noble lake. my gran'mammy and gran'pappy and my mamma and my pappy were slaves on de walker plantation. i was not bought or sold--just lived on de old plantation. i wasn't whipped neither but once i mighty near got a beatin'. want to hear about it? i likes to tell. "dr. waters had a good heart. he didn't call us 'slaves'. he call us 'servants'. he didn't want none of his niggers whipped 'ceptin when there wasn't no other way. i was grown up pretty good size. dr. waters liked me cause i could make wagons and show mules. once when he was going away to be gone all day, he tole me what to do while he was gone. the overseer wasn't no such good man as old master. he wanted to be boss and told me what to do. i tole him de big boss had tole me what to do and i was goin' to do it. he got mad and said if i didn't do what he said i'd take a beating. i was a big nigger and powerful stout. i tole the overseer fore he whipped me he's show himself a better man than i was. when he found he was to have a fight he didn't say no more about the whipping. "i worked on de plantation till de war broke. then i went into the army with them what called themselves secesh's. i didn't fight none, never give me a gun nor sword. i was a servant. i cooked and toted things. in i was captured by the yankees and marched to little rock and sworn in as a union soldier. i was sure enough soldier now. i never did any fighting but i marched with the soldiers and worked for them whatever they said. "we marched from pine bluff on through ft. smith and the indian territory of oklahoma. then we went to leavenworth kansas and back to jefferson county, arkansas. and all that walking i did on these same foots you see right here now. "on this long march we camped thirty miles from ft. smith. we had gone without food three days and was powerful hongry. i started out to get something to eat. i found a sheep, i was tickled. i laughed. i could turn the taste of that sheep meat under my tongue. when i got to camp with the sheep i had to leave for picket duty. hungrier than ever, i thought of that sheep all the time. when i got back i wanted my chunk of meat. it had been killed, cooked, eat up. never got a grease spot on my finger from my sheep. "when time come for breaking up the army i went back to jefferson county and set to farmin'. i was free now. i didn't do so well on the land as i didn't have mules and money to live on. i went to dersa county and opened up a blacksmith shop. i learned how to do this work when i was with dr. waters. he had me taught by a skilled man. i learned to build wagons too. "i made my own tools. who showed me how? nobody. when i needed a hack saw i made it out of a file--that was all i had to make it of. i had to have it. once i made a cotton scraper out of a piece of hardwood. i put a steel edge on it. o yes i made everything. can i build a wagon--make all the parts? every thing but the hubs for the wheels. "you say i don't seem to see very well. ha-ha! i don't see nuthin' at all. i'se been plum blind for years. i can't see nothin'. but i patches my own clothes. you don't know how i can thread the needle? look here." i asked him to let me see his needle threader. he felt around in a drawer and pulled out a tiny little half arrow which he had made of a bit of tin with a pair of scissors and fine file. he pushed this through the eye of the needle, then hooked the thread on it and pulled it back again threading his needle as fast as if he had good eyesight. "this is a needle threader. i made it myself. watch me thread a needle. can't i do it as fast as if i had a head full of keen eyes? my wife been gone twenty years. she went blind too. i had to do something. my patches may not look so pretty but they sure holt (hold). "you wants to know what i think of the way young folks is doing these days? they'se goin' to fast. so is their papas and mammas. dey done forgot dey's a god and a day of settlin'. den what dances pays de fiddler. i got religion long time ago--jined de baptist church in and haven't never got away from it. i'se tried to tote fair with god and he's done fair by me. "does i get a pension? i shure do. it was a lucky day when de yankees got me. ef they hadn't i don't know what'd become of me. after i went blind i had hard times. folks, white folks and all, brought me food. but that wasn't any good way to get along. sometimes i ate, sometimes i didn't. so some of my white, friends dug up my record with the yankees and got me a pension. now i'm setting pretty for de rest of my life. yes--o yes i'se older dan most folks get. still i may be still takin' my grub here when some of these young whiskey drinkin razzin' around young chaps is under the dirt. it pays to i don know of any bad spots in me yet. it pays to live honest, work hard, stay sober. god only knows what some of these lazy, triflin' drinkin' young folks is comin' to." interviewer: pernella m. anderson person interviewed: mose banks douglas addition, el dorado, arkansas age: "my name is mose banks and i am sixty-nine years old. i was born in . i was born four years after freedom but still i was a slave in a way. my papa stayed with his old miss and master after freedom until he died and he just died in , so we all stayed with him too. i had one of the best easiest times in my life. my master was name bob stevenson and he was a jewel. never meaned us, never dogged, never hit one of us in his life. he bought us just like he bought my papa. he never made any of the girls work in the field. he said the work was too hard. he always said splitting rails, bushing, plowing and work like that was for men. that work makes no count women. "the girls swept yards, cleaned the house, nursed, and washed and ironed, combed old miss' and the children's hair and cut their finger and toe nails and mended the clothes. the womens' job was to cook, attend to the cows, knit all the socks for the men and boys, spin thread, card bats, weave cloth, quilt, sew, scrub and things like that. "the little boys drove up the cows, slopped the hogs, got wood and pine for light, go to the spring and get water. after a boy was twelve then he let him work in the fields. my main job was hitching the horse to the buggy for old miss stevenson, and put the saddle on old master's saddle horse. "i was very small but when the first railroad come through old master took us to see the train. i guess it was about forty or fifty miles because it took us around four days to make the round trip. the trains were not like they are now. the engine was smaller and they burned wood and they had what they called a drum head and they didn't run very fast, and could not carry many cars. it was a narrow gauge road and the rails were small and the road was dirt. it was not gravel and rocks like it is now. it was a great show to me and we all had something to talk about for a long time. people all around went to see it and we camped out one night going and coming and camped one night at the railroad so we could see the train the next day. a man kept putting wood in the furnace in order to keep a fire. smoke come out of the drum head. the drum head was something like a big washpot or a big old hogshead barrel. an ox team was used for most all traveling. you did not see very many horses or mules. "the white children taught us how to read and i went to school too. "i went to church too. we did not have a church house; we used a brush arbor for service for a long time. in the winter we built a big fire in the middle and we sat all around the fire on small pine logs. later they built a log church, so we had service in there for years. "we did not live near a school, so old mistress and the children taught us how to read and write and count. i never went to school in my life and i bet you, can't none of these children that rub their heads on college walls beat me reading and counting. you call one and ask them to divide ninety-nine cows and one bob-tailed bull by two, and they can't answer it to save their lives without a pencil and paper and two hours' figuring when it's nothing to say but fifty. "wasn't no cook stoves and heaters until about or . if there was i did not know about them. they cooked on fireplace and fire out in the yard on what they called oven and we had plenty of plain grub. we stole eggs from the big house because we never got any eggs. "the custom of marrying was just pack up and go on and live with who you wanted to; that is the negroes did--i don't know how the white people married. this lawful marrying came from the law since man made law. "when anybody died everybody stopped working and moaned and prayed until after the burying. "i can say there is as much difference between now and sixty years ago as it is in day and night." interviewer: s. s. taylor person interviewed: henry banner county hospital little rock, ark. age: ? [hw: forty acres and a mule] "i was sold the third year of the war for fifteen years old. that would be in . that would make my birthday come in . i must have been year old when the war started and sixteen when lee surrendered. i was born and raised in russell county, ol' virginny. i was sold out of russell county during the war. ol' man menefee refugeed me into tennessee near knoxville. they sold me down there to a man named jim maddison. he carried me down in virginny near lynchburg and sold me to jim alec wright. he was the man i was with in the time of the surrender. then i was in a town called liberty. the last time i was sold, i sold for $ , ,--more than i'm worth now. "police were for white folks. patteroles were for niggers. if they caught niggers out without a pass they would whip them. the patteroles were for darkies, police for other people. "they run me once, and i ran home. i had a dog at home, and there wasn't no chance them gettin' by that dog. they caught me once in liberty, and mrs. charlie crenchaw, ol' john crenchaw's daughter, came out and made them turn me loose. she said, 'they are our darkies; turn them loose.' "one of them got after me one night. i ran through a gate and he couldn't get through. every time i looked around, i would see through the trees some bush or other and think it was him gaining on me. god knows! i ran myself to death and got home and fell down on the floor. "the slaves weren't expecting nothing. it got out somehow that they were going to give us forty acres and a mule. we all went up in town. they asked me who i belonged to and i told them my master was named banner. one man said, 'young man, i would go by my mama's name if i were you.' i told him my mother's name was banner too. then he opened a book and told me all the laws. he told me never to go by any name except banner. that was all the mule they ever give me. "i started home a year after i got free and made a crop. i had my gear what i had saved on the plantation and went to town to get my mule but there wasn't any mule. "before the war you belonged to somebody. after the war you weren't nothin' but a nigger. the laws of the country were made for the white man. the laws of the north were made for man. "freedom is better than slavery though. i done seed both sides. i seen darkies chained. if a good nigger killed a white overseer, they wouldn't do nothin' to him. if he was a bad nigger, they'd sell him. they raised niggers to sell; they didn't want to lose them. it was just like a mule killing a man. "yellow niggers didn't sell so well. there weren't so many of them as there are now. black niggers stood the climate better. at least, everybody thought so. "if a woman didn't breed well, she was put in a gang and sold. they married just like they do now but they didn't have no license. some people say that they done this and that thing but it's no such a thing. they married just like they do now, only they didn't have no license. "ol' man came out on april , . and said, 'general lee's whipped now and dam badly whipped. the war is over. the yankees done got the country. it is all over. just go home and hide everything you got. general lee's army is coming this way and stealing everything they can get their hands on.' but general lee's army went the other way. "i saw a sack of money setting near the store. i looked around and i didn't see nobody. so i took it and carried it home. then i hid it. i heard in town that jeff davis was dead and his money was no good. i took out some of the money and went to the grocery and bought some bread and handed her five dollar bill. she said, 'my goodness, henry, that money is no good; the yankees have killed it.' and i had done gone all over the woods and hid that money out. there wasn't no money. nobody had anything. i worked for two bits a day. all our money was dead. "the yankees fed the white people with hard tacks (at liberty, virginia). all around the country, them that didn't have nothin' had to go to the commissary and get hard tacks. "i started home. i went to town and rambled all around but there wasn't nothin' for me. "i was set free in april. about nine o'clock in the morning when we went to see what work we would do, ol' man wright called us all up and told us to come together. then he told us we were free. i couldn't get nothing to do; so i jus' stayed on and made a crop." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: john w. h. barnett, marianna, arkansas age: "i was born at clinton parish, louisiana. i'm eighty-one years old. my parents and four children was sold and left six children behind. they kept the oldest children. in that way i was sold but never alone. our family was divided and that brought grief to my parents. we was sold on a block at new orleans. j.j. gambol (gamble?) in north louisiana bought us. after freedom i seen all but one of our family. i don't recollect why that was. "for three weeks steady after the surrender people was passing from the war and for two years off and on somebody come along going home. some rode and some had a cane or stick walking. mother was cooking a pot of shoulder meat. them blue soldiers come by and et it up. i didn't get any i know that. they cleaned us out. father was born at eastern shore, maryland. he was about half indian. mother's mother was a squaw. i'm more indian than negro. father said it was a white man's war. he didn't go to war. mother was very dark. he spoke a broken tongue. "we worked on after freedom for the man we was owned by. we worked crops and patches. i didn't see much difference then. i see a big change come out of it. we had to work. the work didn't slacken a bit. i never owned land but my father owned eighty acres in drew county. i don't know what become of it. i worked on the railroad section, laid crossties, worked in stave mills. i farmed a whole lot all along. i hauled and cut wood. "i get ten dollars and i sells sassafras and little things along to help out. my wife died. my two sons left just before the world war. i never hear from them. i married since then. "present times--i can't figure it out. seems like a stampede. not much work to do. if i was young i reckon i could find something to do. "present generation--seem like they are more united. the old ones have to teach the young ones what to do. they don't listen all the time. the times is strange. people's children don't do them much good now seems like. they waste most all they make some way. they don't make it regular like we did farming. the work wasn't regular farming but saturday was ration day and we got that." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: josephine ann barnett, r.f.d., de valls bluff, arkansas age: or "i do not knows my exact age. i judge i somewhere between and years old. i was born close to germantown, tennessee. we belong, that is my mother, to phillip mcneill and sally mcneill. my mother was a milker. he had a whole heap of hogs, cattle and stock. that not all my mother done. she plowed. children done the churnin'. "the way it all come bout i was the onliest chile my mother had. him and miss sallie left her to help gather the crop and they brought me in the buggy wid them. i set on a little box in the foot of the buggy. it had a white umbrella stretched over it. great big umbrella run in between them. it was fastened to the buggy seat. when we got to memphis they loaded the buggy on the ship. i had a fine time coming. when we got to bucks landing we rode to his place in the buggy. it is miles from here (de valls bluff). in the fall nearly all his slaves come out here. then when my mother come on. i never seen my papa after i left back home [tr: crossed out: (near germantown)]. my father belong to boston hack. he wouldn't sell and mr. mcneill wouldn't sell and that how it come. "i muster been five or six years old when i come out here to arkansas. my grandma was a midwife. she was already out here. she had to come with the first crowd cause some women was expecting. i tell you it sho was squally times. this country was wild. it was different from tennessee or close to germantown where we come from. none of the slaves liked it but they was brought. "the war come on direckly after we got here. several families had the slaves drove off to texas to save them. keep em from following the yankee soldiers right here at the bluff off. i remember seein' them come up to the gate. my mother and two aunts went. his son and some more men drove em. after freedom them what left childern come back. i stayed with my grandma while they gone. i fed the chickens, shelled corn, churned, swept. i done any little turns they sent me to do. "one thing i remember happened when they had scrimmage close--it mighter been the one on long prairie--they brought a young boy shot through his lung to mr. phillip mcneill's house. he was a stranger. he died. i felt so sorry for him. he was right young. he belong to the southern army. the southern army nearly made his place their headquarters. "another thing i remember was a agent was going through the country settin' fire to all the cotton. mr. mcneill had his cotton--all our crop we made. that man set it afire. it burned more than a week big. he burned some left at the gin not mr. mcneill's. it was fun to us children but i know my grandma cried and all the balance of the slaves. cause they got some christmas money and clothes too when the cotton was sold. "the slaves hated the yankees. they treated them mean. they was having a big time. they didn't like the slaves. they steal from the slaves too. some poor folks didn't have slaves. "after freedom my mother come back after me and we come here to de valls bluff and i been here ever since. the yankee soldiers had built shacks and they left them. they would do. some was one room, log, boxed and all sorts. they give us a little to eat to keep us from starvin'. it sho was a little bit too. my mother got work about. "the first schoolhouse was a colored school. we had two rooms and two teachers sent down from the north to teach us. if they had a white school i didn't know it. they had one later on. i was bout grown. mr. proctor and miss rice was the first teachers. we laughed bout em. they was rough looking, didn't look like white folks down here we'd been used to. they thought they sho was smart. another teacher come down here was mr. abner. white folks wouldn't have nothin' to do with em. we learned. they learned us the abc's and to write. i can read. i learned a heap of it since i got grown just trying. they gimme a start. "times is hard in a way. prices so high. i never had a hard time in my life. i get $ a month. it is cause my husband was a soldier here at de valls bluff. "i do not vote. i ain't goiner vote. "i don't know what to think of the young generation. they are on the road to ruin seems like. i speakln' of the real young folks. they do like they see the white girls and boys doin'. i don't know what to become of em. the women outer stay at home and let the men take care of em. the women seems like taking all the jobs. the colored folks cookin' and making the living for their men folks. it ain't right--to me. but i don't care how they do. things ain't got fixed since that last war." (world war). interviewer: mrs. rosa b. ingram person interviewed: lizzie barnett; conway, arkansas age: ? "yes; i was born a slave. my old mammy was a slave before me. she was owned by my old miss, fanny pennington, of nashville, tennessee. i was born on a plantation near there. she is dead now. i shore did love miss fanny. "did you have any brothers and sisters, aunt liz.?" "why, law yes, honey, my mammy and miss fanny raised dey chillun together. three each, and we was jes' like brothers and sisters, all played in de same yard. no, we did not eat together. dey sot us niggers out in de yard to eat, but many a night i'se slept with miss fanny. "mr. pennington up and took de old-time consumption. dey calls it t.b. now. my mammy nursed him and took it from him and died before mr. abe lincoln ever sot her free. "i have seen hard times, miss, i shore have. "in dem days when a man owned a plantation and had children and they liked any of the little slave niggers, they were issued out to 'em just like a horse or cow. "'member, honey, when de old-time war happened between the north and south, the slavery war. it was so long ago i just can 'member it. dey had us niggers scared to death of the bluejackets. one day a man come to miss fanny's house and took a liking to me. he put me up on a block an' he say, 'how old is dis nigger?' an' she say 'five' when she know well an' good i was ten. no, he didn't get me. but i thought my time had come. "yes, siree, i was miss fanny's child. why wouldn't i love her when i sucked titty from her breast when my mammy was working in the field? i shore did love miss fanny. "when de nigger war was over and dey didn't fit (fight) any longer, abe lincoln sot all de niggers free and den got 'sassinated fer doin it. "miss, you don't know what a hard life we slaves had, cause you ain't old enough to 'member it. many a time i've heard the bull whips a-flying, and heard the awful cries of the slaves. the flesh would be cut in great gaps and the maggits (maggots) would get in them and they would squirm in misery. "i want you to know i am not on arkansas born nigger. i come from tennessee. be sure to put that down. i moved to memphis after miss fanny died. "while i lived in memphis, de yellow fever broke out. you have never seed the like. everything was under quarantine. the folks died in piles and de coffins was piled as high as a house. they buried them in trenches, and later they dug graves and buried them. when they got to looking into the coffins, they discovered some had turned over in dey coffins and some had clawed dey eyes out and some had gnawed holes in dey hands. dey was buried alive! "miss, do you believe in ha'nts? well, if you had been in memphis den you would. dey was jes' paradin' de streets at nite and you'd meet dem comin at you round de dark corners and all de houses everywhere was ha'nted. i've seed plenty of 'em wid my own eyes, yes, siree. "yes, the times were awful in memphis endurin the plague. women dead lying around and babies sucking their breasts. as soon as the frost came and the quarantine was lifted, i came to conway, . but i am a tennessee nigger. "when i cams to conway there were few houses to live in. no depot. i bought this piece of land to build my shanty from mr. jim harkrider for $ . . i worked hard for white folks and saved my money and had this little two-room house built (mud chimney, and small porch and one small window). it is about to fall down on me, but it will last as long as i live. at first, i lived and cooked under a bush (brush) arbor. cooked on the coals in an iron skillet. here it it, miss. "part ob de time after de nigger war (civil) i lived in hot springs. president 'kinley had a big reservation over there and a big hospital for the sick and wounded soldiers. den de war broke out in cuba and dere was a spatch (dispatch) board what de news come over dat de war was on. den when dat war was over and 'kinley was tryin to get us niggers a slave pension dey up and 'sassinated him. "after mr. lincoln sot de slaves free, dey had northern teachers down south and they were called spies and all left the country. "i don't know 'sactly how old i am. dey say i am . if miss fanny was livin' she could settle it. but i have had a hard life. yes mam. here i is living in my shanty, 'pendin' on my good white neighbors to feed me and no income 'cept my old age pension. thank god for mr. roosevelt. i love my southern white friends. i am glad the north and south done shook hands and made friends. all i has to do now is sit and look forward to de day when i can meet my old mammy and miss fanny in the glory land. thank god." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: spencer barnett (blind), holly grove, ark. age: "i was born april , . it was wrote in a old bible. i am years old. i was born miles from florence, alabama. the folks owned us was nancy and mars tom williams. to my recollection they had john, william, and tom, boys; jane, ann, lucy, and emma, girls. in my family there was children. my parents name harry and harriett barnett. "mars tom williams had a tanning yard. he bought hides this way: when a fellow bring hides he would tan em then give him back half what he brought. then he work up the rest in shoes, harness, whoops, saddles and sell them. the man all worked wid him and he had a farm. he raised corn, cotton, wheat, and oats. "that slavery was bad. mars tom williams wasn't cruel. he never broke the skin. when the horn blowed they better be in place. they used a twisted cowhide whoop. it was wet and tied, then it mortally would hurt. one thing you had to be in your place day and night. it was confinin'. "sunday was visiting day. "one man come to dinner, he hit a horse wid a rock and run way. he missed his dinner. he come back fo dark and went tole mars tom. he didn't whoop him. i was mighty little when that took place. "they worked on saturday like any other day. one man fixed out the rations. it didn't take long fer to go git em. "the women plowed like men in plow time. some women made rails. when it was cold and raining they spun and wove in the house. the men cut wood under a shed or side the barn so it knock off the wind. mars tom williams had grown men and women. i was too little to count but i heard my folks call am over by name and number more times en i got fingers and toes. he would hire em out to work some. "when freedom come on i was on hawkin lankford simpson place. it was or miles from town. they had a big dinner-picnic close by. it was or day of august. a lot of soldiers come by there and said, 'you niggers air free.' it bout broke up the picnic. the white folks broke off home. them wanted to go back went, them didn't struck off gone wild. miss lucy and mr. bob barnett give all of em stayed some corn and a little money. then he paid off at the end of the year. then young master went and rented at dilly hunt place. we stayed wid him or years then we went to a place he bought. tom barnett come to close to little rock. mars william started and died on the way in memphis. we come on wid the family. guess they are all dead now. wisht i know or could find em. tom never married. he was a soldier. one of the boys died fo the war started. "my brother joe married luvenia omsted and lewis omsted married my sister betsy and mars tom williams swapped the women. my ma was a cook for the white folks how i come to know so much bout it all. boys wore loose shirts till they was nine or ten years old. the shirt come to the calf of the leg. no belt. "we had plenty common eating. they had a big garden and plenty milk. they cooked wid the eggs mostly. they would kill a beef and have a week of hog killing. they would kill the beef the hardest weather that come. the families cooked at night and on sunday at the log cabins. they cook at night for all next day. the old men hauled wood. "when i was a little boy i could hear men runnin' the slaves wid hounds in the mountains. the landmen paid paddyrollers to keep track of slaves. keep em home day and night. "we took turns bout going to white church. we go in washin' at the creek and put on clean clothes. she learned me a prayer. old mistress learned me to say it nights i slept up at the house. i still can say it: 'now i lay me down to sleep i pray the lord my soul to keep if i should die fo i wake i pray the lord my soul to take.' "the slaves at our places had wheat straw beds. the white folks had fine goose feather beds. we had no idle days. had a long time at dinner to rest and rest and water the teams. sometimes we fed them. old mistress had two peafowls roosted in the colonial poplar trees. she had a pigeon house and a turkey house. i recken chicken and goose house, too. when company come you take em to see the farm, the garden, the new leather things jes' made and to see the little ducks, calves, and colts. folks don't care bout seeing that now. "the girls went to florence to school. all i can recollect is them going off to school and i knowed it was florence. "the yankees burned the big house. it was a fine house. old mistress moved in the overseer's house. he was a white man. he moved somewhere else. the yankees made raids and took or calves from her at one time. they set the tater house afire. they took the corn. old mistress cried more on one time. the yankees starved out more black faces than white at their stealing. after that war it was hard for the slaves to have a shelter and enough eatin' that winter. they died in piles bout after that august i tole you bout. joe innes was our overseer when the house burned. "the ku klux come to my house twice. they couldn't get filled up wid water. they scared us to death. i heard a lot of things they done. "i don't vote. i voted once in all my life fo some county officers. "i been in arkansas since february , . i come to little cypress. i worked for mr. clark by the month, j.w. crocton's place, mr. kitchen's place. i was brakeman on freight train awhile. i worked on the section. i farmed and worked in the timber. i don't have no children; i never been married. i wanted to work by the month all my life. i sells mats (shuck mats) $ . and i bottom chairs ¢. the social welfare gives me $ . . that is ¢ a meal. that woman next door boards me--table board--for ¢ a day. i make all i can outer fust one thing and another." (he is blind--cataracts.) interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: emma barr, madison, arkansas age: "my parents belong to two people. mama was born in mississippi i think and papa come from north carolina. papa's master was lark hickerson. mama was sold from dr. ware to dr. pope. she was grown when she was sold. she was the mother of twenty-seven children. she had twins three times. "during the civil war she was run from the yankees and had twins on the road. they died or was born dead and she nearly died. they was buried between twin trees close to hernando, mississippi. her last owner was dr. pope, ten miles south of augusta, arkansas. i was born there and raised up three miles south of augusta, arkansas. "when mama was sold she left her people in mississippi but after freedom her sisters, aunt mariah and aunt mary, come here to mama. aunt mariah had no children. aunt mary had four boys, two girls. she brought her children. mama said her husband when dr. ware owned her was maxwell but she married my papa after dr. pope bought her. "dr. ware had a fine man he bred his colored house women to. they didn't plough and do heavy work. he was hostler, looked after the stock and got in wood. the women hated him, and the men on the place done as well. they hated him too. my papa was a hickerson. he was a shoemaker and waited on dr. pope. dr. pope and miss marie was good to my parents and to my auntees when they come out here. "i am the onliest one of mama's children living. mama was sold on the block and cried off i heard them say when they lived at wares in mississippi. mama was a house girl, aunt mary cooked and my oldest sister put fire on the skillet and oven lids. that was her job. "mama was lighter than i am. she had indian blood in her. one auntee was half white. she was lighter than i am, had straight hair; the other auntee was real dark. she spun and wove and knit socks. mama said they had plenty to eat at both homes. dr. pope was good to her. mama went to the white folks church to look after the babies. they took the babies and all the little children to church in them days. "mama said the preachers told the slaves to be good and bedient. the colored folks would meet up wid one another at preaching same as the white folks. i heard my auntees say when the yankees come to the house the mistress would run give the house women their money and jewelry and soon as the yankees leave they would come get it. that was at wares in mississippi. "i heard them talk about slipping off and going to some house on the place and other places too and pray for freedom during the war. they turned an iron pot upside down in the room. when some mens' slaves was caught on another man's place he was allowed to whoop them and send them home and they would git another whooping. some men wouldn't allow that; they said they would tend to their own slaves. so many men had to leave home to go to war times got slack. "it was judge martin that owned my papa before he was freed. he lived close to augusta, arkansas. when he was freed he lived at dr. pope's. he was sold in north carolina. dr. pope and judge martin told them they was free. mama stayed on with dr. pope and he paid her. he never did whoop her. mama told me all this. she died a few years ago. she was old. i never heard much about the ku klux. mama was a good speller. i was a good speller at school and she learned with us. i spelled in webster's blue back speller. "we children stayed around home till we married off. i nursed nearly all my life. me and my husband farmed ten years. he died. i don't have a child. i wish i did have a girl. my cousin married us in the church. his name was andrew baccus. "after my husband died i went to coffeeville, kansas and nursed an old invalid white woman three years, till she died. i come back here where i was knowed. i'm keeping this house for some people gone off. part of the house is rented out and i get $ and commodities. i been sick with the chills." interviewer: s.s. taylor person interviewed: robert barr west th st. little rock, ark. age: occupation: preaching [hw: a preacher tells his story] "i am a minister of the gospel. i have been preaching for the last thirty years. i am batching here. a man does better to live by himself. young people got the devil in them now a days. your own children don't want you around. "i got one grand-daughter that ain't never stood on the floor. her husband kicked her and hit her and she ain't never been able to stand up since. i got another daughter that ain't thinking about marrying. she just goes from one man to the other. "the government gives me a pension. the white folks help me all along. before i preached, i fiddled, danced, shot craps, did anything. "my mother was born in chickasaw, mississippi. she was born a slave. old man barr was her master. she was a lucy appelin and she married a barr. i don't know whether she stood on the floor and married them as they do now or not. they tell me that they just gave them to them in those days. my mother said that they didn't know anything about marriage then. they had some sort of a way of doing. ol' massa would call them up and say, 'you take that man, and go ahead. you are man and wife.' i don't care whether you liked it or didn't. you had to go ahead. i heard em say: 'nigger ain't no more'n a horse or cow,' but they got out from under that now. the world is growing more and more civilized. but when a nigger thinks he is something, he ain't nothin'. white folks got all the laws and regulations in their hands and they can do as they please. you surrender under em and go along and you are all right. if they told a woman to go to a man and she didn't, they would whip her. you didn't have your own way. they would make you do what they wanted. they'd give you a good beating too. "my father was born in mississippi. his name was simon barr. my mother and father both lived on the same plantation. in all groups of people they went by their master's name. before she married, my mother's master and mistress were appelins. when she got married--got ready to marry--the white folks agreed to let them go together. old man barr must have paid something for her. according to my mother and father, that's the way it was. she had to leave her master and go with her husband's master. "according to my old father and mother, the patteroles went and got the niggers when they did something wrong. they lived during slave time. they had a rule and government over the colored and there you are. when they caught niggers out, they would beat them. if you'd run away, they'd go and get you and beat you and put you back. when they'd get on a nigger and beat him, the colored folks would holler, 'i pray, massa.' they had to have a great war over it, before they freed the nigger. the bible says there is a time for all things. "my mother and father said they got a certain amount when they was freed. i don't know how much it was. it was only a small amount. after a short time it broke up and they didn't get any more. i get ten dollars pension now and that is more than they got then. "i heard old brother page in mississippi say that the slaves had heard em say they were going to be free. his young mistress heard em say he was going to be free and she walked up and hocked and spit in his face. when freedom came, old massa came out and told them. "i have heard folks talk of buried treasure. i'll bet there's more money under the ground than there is on it. they didn't have banks then, and they put their money under the ground. for hundreds of years, there has been money put under the ground. "i heard my mother talk about their dances and frolics then. i never heard her speak of anything else. they didn't have much freedom. they couldn't go and come as they pleased. you had to have a script to go and come. niggers ain't free now. you can't do anything; you got nothin'. this whole town belongs to white folks, and you can't do nothin'. if nigger get to have anything, white folks will take it. "we raised our own food. we made our own flour. we wove our own cloth. we made our clothes. we made our meal. we made our sorghum cane molasses. some of them made their shoes, made their own medicine, and went around and doctored on one another. they were more healthy then than they are now. this generation don't live hardly to get forty years old. they don't live long now. "i came to arkansas about thirty-five years ago. i got right into ditches. the first thing i did was farm. i farmed about ten years. i made about ten crops. mississippi gave you more for your crops than arkansas." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: matilda bass palm street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes ma'am, i was eight years old when the old war ceasted. "honey, i've lived here twenty years and i don't know what this street is. "i was born in greenville, mississippi. they took my parents and carried 'em to texas to keep 'em from the yankees. i think they stayed three years 'cause i didn't know 'em when they come back. "i 'member the yankees come and took us chillun and the old folks to vicksburg. i 'member the old man that seed after the chillun while their parents was gone, he said i was eight when freedom come. we didn't know nothin' 'bout our ages--didn't have 'nough sense. "my parents come back after surrender and stayed on my owner's place--john scott's place. we had three masters--three brothers. "i been in arkansas twenty years--right here. i bought this home. "i married my husband in mississippi. we farmed. "the lord uses me as a prophet and after my husband died, the lord sent me to arkansas to tell the people. he called me out of the church. i been out of the church now thirty-three years. seems like all they think about in the churches now is money, so the lord called me out." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: emmett beal, biscoe, arkansas age: "i was born in holloman county, bolivar, tennessee. master dr. jim may owned my set er folks. he had two girls and two boys. i reckon he had a wife but i don't recollect seeing her. ma suckled me; william may with me. ely and seley and susie was his children. "i churned for mama in slavery. she tied a cloth around the top so no flies get in. i better hadn't let no fly get in the churn. she take me out to a peach tree and learn me how to keep the flies outen the churn next time. "mama was dr. may's cook. we et out the dishes but i don't know how all of 'em done their eating. they eat at their houses. dr. may had a good size bunch of hands, not a big crowd. we had straw beds. made new ones every summer. in that country they didn't 'low you to beat yo' hands up. i heard my folks say that more'n one time. "dr. may come tole 'em it was freedom. they could get land and stay--all 'at wanted to. all his old ones kept on wid him. they sharecropped and some of them got a third. i recollect him and worked for him. "the ku klux didn't bother none of us. dr. may wouldn't 'low them on his place. "mama come out here in . i figured there better land out here and i followed her in . we paid our own ways. seem like the owners ought to give the slaves something but seem like they was mad 'cause they set us free. ma was named viney may and pa, nick may. "pa and four or five brothers was sold in memphis. he never seen his brothers no more. they come to arkansas. "pa and dr. may went to war. the yankees drafted pa and he come back to dr. may after he fit. he got his lip split open in the war. dr. may come home and worked his slaves. he didn't stay long in war. "i reckon they had plenty to eat at home. they didn't run to the stores every day 'bout starved to death like i has to do now. ma said they didn't 'low the overseers to whoop too much er dr. may would turn them off. "er horse stomped on my foot eight years ago. i didn't pay it much 'tention. it didn't hurt. blood-p'ison come in it and they took me to the horsepital and my leg had to come off, (at the knee). "we have to go back to africa to vote all the 'lections. voting brings up more hard feelings." interviewer: pernella anderson, colored. _ex-slaves_ yes i was born in slavery time. i was born september , in the field under a tree. i don't know nothing about slavery. i was too young to remember anything about slavery. but i tell you this much, times ain't like they used to be. there was easy living back in the hundred years. people wore homemade clothes, what i mean homespun and lowell clothes. my ma spun and weaved all of her cloth. we wore our dresses down to our ankles in length and my dresses was called mother hubbards. the skirts had about three yards circumference and we wore plenty of clothes under our dress. we did not go necked like these folks do now. folk did not know how we was made. we did not show our shape, we did not disgrace ourself back in . we wore our hair wrapped and head rags tied on our head. i went barefooted until i was a young missie then i wore shoes in the winter but i still went barefooted in the summer. my papa was a shoemaker so he made our shoes. we raised everything that we ate when i was a chap. we ate a plenty. we raised plenty of whippowell peas. that was the only kind of peas there was then. we raised plenty moodie sweet potatoes they call them nigger chokers now. we had cows so we had plenty of milk and butter. we cooked on the fireplace. the first stove i cooked on was a white woman's stove, that was . i never chanced to go to school because where we lived there wasn't no school. i worked all of the time. in fact that was all we knew. white people did not see where negroes needed any learning so we had to work. we lived on a place with some white people by the name of dunn. they were good people but they taken all that was made because we did not know. i ain't never been sick in my life and i have never had a doctor in my life. i am in good health now. we traveled horseback in the years of . we did not ride straddle the horse's back we rode sideways. the old folks wore their dreses dragging the ground. we chaps called everybody old that married. we respected them because they was considered as being old. time has made a change. --dina beard, douglas addition. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: annie beck, west memphis, arkansas age: "i was born in mississippi. mama was born in alabama and sold to holcomb, mississippi. her owner was master beard. she was a field woman. they took her in a stage-coach. their owner wanted to keep it a secret about freedom. but he had a brother that fussed with him all the time and he told the slaves they was all free. mama said they was pretty good always to her for it to be slavery, but papa said his owners wasn't so good to him. he was sold in richmond, virginia to master thomas at grenada, mississippi. he was a plain farming man." interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: j.h. beckwith north spruce street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "no ma'm i was not born in the time of slavery. i was sixty-eight last friday. i was born november , in johnson county, north carolina. "my mother was born in georgia and her name was gracie barum. father was born in north carolina. his name was rufus beckwith. he belonged to doctor beckwith and mother, i think, belonged to tom barum. barum was just an ordinary farmer. he was just a second or third class farmer--just poor white folks. i think my mother was the only slave he owned. "my father had to walk seven miles every saturday night to see my mother, and be back before sunrise monday. "my parents had at least three or four children born in slavery. i know my father said he worked at night and made shoes for his family. "my father was a mulatto. he had a negro mother and a white father. he had a mechanical talent. he seemed to be somewhat of a genius. he had a productive mind. he could do blacksmithing, carpenter work, brick work and shoe work. "father was married twice. he raised ten children by each wife. i think my mother had fifteen children and i was the the thirteenth child. i am the only boy among the first set, called to the ministry. and there was one in the second set. father learned to read and write after freedom. "after freedom he sent my oldest brother and sister to hampton, virginia and they were graduated from hampton institute and later taught school. they were graduated from the same school booker t. washington was. he got his idea of vocational education there. "i haven't had much education. i went as far as the eighth grade. the biggest education i have had was in the conference. "i joined the little rock general conference at texarkana in . this was the methodist episcopal, north, and i was ordained as a deacon and later an elder by white bishops. then in i joined the african methodist. "by trade i am a carpenter and bricklayer. i served an apprentice under my father and under a german contractor. "i used to be called the best negro journeyman carpenter between monroe, louisiana and little rock, arkansas. "i made quite a success in my trade. i have a couple of united states patent rights. one is a brick mold holding ten bricks and used to make bricks of concrete. the other is a sliding door. (see attached drawings) [tr: drawings missing.] "i was in the mercantile business two and one-half years in sevier county. i sold that because it was too confining and returned to the carpenter's trade. i still practice my trade some now. "i have not had to ask help from anyone. i have helped others. i own my home and i sent my daughter to fisk university where she was graduated. while there she met a young man and they were later married and now live in chicago. they own their home and are doing well. "in my work in the ministry i am trying to teach my people to have higher ideals. we have to bring our race to that high ideal of race integrity. i am trying to keep the negro from thinking he is hated by the upper class of white people. what the negro needs is self-consciousness to the extent that he aspires to the higher principles in order to stand on an equal plane in attainment but not in a social way. "at present, the negro's ideals are too low for him to visualize the evils involved in race mixture. he needs to be lifted in his own estimation and learn that a race cannot be estimated by other races--by anything else but their own ideals. "the younger generation is off on a tangent. they'll have to hit something before they stop. "the salvation of our people--of all people--white and colored, is leadership. we've got to have vision and try to give the people vision. not to live for ourselves but for all. the present generation is selfish. the life should flow out and as it flows out it makes room for more life. if it does not flow out, it congeals and ferments. selfishness is just like damming a stream. "i think woodrow wilson won the world war with his fourteen points of democracy. if the people of foreign countries had not that old imperialism sentiment, the jew would not be where he is today." interviewer's comment this man is the best informed and most sensible negro i have interviewed. in the room where i interviewed him, were a piano, a radio, many ferns, a wool rug, chairs, divan, and a table on which were books including a set of the standard history of the world. i asked if he had read the history and he replied, "not all of it but i have read the volumes pertaining to the neolithic age." on the walls were several pictures and two tapestries. the house was a good frame one and electric current was used. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: enoch beel; green grove, hazen, arkansas age: "yes maam i was born a slave, born in slavery times. i wer born in hardman county, tennessee. my own daddy was a union soldier and my mama was a cook fer the mistress. we belonged to miss viney and dr. jim mass. my daddy drawed a pension fer bein a soldier till he die. he went off to wait on some men he know. then he met some men wanted him to join the army. they said then he get paid and get a bounty. no maam he never got a red cent. he come back broke as he went off. he say he turned loose soon as he could and mustered out and lef them right now. he had no time to ax em no questions. that what he said! we stayed on that place till i was big nuf to do a days work. we had no other place to go. there was plenty land and no stock. houses to stay in got scarce. if a family had a place to stay at when that war ended he counted hisself lucky i tell you. heap of black an white jes ramlin round through the woods an over the roads huntin a little to eat or a little sumpin to do. if you stay in the field workin about puttin back the fences an round yo own house you wouldn't be hurt. "the ku kluxes war not huntin work theirselves. they was keepin order at the gatherins and down the public roads. folks had came toted off all the folks made in the crops till they don't call nuthin stealin'. they whooped em and made em ride on rails. i don't know all the carrings on did take place. i sho would been scared if i seed em comin to me. we left dr. mass and went to grain, tennessee. i had three sisters and half-brothers. i don't remember how many, some dead. i farmed all my life. everybody said the land was so much better and newer out in arkansas. when i married i come to tomberlin and worked fer sam dardnne bout twelve years. then i rented from jim hicks at england. i rented from one of the carlley boys and jim neelam. when i very fust come here i worked at helena on a farm one year. when i got my leg taken off it cost bout all i ever had cumlated. i lives on my sister's place. henry bratcher's wife out at green grove. the wellfare give me $ cause i caint get bout. "i don't know bout the times. it is so unsettled. folks want work caint get it and some won't work that could. you caint get help so you can make a crop of your own no more, fer sometimes is close." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: sophie d. belle, forrest city, arkansas age: "i was born near knoxville, georgia. my mother was a professional pastry cook. she was a house woman during slavery. she was owned by lewis hicks and ann hicks. they had saluda, mary, lewis, and oscar. "mother was never sold. mr. hicks reared her. she was three-fourths indian. her father was george hicks. gordon carried him to texas. mr. bob gordon was mean. he asked mr. hicks to keep mother and auntie while he went to texas, mr. gordon was so mean. my mother had two little girls but my sister died while small. "i never saw any one sold. i never saw a soldier. but i noticed the grown people whispering many times. mother explained it to me, they had some news from the war. aunt jane said she saw them pass in gangs. i heard her say, 'did you see the soldiers pass early this morning?' i was asleep. sometimes i was out at play when they passed. "master hicks called us all up at dinner one day to the big house. he told us, 'you are free as i am.' i never had worked any then. no, they cried and went on to their homes. aunt jane was bad to speak out, she was so much indian. she had three children. she went to another place to live. she was in search of her husband and thought he might be there at ft. valley. "mother stayed on another year. mr. hicks was good to us. none of the children ever worked till they was ten or twelve years old. he had a lot of slaves and about twenty-five children on the place growing. he had just a big plantation. he had a special cook, aunt mariah, to cook for the field hands. they eat like he did. master hicks would examine their buckets and a great big split basket. if they didn't have enough to eat he would have her cook more and send to them. they had nice victuals to eat. he had a bell to ring for all the children to be put to bed at sundown and they slept late. he said, 'let them grow.' their diet was milk and bread and eggs. we had duck eggs, guinea eggs, goose eggs, and turkey eggs. "i don't know what all the slaves had but mother had feather beds. they saved all kind of feathers to make pillows and bed and chair cushions. we always had a pet pig about our place. master hicks kept a drove of pea-fowls. he had cows, goats, sheep. we children loved the lambs. elvira attended to the milk. she had some of the girls and boys to milk. uncle dick, mother's brother, was mr. hicks' coachman. he was raised on the place too. "i think master hicks and his family was french, but, though they were light-skin people. they had light hair too, i think. "one day a frenchman (white) that was a doctor come to call. my aunt jane said to me, 'he is your papa. that is your papa.' i saw him many times after that. i am considered eight-ninth white race. one little girl up at the courthouse asked me a question and i told her she was too young to know about such sin. (this girl was twenty-four years old and the case worker's stenographer.) "master hicks had uncle patrick bury his silver and gold in the woods. it was in a trunk. the hair and hide was still on the trunk when the war ceased. he used his money to pay the slaves that worked on his place after freedom. "i went to school to a white man from january till may and mother paid him one dollar a month tuition. after i married i went to school three terms. i married quite young. everyone did that far back. "i married at aunt jane's home. we got married and had dinner at one or two o'clock. very quiet. only a few friends and my relatives. i wore a green wool traveling dress. it was trimmed in black velvet and black beads. i married in a hat. at about seven o'clock we went to ny husband's home at perry, georgia. he owned a new buggy. we rode thirty miles. we had a colored minister to marry us. he was a painter and a fine provider. he died. i had no children. "i came to forrest city . there was three dry-goods and grocery stores and two saloons here--five stores in all. i come alone. aunt jane and uncle sol had migrated here. my mother come with me. there was one railroad through here. i belong to the baptist church. "i married the second time at muskogee, oklahoma. my husband lived out there. he was indian-african. he was a baptist minister. we never had any children. i never had a child. they tell me now if i had married dark men i would maybe had children. i married very light men both times. "i washed and ironed, cooked and kept house. i sewed for the public, black and white. i washed and ironed for mrs. grahan at crockettsville twenty-three years and three months. i inherited a home here. owned a home here in forrest city once. i live with my cousin here. he uses that house for his study. he is a baptist minister. (the church is in front of their home--a very nice new brick church--ed.) i'm blind now or i could still sew, wash and iron some maybe. "i get eight dollars from the social welfare. i do my own cooking in the kitchen. i am seventy-seven years old. i try to live as good as my age. every year i try to live a little better, 'a little sweeter as the years go by.'" interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: cyrus bellus pulaski street, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: made own cloth] "i was born in mississippi in in jefferson county. it was on the tenth of march. my father's name was cyrus bellus, the same as mine. my mother's name was matilda bellus. "my father's master was david hunt. my father and mother both belonged to him. they had the same master. i don't know the names of my grandfather and mother. i think they were jordons. no, i know my grandmother's name was annie hall, and my grandfather's name was stephen hall. those were my mother's grandparents. my father's father was named john major and his mother was named dinah major. they belonged to the hunts. i don't know why the names was different. i guess he wasn't their first master. slave sales, whippings, work "i have heard my folks talk about how they were traded off and how they used to have to work. their master wouldn't allow them to whip his hands. no, it was the mistress that wouldn't allow them to be whipped. they had hot words about that sometimes. "the slaves had to weave cotton and knit sox. sometimes they would work all night, weaving cloth, and spinning thread. the spinning would be done first. they would make cloth for all the hands on the place. "they used to have tanning vats to make shoes with too. old master didn't know what it was to buy shoes. had a man there to make them. "my father and mother were both field hands. they didn't weave or spin. my grandmother on my mother's side did that. they were supposed to pick--the man, four hundred pounds of cotton, and the woman three hundred. and that was gittin' some cotton. if they didn't come up to the task, they was took out and give a whipping. the overseer would do the thrashing. the old mistress and master wouldn't agree on that whipping. fun "the slaves were allowed to get out and have their fun and play and 'musement for so many hours. outside of those hours, they had to be found in their house. they had to use fiddles. they had dancing just like the boys do now. they had knockin' and rasslin' and all such like now. church "so for as serving god was concerned, they had to take a kettle and turn it down bottom upward and then old master couldn't hear the singing and prayin'. i don't know just how they turned the kettle to keep the noise from goin' out. but i heard my father and mother say they did it. the kettle would be on the inside of the cabin, not on the outside. house, furniture, food "the slaves lived in log houses instead of ones like now with weather-boarding. the two ends duffed in. they always had them so they would hold a nice family. never had any partitions to make rooms. it was just a straight long house with one window and one door. "provisions were weighed out to them. they were allowed four pounds of meat and a peck of meal for each working person. they only provided for the working folks. if i had eight in a family, i would just get the same amount. there was no provisions for children. "but all the children on the place were given something from the big house. the working folks ate their breakfast before daylight in the log cabin where they lived. they ate their supper at home too. they was allowed to get back home by seven or eight o'clock. the slaves on my place never ate together. i don't know anything about that kind of feeding. "they had nurses, old folks that weren't able to work any longer. all the children would go to the same place to be cared for and the old people would look after them. they wasn't able to work, you know. they fed the children during the day. how freedom came "my father and mother and grandmother said the overseer told them that they were free. i guess that was in , the same year i was born. the overseer told them that they didn't have any owner now. they was free folks. the boss man told them too--had them to come up to the big house and told them they had to look out for themselves now because they were free as he was. right after the war "right after emancipation, my folks were freed. the boss man told them they could work by the day or sharecrop or they could work by groups. a group of folks could go together and work and the boss man would pay them so much a day. i believe they worked for him a good while--about seven or eight years at least. they was in one of the groups. earliest recollections "my own earliest recollections was of picking cotton in one of those squads--the groups i was telling you about. after that, the people got to renting land and renting stock for themselves. they sharecropped then. it seems to me that everybody was satisfied. i don't remember any one saying that he was cheated or beat out of anything. schooling "we had a public school to open in jefferson county, mississippi. we called it dobbins bridge. there was a bridge about a mile long built across the creek. we had two colored women for teachers. their names was mary howard and hester harris. they only used two teachers in that school. i attended there three years to those same two women. "we had a large family and i quit to help take care of it. ku klux "i don't think there was much disturbance from the ku klux on that plantation. the colored folks didn't take much part in politics. later life "i stopped school and went to work for good at about fifteen years. i worked at the field on that same plantation i told you about. i worked there for just about ten years. then i farmed at the same place on shares. i stayed there till i was 'bout twenty-six years old. then i moved to wilderness place in the cotton belt in mississippi. i farmed there for two years. "i farmed around greenville, mississippi for a while. then i left greenville and came to arkansas. i come straight to little rock. the first thing i did i went into the lumber grading. i wasn't trained to it, but i went into it at the request of the men who employed me. i stayed in that eight years. i learned the lumber grading and checking. checking is seeing the size and width and length and kind of lumber and seeing how much of it there is in a car without taking it out, you know. "i married about . my wife is dead. we never had any children. "i haven't worked any now in five years. i have been to the hospital in the east end. i get old age assistance--eight dollars and commodities." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: bob benford n. maple street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "slavery-time folks? here's one of em. near as i can get at it, i'se seventy-nine. i was born in alabama. my white folks said i come from perry county, alabama, but i come here to this arkansas country when i was small. "my old master was jim ad benford. he was good to us. i'm goin' to tell you we was better off then than now. yes ma'am, they treated us right. we didn't have to worry bout payin' the doctor and had plenty to eat. "i recollect the shoemaker come and measured my feet and directly he'd bring me old red russet shoes. i thought they was the prettiest things i ever saw in my life. "old mistress would say, 'come on here, you little niggers' and she'd sprinkle sugar on the meat block and we'd just lick sugar. "i remember the soldiers good, had on blue suits with brass buttons. "i'se big enough to ride old master's hoss to water. he'd say, 'now, bob, don't you run that hoss' but when i got out of sight, i was bound to run that hoss a little. "i didn't have to work, just stayed in the house with my mammy. she was a seamstress. i'm tellin' you the truth now. i can tell it at night as well as daytime. "we lived in union county. old master had a lot of hands. old mistress' name was miss sallie benford. she just as good as she could be. she'd come out to the quarters to see how we was gettin' along. i'd be so glad when christmas come. we'd have hog killin' and i'd get the bladders and blow em up to make noise--you know. yes, lady, we'd have a time. "i recollect when marse jim broke up and went to texas. stayed there bout a year and come back. [hw: migration?] "when the war was over i recollect they said we was free but i didn't know what that meant. i was always free. "after freedom mammy stayed there on the place and worked on the shares. i don't know nothin' bout my father. they said he was a white man. "i remember i was out in the field with mammy and had a old mule. i punched him with a stick and he come back with them hoofs and kicked me right in the jaw--knocked me dead. lord, lady, i had to eat mush till i don't like mush today. that was old mose--he was a saddle mule. "me? i ain't been to school a day in my life. if i had a chance to go i didn't know it. i had to help mammy work. i recollect one time when she was sick i got into a fight and she cried and said, 'that's the way you does my child' and i know she died next week. "after that i worked here and there. i remember the first run i worked for was kinch mckinney of el dorado. "i remember when i was just learnin' to plow, old mule knew five hundred times more than i did. he was graduated and he learnt me. "i made fifty-seven crops in my lifetime. me and hance chapman--he was my witness when i married--we made four bales that year. that was in . his father got two bales and hance and me got two. i made money every year. yes ma'am, i have made some money in my day. when i moved from louisiana to arkansas i sold one hundred eighty acres of land and three hundred head of hogs. i come up here cause my chillun was here and my wife wanted to come here. you know how people will stroll when they get grown. lost everything i had. bought a little farm here and they wouldn't let me raise but two acres of cotton the last year i farmed and i couldn't make my payments with that. made me plow up some of the prettiest cotton i ever saw and i never got a cent for it. "lady, nobody don't know how old people is treated nowdays. but i'm livin' and i thank the lord. i'm so glad the lord sent you here, lady. i been once a man and twice a child. you know when you're tellin' the truth, you can tell it all the time. "klu klux? the lord have mercy! in ' and ' saw em but never was bothered by a white man in my life. never been arrested and never had a lawsuit in my life. i can go down here and talk to these officers any time. "yes ma'am, i used to vote. never had no trouble. i don't know what ticket i voted. we just voted for the man we wanted. used to have colored men on the grand jury--half and half--and then got down to one and then knocked em all out. "i never done no public work in my life but when you said farmin' you hit me then. "nother thing i never done. i bought two counterpins once in my life on the stallments and ain't never bought nothin' since that way. yes ma'am, i got a bait of that stallment buying. that's been forty years ago. "i know one time when i was livin' in louisiana, we had a teacher named arvin nichols. he taught there seventeen years and one time he passed some white ladies and tipped his hat and went on and fore sundown they had him arrested. some of the white men who knew him went to court and said what had he done, and they cleared him right away. that was in the ' 's in marion, louisiana, in union parish." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: carrie bradley logan bennet, helena, arkansas age: plus "i was born not a great piece from mobile but it was in mississippi in the country. my mother b'long to massa tom logan. he was a horse trader. he got drowned in --durin' of the war, the old war. his wife was miss liza jane. they had several children and some gone from home i jus' seed when they be on visits home. the ones at home i can recollect was tiney, john, bill, and alex. i played wid tiney and nursed bill and alex was a baby when massa tom got drowned. "we never knowed how massa tom got drowned. they brought him home and buried him. his horse come home. he had been in the water, water was froze on the saddle. they said it was water soaked. they thought he swum the branch. massa tom drunk some. we never did know what did happen. i didn't know much 'bout 'em. "he had two or three families of slaves. ma cooked, washed and ironed for all on the place. she went to the field in busy times. three of the men drove horses, tended to 'em. they fed 'em and curried and sheared 'em. ma said massa tom sure thought a heap of his niggers and fine stock. they'd bring in three or four droves of horses and mules, care fer 'em, take 'em out sell 'em. they go out and get droves, feed 'em up till they looked like different from what you see come there. he'd sell 'em in the early part of the year. he did make money. i know he muster. my pa was the head blacksmith on masaa tom's place, them other men helped him along. "i heard ma say no better hearted man ever live than massa tom if you ketch him sober. he give his men a drink whiskey 'round every once in awhile. i don't know what miss liza jane could do 'bout it. she never done nothin' as ever i knowed. they sent apples off to the press and all of us drunk much cider when it come home as we could hold and had some long as it lasts. it turn to vinegar. i heard my pa laughing 'bout the time massa tom had the blue devils. he was p'isoned well as i understood it. it muster been on whiskey and something else. i never knowed it. his men had to take keer of 'em. he acted so much like he be crazy they laughed 'bout things he do. he got over it. "old mistress--we all called her miss liza jane--whooped us when she wanted to. she brush us all out wid the broom, tell us go build a play house. children made the prettiest kinds of play houses them days. we mede the walls outer bark sometimes. we jus' marked it off on the ground out back of the smokehouse. we'd ride and bring up the cows. we'd take the meal to a mill. it was the best hoecake bread can be made. it was water ground meal. "we had a plenty to eat, jus' common eatin'. we had good cane molasses all the tine. the clothes was thin 'bout all time 'ceptin' when they be new and stubby. we got new clothes in the fall of the year. they last till next year. "i never seed massa tom whoop nobody. i seen miss liza jane turn up the little children's dresses and whoop 'em with a little switch, and straws, and her hand. she 'most blister you wid her bare hand. plenty things we done to get whoopin's. we leave the gates open; we'd run the calves and try to ride 'em; we'd chunk at the geese. one thing that make her so mad was for us to climb up in her fruit trees and break off a limb. she wouldn't let us be eating the green fruit mostly 'cause it would make us sick. they had plenty trees. we had plenty fruit to eat when it was ripe. massa tom's little colored boys have big ears. he'd pull 'em every time he pass one of 'em. he didn't hurt 'em but it might have made their ears stick out. they all had big ears. he never slapped nobody as ever i heard 'bout. "i don't know how my parents was sold. i'm sure they was sold. pa's name ivas jim bradley (bradly). he come from one of the carolinas. ma was brought to mississippi from georgia. all the name i heard fer her was ella logan. when freedom cone on, i heard pa say he thought he stand a chance to find his folks and them to find him if he be called bradley. he did find some of his brothers, and ma had some of her folks out in mississippi. they come out here hunting places to do better. they wasn't no bradleys. i was little and i don't recollect their names. seem lack one family we called aunt mandy thornton. one was aunt tillie and uncle mack. they wasn't thorntons. i knows that. "my folks was black, black as i is. pa was stocky, guinea man. ma was heap the biggest. she was rawbony and tall. i love to see her wash. she could bend 'round the easier ever i seed anybody. she could beat the clothes in a hurry. she put out big washings, on the bushes and a cord they wove and on the fences. they had paling fence 'round the garden. "massa tom didn't have a big farm. he had a lot of mules and horses at times. they raised some cotton but mostly corn and oats. miss liza jane left b'fore us. we all cried when she left. she shut up the house and give the women folks all the keys. we lived on what she left there and went on raising more hogs and tending to the cows. we left everything. we come to hernando, mississippi. pa farmed up there and run his blacksmith shop on the side. my parents died close to horn lake. mama was the mother of ten and i am the mother of eight. i got two living, one here and one in memphis. i lives wid 'em and one niece in natches i live with some. "i was scared to death of the ku klux klan. they come to our house one night and i took my little brother and we crawled under the house and got up in the fireplace. it was big 'nough fer us to sit. we went to sleep. we crawled out next day. we seen 'em coming, run behind the house and crawled under there. they knocked about there a pretty good while. we told the folks about it. i don't know where they could er been. i forgot it been so long. i was 'fraider of the ku klux klan den i ever been 'bout snakes. no snakes 'bout our house. too many of us. "i tried to get some aid when it first come 'bout but i quit. my children and my niece take keer or me. i ain't wantin' fer nothin' but good health. i never do feel good. i done wore out. i worked in the field all my life. "a heap of dis young generation is triflin' as they can be. they don't half work. some do work hard and no 'pendence to be put in some 'em. 'course they steal 'fo' dey work. i say some of 'em work. times done got so fer 'head of me i never 'speck to ketch-up. i never was scared of horses. i sure is dese automobiles. i ain't plannin' no rides on them airplanes. sure you born i ain't. folks ain't acting lack they used to. they say so i got all i can get you can do dout. it didn't used to be no sich way. times is heap better but heap of folks is worse 'an ever folks been before." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: george benson, ezell quarters, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: cotton farmer "i was here in slavery days--yes ma'm, i was here. when i come here, colored people didn't have their ages. the boss man had it. after surrender, boss man told me i ought to keep up with my age, it'd be a use to me some day, but i didn't do it. "i member the soldiers would play with me when they wasn't on duty. that was the yankees. "i was born down here on dr. waters' place. born right here in arkansas and ain't been outa arkansas since i was born. so far as i know, dr. waters was good to us. i don't know how old i was. i know i used to go to the house with my mother and piddle around. "my father jined the yankees and he died in the army. i heered the old people talkin', sayin' we was goin' to be free. you _know_ i didn't have much sense cause i was down on the river bank and the yankees was shootin' across the river and i said, 'john, you quit that shootin'!' so you know i didn't have much sense. "i can remember old man curtaindall had these nigger dogs. had to go up a tree to keep em from bitin' you. dr. waters would have us take the cotton and hide it in the swamp to keep the yankees from burnin' it but they'd find it some way. "never went to school over two months in all my goin's. we always lived in a place kinda unhandy to go to school. first teacher i had was named mr. bell. i think he was a northern man. "all my life i been farmin'--still do. been many a day since i sold a bale a cotton myself. white man does the ginnin' and packin'. all i do is raise it. i'm farmin' on the shares and i think if i raise four bales i ought to have two bales to sell and boss man two bales, but it ain't that way. "i voted ever since i got to be a man grown. that is--as long as i could vote. you know--got so now they won't let you vote. i don't think a person is free unless he can vote, do you? the way this thing is goin', i don't think the white man wants the colored man to have as much as the white man. "when i could vote, i jus' voted what they told me to vote. oh lord, yes, i voted for garfield. i'se quainted with him--i knowed his name. let's see--powell clayton--was he one of the presidents? i voted for him. and i voted for mckinley. i think he was the last one i voted for. "i been farmin' all my life and what have i got? nothin'. old age pension? i may be in glory time i get it and then what would become of my wife?" interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: kato benton creed taylor place, tamo pike pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in south carolina before the war. i ain't no baby. i wasn't raised here. no ma'am. "my daddy's name was chance ayers and my mammy's name was mary ayers. so i guess the white folks was named ayers. "white folks was good to us. had plenty to eat, plenty to wear, plenty to drink. that was water. didn't have no whisky. might a had some but they didn't give us none. "oh, yes ma'am, i got plenty kin folks. oh, yes ma'am, i wish i was back there but i can't get back. i been here so long i likes arkansas now. "my mammy give me away after freedom and i ain't seed her since. she give me to a colored man and i tell you he was a devil untied. he was so mean i run away to a white man's house. but he come and got me and nearly beat me to death. then i run away again and i ain't seed him since. "i had a hard time comin' up in this world but i'm livin' yet, somehow or other. "i didn't work in no field much. i washed and ironed and cleaned up the house for the white folks. yes ma'am! "no ma'am, i ain't never been married in my life. i been ba'chin'. i get along so fine and nice without marryin'. i never did care anything 'bout that. i treat the women nice--speak to 'em, but just let 'em pass on by. "i never went to school in my life. never learned to read or write. if i had went to school, maybe i'd know more than i know now. "these young folks comin' on is pretty rough. i don't have nothin' to do with 'em--they is too rough for me. they is a heap wuss than they was in my day--some of 'em. "i gets along pretty well. the welfare gives me eight dollars a month." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: james bertrand maple street, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: "pateroles" botlund father] "i have heard my father tell about slavery and about the ku klux klan bunch and about the paterole bunch and things like that. i am sixty-eight years old now. sixty-eight years old! that would be about five years after the war that i was born. that would be about , wouldn't it? i was born in jefferson county, arkansas, near pine bluff. "my father's name was mack bertrand. my mother's name was lucretia. her name before she married was jackson. my father's owners were named bertrands. i don't know the name of my mother's owners. i don't know the names of any of my grandparents. my father's owners were farmers. "i never saw the old plantation they used to live on. my father never told me how it looked. but he told me he was a farmer--that's all. he knew farming. he used to tell me that the slaves worked from sunup till sundown. his overseers were very good to him. they never did whip him. i don't know that he was ever sold. i don't know how he met my mother. "out in the field, the man had to pick three hundred pounds of cotton, and the women had to pick two hundred pounds. i used to hear my mother talk about weaving the yarn and making the cloth and making clothes out of the cloth that had been woven. they used to make everything they wore--clothes and socks and shoes. "i am the youngest child in the bunch and all the older ones are dead. my mother was the mother of about thirteen children. ten or more of them were born in slavery. my mother worked practically all the time in the house. she was a house worker mostly. "my father was bothered by the pateroles. you see they wouldn't let you go about if you didn't have a pass. father would often get out and go 'round to see his friends. the pateroles would catch him and lash him a little and let him go. they never would whip him much. my mother's people were good to her. she never did have any complaint about them. "for amusement the slaves used to dance and go to balls. fiddle and dance! i never heard my father speak of any other type of amusement. "i don't remember what the old man said about freedom coming. right after the war, he farmed. he stayed right on with his master. he left there before i was born and moved up near pine bluff where i was born. the place my father was brought up on was near pine bluff too. it was about twenty miles from pine bluff. "i remember hearing him say that the ku klux klan used to come to see us at night. but father was always orderly and they never had no clue against him. he never was whipped by the ku klux. "my father never got any schooling. he never could read or write. he said that they treated him pretty fair though on the farms where he worked after freedom. as far as he could figure, they didn't cheat him. i never had any personal experience with the ku klux. i never did do any sharecropping. i am a shoemaker. i learned my trade from my father. my father was a shoemaker as well as a farmer. he used to tell me that he made shoes for the negroes and for the old master too in slavery times. "i have lived in little rock thirty years. i was born right down here in pine bluff like i told you. this is the biggest town--a little bigger than pine bluff. i run around on the railroad a great deal. so after a while i just come here to this town and made it my home." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: alice biggs holly grove, ark. age: "bout " "my mother come from kentucky and my father from virginia. that where they born and i born close to byihalia, mississippi. my father was louis anthony and mama name charlotte anthony. "grandma and her children was sold in a lump. they wasn't separated. grandpa was a waiter on the confederate side. he never come back. he died in pennsylvania; another man come back reported that. he was a colored waitin' man too. grandma been dead years now. "mama was a wash woman and a cook. they liked her. i don't remember my father; he went off with anthony. they lived close to nashville, tennessee. he never come back. mama lived at nashville a while. the master they had at the closin' of the war was good to grandma and mama. it was barnie hardy and old kiss, all i ever heard her called. they stayed on a while. they liked us. held run us off if he'd had any bother. "the ku klux never come bout barnie hardy's place. he told em at town not to bother his place. "i never wanted to vote. i don't know how. i am too old to try tricks new as that now. "honey, i been workinr in the field all my life. i'm what you call a country nigger. i is a widow--just me an my son in family. our home is fair. we got two hundred acres of land, one cow and five hogs--pigs and all. "the present conditions is kind of strange. with us it is just up-and-down-hill times. i ain't had no dealins with the young generation. course my son would tell you about em, but i can't. he goes out a heap more an i do. "i don't get no pension. i never signed up. i gets long best i can." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mandy billings w. th highland add., pine bluff, ark. age: "now i was born in . that was in slavery times. that wasn't yistiday was it? born in louisiana, in sparta--that was the county seat. "bill otts was my last owner. you see, how come me sold my mother was my grandfather's baby chile and his owner promised not to separate him nary time again. it was in the time of the old war. charles mclaughlin--that was my old master--he was my father and bill otts, he bought my mother, and she was sold on that account. old master charles' wife wouldn't 'low her to stay. i'm tellin' it just like they told it to me. "we stayed with bill otts till we was free, and after too. my grandfather had to steal me away. my stepfather had me made over to bill otts. you know they didn't have no sheriff in them days--had a provost marshal. "as near as i can come at it, miss, i was thirteen or fourteen. i know i was eighteen years and four days old when i married. that was in ' , wasn't it? ' ? well, i knowed i was strikin' it kinda close. "my white folks lived in town. when they bought my mother, miss katie took me in the house. my mother died durin' of the war--yes ma'am. "i member when the bloodhounds used to run em and tree em up. "yes'm, niggers used to run away in slavery times. some of em was treated so mean they couldn't help it. "yes ma'am, i've seen the ku klux. seen em takin' the niggers out and whip em and kick em around. i'm talkin' bout ku klux. i know bout the patrollers too. ku klux come since freedom but the patrollers was in slavery times. had to get a pass. i used to hear the niggers talkin' bout when the patrollers got after em and they was close to old master's field they'd jump over the fence and say, 'i'm at home now, don't you come in here.' "i farmed in louisiana after i was married, but since i been here i mostly washed and ironed. "when i worked for the white folks, i found em a cook cause i didn't like to be bound down so tight of a sunday. "i been treated pretty well. look like the hardest treatment i had was my grandfather's, jake nabors. look like he hated me cause i was white--and i couldn't help it. if he'd a done the right thing by me, he could of sent me to school. he had stepchillun and sent them to school, but he kep' me workin' and plowin'." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: jane birch, brinkley, arkansas age: "i was three years old when the yankees come through. i can't recollect a thing about them. ma told us children if we don't be quiet the ku kluck come take us clean off but i never seed none. when we be working she say if we don't work the grass out pretty soon the ku kluck be taking us out whooping us. so many of us she have to scare us up to get us to do right. there was fifteen children, nearly all girls. ma said she had good white folks. she was floy sellers. she belong to mistress mary sellers. she was a widow. had four boys and a girl. i think we lived in chester county, south carolina. i am darky to the bone. pa was black. all our family is black. my folks come to arkansas when i was so young i jes' can't tell nothing about it. we farmed. i lived with my husband forty years and never had a child. "black folks used to vote more than i believe they do now. the men used to feel big to vote. they voted but i don't know how. no ma'am, reckon i don't vote! "the times been changing since i was born and they going to keep changing. times is improving. that is all right. "i think the young generation is coming down to destruction. you can't believe a word they speak. i think they do get married some. they have a colored preacher and have jes' a witness or so at home. most of them marry at night. they fuss mongst theirselves and quit sometimes. i don't know much about young folks. you can't believe what they tell you. some work and some don't work. some of them will steal." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: beatrice black, biscoe. arkansas age: occupation: store and "eating joint" "i was born below the city pump here in biscoe. my husband is a twin and the youngest of thirteen children. his twin brother is living. they are fifty years old today (august , ). his mother lived back and forth with the twins. she died year before last. she was so good. she was sure good to me. she helped me raise my three children. i misses her till this very day. her name was dedonia black when she died. "she said master brought her, her father and mother and two sisters, martha and ida, from brownsville, tennessee at the commencement of the old war to memphis in a covered ox wagon, and from there on a ship to cavalry depot at de valla bluff. they was all sold. her father was sold and had to go to texas. her mother was sold and had to go back to tennessee, and the girls all sold in arkansas. master mann bought my mother-in-law (dedonia). she was eighteen years old. they sold them off on cavalry depot where the ship landed. they put her up to stand on a barrel and auctioned them off at public auction. "her father got with the soldiers in texas and went to war. he enlisted and when the war was over he come on hunt of my mother-in-law. he found her married and had three children. he had some money he made in the war and bought forty acres of land. it was school land (government land). she raised all her thirteen children there. they brought grandma back out here with them from tennessee. they all died and buried out here. my mother-in-law was married three times. she had a slavery husband named nathan moseby. after he died she married abe ware. then he died. she married mitchell black and he died long before she died. she was ninety-two years old when she died and could outdo me till not but a few years ago. her strength left her all at once. she lived on then a few years. "she always told me master mann's folks was very good to her. she said she never remembered getting a whooping. but then she was the best old thing i ever seen in my life. she was really good. "one story she tole more than others was: up at des arc country the yankees come and made them give up their something-to-eat. took and wasted together. drunk up their milk and it turning, (blinky--ed.). she'd laugh at that. they kept their groceries in holes in the ground. the yankees jumped on the colored folks to make them tell where was their provision. some of them had to tell where some of it was. they was scared. they didn't tell where it all was. "when they went to des arc and the gates was closed they had to wait till next day to get their provisions. they had to start early to get back out of the pickets before they closed." name of interviewer: beulah sherwood hagg name of ex-slave; boston blackwell age: residence: plum, north little rock story told by boston blackwell make yourself comfoble, miss. i can't see you much 'cause my eyes, they is dim. my voice, it kinder dim too. i knows my age, good. old miss, she told me when i got sold--"boss, you is --borned christmas. be sure to tell your new misses and she put you down in her book." my borned name was pruitt 'cause i got borned on robert pruitt's plantation in georgia,--franklin county, georgia. but blackwell, it my freed name. you see, miss, after my mammy got sold down to augusta--i wisht i could tell you the man what bought her, i ain't never seed him since,--i was sold to go to arkansas; jefferson county, arkansas. then was when old miss telled me i am . it was before the civil war i come here. the onliest auction of slaves i ever seed was in memphis, coming on to arkansas. i heerd a girl bid off for $ . she was about fifteen, i reckon. i heerd a woman--a breeding woman, bid off for $ . they always brought good money. i'm telling you, it was when we was coming from atlanta. do you want to hear how i runned away and jined the yankees? you know abraham lincoln 'claired freedom in ' , first day of january. in october ' , i runned away and went to pine bluff to get to the yankees. i was on the blackwell plantation south of pine bluff in ' . they was building a new house; i wanted to feel some putty in my hand. one early morning i clim a ladder to get a little chunk and the overseer man, he seed me. here he come, yelling me to get down; he gwine whip me 'cause i'se a thief, he say. he call a slave boy and tell him cut ten willer whips; he gwine wear every one out on me. when he's gone to eat breakfas', i runs to my cabin and tells my sister, "i'se leaving this here place for good." she cry and say, "overseer man, he kill you." i says, "he kill me anyhow." the young boy what cut the whips--he named jerry--he come along wif me, and we wade the stream for long piece. heerd the hounds a-howling, getting ready for to chase after us. then we hide in dark woods. it was cold, frosty weather. two days and two nights we traveled. that boy, he so cold and hungry, he want to fall out by the way, but i drug him on. when we gets to the yankee camp all our troubles was over. we gets all the contraband we could eat. was they more run-aways there? oh, lordy, yessum. hundreds, i reckon. yessum, the yankees feeds all them refugees on contraband. they made me a driver of a team in the quatamasters department. i was always keerful to do everything they telled me. they telled me i was free when i gets to the yankee camp, but i couldn't go outside much. yessum, iffen you could get to the yankee's camp you was free right now. that old story 'bout acres and a mule, it make me laugh. yessum, they sure did tell us that, but i never knowed any pusson which got it. the officers telled us we would all get slave pension. that just exactly what they tell. they sure did tell me i would get a passel (parcel) of ground to farm. nothing ever hatched out of that, neither. when i got to pine bluff i stayed contraband. when the battle come, captain manly carried me down to the battle ground and i stay there till fighting was over. i was a soldier that day. no'um, i didn't shoot no gun nor cannon. i carried water from the river for to put out the fire in the cotton bales what made the breas'works. every time the 'federates shoot, the cotton, it come on fire; so after the battle, they transfer me back to quartemaster for driver. captain dodridge was his name. i served in little rock under captain haskell. i was swored in for during the war (boston held up his right hand and repeated the words of allegiance). it was on the corner of main and markham street in little rock i was swored in. year of ' . i was feet, inches high. you says did i like living in the army? yes-sum, it was purty good. iffen you obeyed them yankee officers they treated you purty good, but iffen you didn't, they sure went rough on you. you says you wants to know how i live after soldiers all go away? well, firstes thing, i work on the railroad. they was just beginning to come here. i digged pits out, going along front of where the tracks was to go. how much i get? i get $ . a day. you axes me how it seem to earn money? lady, i felt like the richess man in the world! i boarded with a white fambly. always i was a watching for my slave pension to begin coming. 'fore i left the army my captain, he telled me to file. my file number, it is , , . after i keeped them papers for so many years, white and black folks bofe telled me it ain't never coming--my slave pension--and i reckon the chilren tored up the papers. lady, that number for me is filed in washington. iffen you go there, see can you get my pension. after the railroad i went steamboating. first one was a little one; they call her fort smith 'cause she go frum little rock to fort smith. it was funny, too, her captain was name smith. captain eugene smith was his name. he was good, but the mate was sure rough. what did i do on that boat? missy, was you ever on a river boat? lordy, they's plenty to do. never is no time for rest. load, onload, scrub. just you do whatever you is told to do and do it right now, and you'll keep outen trouble, on a steamboat, or a railroad, or in the army, or wherever you is. that's what i knows. yessum, i reckon they was right smart old masters what didn't want to let they slaves go after freedom. they hated to turn them loose. just let them work on. heap of them didn't know freedom come. i used to hear tell how the govmint had to send soldiers away down in the far back country to make them turn the slaves loose. i can't tell you how all them free niggers was living; i was too busy looking out for myself. heaps of them went to farming. they was share croppers. yessum, miss, them ku-kluxers was turrible,--what they done to people. oh, god, they was bad. they come sneaking up and runned you outen your house and take everything you had. they was rough on the women and chilren. people all wanted to stay close by where soldiers was. i sure knowed they was my friend. lady, lemme tell you the rest about when i runned away. after peace, i got with my sister. she's the onliest of all my people i ever seed again. she telled me she was skeered all that day, she couldn't work, she shake so bad. she heerd overseer man getting ready to chase me and jerry. he saddle his horse, take his gun and pistol, bofe. he gwine kill me en sight, but jerry, he say he bring him back, dead er alive, tied to his horse's tail. but he didn't get us, ha, ha, ha. yankees got us. now you wants to know about this voting business. i voted for genral grant. army men come around and registered you before voting time. it wasn't no trouble to vote them days; white and black all voted together. all you had to do was tell who you was vote for and they give you a colored ticket. all the men up had different colored tickets. iffen you're voting for grant, you get his color. it was easy. yes mam! gol 'er mighty. they was colored men in office, plenty. colored legislaturs, and colored circuit clerks, and colored county clerks. they sure was some big officers colored in them times. they was all my friends. this here used to be a good county, but i tell you it sure is tough now. i think it's wrong--exactly wrong that we can't vote now. the jim crow lay, it put us out. the constitution of the united states, it give us the right to vote; it made us citizens, it did. you just keeps on asking about me, lady. i ain't never been axed about myself in my _whole_ life! now you wants to know after railroading and steamboating what. they was still work the yankee army wanted done. the war had been gone for long time. all over every place was bodies buried. they was bringing them to little rock to put in govmint graveyard. they sent me all over the state to help bring them here. major forsythe was my quartemaster then. after that was done, they put me to work at st. john's hospital. the work i done there liked to ruin me for life. i cleaned out the water closets. after a while i took down sick from the work--the scent, you know--but i keep on till i get so for gone i can't stay on my feets no more. a misery got me in the chest, right here, and it been with me all through life; it with me now. i filed for a pension on this ailment. i never did get it. the govmint never took care of me like it did some soldiers. they said i was not a 'listed man; that i was a employed man, so i couldn't get no pension. but i filed, like they told me. i telled you my number, didnft i? , , , boston blackwell. i give my whole time to the govmint for many years. white and black bofe always telling me i should have a pension. i stood on the battlefield just like other soldiers. my number is in washington. major forsythe was the one what signed it, right in his office. i seed him write it. then what did i do? you always asking me that. i was low er long time. when i finally get up i went to farming right here in pulaski county. lordy, no, miss, i didn't buy no land. nothing to buy with. i went share cropping with a white man, col. baucum. you asking me what was the shares? worked on halvers. i done all the work and fed myself. no'um, i wasn't married yit. i took the rheumatiz in my legs, and got short winded. then i was good for nothing but picking cotton. i kept on with that till my eyes, they got so dim i couldn't see to pick the rows clean. heap o' times i needed medicine--heap o' times i needed lots of things i never could get. iffen i could of had some help when i been sick, i mought not be so no account now. my daughter has taked keer of me ever since i not been able to work no more. i never did live in no town; always been a country nigger. i always worked for white folks, nearly. never mixed up in big crowds of colored; stayed to myself. i never been arrested in my whole life; i never got jailed for nothing. what else you want to know, miss? about these days, and the young folks! well, i ain't saying about the young folks; but they--no, i wouldn't say. (he eyed a boy working with a saw.) well, i will say, they don't believe in hard work. iffen they can make a living easy, they will. in old days, i was young and didn't have nothing to worry about. these days you have to keep studying where you going to get enough to eat. interviewer: samuel s. tayler person interviewed: henry blake rear of scott street, little rock, arkansas age: , or more occupation: farming and junk, when able [hw: drove a "horsepower gin wagon"] "i was born march , , they tell me. i was born in arkansas right down here on tenth and spring streets in little rock. that was all woods then. we children had to go in at night. you could hear the wolves and the bears and things. we had to make a big fire at night to keep the wolves and varmints away. "my father was a skiffman. he used to cross the arkansas river in a ferry-boat. my father's name was doc blake. and my mother's name was hannah williams before she morried. "my father's mother's name was susie somethin'; i done forgot. that is too far back for me. my mother's mother was named susie--susie williams. "my father's master was named jim paty. my father was a slavery man. i was too. i used to drive a horsepower gin wagon in slavery time. that was at pastoria just this side of pine bluff--about three or four miles this side. paty had two places-one about four miles from pine bluff and the other about four miles from england on the river. "when i was driving that horsepower gin wagon. i was about seven or eight years old. there wasn't nothin' hard about it. just hitch the mules to one another's tail and drive them 'round and 'round. there wasn't no lines. just hitch them to one another's tail and tell them to git up. you'd pull a lever when you wanted them to stop. the mule wasn't hard to manage. "we ginned two or three bales of cotton a day. we ginned all the summer. it would be june before we got that cotton all ginned. cotton brought thirty-five or forty cents a pound then. "i was treated nicely. my father and mother were too. others were not treated so well. but you know how negroes is. they would slip off and go out. if they caught them, he would put them in a log hut they had for a jail. if you wanted to be with a woman, you would have to go to your boss man and ask him and he would let you go. "my daddy was sold for five hundred dollars--put on the block, up on a stump--they called it a block. jim paty sold him. i forget the name of the man he was sold to--watts, i think it was. "after slavery we had to get in before night too. if you didn't, ku klux would drive you in. they would come and visit you anyway. they had something on that they could pour a lot of water in. they would seem to be drinking the water and it would all be going in this thing. they was gittin' it to water the horses with, and when they got away from you they would stop and give it to the horses. when he got you good and scared he would drive on away. they would whip you if they would catch you out in the night time. "my daddy had a horse they couldn't catch. it would run right away from you. my daddy trained it so that it would run away from any one who would come near it. he would take me up on that horse and we would sail away. those ku klux couldn't catch him. they never did catch him. they caught many another one and whipped him. my daddy was a pretty mean man. he carried a gun and he had shot two or three men. those were bad times. i got scared to go out with him. i hated that business. but directly it got over with. it got over with when a lot of the ku klux was killed up. "in slavery time they would raise children just like you would raise colts to a mare or calves to a cow or pigs to a sow. it was just a business it was a bad thing. but it was better than the county farm. they didn't whip you if you worked. out there at the county farm, they bust you open. they bust you up till you can't work. there's a lot of people down at the state farm at cummins--that's where the farm is ain't it--that's raw and bloody. they wouldn't let you come down there and write no history. no lawd! you better not try it. one half the world don't know how the other half lives. i'll tell you one thing, if those catholics could get control there would be a good time all over this world. the catholics are good folks. "that gang that got after you if you let the sun go down while you were out--that's called the pateroles. some folks call 'em the ku klux. it was all the same old poor white trash. they kept up that business for about ten years after the war. they kept it up till folks began to kill up a lot of 'em. that's the only thing that stopped them. my daddy used to make his own bullets. "i've forgot who it is that told us that we was free. somebody come and told us we're free now. i done forgot who it was. "right after the war, my father farmed a while and after that he pulled a skiff. you know jim lawson's place. he stayed on it twenty years. he stayed at the ferguson place about ten years. they're adjoining places. he stayed at the churchill place. widow scott place, the bojean place. that's all. have you been down in argenta to the roundhouse? churchill's place runs way down to there. it wasn't nothing but farms in little rock then. the river road was the only one there at that time. it would take a day to cone down from clear lake with the cotton. you would start 'round about midnight and you would get to argenta at nine o'clock the next morning. the roads was always bad. "after freedom, we worked on shares a while. then we rented. when we worked on shares, we couldn't make nothing--just overalls and something to eat. half went to the other man and you would destroy your half if you weren't careful. a man that didn't know how to count would always lose. he might lose anyhow. they didn't give no itemized statement. no, you just had to take their word. they never give you no details. they just say you owe so much. no matter how good account you kept, you had to go by their account and now, brother, i'm tellin' you the truth about this. it's been that way for a long time. you had to take the white man's work on notes and everything. anything you wanted, you could git if you were a good hand. you could git anything you wanted as long as you worked. if you didn't make no money, that's all right; they would advance you more. but you better not leave him--you better not try to leave and get caught. they'd keep you in debt. they were sharp. christmas come, you could take up twenty dollars in somethin' to eat and much as you wanted in whiskey. you could buy a gallon of whiskey. anything that kept you a slave because he was always right and you were always wrong if there was difference. if there was an argument, he would get mad and there would be a shooting take place. "and you know how some negroes is. long as they could git somethin', they didn't care. you see, if the white man came out behind, he would feed you, let you have what you wanted. he'd just keep you on, help you get on your feet--that is, if you were a good hand. but if you weren't a good hand, he'd just let you have enough to keep you alive. a good hand could take care of forty or fifty acres of land and would have a large family. a good hand could git clothes, food, whiskey, whenever he wanted it. my father had nine children and took care of them. not all of them by one wife. he was married twice. he was married to one in slavery time and to another after the war. i was a child of the first one. i got a sister still living down here in galloway station that is mighty nigh ninety years old. no, she must be a hundred. her name is frances dobbins. when you git ready to go down there, i'll tell you how to find that place jus' like i told you how to fin' this one. galloway is only 'bout four miles from rose city. "i been married twice in my life. my first woman, she died. the second lady, she is still living. we dissolved friendship in . least-wise, i walked out and give her my home. i used to own a home at twenty-first and pulaski. "i belong to the baptist church at wrightsville. i used to belong to arch street. was a deacon there for about twelve years. but they had too much splittin' and goin' on and i got out. i'll tell you more sometime." interviewer's comment henry blake's age appears in excess of eighty. his idea of seventy-five is based on what someone told him. he is certain that he drove a "horsepower gin wagon" during "slavery times", and that he was seven or eight when he drove it. even if that were in ' , he would be at least eighty years old--seventy-three years since the war plus seven years of his life. his manner of narration would indicate that he drove earlier. the interview was held in a dark room, and for the first time in my life i took notes without seeing the paper on which i was writing. interviewer: mary d. eudgins person interviewed: miss adeline blakeley age: home: rock street, fayetteville, arkansas. there is no hint of elision in the speech of adeline blakeley, scarcely a trace of vernacular. all of her life her associations have been with white persons. she occupies a position, rare in post-slavery days, of negro servant, confidant and friend. after the death of mrs. hudgins, family intimates, wives of physicians, bankers' wives and other fayetteville dowagers continued periodically to come to see adeline. they came not in the spirit of lady bountifuls condescending to a hireling, but because they wanted to chat with an old time friend. interviewer's note. as told by: adeline blakeley "honey, look in the bible to get the date when i was born. we want to have it just right. yes, here's the place, read it to me. july , ? yes, i remember now, that's what they've always told me. i wanted to be sure, though. i was born in hickman county, tenn. and was about a year when they brought me to arkansas. my mother and her people had been bought by mr. john p. parks when they were just children--john and leanna and martha. i was the first little negro in the parks kitchen. from the first they made a pet out of me. i was little like a doll and they treated me like a plaything--spoiled me--rotten. after mr. parks came to arkansas he lived near what is now prarie grove, but what do you think it was called then--hog eye. later on they named it hillingsley for a man who settled there. we were two miles out on the wire road, the one the telegraph line came in on, honey. almost every conmunity had a 'wire road'. it was the custom to give a girl a slave when she was married. when miss parks became mrs. blakeley she moved to fayetteville and chose me to take with her. she said since i was only she could raise me as she wanted me to be. but i must have been a lot of trouble and after she had her baby she had to send me back to her father to grow up a little. for you might say she had two babies to take care of since i was too little to take care of hers. they sent a woman in my place. honey, when i got back, i was awful: i had been with the negroes down in the country and said 'hit' and 'hain't' and words like that. of course all the children in the house took it up from me. mrs. blakeley had to teach me to talk right. your aunt nora was born while i was away. i was too little to take full charge of her, but i could sit in a chair and hold her on my lap. mrs. blakeley taught her children at home. her teaching was almost all they had before they entered the university. when i was little i wanted to learn, learn all i could, but there was a law against teaching a slave to read and write. one woman--she was from the north did it anyway. but when folks can read and write its going to be found out. it was made pretty hard for that woman. after the war they tried to get me to learn, but i tossed my head and wouldn't let them teach me. i was about and thought i was grown and wouldn't need to know any more. mary, it sounds funny, but if i had a million dollars i would give it gladly to be able to read and write letters to my friends. i remember well when the war started. mr. blakeley, he was a cabinet maker and not very well, was not considered strong enough to go. but if the war had kept up much longer they would have called him. mr. parks didn't believe in seceding. he held out as long as it was safe to do so. if you didn't go with the popular side they called you 'abolitionist' or maybe 'submissionist'. but when arkansas did go over he was loyal. he had two sons and a son-in-law in the confederate army. one fought at richmond and one was killed at gettysburg. the little blakeley boy had always liked to play with the american flag. he'd march with it and carry it out on the porch and hang it up. but after the trouble began to brew his mother told him he would have to stay in the house when he played with the flag. even then somebody saw him and scolded him and said 'either burn it or wash it.' the child thought they meant it and he tried to wash it. dyes weren't so good in those days and it ran terribly. it was the awfulest thing you ever saw. fayetteville suffered all thru the war. you see we were not very far from the dividing line and both armies were about here a lot. the federals were in charge most of the time. they had a post here, set up breast works and fortified the square. the court house was in the middle of it then. it was funny that there wasn't more real fighting about here. there were several battles but they were more like skirmishes--just a few men killed each time. they were terrible just the same. at first they buried the union soldiers where the confederate cemetery is now. the southerners were placed just anywhere. later on they moved the northern caskets over to where the federal cemetery is now and they took up the southern men when they knew where to find them and placed them over on the hill where they are today. once an officer came into our home and liked a table he saw, so he took it. mrs. blakeley followed his horse as far as she could pleading with him to give it back because her husband had made it. the next day a neighbor returned it. he hod found it in the road and recognized it. the man who stole it had been killed and dropped it as he fell. just before the battle of prairie grove the federal men came thru. some officers stopped and wanted us to cook for them. paid us well, too. one man took little nora on his lap and almost cried. he said she reminded him of his own little girl he'd maybe never see again. he gave her a cute little ivory handled pen knife. he asked mrs. blakeley if he couldn't leave his pistols with her until he came back thru fayetteville. she told him it was asking too much, what would happen to her and her family if they found those weapons in her possession? but he argued that it was only for a few days. she hid them under a tub in the basement and after waiting a year gave them to her brother when he came through. the yankees met the southerners at prairie grove. the shots sounded just like popcorn from here in fayetteville. we always thought the man got killed there. the soldiers camped all around everywhere. lots of them were in tents and some of the officers were in houses. they didn't burn the college--where miss sawyer had taught, you know. the officers used it for their living quarters. they built barracks for the men of upright logs. see that building across the street. it's been lots of things, a livery stable, veterinary barn, apartment house. but it was one of the oldest buildings in arkansas. they've kept on remodeling it. the yankees made a commissary out of it. later on they moved the food up on the square and used it for a hospital. i can remember lots of times seeing the feet of dead men sticking out of the windows. your aunt nora's mother saved that building from being burned. how did it happen? well you see both sides were firing buildings--the confederates to keep the yankees from getting them, and the other way about. but the southerners did most of the burning. mrs. blakeley's little boy was sick with fever. she and a friend went up, because they feared burnings. they sat there almost all night. parties of men would come along and they would plead with them. one sat in one doorway and the other in the building next. mrs. blakely was a southerner, the other woman a northerner. between them they kept the buildings from being burned: saved their own homes thereby and possibly the life of the little sick boy. it was like that in fayetteville. there were so many folks on both sides and they lived so close together that they got to know one another and were friends. things like this would happen. one day a northern officer came over to our house to talk to his wife who was visiting. he said he would be away all day. he was to go down to prarie grove to get 'old man parks, dead or alive'. not until he was on his way did somebody tell him that he was talking about the father of his wife's hostess. next day he came over to apologize. said he never would have made such a cruel remark if he had known. but he didn't find his man. as the officers went in the front door, mr. parks went out of the back and the women surrounded him until he got away. there was another time when the north and south took refuge together. during the war even the little children were taught to listen for bugle calls and know what they meant. we had to know--and how to act when we heard them. one day, i remember we were to have peas for dinner, with ham hock and corn bread. i was hungry that day and everything smelled so good. but just as the peas were part of them out of the pot and in a dish on the table the signal came 'to arms'. cannon followed almost immediately. we all ran for the cellar, leaving the food as it was. the cellar was dug out only a little way down. it had been raining and snowing all day--melted as it fell. it was about noon and the seep water had filled a pool in the middle of the cellar. they placed a tub in the water and it floated like a little boat. they put nora and a little girl who was visiting her, and me in it. the grown folks clung to the damp sides of the cellar floor and wall. after the worst bombing was over we heard someone upstairs in the house calling. it was the wife of a northern officer. he had gotten away so fast he had forgotten his pistols. she had tried to follow him, but the shots had frightened her. we called to her to come to the basement. she came, but in trying to climb up the slick sides she slid down and almost into our tub. she looked so funny with her big fat legs that i giggled. mrs. blakeley slapped me--it was one of the few times she struck me. i was glad she did, for i would have laughed out. and it didn't do to laugh at northerners. it wes night before the fighting was over. an old man who was in the basement with us went upstairs because he heard someone groan. sure enough a wounded man had dragged himself to our door. he laid the man, almost fainting down before the fireplace. it was all he could do. the man died. when we finally came up there wasn't a pea, nor a bit of ham, not a crum of cornbread. floaters had cleaned the pot until it shone. we had a terrible time getting along during those years. i don't believe we could have done it except for the northern soldiers. you might say the confederacy was kept up by private subscription, but the yankees had the whole federal government back of them. they had good rations which were issued uncooked. they could get them prepared anywhere they liked. we were good cooks so that is the way we got our food--preparing it for soldiers and eating it with them. they had quite a variety and a lot of everything. they were given bacon and coffee and sugar and flour and beans and somthing they called 'mixed vegetables'. those beans were little and sweet--not like the big ones we have today. the mixed vegetables were liked by lots of folks--i didn't care for them. everything was ground up together and then dried. you had to soak it like dried peas before cooking. after the war they came to mrs. blakeley, the soldiers did, and accused her of keeping me against my will. i told them that i stayed because i wanted to, the blakeleys were my people. they let me alone, the whites did, but the negroes didn't like it. they tried to fight me and called me names. there was a well near the square from which everybody got water. between it and our house was a negro cabin. the little negroes would rock me. i stood it as long as i could. then i told mrs. blakeley. she said to get some rocks in my bucket and if they rocked me to heave back. i was a good shot and they ran. their mother came to mrs. blakeley to complain, but she told her after hearing her thru that i had stood all i could and the only reason i hadn't been seriously hurt was because her children weren't good shots. they never bothered me again. it was hard after the war. the federals stayed on for a long time. fences were down, houses were burned, stock was gone, but we got along somehow. when nora blakeley was a lady was teaching a subscription school in the hall across the street--the same hall mrs. blakely had saved from burning. she wanted nora to teach for her. so, child that she was, she went over and pretty soon she was teaching up to the fourth grade. i went over every morning and built a fire for her before she arrived. that fall she went over to the university, but the next year she had to stay out to earn money. she wanted to finish so badly that we decided to take boarders. they would come to us from way over on the campus. there were always lots more who wanted to stay than we could take. we bought silver and dishes just as we could pay for them, and we added to the house in the summer time. i used to cook their breakfasts and dinners and pack baskets of lunch for them to take over to the campus. we had lots of interesting people with us. one was jeff davis--later he was governor and then senator. he and a creek indian boy named sam rice were great friends. there were lots of indians in school at the university then. they didn't have so many indian schools and tribes would make up money and send a bright boy here. ten years after she graduated from the university nora married harvey m. hudgins. they moved to hot springs and finally ran a hotel. it burned the night of washington's birthday in . it was terrible, we saved nothing but the night clothes we were in. next morning it was worse for we saw small pox flags all over town. our friends came to our rescue and gave us clothes and we went with friends out into the country to escape the epidemic. there were three or four families in one little house. it was crowded, but we were all friends so it was nice after all. about ten years before mr. hudgins had built a building in fayetteville. they used the second floor for an opera house. when we came back here after the fire we took it over to run. mr. hudgins had that and all the billboards in town. we saw all the shows. several years later the twins, helen and wade were born. i always went to see the shows and took them with me. folks watched them more than the shows. i kept them neat and clean and they were so cute. we saw the circuses too. i remember once barnum and bailey were coming to fort smith. we were going down. i didn't tell anybody, but i put $ in my purse. i made money then. mr. hudgins got me a cow and i sold milk and butter and kept all i made. why the first evening dress helen had and the first long pants bud (wade) had i bought. well, we were going down to fort smith, but bud got sick and we couldn't go. you know, mary, it seemed so queer. when helen and i went to california, we all saw the same circus together. yes, i've been to california with her twice. whenever the train would stop she would come from the pullman to the coach where the colored persons had to ride to see about me. we went out to visit sister (bess hudgins clayton) and bud. while we were there, barnum and bailey came to los angeles. it seemed so funny. there we were--away out in california--all the children grown up and off to themselves. there we were--all of us--seeing the show we had planned to see way back in arkansas, years and years before. you know, honey, that doll ann has--she got it for her seventh birthday (elisabeth ann wiggans--daughter of helen hudgins wiggans). it was restrung for her, and was once before for her mother. but it's the same doll baby dean (dean hudgins) carried out of that fire in hot springs in . everybody loves ann. she makes the fifth generation i've cared for. when helen is going out she brings ann down here or i go up there. it's usually down here tho. because since we turned the old home into apartments i take care of them, and it's best for me to be here most of the time. all the people in the apartments are mighty nice to me. often for days at a time they bring me so much to eat that i don't have to cook for myself. a boy going to the university has a room here and tends to the furnace. he's a nice boy. i like him. my life's been a full one, honey, and an interesting one. i can't really say which part of it is best. i can't decide whether it's a better world now or then. i've had lots of hard work, and lots of friends, lots of fun and i've gone lots of places. life is interesting." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: vera roy bobo (mulatto, almost white) holly grove, arkansas age: "my parents come from macon, georgia. my mother was margaret cobb. her people were owned by the cobbs. they reared her. she was a house girl and a seamstress. she sewed for both white and black. she was light color. "my father was st. roy holmes. he was a c.m.e. preacher in georgia and later in arkansas. he came on the train to forrest city, . he crossed the mississippi river on a ferry boat. later he preached at wynne. he was light color. "i never heard them say very much about slavery. this was their own home. "my husband's father was the son of a white man also--randall bobo. he used to visit us from bobo, mississippi. the bobo a owned that town and were considered rich people. my husband was some darker and was born at indian bay, arkansas. he was william bobo. i never knew him till two months before i married him. we had a home wedding and a wedding supper in this house." (this may be continued) interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: liddie boechus, (second interview) madison, arkansas age: "i was born in west point, mississippi. my own dear mother's owner was pool. his wife was mistress patty pool. old man pool raised our set. he was an old soldier, i think. he was old when i came to know him. "my own papa's pa was smith. after he came back from the civil war he took back his smith name. he changed it back from pool to smith. "i was a small child when my own dear mother died. my stepmother had some children of her own, so papa hired me out by the year to nurse for my board and clothes. my stepmother didn't care for me right. white folks raised me. "i married when i was fifteen years old to a man twenty years old or more. white folks was good to me but i didn't have no sense. i lef' 'em. i married too young. i lived wid him little over twelve years, and i had twelve children by him. then i married a preacher. we had two more children. my first husband was trifling. i ploughed, hoed, split wood to raise my babies. "my daughter come from louisiana to stay with me last winter when i was sick. i got eight dollars, now i gets six dollars from the welfare. my daughter here now. "i went to one white teacher a few days--miss perkins. i never got to go enough to learn. i took up reading and writing from my children. i write mighty poor i tell you. "i used to be a midwife and got ten dollars a case. they won't pay off now. i do a little of that work, but i don't get nothing for it. they have a doctor or won't pay. "my husband was a good man. he was a preacher. i'm a baptist. "i don't know what to think about young folks. every feller is for his own self. times is hard with old folks. i had a stroke they said. this new generation ain't got no strength. i think it is because they set around so much. what would a heap of them do? a long day's work in the field would kill some of them. it would! some folks don't work 'nough to be healthy. i don't know, but though, i really believes education and automobiles is the whole cause." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: maggie (bunny) bond, madison, arkansas age: well up in 's "i was born at magnolia, north carolina. lou nash named me maggie after my mistress. that was her name. they had a rabbit they called bunny. it died. they started calling me bunny. our old mistress was a mallory from virginia. she was the old head of all these at forrest city. (a big family of people are descendants at forrest city.) school during the war "mrs. eddy williams said to my mother, 'let her go to school and play with the children.' i was young. i don't know how old i was. i was washed, my hair combed, and clean dresses put on me. i went to school four or five days. i set by different ones. they used slates. it was a log schoolhouse. it had a platform the teacher sat on. they preached in it on sunday. where mt. vernon cemetery now stands. the teacher was mrs. mccallis. she rode horseback from out of the bottoms. the families of children that come there were: mallorys, izards, nashs, dawsons, kittrells, and pruitts. "there was a big oak tree in front. the boys played on one side, the girls on the other. cake and pie was a fortune then. if the children had any they would give me part of it. times was so hard then people had plain victuals every day at school. "the children tried to learn me at recess under the tree. they used mcguffey's and blue back books. one day i said out loud, 'i want to go home.' the children all laughed. one day i went to sleep and the teacher sent me out doors to play. mrs. mccallis said, 'bunny, you mus'n't talk out loud in school.' i was nodding one day. the teacher woke me up. she wrapped her long switch across the table. she sent me to play. the house set up on high blocks. i got under it and found some doodle holes. mrs. mccallis come to the door and said, 'bunny, don't call so loud. you must keep quiet.' i would say: 'doodle, doodle, your house on fire. come get some bread and butter.' they would come up. "after the war i had a white lady teacher from the north. i went a little bit to colored school but i didn't care about books. i learned to sew for my dolls. the children would give me a doll all along. "the happiest year of my whole life was the first year of my married life. i hardly had a change of clothes. i had lots of friends. i went to the field with scott. i pressed cotton with two horses, one going around and the other coming. scott could go upstairs in the gin and look over at us. we had two young cows. they had to be three years old then before they were any service. i fed hogs. i couldn't cook but i learned. i had been a house girl and nurse. "i was nursing for mrs. pierce at goodwin. i wanted to go home. she didn't want me to leave. i wouldn't tell her why. she said, 'i speck you going to get married.' she gave me a nice white silk dress. mrs. drennand made it. my owner, miss leila nash, lend me one of her chemisette, a corset cover, and a dress had ruffles around the bottom. it was wide. she never married. i borrowed my veil from a colored woman that had used it. mr. rollwage (dead now but was a lawyer at forrest city) gave scott a tie and white vest and lend him his watch and chain to be married in. they was friends. miss leila made my cake. she wanted my gold band ring to go in it. i wouldn't let her have it for that. not my ring! she put a dime in it. miss maggie barrow and mrs. maggie hatcher made two baskets full of maple biscuits for my wedding. they was the best cake. made in big layers and cut and iced. two laundry baskets full to the brim." she showed us a white cedar three-gallon churn, brass hoops hold the staves in place, fifty-seven years old and a castor with seven cruits patented december , . it was a silver castor and was fixed to ring for the meal. she showed us the place under a cedar tree where there are four unmarked graves--mr. and mrs. mcmurray and their son and daughter and one niece. the graves are being ploughed over now. "mrs. murray's son gave her five hundred dollars. she hid it. after she died no one knew where to find it." scott bond bought the place. bunny was fixing the hearth (she showed us the very spot) brick and found a brick. dora threw it out. the can could never be found and soon dora went home near chattanooga, tennessee. dora was a negro servant in the bond home. it seems the money was in the old can that bunny found but thought it was just a prop for the brick. maggie (bunny) bond has given two of her white friends coffins. one was to a man and two years ago one was to a woman, mrs. evans' daughter. she wanted to do something, the nicest thing she could do for them, for they had been good to her. people who raised them and had owned them. they gratefully accepted her present. in her life she has given beautiful and expensive wedding preaents to her white friends who raised her and owned her. she told us about giving one and someone else said she gave two. theo bond's wife said this about the second one. the yankees passed along in front of the scott bond home from hunter, arkansas to madison, arkansas. it was an old military road. the yankees burnt up mt. vernon, arkansas. madison was a big town but it overflowed so bad. there were pretty homes at madison. levies were not known, so the courthouse was moved to forrest city. yankees camped at madison. a lot of them died there. a cemetery was made in sight of the scott bond yard. the markings were white and black letters and the pailings were white with black pointed tips. they were moved to the north. madison grew to be large because it was on a river. interviewer's comment maggie (bunny) bond is eight-ninth white. interviewer: thomas elmore lucy person interviewed: caroline bonds russellville, arkansas age: "what's all dis info'mation you askin' about goin' to be for? will it help us along any or make times any better? all right, then. my name's caroline bonds. i don't know jist exactly when i was born, but i think it was on de twentieth of march about--about--yes, in , in anderson county, north carolina. "so you was a 'tarheel' too? bless my soul! "my old master was named hubbard, and dat was my name at first. my parents belonged to marse hubbard and worked on his big plantation till dey was freed. "i was too little to remember much about what happened after de war. my folks moved to arkansas county, in arkansas, soon after de war and lived down dere a long time. "i joined de missionary baptis' church when i was fifteen and has belonged to it ever' since. "no sir, i never got in de habit of votin' and never did vote, never thought it was necessary." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: rev. frank t. boone w. seventeenth street, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: free colonies] "i was born in nansemond county, virginia on my father's place near the center of the county. i was born free. we were members of the colonies. you know there were what is known as free colonies. they were negroes that had always been free. the first landing of the negroes in america, they claimed, formed a colony. the negro men who came over, it is said, could buy their freedom and a number of them did. "but i didn't become free that way. my ancestors were a white man and an indian woman. he was my great-grandfather. none of my family have been slaves as far back as i know. "there was one set of white people in virginia called quakers. their rule was to free all slaves at the age of twenty-one. so we got some free negroes under that rule. my mother who was a negro woman was freed under this rule. my father was always free. "my grandmother on my father's side owned slaves. the law was that colored people could own slaves but they were not allowed to buy them. i don't know how many slaves my grandmother owned. i didn't know they were slaves until the war was over. i saw the colored people living in the little houses on the place but i didn't know they was slaves. "one morning my grandmother went down to the quarters and when she came back she said to my aunt, 'well, the slaves left last night.' and that was the first i knew of their being slaves. "my father's name was frank boone. i was named for him. my mother's name was phoebe chalk. i don't know who her mother and father were. she said that her mother died when she was a child. she was raised by quaker people. i presume that her mother belonged to these quaker people. "on our place no grown person was ever whipped. they was just like one family. they called grandmother's house the big house. they farmed. they didn't raise cotton though. they raised corn, peas, wheat, potatoes, and all things for the table. hogs, cows, and all such like was raised. i never saw a pound of meat or a peck of flour or a bucket of lard or anything like that bought. we rendered our own lard, pickled our own fish, smoked our own meat and cured it, ground our own sausage, ground our own flour and meal from our own wheat and corn we raised on our place, spun and wove our own cloth. the first suit of clothes i ever wore, my mother spun the cotton and wool, wove the cloth and made the clothes. it was a mixed steel gray suit. she dyed the thread so as to get the pattern. one loom carried the black thread through and the other carried the white thread to weave the cloth into the mixed pattern. "i don't know how large our place was. maybe it was about a hundred acres. every one that married out of the family had a home. they called it a free negro colony. nothing but negroes in it. "my father volunteered and went to the army in . he served with the yankees. you know negroes didn't fight in the confederate armies. they was in the armies, but they were servants. my father enrolled as a soldier. i think it was in company f. i don't know the regiment or the division. he was a sergeant last time i saw him. i remember that well, i remember the stripes on his arm. he was mustered out in galveston, texas, in . "the house i was born in was a log house, sealed inside. the cracks were chinked with dirt and mud, and it was weather boarded on the outside. you couldn't tell it was a log house. it had two rooms. in them times you didn't cook in the house you lived in. you had a kitchen built off from the house you lived in just like you have servant quarters now. you went across the yard to do your cooking. the smokehouse was off by itself. milk was off by itself too. the dairy house was where you kept the flour and sugar and preserves and fruit and pickles and all those kind of things. no food was kept in the house. the milk house had shelves all up in it and when you milked the cows the pans and bowls and crocks were put up on the shelves. where it was possible the milk house was built on a branch or spring where you could get plenty of cold water. you didn't milk in the milk house. you milked in the cow pen right out in the weather. then you carried it down to the milk house and strained it. it was poured out in vessels. when the cream rose it was skimmed off to churn for butter. "feed for the stock was kept in the corn crib. we would call it a barn now. that barn was for corn and oft'times we had overhead a place where we kept fodder. bins were kept in the barn for wheat and peas. slaves on other places "i seen the slaves outside the colonies. i was little and didn't pay any attention to them. slaves would run away. they had a class of white people known as patrollers. they would catch the slaves and whip them. i never saw that done. i heard them talking about it. i was only a child and never got a chance to see the slaves on the places of other people, but just heard the folks talking about them. within the yankee lines "when the war broke out, the free colored people became fearful. there was a great deal of stuff taken away from them by the confederate soldiers. they moved into the yankee lines for protection. my family moved also. they lost live stock and feed. they lost only one horse and then they came back home. i can see that old horse right now. he was a sorrel horse, with a spot in his forehead, and his name was john. my father was inside the yankee lines when he volunteered for the service. i don't know how much he got or anything about it except that i know the yankees were holding portsmouth, norfolk, hampton roads, and all that country. expectations of the slaves "i could hear my mother and uncle talk about what the slaves expected. i know they was expecting to get something. they weren't supposed to be turned out like wild animals like they were. i think it was forty acres and a mule. i am not sure but i know they expected something to be settled on them. what they got "if any of them got anything in virginia, i don't know anything about it. they might have been some slaves that did get something--just like they was here in arkansas. "old man wilfong, when he freed andy wilfong in bradley county, arkansas, gave andy plenty. he did get forty acres of land. that is right down here out from warren. wilfong owned that land and a heap more when he died. he hasn't been dead more than six or seven years. i pastored him in and . there were others who expected to get something, but i don't know any others that got it. land was cheap then. andy bought land at twenty-five and fifty cents an acre, and sold the timber off of it at the rate of one thousand dollars for each forty acres. he bought hundreds of acres. he owned a section and a section and one-half of land when he was my member. he had seven boys and two girls and he gave them all forty acres apiece when they married. then he sold the timber off of four forties. whenever a boy or girl was married he'd give him a house. he'd tell him to go out and pick himself out a place. "he sold one hundred and sixty acres of timber for four thousand dollars, but if he had kept it for two years longer, he would have got ten thousand dollars for it. the bradley lumber company went in there and cut the timber all through. "wilfong's master's name was andrew wilfong, same as andy's. his master came from georgia, but he was living in arkansas when freedom came. later on andy bought the farm his master was living on when freedom came. his master was then dead. right after the war "my mother came back home and we went on farming just like we did before, raising stuff to eat. you know i can't remember much that they did before the war but i can remember what they did during the war and after the war,--when they came back home. my folks still own the old place but i have been away from there sixty-one years. a whole generation has been raised up and died since i left. "i came out with one of my cousins and went to georgia (du pont) following turpentine work. it was turpentine farming. you could cut a hole in the tree known as the box. it will hold a quart. rosin runs out of that tree into the box. once a week, they go by and chip a tree to keep the rosin running. then the dippers dip the rosin out and put it in barrels. them barrels is hauled to the still. then it is distilled just like whiskey would be. the evaporation of it makes turpentine; the rosin is barreled and shipped to make glass. the turpentine is barreled and sold. i have dipped thousands of gallons of turpentine. "i came to south carolina in and married. i stayed there seven years and came to arkansas in . i came right to north little rock and then moved out into the country around lonoke county,--on a farm. i farmed there for five years. then i went to pastoring. i started pastoring one year before i quit making cotton. i entered the ministry in and continued in the active service until november . i put in forty-five years in the active ministry. schooling "i first went to school at a little log school in suffolk, virginia. from there i went to hampton, virginia. i got my theological training in shorter college under dr. t.h. jackson. ku klux "i never had any experience with the ku klux klan. i seen white men riding horses and my mother said they was ku kluxes, but they never bothered us as i remember. they had two sets of white folks like that. the patrollers were before and during the war and the ku klux klan came after the war. i can't remember how the ku klux i saw were dressed. the patrollers i remember. they would just be three or four white men riding in bunches. nat turner rebellion "i have heard the 'nat turner rebellion' spoken of, but i don't know what was said. i think the old people called it the 'nat turner war.' reconstruction days "lawyer whipper was one of the best criminal lawyers in the state. he was a negro. the republican party had the state then and the negroes were strong. robert small was a noted politician and was elected to go to congress twice. the last time he ran, he was elected but had a hard fight. the election was so close it was contested but small won out. he was the last nigger congressman. i heard that there were one or two more, but i don't remember them. "when i first went to south carolina, them niggers was bad. they organized. they used to have an association known as the union laborers, i think. the organization was like the fraternal order. i don't know's they ever had any trouble but they were always in readiness to protect themselves if any conflict arose. it was a secret order carried on just like any other fraternal order. they had distress calls. every member has an old horn which he blew in time of trouble. i think that sane kind of organization or something like it was active here when i came. the eagles (a big family of white people in lonoke county) had a fight with members of it once and some of the eagles were killed a year or two before i came to this state. voting and political activities "i voted in south carolina, but i wasn't old enough to vote in georgia. however, i stumped taliaferro county for garfield when i was in georgia. i lived in a little town by the name of mccray. the town i was in, they had never had more than fifteen or twenty republican votes polled. but i polled between two hundred and three hundred votes. i was one of the regular speakers. the tickets were in my care too. you see, they had tickets in them days and not the long ballots. they didn't have long ballots like they have now. the tickets were sent to me and i took care of them until the election. in the campaign i was regularly employed through the republican campaign committee managers. "according to preparation and conditions there were less corruption then than there is now. in them days, they had to learn the tricks. but now they know them. now you find the man and he already knows what to do. songs "back in that period, nearly all the songs the negro sang considerably were the spirituals: 'i'm going down to jordan,' 'roll jordan roll.'" interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: j.f. boone izard, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: a union veteran] "my father's name was arthur boone and my mother's name was eliza boone, i am goin' to tell you about my father. now be sure you put down there that this is arthur boone's son. i am j.f. boone, and i am goin' to tell you about my father, arthur boone. "my father's old master was henry boone. my mother came from virginia--north virginia--and my father came from north carolina. the boones bought them. i have heard that my father, arthur boone, was bought by the boones. they wasn't his first masters. i have heard my father say that it was more than a thousand dollars they paid for him. "he said that they used to put up niggers on the block and auction them off. they auctioned off niggers accordin' to the breed of them. like they auction off dogs and horses. the better the breed, the more they'd pay. my father was in the first-class rating as a good healthy negro and those kind sold for good money. i have heard him say that niggers sometimes brought as high as five thousand dollars. "my father don't know much about his first boss man. but the boones were very good to them. they got biscuits once a week. the overseer was pretty cruel to them in a way. my father has seen them whipped till they couldn't stand up and then salt and things that hurt poured in their wounds. my father said that he seen that done; i don't know whether it was his boss man or the overseer that done it. "my father said that they breeded good niggers--stud 'em like horses and cattle. good healthy man and woman that would breed fast, they would keep stalled up. wouldn't let them get out and work. keep them to raise young niggers from. i don't know for certain that my father was used that way or not. i don't suppose he would have told me that, but he was a mighty fine man and he sold for a lot of money. the slaves weren't to blame for that. "my father said that in about two or three months after the war ended, his young master told them that they were free. they came home from the war about that time. he told them that they could continue living on with them or that they could go to some one else if they wanted to 'cause they were free and there wasn't any more slavery. "i was born after slavery. peace was declared in , wasn't it? when the war ended i don't know where my father was living, but i was bred and born in woodruff near augusta in arkansas. all the booneses were there when i knew anything about it. they owned hundreds and hundreds of acres of ground. i was born on old captain boone's farm. "my father was always a farmer. he farmed till he died. they were supposed to give him a pension, but he never did get it. they wrote to us once or twice and asked for his number and things like that, but they never did do nothing. you see he fit in the civil war. wait a minute. we had his old gun for years. my oldest brother had that gun. he kept that gun and them old blue uniforms with big brass buttons. my old master had a horn he blowed to call the slaves with, and my brother had that too. he kept them things as particular as you would keep victuals. "yes, my father fit in the civil war. i have seen his war clothes as many times as you have hairs on your head i reckon. he had his old sword and all. they had a hard battle down in mississippi once he told me. our house got burnt up and we lost his honorable discharge. but he was legally discharged. but he didn't git nothin' for it, and we didn't neither. "my father was whipped by the pateroles several times. they run him and whipped him. my daddy slipped out many a time. but they never caught him when he slipped out. they never whipped him for slippin' out. that was during the time he was a slave. the slaves wasn't allowed to go from one master to another without a pass. my father said that sometimes, his young master would play a joke on him. my father couldn't read. his young master would give him a pass and the pass would say, 'whip arthur boone's --- and pass him out. when he comes back, whip his --- again and pass him back.' his young master called hisself playin' a joke on him. they wouldn't hit him more than half a dozen licks, but they would make him take his pants down and they would give them to him jus' where the pass said. they wouldn't hurt him much. it was more devilment than anything else. he would say, 'whut you hittin' me for when i got a pass?' and they would say, 'yes, you got a pass, but it says whip your ---.' and they would show it to him, and then they would say, 'you'll git the res' when you come back.' my father couldn't read nothin' else, but that's one word he learnt to read right well. "my father was quite a young man in his day. he died in . he was just fifty-six years old. i'm older now than he was when he died. my occupation when i was well was janitor. i have been sick now for three years and ain't done nothin' in all that time. if it wasn't for my wife, i don't know whut i would do. "i was born in , on december the eighth, and i am sixty-six years old now. that is, i will be if the lord lets me live till december the eighth, this year. "now whose story are you saying this is? you say this is the story of arthur boone, father of j.f. boone? well, that's all right; but you better mention that j.f. boone is arthur boone's son. i rent this house from mr. lindeman. he has the drug store right there. if anybody comes lookin' for me, i might be moved, but mr. lindeman will still be there." interviewer's comment if you have read this interview hastily and have missed the patroller joke on page three, turn back and read it now. the interviewer considers it the choicest thing in the story. that and the story of an unpensioned union veteran and the insistence on the word "son" seemed to me to set this story off as a little out of the ordinary. interviewer: mrs. annie l. lacotts person interviewed: jonas boone, st, charles. arkansas age: most any day in st. charles you can see an old negro man coming down the street with a small sack made of bed ticking hanging shot-pouch fashion from his shoulder. this is old uncle jonas boone who by the aid of his heavy cane walks to town and makes the round of his white folks homes to be given some old shoes, clothes, or possibly a mess of greens or some sweet potatoes--in fact whatever he may find. "jonas, can you remember anything about the war or slavery time?" "yes mam i was a great big boy when the slaves were sot free." "do you know how old you are?" "yes mam i will be years old on march th. i was born in mississippi at cornerville. my mother belonged to mr. l.d. hewitt's wife. she didn't have many slaves--just my parents and my two uncles and their families. my daddy and two uncles went to the war but our mistress' husband mr. hewitt was too old to go. i guess my daddy was killed in de war, for he never come home when my uncles did. we lived here in arkansas close to st. charles. our mistress was good to her slaves but when they were free her husband had got himself drowned in big lagrue when de water was high all over the bottoms and low ground; he was trying to cross in a boat, what you call a dug out. you know it's a big log scooped out till it floats like a boat. then after that our mistress wanted to go back to her old home in mississippi and couldn't take us with her cause she didn't have any money, so we stayed here. my mammy cried days and nights when she knew her mistress was going to leave her here in arkansas. we moved down on de schute and worked for mr. mack price. you know he was mr. arthur's and miss joe's father." "jonas, if your owners were hewitts why is your name boone?" "well you see, miss, my daddy's daddy belonged to mr. daniel boone, mr. john boone's and miss mary black's grandpa, and i was named boone for him, my granddaddy. i been married twice. my last wife owns her home out close to de church west of st. charles. i haven't been able to work any for over two years but my wife makes us a living. she's or years old and a good worker and a good woman. i've been all de time wanting some of this help other folks been getting but dey won't give me nothing. the woman what goes to your house to see if you needs relief told me i was better off den most folks an' of course i know i'd rather have my wife and home than have to be like lots of dese niggers who's old and can't work and got nothing but what de government give 'em." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: john bowdry, clarendon, arkansas age: "i was born at baldwyn, mississippi not for from corinth. when my mother was last seen she was going away with a bunch of yankees. i don't know what it was. she was a dark woman. pa was light. i was born in . i was left when i was two or three months old. i never seen no pa. they left me with my uncle what raised me. he was a slave but too young to go to war. his master was named porter. master stevenson had sold him. he liked porter the best. he took the name of stanfield porter at freedom. porters had a ordinary farm. he wasn't rich. he had a few slaves. stevenson had a lot of slaves. grandfather was in charleston, south carolina. him and my uncle corresponded. my uncle learnet to read and write but i guess somebody done his writing for him at the other end. "my uncle stanfield seen a heap of the war. he seen them fight, come by in droves a mile long. they wasted their feed and living too. "at freedom master porter told them about it and he lived on there a few years till i come into recollection. i found out about my pa and mother. they had three sets of children in the house. they was better to them. all of them got better treatment 'en i did. one day i left. i'd been making up my mind to leave. i was thirteen years old. scared of everything. i walked twenty miles to middleton, tennessee. i slept at the state line at some stranger's but at black folks' house. i walked all day two days. i got a job at some white folks good as my parents. his name wae j.d. palmer. he was a big farmer. i slept in a servant's house and et in his own kitchen. he sont me to school two two-month terms. four months all i got. i got my board then four months. i got my board and eight dollars a month the other months in the year. he died. "i come to forrest city when i was twenty years old. "i been married. i got a girl lives wid me here. my girl, she married. "i ain't got no complaint again' the times. my life has been fair. i worked mighty hard." name of interviewer: irene robertson subject: ex-slave--history this information given by: jack boyd place of residence: hazen, arkansas occupation: light jobs now. age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] [hw: the boyd negroes] jack boyd was born a slave. miss ester's mother was a boyd and married a donnahoo. miss ester donnahoo married jim shed. the boyd's lived in richmond, virginia. they sold jack boyd's grandmother, grandfather, mother, and father a number of times. one time they were down, in georgia not far from atalnta. they were being ill treated. the new master had promised to be good to them so he wasn't and the news had gotten back to virginia as it had a time or two before so the boyds sent to georgia and brought them back and took them back home to virginia. the boyds always asked the new masters to be good to them but no one was never so good to them as the boyds were, and they would buy them back again. when freedom was declared three of the boyd brothers and miss ester's husband jim shed, was the last master of charlie boyd. jack's father came to waco, texas. they may have been there before for they were "big ranchmen" but that is when jack boyds whole family came to texas. there were thirty six in his family. the families then were large. when jack grew up to be about ten years old there wasn't anything much at waco except a butcher shop and a blacksmith shop. jim shed alone had acres of land his own. he used nine cowboys, some white and some black. the first of january every year the cattle was ready to be driven to kansas city to market. they all rode broncos. it would rain, sometimes hail and sometimes they would get into thunder storms. the cattle would stampede, get lost and have to be found. they slept in the open plains at night. they had good clothes. they would ride two or three weeks and couldn't get a switch. finally in about june or july they would get into kansas city. the white masters were there waiting and bought food and supplies to take back home. they would have started another troop of cowboys with cattle about june and meet them in kansas city just before christmas. jack liked this life except it was a hard life in bad weather. they had a good living and the masters made "big money." jack said he always had his own money then. his people are scattered around waco now, "the boyd negroes." he hasn't been back since he came to arkansas when he was about eighteen. he married here and had "raised" a big family. the plains were full of rattle snakes, rabbits, wild cats and lots of other wild animals. they never started out with less than head of cattle. they picked cattle that would travel about together. it would all be grown or about the same age. the worst thing they had to contend with was a lack of water. they had to carry water along and catch rainwater and hunt places to water the cattle. his father's and grandfather's masters names were gillis, hawkins, and sam boyd. they were the three who came to texas and located the ranch at waco. jack thinks they have been dead a long time but they have heirs around waco now. jack boyd left waco in . circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--bernice bowden addeess-- oak street, pine bluff, arkansas date--november , subject--ex-slaves . name and address of informant--mal boyd, son of slaves . date and time of interview--november , , : a.m. . place of interview-- miller street . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant--none. i saw him sitting on porch as i walked along. . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you--none . description of room, house, surroundings, etc.--frame house. sat on porch. yard clean--everything neat. near foundry on graveled street in suburbs of west pine bluff. text of interview "papa belonged to bill boyd. papa said he was his father and treated him just like the rest of his children. he said bill boyd was an irishman. i know papa looked kinda like an irishman--face was red. mama was about my color. papa was born in texas, but he came to arkansas. i member hearin' him say he saw 'em fight six months in one place, down here at marks' mill. he said bill boyd had three sons, urk and tom and nat. they was in the civil war. i heered tom boyd say he was in behind a crew of men in the war and a yankee started shootin' and when he shot down the last one next to tom, he seen who it was doin' the shootin' and he shot him and saved his life. he was the hind one. "i've farmed mostly and sawmilled. "i use to get as high as three and five dollars callin' figgers for the white folks." interviewer's comment name of worker--bernice bowden name and addresss of informant--mal boyd, miller street, pine bluff, arkansas subscribes to the daily graphic and reads of world affairs. goes to a friend's house and listens to the radio. lives with daughter and is supported by her. house belongs to a son-in-law. wore good clothing and was very clean. he hoped that the united states would not become involved in a war. personal history of informant state--arkansas name of worker--bernice bowden address-- oak street date--november , subject--ex-slaves name and address of informant--mal boyd, miller street, pine bluff, ark. . ancestry--father, tol boyd; mother, julia dangerfield. . place and date of birth--cleveland county, august , . family--lives with daughter. has one other daughter. mother one-half indian, born in alabama, he thinks. . places lived in, with dates--ouachita county, dallas county. bradley county, jefferson county. . education, with dates--began schooling in and went until twelve or thirteen. . occupations and accomplishments, with dates--farmed till , public work? sawmill work. . special skills and interests--none . community and religious activities--ward chapel on west sixth. . description of informant--gray hair, height ft. in., high cheekbones. gray hair--practically straight says like father. . other points gained in interview--says father was part irish. belonged to bill boyd. stayed there for years after freedom. name of interviewer: irene robertson subject: ex-slave--history--old sayings this information given by: george braddox place of residence: hazen, arkansas occupation: farmer age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] george braddox was born a slave but his mother being freed when he was eipht years old they went to themselves--george had one sister and one brother. he doesn't know anything about them but thinks they are dead as he is the youngest of the three. his father's name was peter calloway he went with gus taylor to the war and never came back to his family. george said he had been to chicago several times to see his father where he was living. but his mother let her children go by that name. she gave them a name braddox when they were freed. calloways lived on a joining plantation to john and dave gemes. john gemes was the old master and dave the young. george said they were mean to him. he can remember that gus taylor wes overseer for the gemes till he went to war. the gemes lived in a brick house and the slaves lived in log houses. they had a big farm and raised cotton and corn. the cotton was six feet tall and had big leaves. they had to pull the leaves to let the bowls get the sun to open. they topped the cotton too. they made lots of cotton and corn to an acre. dave gemes had several children when george moved away, their names were ruben, john, margaret, susie and betty. they went to school at marshall, texas. john gemes had fine carriages, horses and mules. he had one old slave who just milked and churned. she didn't do anything else. when young calves had to be attended to somebody else had to help her and one man did all the feeding. they had lots of peafowles, ducks, geese and chickens. they had mixed stock of chickens and guineas--always had a drove of turkeys. sometimes the turkeys would go off with wild turkeys. there were wild hogs and turkeys in the woods. george never learned to read or write. he remembers they built a school for white children on the calloway place joining the gemes place but he thought it was tuition school. george said he thought the gemes and all his "kin" folks came from alabama to texas, but he is not sure but he does know this. dr. hazen came from tennessee to texas and back to hazen, arkansas and settled. his cousin jane hodge (colored) was working out near here and he came here to deer hunt and just stayed with them. he said deer was plentiful here. it was not cleared and so close to white cache, st. francis and mississippi rivers. george said his mother cooked for the gemes the first he could remember of her. that was all she had time to do. it was five miles to marshall. they lived in harrison county and they could buy somethings to eat there if they didn't raise enough. they bought cheese by the cases in round boxes and flour in barrels and sugar in barrels. they had fine clothes for sunday. after his mother left the gemes they worked in the field or did anything she could for a living. george married after he came to arkansas and bought a farm acres of land miles north of hazen and a white man, -- --- closed a mortgage out on him and took it. he paid $ . for a house in town in which he now lives. his son was killed in the world war and he gets his son's insurance every month. george said when he came to arkansas it was easy to live if you liked to hunt. ship the skins and get some money when you couldn't be farming. could get all the wood you would cut and then clear out land and farm. he hunted or years with colonel a.f. yopp and fed colonel's dogs. he hunted with mr. yopp but he didn't think colonel was a very good man. i gathered from george that he didn't approve of wickedness. it is bad luck to dig a grave the day before a person is buried, or any time before the day of the burying. uncle george has dug or helped to dig lots of graves. it is bad luck to the family of the dead person. the grave ought not to be "left open" it is called. he has always heard this and believes it, yet he can't remember when he first heard it. he thinks there are spirits that direct your life and if you do wrong the evil fates let you be punished. he believes in good and evil spirits. spirits right here among us. he says there is "bound to be spirits" or "something like 'em." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: george braddox, hazen, arkansas age: most of the old songs were religious. i don't remember none much. when the war broke out my papa jess left and went on off with some people and joined the yankee army. i went to see him since i been at hazen. he lived in chicago. yes mam he's been dead a long time ago. gus taylor and peter calloway (white) took my papa with them for their helper. he left them and went with the yankee army soon as he heard what they was fighting about. peter calloway lived on a big track of land joining dave genes land. it show was a big farm. peter calloway owned my papa and dave genes my mama. gus taylor was dave genes overseer. peter calloway never come back from the war. my folks come from alabama with dave genes and his son john genes. i was born in harrison county, texas. gus taylor was a great big man. he was mean to us all. the yankees camped there. it was near marshall. i had some good friends among the yankees. they kept me posted all time the war went on. nobody never learnt me nothing. i can cipher a little and count money. i took that up. i learned after i was grown a few things. just learned it myself. i never went to school a day in my life. the genes had a brick, big red brick house. they sent their children to schools. they had stock, peafowls, cows, guineas, geese, ducks and chickens, hogs and everything. old woman on the place just milked and churned. that is all she done. i never heard of no plantations being divided. they never give us nothing, not nothing. right after the war was the worse times we ever have had. we ain't had no sich hard times since then. the white folks got all was made. it was best we could do. the yankees what camped down there told us about the surrender. if the colored folks had started an uprisin the white folks would have set the hounds on us and killed us. i never heard of the ku klux klan ever being in texas. gus taylor was the ridin boss and he was ku klux enough. everybody was scared not to mind him. he rode over three or four hundred acres of ground. he could beat any fellow under him. i never did see anybody sold. i never was sold. we was glad to be set free. i didn't know what it would be like. it was just like opening the door and lettin the bird fly out. he might starve, or freeze, or be killed pretty soon but he just felt good because he was free. we show did have a hard time getting along right after we was set free. the white folks what had money wouldn't pay nothing much for work. all the slaves was in confusion. a cousin of mine saw dr. hazen down in texas and they all come back to work his land. they wrote to us about it being so fine for hunting. i always liked to hunt so i rode a pony and come to them. the white folks in texas told the yankees what to do after the surrender; get off the land. we didn't never vote there but i voted in arkansas. mr. abel rinehardt always hope me. i could trust him. i don't vote now. no colored people held office in texas or here that i heard of. i got nothing to say bout the way the young generation is doing. i farmed around hazen nearly ever since the civil war. i saved $ and bought this here house. my son was killed in the world war and i get his insurance every month. i hunted with colonel yapp and fed his dogs. he never paid me a cent for taking care of the dogs. his widow never as much as give me a dog. she never give me nothing! i'm too old to worry bout the present conditions. they ain't gettin no better. i sees dot. interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: edward bradley south plum street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was seventy years old this last past june, the sixth day. lots of people say i don't look that old but i'm sure seventy and i've done a lot of hard work in my day. one thing, i've taken good care of myself. i never did lose much sleep. "i farmed forty years of my life. been in this state thirty-seven years. i was born in hardin county, tennessee. i disremember what age i was when i left tennessee. "my mother was named mary bradley and my father was named hilliard bradley. they originated in alabama and was sold there, and they was free when they come to tennessee. "bradley was the last man owned 'em. i think beaumont sold 'em to bradley. that's the way i always heered 'em talk. i think they claimed their owners was pretty good to 'em. i know i heered my father say he never did get a whippin' from either one of 'em. "of course my mother wasn't a bradley fore she married, she was a murphy. "i had one brother four years older than i was. he was my half-brother and i had a whole brother was two years older than i. "first place i lived in arkansas was near blytheville. i lived there four years. i was married and farmin' for myself. "i went from hardin county, tennessee to blytheville, arkansas by land. drove a team and two cows. i think we was on the road four days. my wife went by train. you know that was too wearisome for her to go by land. "i had been runnin a five-horse crop in tennessee and i carried three boys that i used to work with me. "the last year i was there i cleared $ . . i never will forget it. i made a hundred and ten bales of cotton and left pounds of seed cotton in the field cause i was goin' to move. "my folks was sick all the time. wasn't any canals in that country, and my wife had malaria every year. "after i got my crop finished i'd get out and log. i was raised in a poor county and you take a man like that, he's always a good worker. i rented the land-- acres and i had seven families workin for me. i was responsible for everything. i told 'em that last year that if i cleared over a $ , i'd give 'em ten dollars a piece. and i give it to 'em too. you see they was under my jurisdiction. "next place i lived was forrest city. they all went with me. had to charter a car to move 'em. it was loaded too. "i had hogs, head of cattle, head of mules and horses. and i had killed pounds of hogs. you see besides my family i had two-month-hands--worked by the month. "i own a home in forrest city now. i'm goin back right after christmas. my children had it fixed up. had the waterworks and electric lights put in. "two of my daughters married big school teachers. one handles a big school in augusta and the other in forrest city. one of 'em is in the smith-hughes work too. "i've done something no other man has done. i've educated four of my brothers and sisters after my father died and four of my wife's brothers and sisters and one adopted boy and my own six children--fifteen in all. a man said to me once, "why any man that's done that much for education ought to get a pension from the educator people." "i never went to school six months in my life but i can read and write. i'm not extra good in spelling--that's my hindrance, but i can figger very well. "we always got our children started 'fore they went to school and then i could help 'em in school till they got to united states money. "another thing i always would do, i would buy these block a, b, c's. everyone learned their a, b, c's fore they went to school. "i reckon i'm a self-made man in a lot of things. i learnt my own self how to blacksmith. i worked for a man for nothin' just so i could learn and after that for about a year i was the best plow sharpener. and then i learned how to carpenter. "my mother was awful good on head countin' and she learnt me when i was a little fellow. my oldest brother use to help me. we'd sit by the fire, so you see you might say i got a fireside education. "when i left forrest city i moved to england and made one crop and moved to baucum and made one crop and then i moved on the sheridan pike three miles the other side of dew drop. i got the oil fever. they was sellin' land under that headin'. sold it to the colored folks and lots o' these bohemians. they sho is fine people to live by--so accommodatin'. "then i came here to pine bluff in . i hauled wood for two years. then i put in my application at the cotton belt shops. that was in and i worked there fifteen years. i retired from the shops this year and took a half pension. i think i'll get about fifteen dollars a month. that's my thoughts. "i have two daughters in camden. one teaches school and one operates a beauty parlor. "all six of my children finished high school and three graduated from college. "i think the younger generation is livin' too fast. i know one thing, they has done--they 'bout wore out the old folks. old folks educate 'em and can't accumulate anything. "they don't settle much now till they marry. seems like the young folks don't have much accommodation. "i'll tell you another thing, the children aren't carryin' out things like they use to. i think when us old folks plays out this world is goin' to be in a bad shape. "i belong out here to the catholic church--the oldest church in the world. i use to belong to the methodist church, but they got along so bad i got tired, so i went to the catholic. i like it out there--everthing so quiet and nice." name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: rachel bradley. state street, pine bluff, arkansas age: ? upon arriving at the humble unpainted home of rachel bradley i found her sitting in the doorway on a typical split-oak bottomed chair watching the traffic of state street, one of our busiest streets out of the high rent district. it is a mixture of white and negro stores and homes. after asking her name to be sure i was really talking to rachel bradley, i said i had been told she was a former slave. "yes'm, i used to be a slave." she smiled broadly displaying nearly a full set of teeth. she is of a cheerful, happy disposition and seemed glad to answer my questions. as to her age, she said she was "a little girl on the floor whan the stars fell." i looked this up at the public library and found that falling stars or showers of meteors occur in cycles of thirty-three years. one such display was recorded in and another in . so if rachel bradley is really years old, she was born in . it is a question in my mind whether or not she could have remembered falling stars at the age of three, but on the other hand if she was "a little girl on the floor" in she would be only somewhere between seventy-five and eighty years of age. her master and mistress were mitchell and elizabeth simmons and they had two sons and two daughters. they lived on a plantation about twelve miles from farmersville, louisiana. rachel was a house girl and her mother was the cook. besides doing house work, she was nursemaid and as she grew older did her mistress' sewing and could also weave and knit. from the way she smiled and rolled her eyes i could see that this was the happiest time of her life. "my white folks was so good to me. i sat right down to the same table after they was thru." while a child in the home of her white folks she played with her mistress' children. in her own words "my mistress give us a task to do and when we got it done, we went to our playhouse in the yard." when the war came along, her master was too old to go but his two sons went and both lived through the war. questioned about the yankees during the war she said, "i seen right smart of the yankees. i seen the 'calvary' go by. they didn't bother my white folks none." rachel said the abc's for me but cannot read or write. she said her mistress' children wanted to teach her but she would rather play so grew up in ignorance. after the war rachel's white folks moved to texas and rachel went to live with her mistress' married daughter martha. for her work she was paid six dollars a month. she was not given any money by her former owners after being freed, but was paid for her work. later on rachel went to work in the field making a crop with her brother, turning it over to the owner of the land for groceries and other supplies and when the cotton was weighed "de white folks taken out part of our half. i knowed they done it but we couldn't do nothin bout it." rachel had four husbands and eleven children. her second husband abandoned her, taking the three oldest and leaving five with her. one boy and one girl were old enough to help their mother in the field and one stayed in the house with the babies, so she managed to make a living working by the day for the white people. the only clash with the ku klux klan was when they came to get an army gun her husband had bought. being a woman, rachel did not know much about politics during the reconstruction period. she had heard the words "democrat," "radical" and "republican" and that was about all she remembered. concerning the younger generation rachel said: "i don't know what goin' come of 'em. the most of 'em is on the beat" (trying to get all they can from others). after moving to arkansas, she made a living working in the field by the day and as she grew older, washing and ironing, sewing, housecleaning and cooking. her long association with white people shows in her speech which is quite plain with only a few typical negro expressions, such as the following: "she died this last gone sattiday and i hope (help) shroud her." "when white lady find baby, i used to go hep draw the breas'." "heap a people." "bawn." the welfare department gives rachel $ . a month. she pays $ . a month for two rooms with no drinking water. with the help of her white friends she manages to exist and says she is "pendin on the lord" to help her get along. she sang for me in a quavering voice the following songs reminiscent of the war: "homespun dresses plain i know. and the hat palmetto too. hurrah! hurrah! we cheer for the south we love so dear, we cheer for the homespun dresses the southern ladies wear!" "who is price a fightin'? he is a fightin', i do know. i think it is old curtis. i hear the cannons roa'" interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: elizabeth brannon, biscoe, arkansas (packed to move somewhere else) age: plus "i was born in helena, arkansas. grandma raised me mostly. she was born up in virginia. her name was mariah bell. "grandmother was sold more than once. when she was small she and her mother were sold together to different buyers. the morning she was sold she could see her mother crying through the crowd, and the last she ever seen her mother she was crying and waving to her. she never could forget that. we all used to sit around her and we would all be crying with her when she told that so many, many times. grandmother said she was five years old then and was sold to a doctor in virginia. he made a house girl of her and learned her to be a midwife. "she told us about a time when the stars fell or a time about like it. her master got scared in virginia. his niece killed herself 'cause she thought the world was coming to on end. mama of the baby was walking, crying and praying. grandmama had the baby. she said it was a terrible morning. "when grandmama was sold away from her own mother she took the new master's cook for her mother. i live to see her. her name was charity walker. she was awful old. grandmama didn't remember if her mother had other children or not. she was the youngest. "grandmama was sold again. her second master wasn't good as her doctor master. he didn't feed them good, didn't feed the children good neither. he told his slaves to steal. grandmama had two children there. she was pregnant again. grandpa stole a shoat. she craved meat. meat was scarce then and the war was on. grandpa had it cut up and put away. grandmama had the oldest baby in the box under her bed and the youngest child asleep in her bed. she was frying the meat. she seen the overseer across the field stepping that way. grandpa left and grandmama put the skillet of meat in the bed with the baby and threw a big roll of cotton in the fire. the overseer come in and looked around, asked what he smelled burning. she told him it was a sack of motes (cotton lumps). grandpa was jim bell. his master learnet him to steal and lie. he got better after freedom. "grandmama never would let us have pockets in our aprons and dresses. said it was a temptation for us to learn to steal. she thought that was awful and to lie too. "grandmama and grandpa and mama and her sister, the baby, died. come with soldiers from virginia to helena, arkansas on a big boat. they nursed soldiers in the hospital in the last of the war. grandpapa died in . he had heart trouble. he was seventy-five years old then. grandmama died in . she was awful, awful old. grandmama said they put her off on college and perry streets but that wasn't the names of the streets then. she wore a baggin dress and brogan shoes. brass-toed shoes and brass eyelets. she would take grease and soot and make shoe polish for them. we all wore that dress and the shoes at times. i wore them to peabody school in helena and the children made so mich fun of their cry (squeaking) till i begged them to get me some better looking shoes for cold rainy spells of weather. i wore the dress. it was strong nearly as leather. "when she was sold the last time she got a marble box and it had a small lock and key. it was square and thick, size of four men's shoe boxes. when she come to arkansas she brought it filled with rice on the boat. she kept her valuable papers in it. our house burned and the shoes and box both got away from me. her oldest girl died after the surrender and was never married. never had children. "on college and perry streets the hospital was cleared away and grandpa bought the spot. it has had two houses rot down of his own on it. it has been graded down and a big brick house stands there now. "she used to tell how when meat was so scarce she'd be cooking. she'd wipe her girls' faces with the dishrag. one of them would lick her lips. make other children hungry for meat to see them so greasy. they hadn't had any meat. "grandmama told me her doctor master bought them shoes for her, and i think they gave her the marble box. the children teased me so much grandmama bought me some limber sole shoes. "auntie was good they said and mama was mean so they said. auntie died after surrender. we'd tell grandmama she ought to put the skillet on mama. she said the good lord took care of her baby that time. mama would get so mad. she would whoop us for saying she ought to put the hot skillet on her. "grandmama was a midwife with black and white for forty-five years in helena. she worked for joe horner, mr. leifer, mrs. e.m. allen. mama had seven children, and grandmama raised will marshal (colored). he works at d.t. hargraves & sons store now in helena. he started a delivery boy but now he is their main repair man. "grandmama was a strong woman. mama worked out at some places i told you. grandmama worked. grandmama always had a pretty flower yard. she did love pretty flowers. "mama minded grandmama like one of us. she was a good woman. none of us, not even the boys, ever had pockets in our clothes. grandmama made them for us. she taught us not to lie and steal. she thought it was the worse thing you could do. she was loved and respected by white and black till she died down at helena in . they are all buried down there." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mack brantley, brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born in dallas county close to selma, alabama. my mother's owners was miss mary ann roscoe and her husband was master ephriam roscoe. they had a good size gin and farm. we would gather 'round and tell ha'nt tales till we would be scared to go home in the dark. the wind would turn the old-fashioned screw and make a noise like packing cotton. we older children would run and make out we thought it was the spirits. we knowed better but the little children was afraid. "my parents was lucindy roscoe. my pa belong to warren brantley. his name was silica brantley. "i was a stole chile. ma had a husband the master give her and had children. my pa lived on a joining farm. she wasn't supposen to have children by my pa. that is why i'm called mack brantley now. mama died and green roscoe, my older brother, took me to howell's so they would raise me. they was all kin. i was six months old when ma died. my sister nursed me but miss mary ann roscoe suckled me wid miss minnie. when miss minnie got grown and married she went to mobile, alabama to live. later brother silica give me to master henry harrell. they sent me to school. i never went to colored school. we went to blunt springs three months every year in the summer time. when we come home one year mr. hankton was gone and he never come back. he was my only teacher. the white population didn't like him and they finally got him away. "they was good white people. i had a pallet in the room and in the morning i took it up and put it away in a little room. i slept in the house till i was good and grown. i made fires for them in the winter time. mr. walter died three years ago. he was their son. he had a big store there. miss carrie married charlie hooper. he courted her five years. i bring her a letter and she tore it up before she read it. he kept coming. he lived in kentucky. the last i heard they lived in birmingham. miss kitty avery harrell was my mistress at freedom and after, and after boss died. i had four children when i left. if mr. walter was living i'd go to him now. mr. hooper would cuss. old boss didn't cuss. i never liked mr. hooper's ways. old boss was kinder. all my sisters dead. i reckon i got two brothers. charles roscoe was where boss left him. he was grown when i was a child. jack roscoe lives at forrest, mississippi. brother silica roscoe had a wife and children when freedom come on. he left that wife and got married to another one and went off to mississippi. preachers quit their slavery wives and children and married other wives. it wasn't right. no ma'am, it wasn't right. awful lot of it was done. then is when i got took to my miss kitty. after freedom is right. "i tole you i was a stole chile. i never seen my own pa but a few times. he lived on a joining farm. ma had a husband her master give her the first time they had been at a big log rolling and come up for dinner. they put the planks out and the dinner on it. they kept saying, 'mack, shake hands with your papa.' he was standing off to one side. it was sorter shame. they kept on. i was little. i went over there. he shook hands with me. i said, 'hi, papa! give me a nickel.' he reached in his pocket and give me a nickel. then they stopped teasing me. he went off on alabama river eighteen miles from us to caholba, alabama. i never seen him much more. ma had been dead then several years. "green, my brother, took me to miss mary ann roscoe when mama died. she was my ma's owner. i stayed there till green died. a whole lot of boys was standing around and bet green he couldn't tote that barrel of molasses a certain piece. they helped it up and was to help him put it down and give him five dollars. that was late in the ebenin'. he let the barrel down and a ball as big as a goose egg of blood come out of his mouth. the next day he died. master got dr. blevins quick as he could ride there. he was mad as he could be. dr. blevins said it weighed eight hundred pounds. it was a hogshead of molasses. green was much of a man. he was a giant. dr. blevins said they had killed a good man. green was good and so strong. i never could forget it. green was my standby. "the yankees burnt boss henry's father's fine house, his gin, his grist mill, and fifty or sixty bales of cotton and took several fine horses. they took him out in his shirt tail and beat him, and whooped his wife, trying to make them tell where the money was. he told her to tell. he had it buried in a pot in the garden. they went and dug it up. forty thousand dollars in gold and silver. out they lit then. i seen that. he lived to be eighty and she lived to be seventy-eight years old. he had owned seven or eight or ten miles of road land at howell crossroads. road land is like highway land, it is more costly. he had henry and finas married and moved off. miss melia was his daughter and her husband and the overseer was there but they couldn't save the money. i waited on misa melia when she got sick and died. she was fine a woman as ever i seen. every colored person on the place knowed where the pot was buried. some of them planted it. they wouldn't tell. we could hear the battles at selma, alabama. it was a roar and like an earthquake. "freedom--i was a little boy. i cried to go with the bigger children. they had to tote water. one day i heard somebody crying over 'cross a ditch and fence covered with vines and small trees. i heard, 'do pray master.' i run hid under the house. i was snoring when they found me. i heard somebody say, 'slave day is over.' that is all i ever knowed about freedom. the way i knowed, a yankee. we was in the road piling up sand and a lot of blue coats on horses was coming. we got out of the road and went to tell our white folks. they said, 'get out of their way, they are yankees.' "when i left alabama i went to mississippi. i worked my way on a steamboat. i had been trained to do whatever i was commanded. the man, my boss, said, 'mack, get the rope behind the boiler and tie it to the stob and 'dead man'. i tied it to the stob and i was looking for a dead man. he showed me what it was. then i tied it. i went to vicksburg then. i had got mixed up with a woman and run off. "i been married once in my life. i had eighteen children. nine lived. i got a boy here and a girl in pine bluff. my son's wife is mean to me. i don't want to stay here. if i can get my pension started, i want to live with my daughter. "i used to vote republican. they claimed it made times better for my race. i found out better. i don't vote now. wilson was good as mr. roosevelt, i think. i voted about eight years ago, i reckon. i didn't vote for mr. roosevelt. "i wish i was young and had the chance this generation has got. times is better every way for a good man unless he is unable to work like i am now. (this old man tends his garden, a large nice one--ed.) my son supports me now." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: ellen brass w. eighth street, little rock, arkansas age: about [hw: white folks want niggers] "i was born in alabama in green county. i was about four years old when i came from there; so i don't know much about it. i growed up in catahoula, louisiana. my mother's name was caroline butler and my father's name was lee butler. one of my father's brothers was named sam butler. i used to be a butler myself, but i married. my father and mother were both slaves. they never did any slave work. father free raised "my father was free raised. the white folks raised him. i don't know how he became free. all that i know is that he was raised right in the house with the white folks and was free. his mother and father were both slaves. i was quite small at the time and didn't know much. they bought us like cattle and carried us from place to place. slave houses "the slaves lived in log cabins with one room. i don't know what kind of house the white folks lived in. they, the colored folks, ate corn bread, wheat bread (they raised wheat in those times), pickled pork. they made the flour right on the plantation. george harris, a white man, was the one who brought me out of louisiana into this state. we traveled in wagons in those days. george harris owned us in louisiana. slave sales "we were sold from george harris to ben hickinbottom. they bought us then like cattle. i don't know whether it was a auction sale or a private sale. i am telling it as near as i know it, and i am telling the truth. hickinbottom brought us to catahoula parish in louisiana. did i say harris brought us? well, hickinbottom brought us to louisiana. i don't know why they went from one place to the other like that. the soldiers were bad about freeing the slaves. from catahoula parish, hickinbottom carried us to alexandria, louisiana, and in alexandria, we was set free. how freedom came "according to my remembrance the yankees come around and told the people they was free. i was in alexandria, louisiana. they told the colored folks they was free and to go and take what they wanted from the white folks. they had us all out in the yard dancing and playing. they sang the song: 'they hung jeff davis on a sour apple tree while we all go marching on.' it wasn't the white folks on the plantation that told us we was free. it was the soldiers their selves that came around and told us. we called 'em yankees. right after the war "right after the war, my folks farmed--raised cotton and corn. my mother had died before i left alabama. they claimed i was four years old when my mother died in alabama. my father died after freedom. occupation "my first occupation was farming--you know, field work. sometimes i used to work around the white people too--clean house and like that. random opinions "the white folks ain't got no reason to mistreat the colored people. they need us all the time. they don't want no food unless a nigger cooks it. they want niggers to do all their washing and ironing. they want niggers to do their sweeping and cleaning and everything around their houses. the niggers handle everything they wears and hands them everything they eat and drink. ain't nobody can get closer to a white person than a colored person. if we'd a wanted to kill 'em, they'd a all done been dead. they ain't no reason for white people mistreating colored people." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: alice bratton, wheatley, arkansas age: "i was born a few miles from martin, tennessee. mama was born in virginia. she and her sister was carried off from the witherspoon place and sold. she was betty and her sister was named addie. "their mama had died and some folks said they would raise them and then they sold them. she said they never did know who it was that carried them off in a big carriage. they brought them to nashville, tennessee and sold them under a big oak tree. they was tied with a hame string to a hitching ring. addie wanted to set down and couldn't. she said, 'betty, wouldn't our mama cry if she could see us off like this?' mama said they both cried and cried and when the man come to look at them he said he would buy them. they felt better and quit crying. he was such a kind looking young man. "they lived out from nashville a piece then. he took them home with him, on a plank across the wagon bed. he was master davy fuller. he had a young wife and a little baby. her name was mistress maude and the baby was carrie. she was proud of betty and addie. they told her their mama died. mama said she was good to them. she died the year of the surrender and master davy took them all to his mother's and his papa put them out to live with a family that worked on his place. "they went to see carrie and played with her till addie married and mama come close to martin to live with them. addie took consumption and died, then mama married frank bane and he died and i was born. "my pa was a white man. he was a bachelor, had a little store, and he overcome mama. she never did marry no more. i was her only child. i don't remember the man but mama told me how she got tripped up and nearly died and for me never to let nobody trip me up that way. i sorter recollect the store. it burned down one night. we lived around over there till i was sixteen years old. we moved to a few miles of corinth, mississippi on a farm. mr. cat madford was the manager. i got married. i married will bratton. we had a home wedding on sunday evening. it was cold and freezing and the freeze lasted over a week. will bratton was black as night. i had one little boy. after mama died will bratton went off with another woman. he come back but the place was mine. mama left it to me. i wouldn't let him stay there. i let him go on where he pleased. "times been growing slacker for a long time. people live slack. young folks coming on slacker and slacker every day. don't know how to do, don't want to know. they get by better 'en i did. i work in the field and i can't hardly get by. i see folks do nothing all the time. seem like they happy. times is hard for some, easy for some. i want to live in the country like i is 'cause i belongs there. i can work and be satisfied! i did own my home. i reckon i still do. i got a little cow and some chickens." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: frank briles cross street, little rock, arkansas age: about or [hw: gives up the ghost] "i was born right here in arkansas. my father's name was moses briles. my mother's name was judy briles. her name before she was married i don't know. they belonged to the briles. i don't know their first name either. "my father was under slavery. he chopped cotton and plowed and scraped cotton. that is where i got my part from. he would carry two rows along at once. i was little and couldn't take care of a row by myself. i was born down there along the time of the war, and my father didn't live long afterwards. he died when they was settin' them all free. he was a choppin' for the boss man and they would set them up on blocks and sell them. i don't know who the man was that did the selling, but they tell me they would sell them and buy them. "i am sick now. my head looks like it's goin' to bust open. "i have heard them tell about the pateroles. i didn't know them but i heard about them. them and the ku klux was about the same thing. neither one of them never did bother my folks. it was just like we now, nobody was 'round us and there wasn't no one to bother you at all at briles' plantation. briles' plantation i can't remember exactly where it was. it was way down in the west part of arkansas. yes, i was born way back south--east--way back. i don't know what the name of the place was but it was in arkansas. i know that. i don't know nothing about that. my father and mother came from virginia, they said. my father used to drive cattle there, my mother said. i don't know nothin' except what they told me. "i learnt a little some thing from my folks. i think of more things every time i talk to somebody. i know one thing. the woman that bossed me, she died. that was about--lord i was a little bitty of a fellow, didn't know nothin' then. she made clothes for me. she kept me in the house all the time. she was a white woman. i know when they was setting them free. i was goin' down to get a drink of water. my father said. 'stop, you'll be drowned.' and i said, 'what must i do?' and he said, 'go back and set down till i come back.' i don't know what my father was doing or where he was going. there was a man--i don't know who--he come 'round and said, 'you're all free.' my mama said, 'thank god for that. thank god for that.' that is all i know about that. "when i got old enough to work they put me in the woods splitting rails and plowing. when i grew up i scraped cotton and worked on the farm. that is where my father would come and say, 'now, son, if anybody asks you how you feel, tell them the truth.' "i went to school one session and then the man give down. he got sick and couldn't carry it no longer. his pupils were catching up with him i reckon. it was time to get sick or somethin'. "i never did marry. i was promised to marry a woman and she died. so i said, 'well, i will give up the ghost. i won't marry at all.' "i ain't able to do no work now 'cept a little pittling here and there. i get a pension. it's been cut a whole lot." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mary ann brooks james addition, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born here in arkansas. durin' the war we went to texas and stayed one year and six months. "my old master was old dr. brewster. he bought me when i was a girl eight yeers old. took me in for a debt. he had a drug store. i was a nurse girl in the house. stayed in the house all my life. "i stayed here till dr. brewster--dr. arthur brewster was his name--stayed here till he carried me to his brother-in-law dr. asa brunson. stayed there awhile, then the war started and he carrled us all to texas. "i seen some yankeee after we come back to arkansas. i wes scared of em. "i don't knew nothln' bout the war. i wasn't in it. i was livin' but we was in texas. "the ku klux got after us twice when we was goin' to texas. we had six wagons, a cart, and a carriage. old dr. brunson rode in the carriage. he'd go ahead and pilot the way. we got lost twice. when we come to red river it was up and we had to camp there three weeks till the water fell. "we took some sheep and some cows so we could kill meat on the way. i member we forded saline river. dr. brunson carried us there and stayed till he hired us out. "after the war ceasted he come after us. told as we didn't belong to him no more--said we was free as he was. yankees sent him after us. all the folks come back--all but one famlly. "i had tolerable good owners. miss fanny brewster good to me. "old master got drunk so much. come home sometimes muddy as a hog. all his chillun was girls. i nursed all the girls but one. "i was a mighty dancer when i was young--danced all night long. paddyrollers run us home from dancin' one night. "i member one song we used to sing: 'hop light lady cake was all dough-- never mind the weather, so the wind don't blow.' "how many chillun i have? les see--count em up. ida, willie, clara--had six. "some of the young folks nowadays pretty rough. some of em do right and some don't. "never did go to school. coulda went but papa died and had to go to work. "i thinks over old times sometimes by myself. didn't know what freedom was till we was free and didn't hardly know then. "well, it's been a long time. all the brewsters and the bransons dead and i'm still here--blind. been blind eight years." waters brooks pulaski street, little rock, ark. retired railroad worker, no. pac. [tr: information moved from bottom of each page.] [hw: a railroad work history] i was only three years old when peace ( ) was declared. i was born in . peace was declared in . i remember seeing plenty of men that they said the white folks never whipped. i remember seeing plenty of men that they said bought their own freedom. i remember a woman that they said fought with the overseer for a whole day and stripped him naked as the day he was born. she was nancy ward. her owner was named billie ward. he had an overseer named roper. her husband ran away from the white folks and stayed three years. he was in the bayou in a boat and the bottom dropped out of it. he climbed a tree and hollered for someone to tel his master to come and get him if he wanted him. father my father's master was john t. williams. he went into the army--the rebel army--and taken my father with him. i don't know how long my father stayed in the army but i was only months old when he died. he had some kind of stomach trouble and died a natural death. mother my mother and father both belonged to joe ward at first but ward died and his widow married williams. my mother told me and not only told me but showed me knots across her shoulder where they whipped her from seven in the morning until nine at night. she went into the smoke house to get some meat and they closed in on her and shut the door and strung her up by her hands (her arms were crossed and a rope run from her wrists to the hook in the ceiling on which meat was hung). there were three of them. one would whip until he was tired, and then the other would take it up. some years after she got that whipping, her master's child was down to the bayou playing in the water. she told the child to stop playing in the water, and it did not. instead it threw dirt into the water that had the bluing in it. then she took the child and threw it into the bayou. some way or other the child managed to scramble out. when the child's aunt herd it from the child, she questioned my mother and asked her if she did it. my mother told her "yes". then she said. "well what do you want to own it for? don't you know if they find it out they will kill you?" how freedom came my mother said that an old white man came through the quarters one morning and said that they were all free--that they could go away or stay where they were or do what they wanted to. if you will go there, i can send you to an old man eighty-six years old who was in general sherman's army. he came from mississippi. i don't know where he was a slave. but he can tell you when peace was declared aad what they said and everything. what the slaves expected the slaves were not expecting much but they were expecting more than they got. i am not telling you anything i read in history but i have heard that there was a bounty in the treasury for the ex-slaves, and them alone. and some reason or other they did not pay it off, but the time was coming when they would pay it off. and every man or woman living that was born a slave would benefit from it. they say that abraham lincoln principally was killed because he was going to pay this money to the ex-slaves end before they would permit it they killed him. old man white who lives out in the west part of town was an agent for some senator who was in washington, and he charged a dime and took your name and age and the place where you lived. ku klux klan they called the k.k.k. "white cape". right there in my neighborhood, there was a colered man who hadn't long come in. the colored man was late coming into the lot to get the mule for the white man and woman he was working for. the white man hit him. the negro knocked the white man down and was going to kill him when the white man begged him off, telling him that he wouldn't let anybody else hurt him. he (the negro) went on off and never came back. that night there were two hundred white caps looking for him but they didn't find him. another man got into an argument. they went to work and it started to rain. the negro thought that they would stop working because of the rain; so he started home. the man he was working for met him and asked him where he was going. when he told him he started to hit him with the butt end of the gun he was wearing. the negro knocked his gun up, took it away from him, and drawed down and started to kill him when another negro knocked the gun up, and saved the white man's life. but the nigger might as well have killed him because that night seventy-five masked men hunted him. he was hid away by his friends until he got a chance to get away. this man was named matthew collins. there was another case. this was a political one. the colored man wanted to run for representative of some kind. he had been stump speaking. he lived on a white man's place, and the owner came to him and told him he had better get away because a mob was coming after him (not just k.k.k.). he told his wife to go away and stay with his brother but she wouldn't. he hid himself in a trunk and his wife was under the floor with his two children. the white men fired into the house and that didn't do anything, so they throwed a ball of fire into the house and burned his wife and children. then he rose up and came out of the trunk and hollered, "look out i'm coming", and he fired a load of buck shot and tore one man nearly in two and ran away in the confusion. the next day he went to the man on whose place he lived, but he told him he couldn't do anything about it. another man by the name of bob sawyer had a farm near my home and another farm down near maginty's place. he worked the ????[tr: illegible] niggers from one farm to the other. his boy would ride in front with a rifle and he would be in the rear with a big gun swinging down from his hip. there wae one nigger who got out and went down to alexandria (louisiana). he wrote to the officers and they caught the nigger and put him into the stocks and brought him back, and the man hadn't done a thing but run away. after that they worked him with a chain holding his legs together so that he could only make short steps. they had an old white man who worked there and they treated him so mean he ran away and left his wife. they treated the poor whites about as bad as they treated the colored. if bob met a negro carrying cotton to the gin, he would ask "whose cotton is that?", and if the nigger said it was some white man's, he would let him alone. but if he said. "mine", bob would tell him to take it to some gin where he wanted it taken. he was the kind of man that if you seen him first, you wouldn't meet him. one night he slipped up on a nigger man that had left his place and killed him as he sat at supper. i had an aunt with five or six children who worker with him. he married my young mistress after i was freed. i saw him do this. the white folks had a funeral at the church down there one sunday. he came along and young billie ward (white man) was sitting in a buggy driving with his wife. when he saw billie, he jumped down out of his buggy and horse-whipped him until he ran away. all the while, sawyer's mother-in-law was sitting in his buggy calling out, "shoot him, bob, shoot him." this was because billie and another man had done some talk about bob. occupations i came to brinkley, arkansas, march , , and have been in arkansas ever since. why i came, the postmaster where i was rented farm on which i was farming. in march he put hands in my field to pick my cotton. all that was in the field was mine. i knew that i couldn't do anything about it so i left. a couple of years before that i rented five acres of land from him for three dollars as acre (verbal agreement) sowed it down in cotton. it done so well i made five bales of cotton on it. he saw the prospects were so good that he went to the man who furnished me supplies and told him that i had agreed to do my work on a third and fourth (one-third of the seed and one-fourth of the cotton to go to the owner). he get this although if he had stuck to the agreement he would not have gotten but fifteen dollars. so he dealt me a blow there, but i got over it. before this i had bought a piece of timber land in moorehouse parish (louisiana) and was expecting to get the money to finish paying for it from my cotton. the cost was $ . . so when he put hands in my field, it made me mad, and i left. (brooks would have lost most of his cotton if the hands had picked it.) at brinkley, i farmed on halves with will carter, one of the richest men in monroe county (arkansas). i done $ . worth of work for carter and he paid me for it. then he turned around and charged me up with it. when we came to settle up, we couldn't settle. so finally, he said, "figures don't lie." and i said, "no, figures don't lie but men do." when i sed that i stepped out and didn't get scared until i was half way home. but nobody did anything. he sent for me but i wouldn't go back because i knew what he was doing. after that i went to wheatley, arkansas, about five miles west of brinkley. i made a crop for goldberg. jake readus was goldberg's agent. the folks had told the white folks i wasn't no account, so i couldn't get nothing only just a little fat meat and bread, and i got as naked as a jaybird. about the last part of august, when i had done laid by and everything. jake readus came by and told me what the niggers had said and said he knowed it was a lie because i had the best crop on the place. when goldberg went to pay me off, he told dr. beauregard to come and get his money. i said. "you give me my money; i pay my own debts. you have nothing to do with it." when i said that you could have heard a pin drop. but he gave it to me. then i called the doctor and gave him his money and he receipted me. i never stayed there but one year. i moved then down to napel[tr: possibly kapel] slough on dr. west's place. i wanted to rent but dr. west wouldn't advance me anything unless he took a mortgage on my place; so i wouldn't stay there. i chartered a car and took my things back to brinkley at a cost of ten dollars. i stayed around brinkley all the winter. while i was at wheatley, there was a man by the name of will smith who married the daughter of dr. paster, druggist at brinkley. now jim smith, poor white trash, attempted to assault will thomas' daughter. negro girl. when thomas heard it, he hunted jim with a winchester. when that got out, deputy sheriff arrested will and they said that he was chained when he was brought to trial. he got away from them somehow and went to jonesboro. i took my horse and rid seven or eight miles to carry his clothes. another nigger who had promised to make a crop when he left had the blood beat out of his back because he didn't do it. the winter, i worked at the gin and black saw mills. that spring i pulls up and goes to brises. that was in the year . i made a crop with old man wiley wormley one of the biggest niggers there. i fell short. george walker furnished what i had. then i left and went back to brinkley and worked at the sawmill again. that was in . i went to jonesboro. i had just money enough to go to jonesboro, and i had a couple of dollars over. i had never been out before that; so i spent that and didn't get any work. i stayed there three days and nights and didn't get anything to eat. lived in a box car. then i went to work with the cotton belt. my boarding mistress decided to go up to fifteen dollars for board. i told her i couldn't pay her fifteen dollars for that month, but would begin next month. she wouldn't have that and got the officers to look for my money so i caught the train and went back to brinkley and worked on the railroad again from the cotton belt to the rock island. i was getting along all right and i done my job, but when the foreman wanted me to work on the roof and i told him if that was all he had for me to do he could pay me off because that was off the ground and i was fraid of falling. he said that i was a good hand and that he hated to lose me. in march, , , i came here (little rock) and at first rolled concrete in niemeyer's at $ . a day where the other men were getting from two to two and a half dollars. they quit for more wages and i had to quit with them. then i worked around till may when i was hired at the mountain shops as engine wiper for about six or eight months, then painted flues for three or four months, then was wood hauler for about thirteen or more years, then took care of the situation with shavings and oil, then stayed in wash room six or seven years until i was retired. i had control of the ice house, too. ideas about the present young people are just going back to old ante-bellum days. they are going to destruction. they got a way of their own and you can't tell them anything. they don't educate anything but their heads. the heart isn't educated and if my heart is black as my hat, can i do anything for god? the old people are not getting a square deal. some of them are being moved. schooling i did not get much schooling. between the time i was old enough to go to school and the time i went to the field, i got a little. i would go to school from july to september, and also about six weeks in january. they had public school taught by some of the people. i went to a white man once. an old white woman taught there before him. i went to a negro woman, old lady abbie lindsay. she lives here now down on state street. she is about ninety years old. i went to jube williams (white), current lewis, abbie lindsay, and a.g. mertin. they did n't paas you by grades then. i got through the fourth reader. if you got through, they would go back and carry you through again. they had the old blue back speller. i got ready for the fifth reader but i quit. i had just begun to cipher, in arithmetic, but i had to quit because they could n't spare me out of the field. in fact they put me into the field when i was eight years old, but i managed to go to school until i was about twelve years old or something like that. i never got a year's schooling all put together. my mother was a widow and had five or six children, none of them able or big enough to work but my oldest sister. she raised five of us. if i had done as she told me, i might have been a good scholar. but i played around and went off with the other children. i learnt way afterwards when i was grown how to write my name. i could work addition and i could work some in multiplication, but i couldn't work division and couldn't work subtraction. come around any time, specially on sunday afternoons. name of interviewer: velma sample subject: negro lore--the story of casie jones brown casie jones brown was a dearly loved negro servant. he was known for his loving kindness toward children, both black and white. lots of the white children would say, "casie sure is smart" because casie was a funny and witty old darkie. casie has a log house close to his master, mr. brown. they live on what is called the brown plantation. the yard had large old cedars planted all around it. they were planted almost a century ago. the plantation is about six miles from paragould, [tr: possibly baragould] arkansas, where the hills are almost mountains. there have been four generations living in the old house. they have the big sand stone fireplaces. casie has a spiritual power that makes him see and hear things. he says that sometimes he can hear sweet voices somewhere in his fireplace. in the winter time he does all of his cooking in a big black kettle with three legs on it, or a big iron skillet. and when he first settled there he did not have a stove to cook on except the fireplace. he says the singing that comes from somewhere about the fireplace is god having his angels entertain him in his lonely hours. casie is years old and has been in that settlement as long as he can remember. the little white boys and girls like to be entertained by casie. he tells them stories about the bear and peter rabbit. also he has subjects for them to ask questions about and he answers them in a clever way. he was kind enough to let me see the list and the answers. he cannot write but he has little kids to write them for him. he cannot read, but they appoint one to read for him, and he has looked at the list so much that he has it memorized. casie, what does hat mean or use hat for a subject. "de price ob your hat ain't de medjer ob your brain." coat--"ef your coat tail catch afire don't wait till you kin see de blaze 'fo' you put it out." graveyard--"de graveyard is de cheapes' boardin' house." mules--"dar's a fam'ly coolness 'twix' de mule an' de single-tree." mad--"it pesters a man dreadful when he git mad an' don' know who to cuss." crop--"buyin' on credit is robbin' next 'er's crop." christmas--"christmas without holiday is like a candle without a wick." crawfish--"de crawfish in a hurry look like he tryin' to git dar yastiddy." lean houn'--"lean houn' lead de pack when de rabbit in sight." snow flakes--"little flakes make de deepes' snow." whitewash--"knot in de plank will show froo de whitewash." yardstick--"a short yardstick is a po' thing to fight de debbul wid." cotton--"dirt sho de quickes' on de cleanes' cotton." candy--"de candy-pullin' din call louder dan de log-rollin'." apple--"de bes' apple float on de top o' 'ligion heaps de half-bushel." hoe--"de steel hoe dat laughs at de iron one is like de man dat is shamed of his grand-daddy." mule--"a mule kin tote so much goodness in his face dat he don't hab none lef' for his hind legs." walks--"some grabble walks may lead to de jail." cow bell--"de cow bell can't keep a secret." tree--"ripe apples make de tree look taller." rose--"de red rose don't brag in de dark." billy-goat--"de billy-goat gits in his hardes' licks when he looks like he gwine to back out of de fight." good luck--"tis hard for de bes' an' smartes' fokes in de wul' to git 'long widout a little tech o' good luck." blind horse--"blind horse knows when de trough empty." wagon--"de noise of de wheels don't medjer de load in de wagon." hot--"las' 'ear's hot spell cools off mighty fast." hole--"little hole in your pocket is wusser'n a big one at de knee." tim o' day--"appetite don't regerlate de time o' day." quagmire--"de quagmire don't hang out no sign." needle--"one pusson kin th'ead a needle better than two." pen--"de pint o' de pin is de easier in' to find." turnip--"de green top don't medjer de price o' de turnip." dog--"muzzle on de yard dog unlocks de smokehouse." equal to the emergency hebe: "unc isrul, mammy says, hoocume de milk so watery on top in de mornin'." patriarch: "tell you' mammy dat's de bes' sort o' milk, dat's de dew on it, de cows been layin' in de dew." hebe: "an' she tell me to ax you what meck it so blue." patriarch: "you ax your mammy what meck she so black." here are some of casie's little rhymes that he entertained the neighbor children with: look at dat possum in dat holler log. he hidin' he know dis nigger eat possum laik a hog. hear dat hoot owl in dat tree. dat old hoot owl gwine hoot right out at yew. rabbit, rabbit, do you know; i can track you in de snow. one young man lingered at the gate after a long visit, but a lots ob sweethearts do det. his lady love started to cry. he said, "dear, don't cry; i will come to see you again." but she cried on. "oh, darling don't cry so; i will come back again, i sure will." still she cried. at last he said: "love, did i not tell you that i would soon come again to see you?" and through her tears she replied: "yes, but i am afraid you will never go; that is what is the matter with me. we must all go." uncle joshua was once asked a great question. it was: "if you had to be blown up which would you choose, to be blown up on the railroad or the steamboat?" "well," said uncle joshua, "i don't want to be blowed up no way; but if i had to be blowed up i would rather be blowed up on de railroad, because, you see, if you is blowed up on de railroad, dar you is, but if you is blowed up on de steamboat, whar is you?" casie tells me of some of his superstitions: if you are the first person a cat looks at after he has licked hisself, you are going to be married. if you put a kitten under the cover of your bed and leave it until it crawls out by itself, it will never leave home. if you walk through a place where a horse wallows, you will have a headache. if a woodpecker raps on the house, someone is going to die. if an owl screeches, turn the pocket of your apron inside out, tie a knot in your apron string, and he will stop. if a rabbit runs across the road in front of you, to the left, it is a sign of bad luck; if it goes to the right, it is a sign of good luck. if you cut a child's finger nails before it is a year old, it will steal when it grows up. if you put your hand on the head of a dead man, you will never worry about him; he will never haunt you, and you will never fear death. if the pictures are not turned toward the wall after a death, some other member of the family will die. if you see a dead man in the mirror, you will be unlucky the rest of your life. name of interviewer: velma sample subject: slavery days the attack the yankees made on johnnie reaves place given by aunt elcie brown aunt elcie brown (a negro girl age nine years old) was living in the clay hills of arkansas close to centerville, and clinton in amid county on johnnie reeves place. johnnie reeves was old and had a son named henry l. reeves who was married. young reeves got the news that they were to be attacked by the yankees at a certain time and he took his family and all the best stock such as horses, cattle, and sheep to a cave in a bluff which was hid from the spy-glasses of the yankees, by woods all around it. johnnie reeves was left to be attacked by the soldiers. he was blind and almost paralyzed. he had to eat dried beef shaved real fine and the negro children fed him. they ate as much of it as he did. aunt elcie and her brother fed him most of the time. they would get on each side of him and lead him for a walk most every day. the natives thought they would bluff the soldiers and cut the bridge into and thought that the soldiers would be unable to cross beavers creek, but the yankees was prepared. they had made a long bridge for the soldiers to come marching right over. this bridge was just a mile from reeves farm. then the soldiers came they were so many that they could not all come up the big road but part of them came over the hill by the sheeps spring and through the pasture. all the negroes came out of their shacks and watched them march toward their houses. elcie and her brother got scared and ran in the house, crawled in bed and thought they were hid, as they had scrutched down in the middle of the bed with the door locked. but the soldiers bursted in and moved the bed from the corner. one stood over the bed and laughed, then asked the other man to look, then threw the covers off of them. he first took her brother by one arm and one leg and stood him on his feet, patted his head and told him not to be afraid, that they would not hurt them. then took elcie and stood her up. he reached in a bag lined with fur which was strapped on them and gave them both a stick of candy. elcie says she thinks that is why she has always liked stick candy. she also says that that day has stood out to her and she can see everything just like it was yesterday. all the negro homes were close together and the soldiers raided them in small bunches. they were kind to the negro children. wnen they started to the big house where johnnie reeves lived all the negro children followed them. when they entered the house mr. reeves was sitting by the side of the fire-place and every one that passed him kicked him brutely. they ransacked the place all over and when they got up stairs they kicked out all the window pains and tore off all the window-shutters. they took all the things they wanted out of the house, such as silver-ware, and jewelry. the smoke-house, milk-house and store-house was three separate buildings in a row. the first one they entered was the milk-house. it had seven shelves of milk, cream and butter in it. there was eleven crocks of sweet milk larger than a waterbucket. they had forty gallons of butter milk, and over three gallons of butter in a large flat crock. they also had over five gallons of cream. the yankee soldiers ate all the butter and cream and set the milk in the yard and ask the negro kids to finish the milk. they drank it like pigs without a cup, just stuck their heads down and drank like pigs. when they were full the balance of the milk was so dirty it looked like pigs had been in it. the soldiers entered the next building which was the store-room where they stored rice, flour, sugar, coffee, and such like, and they took what they wanted, then destroyed the rest. mr. reeves had just been to town and bought a hogshead of sugar and they took it out and burst it and invited the negro children to help themselves. elcie says that when the kids all got full there was not a half bushel left. the last raid was the smoke-house where stuffed sausage was hanging by the hundred and hams by the dozens. they didn't leave a thing, took lard and everything. it took over two wagons to hold everything. then they crossed over to the next place owned by bill gunley. * * * * * dr. levy tells me of his father being partial to the southerners although he lived in evansville, indiana, and fought as a yankee. he was accused of being partial and they would turn over his wagons and cause him trouble. he had fine wagons and sometimes when he would be turning his wagons back up after them being turned over to contrary him, he would curse gen. grant and call him that g.d. old tobacco spitter. although henry levy seldom did swear as he was french, sometimes they would make him mad and he would do so. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: f. h. brown hickory street, north little rock, arkansas age: [hw: builds church and school] "i was born in marion county, mississippi. columbus is the county-seat. my father's name was hazard brown, and my mother's name was willie brown. she was a rankin before she married. my mother was born in lawrence county, mississippi, and married father there. my father was born in tangipahoa parish, louisiana. i was born in three feet of the line in louisiana. i was born in the old slave quarters. the house was just across the line between mississippi and louisiana. the lower room was in louisiana and the other was in mississippi. there was a three foot hall between the rooms. it was a matter of convenience that i was born in mississippi. i might have been just as well born in louisiana. the house was in both states. "my father's master was black bill warren. black bill was just a title they give him. i think that his name was joe warren, but they nicknamed him black bill, and everybody called him that. my mother belonged to the rankinses. "my mother's mother was named dolly ware. my father's mother was named maria. their papa's father was named thomas, and i forget my mother's father's name. i know it but i forget it just now. i haven't thought over it for a long time. "my father when he died was eighty-five years old. he was treated pretty good in slavery time. he did farm work. his mars had about ninety slaves, that is, counting children and all. when i was a boy, i was in those quarters and saw them. i went back there and though it was some time afterward, taught in them. and later on, i preached in them, since i have been a preacher, of course. i have a cousin there now. he is about a hundred years old. he belongs to the methodist episcopal church. "my father lived to see freedom. he has been dead more than twelve years. he died at my home. "he was so close to the fighting that he could hear the guns and the firing. when they was freed, some white people told him, 'you are just as free as we are.' i was born after the emancipation proclamation. the proclamation was issued in september and i was born in october. it didn't become effective till january first. so i was born a slave any way you take it. "the farm my father worked on was on the pearl river. it was very fertile. it was in mississippi. a very big road runs beside the farm. the road is called the big road. the nigger quarters were across the road on the south side. "my mother's folks treated her nicely too. mr. rankins didn't have any slaves but mrs. rankins had some. her people gave them to her. my grandma who belonged to her had twenty-six children. she got her start off of the slaves her parents gave her, and finally she had about seventy-five. she ran a farm. my mother's work was house woman. she worked in the house. her mistress was good to her. the overseer couldn't whip the niggers, except in her presence, so that she could see that it wasn't brutal. she didn't allow the women to be whipped at all. when an overseer got rough, she would fire him. slaves would run away sometimes and stay in the woods if they thought that they would get a whipping for it. but she would send word for them to come on back and they wouldn't be whipped. and she would keep her word about it. the slaves on her place were treated so good that they were called free niggers by the other white people. when they were whipped, they would go to the woods. "i have heard them speak of the pateroles often. they had to get a pass and then the pateroles wouldn't bother them. they would whip you and beat you if you didn't have a pass. slavery was an awful low thing. it was a bad system. you had to get a pass to go to see your wife. if you didn't have that pass, they would whip you. the pateroles carried on their work for a good while after slavery was over, and the civil war had ended. "i was pretty good when i was a boy. so i never had any trouble then. i was right smart size when i saw the ku klux. they would whip men and women that weren't married and were living together. on the first day of january, they would whip men and boys that didn't have a job. they kept the negroes from voting. they would whip them. they put up notices, 'no niggers to come out to the polls tomorrow.' they would run them off of government land which they had homesteaded. sometimes they would just persuade them not to vote. a negro like my father, they would say to him, 'now, brown, you are too good to get messed up. them other niggers 'round here ain't worth nothing, but you are, and we don't want to see you get hurt. so you stay 'way from the polls tomorrow.' and tomorrow, my father would stay away, under the circumstances. they had to depend on the white people for counsel. they didn't know what to do themselves. the other niggers they would threaten them and tell them if they came out they would kill them. "right after the war, we farmed on shares. when we made our last share-crop, father farmed on senator bilbo's mother's farm on the state line. i nursed senator bilbo when he was a baby. theoda bilbo. he is the one who says negroes should be sent to africa. then there wouldn't be nobody here to raise people like him. he fell into the mill pond one day and i pulled him out and kept him from drowning. if it weren't for that, he wouldn't be here to say, 'send all the negroes to africa.' if i'd see him right now, he'd give me ten dollars. "mrs. bilbo's first husband was a crane. he killed himself. he didn't intend to. it was in a horse race. the horse ran away with him and killed him. then theoda's father married her. he was a poor man. he married that widow and got up in the world. they had a gin mill, and a grist mill, and a sawmill. they got business from everybody. that was theoda's daddy--old man bilbo. "in , we stayed on elisha mcghee's farm. we called him elisha but his name was elijah. i began to remember them. the next year, we farmed for old man william bilbo. but we didn't get along so well there because daddy wouldn't let anybody beat him out of anything that was his. that was theoda's gran'daddy. then we went to (mississippi) miss crane's. the next year she married theoda bilbo's daddy and in , my daddy moved up on his own place at hurricane creek. there he built a church and built a school, and i went to the school on our own place. he stayed there till . in , we moved to holly springs. that was right after the yellow fever epidemic. i went to school there at shaw university. i stayed in that school a good while. it's called rust college now. it's named after the secretary of the freedman's aid society. rust was the greatest donor and they named the school after him. i went to the state school in my last year because they would give you a lifetime certificate when you finished there. i mean a lifetime teaching certificate for mississippi. i finished the course and got the certificate. there is the diploma up there on the wall. j.h. henderson was the principal and he was one of my teachers too. henderson was a wonderful man. you know he died out here in the county hospital sometime ago. sometime i'll tell you all about him. he was a remarkable man. he taught there behind highgate, a northern man. i'll tell you all about him sometime. "i farmed with my father in the early part of my life. when i went to holly springs in , i worked for dr. t.j. malone, a banker there, and a big farmer--president of the holly springs bank. i worked for him mornings and evenings and slept at home of nights. i would work in vacation times too at whatever i could find to do till i got about able to teach. when i first commenced to teach, i taught in several counties--lincoln, simpson, pike, marion (the place i went to school), and copiah. i built the school at lawrence county. i organized the folsom high school there. it was named after president cleveland's wife. i taught there nine years. i married there. my wife's name was narcissa davis. she was a teacher and graduated from the same school i did. she lived in calhoun county. she died in , in conway. "i taught school at conway in faulkner county, and joined the ministry as a local preacher, in . i moved from there to white county and taught in searcy one term. taught at beebe ten years. married again in --annie day. i taught at beebe and lived in white county. then i bought me a home at higginson, and went into the ministry solely. i left higginson and taught and pastored seven years at des arc. i know practically everybody in des arc. i was thinking today about writing brick williams. he is the son of old man williams, the one you know i think. then i come to what is called sixteen section three miles from galloway and taught there seven years and pastored. i presided too as elder some of those years--north little rock district. then i went back and pastored there and taught at west point, arkansas four years. then i pastored at prescott and was on the magnolia district as presiding elder two years. then i presided over the north little rock district again. pastored st. luke circuit in southwest part of arkansas below washington. then i built a church at jonesboro. i pastored twenty-nine years altogether, built five churches, and have been responsible for five hundred conversions. "i think the prospects of the country and the race are good. i don't see much dark days ahead. it is just a new era. you are doing something right now i never saw done before in my life. even when they had the census, i didn't see any colored people taking it. "i don't get any assistance in the form of money from the government. i have been trying to get it but i can't. looks like they cut off a lot of them and can't reach it. won't let me teach school. say i am too old for wpa teaching. superannuate me in the church, and say i'm too old to preach, and still i haven't gotten anything from my church since last january. i get some commodities from the state. i belong to the c.m.e. church. i have lived in this community twenty-five years." interviewer's comment hanging on the wall was the old man's diploma from the mississippi state normal school for colored persons. it was dated may , , and it bore the signatures of j.r. preston, state superintendent; e.d. miller, county superintendent (both members of the board of directors); j.h. henderson, principal; narcissa hill and maria rabb, faculty members. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: george brown route ; box , pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm, i was born in slavery times. i was born in . how old does that leave me? "no ma'am, i wasn't born in arkansas, born in alabama. "jim hart was my white folks. good to me? i'd rather let that alone. plenty to eat? i'll have to let that alone too. i used to say my old missis was 'hell a mile.' her name was sarah. she was a williams but she married jim hart. they had about a hundred and seventy head, little and big together. "me? i was a servant at the house. i didn't do any field work till after surrender. "some women was pretty mean and old miss was one of 'em. "you'll get the truth now--i ain't told you half. "we lived in marengo county. the tombigbee river divided it and sumter county. the war didn't get down that far. it just got as far as mobile. "oh yes'm, i knowed they was a war gwine on. i'd be waitin' on the table and i'd hear the white folks talkin'. i couldn't keep all i heard. "i know i heard 'em say general grant went up in a balloon and counted all the horses and mules they had in vicksburg. "i seen them gunboats gwine down the tombigbee river. and i seen a string of cotton bales as long as from here to there floatin' down the river to mobile. i reckon they was gettin' it away from the yankees. you see we was a hundred and fifty miles north of mobile. "i wish you'd a caught me with my mind runnin' that way. i could open your eyes. "they had a overseer named sothern. one sunday my mammy slipped off and went to church. some of 'em told sothern and he told miss sarah. and she had mammy called out and they had a strop 'bout as wide as any hand and had holes in it, and they started whippin' her. i was runnin' around there with my shirt tail full of bricks and i was chunkin' 'em at that overseer. he would a caught me and whipped me too but tom kelly--that was old miss' son-in-law--said, 'a calf loves the cow,' so he wouldn't let old miss whip me. "i come away from alabama in ' . i lived in tallulah, louisiana eight years and the rest of the time i been here in arkansas. "i've farmed most of the time. i owned one farm, forty-nine acres, but my boy got into trouble and i had to sell it. "then i've been a engineer in sawmills and at gins. i used to be a round man--i could work any place. "me? vote? no, i never did believe in votin'. i couldn't see no sense in it. they was mobbin' and killin' too much for george brown. i was a preacher--baptist. i was a ordained preacher. i could marry 'em. oh lord, i ain't preached in a long time. i got so i couldn't stand on my feet. "i been in the church of god sixty-one years. never been in any lawsuit or anything like that in my life. i always tried to keep out of trouble. "i 'member one time i come nearest to gettin' drowned in the tombigbee river. we boys was in washin' and we got to divin' and i div where it was too deep. when i come up, look like a world of water. a boy in a skiff come and broke right to me. i reckon i was unconscious, i didn't know what. but them boys wasn't unconscious. "i think the younger generation is mighty bad. there's some exceptions but the general run is bad. i've seen the time you could go to a white man and he would help you but these young white folks, they turn from you." interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: j.n. brown west th ave. pine bluff, ark. age: occupation: sells peanuts from wagon "yes'm, i was livin' in slavery times--musta been--i was born in , near natchez, mississippi--in town. "old daniel virdin was my first master. i can halfway remember him. oh lord, i remember that shootin'. used to clap my hands--called it foolishness. we kids didn't know no better. "i was in camden, arkansas when we was freed. colored folks in them days was sold and run. my father was in camden when we got free--he was sold. my mother was sold too. "i heared em say they had a good master and mistis. man what bought em was named brown. they runned us to texas durin' the war and then come back here to camden. "i never went to school. i was the oldest chile my father had out a sixteen and i had to work. we had a kinda hard time. i stayed in camden till i was eighteen and then i runned off from my folks and went to texas. times was so tight in arkansas, and a cattleman come there and said they'd give me twenty-five dollars a month in texas. i thought that would beat just something to eat. i been workin' for the white folks and just gettin' a little grub and not makin' any money. "in texas i worked for some good white folks. john worth bennet was the man who owned the ranch. i stayed there seven years and saved my money. i was just nacherly a good nigger. that was in hopkins county, texas. "i've got a good memory. that's all i got to study bout is how to take care of the situation. i was livin' there in that country in , fore the spanish-american war. "i come back here to arkansas in . my father was named nelson brown. he preached. my mother's name was sally brown. "long in that time we tried to vote but we didn't know 'zactly what we was doin. i think i voted once or twice, but if a man can't read or write and have to have somebody make out his ticket, he don't know what he's votin', so i just quit tryin' to vote. "now about this younger generation, you've asked me a question it's hard for me to answer. with all these nineteenth century niggers, the more education they got, the bigger crooks they is. "we colored people are livin' under the law, but we don't make no laws. you take a one-armed man and he can't do what a two-armed man can. the colored man in the south is a one-armed man, but of course the colored man can't get along without the white folks. but i've lived in this world long enough to know what the cause is--i know why the colored man is a one-armed man." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: lewis brown oak street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm my name is brown--lewis brown. yes'm i lived durin' slavery times. i was born in . "i been workin' this mornin'. i been diggin' up the ground to bed up some onions. no i don't work every day. sometimes i feel ailin'--don't feel like doin' nothin'. "i wasn't big enough to 'member 'bout the war. all i 'member is seein' the soldiers retirin' from the war. they come by my old master's plantation. the yankees was in front--they was the horsebackers. then come the wagons and then the southern soldiers comin' along in droves. "i was born in arkansas. my mother and father belonged to dr. jordan. he was the biggest slaveholder in arkansas. he was called the 'nigger ruler'. if the overseer couldn't make a slave behave, the old doctor went out with a gun and shot him. when the slaves on other plantations couldn't be ruled, they was sold to dr. jordan and he ruled 'em or killed 'em. "i don't 'member much else 'bout my old master but i 'member my old mistress. the last crop she made before freedom, she had two plantations with overseers on 'em and on one plantation they didn't 'low no kind a slave 'cept south carlinans. but on the other plantation the slaves come from different places. "after the war we went to texas and i 'member my old mistress come down there to get her old colored folks to come back to arkansas. lots of 'em went back with her. she called herself givin' 'em a home. i don't know what she paid--i never heard a breath of that but she hoped 'em to get back. i didn't go--i stayed in texas and growed up and married there and then come back to arkansas in . "oh yes'm--the ku klux was plentiful after peace. they went about robbin' people. "some of the colored folks thought they was better off when they was slaves. they was the ones that had good masters. some of the masters didn't 'low the overseers to 'buke the slaves and some wouldn't have overseers. "i never did vote for no president, just for home officers. i don't know what to say 'bout not letting the colored folks vote now. they have to pay taxes and 'spenses and i think they ought to have something to say 'bout things. "'how did you lose your arm?' it was shot off. i got into a argument with a fellow what owed me twenty-four dollars. he decided to pay me off that way. that was when i was 'bout seventy. he's dead now. "i think the people is more wickeder now. the devil got more chances than he used to have and the people can't do right if they want to." name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: humorous tales of slavery days "i was born in and 'co'se i wasn't big enough to work much in slavery times, but one thing i did do and that was to tote watermelons for the overseer and pile 'em on the porch. "i 'member he said if we dropped one and broke it, we'd have to stop right there and eat the whole thing. i know i broke one on purpose so i could eat it and i 'member he made me scrape the rind and drink the juice. i know i eat till i was tired of that watermelon. "and then there was a lake old master told us to stay out of. if he caught you in it, he'd take you by the shirt collar and your heels and throw you back in. "i know he nearly drowned me once." this information given by: lewis brown place of residence: w. eighth, pine bluff, arkansas occupation: retired minister age: name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: child rearing customs of early days "in them days, folks raised one another's chillun. if a child was at your house and misbehaved, you whipped him and sent him home and his mother give him another whippin'. "and you better _not 'spute_ your parents!" this information given by: lewis brown place of residence: w. eighth. pine bluff. arkansas occupation: none, retired minister age: circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave . name and address of informant--lewis brown, pulaski street, little rock . date and time of interview-- . place of interview-- pulaski street, little hock, arkansas . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant-- . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you-- . description of room, house, surroundings, etc.-- personal history of informant state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date-december, subject-ex-slave name and address of informant--lewis brown, pulaski street, little rock. . ancestry--father, lewis bronson; mother, millie bronson. . place and date of birth--born april , in kemper county, mississippi. . family--five children. . places lived in, with dates--lived in mississippi until the eighties, then moved to helena, arkansas. moved from helena to little rock. . education, with dates-- . occupations and accomplishments, with dates--farming. . special skills and interests-- . community and religious activities--belongs to baptist church. . description of informant-- . other points gained in interview--facts concerning child life, status of colored girls, patrollers, marriage and sex relationships, churches and amusements. text of interview (unedited) state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave name and address of informant--lewis brown, pulaski street, little rock. "i was born in , april , in kemper county, mississippi, close to meridian. i drove gin wagons in the time of the war in a horse-power gin. i carried matches and candles down to weigh cotton with in slavery times. "they had to pick cotton till dark. they had to tote their weight hundred pounds, two pounds, whatever it was down to the weighing place and they had to weigh it. whatever you lacked of having your weight, you would get a lick for. on down till they called us out for the war, that was the way it was. they were goin' to give my brother fifty lashes but they come and took him to the army, and they didn't git to whip him. "my father was lewis bronson. he come from south carolina. my mother was stole. the speculators stole her and they brought her to kemper county, mississippi, and sold her. my mother's name was millie. my father's owner was elijah mccoy. old elijah mccoy was the owner, but they didn't take his name. they went back to the old standard mark after the surrender. they went back to the people where they come from, and they changed their names--they changed off of them old names. mccoys was my masters, but my father went back to the name of the people way back over in there in south carolina, where he come from. i don't know nothin' bout them. he was the father of nine children. he had two wives. one of them he had nine by, and the other one he had none by. so he went back to the one he had the nine children by. early life "i was ten years old when war was ended. i had to carry matches and candles to the cotton pickers. it would be too dark for them to weigh up. they couldn't see. they had tasks and they would be picking till late to git their tasks done. matches and candles come from the big house, and i had to bring it down to them. that was two years before the war. "i wasn't big enough to do nothing else, only drive to the gin. i drove horse-power to the gin.--drove mules to the gin. i would drive the cows out to the pasture too. the milk women would milk them. lawd, i could not do no milking. i was too small. the milk women would milk them and i would drive the cows one way and the calves another so that they couldn't mix. and at night i would go git them and they would milk them again. the milk women milked them. what would i know bout milkin. "i never did any playin', 'cept plain marbles and goin' in swimmin'. schooling "the white girls and boys learned us our a-b-c's after the war. they had a free school in kemper county there. my children i learnt them myself or had it done. you couldn't hardly ever find one in kemper country that could spell and go on. they didn't have no time for that. some few of them learned their a-b-c's before the war. but that is all. they learned what they learned after the war in the free government schools mostly. they would not do nothin' to you if they caught you learnin' in slave time. sometimes the white children would teach you your a-b-c's. status of colored girls "they had mighty mean ways in that country. they would catch young colored girls and whip them and make them do what they wanted. there wasn't but one mean one on our place. he was ordered to go to war and he didn't; so they pressed him. he was the one that promised my brother a whipping. he left like this morning and come back a week from today dead. the rest of them was pretty good. the mean one was elijah. master's sons "old man mccoy had four sons; elijah, that was the mean one, redder, nelson, clay. patrollers "sometimes the pateroles would do the devil with you if they caught you out without a pass. you could go anywhere you pleased if you had a pass. but if you didn't have a pass, they'd give you the devil. marriage and sex relationships "you could have one wife over here and another one over there if you wanted to. my daddy had two women. and he quit the one that didn't have no children. people weren't no more 'n dogs them days,--weren't as much as dogs. mother and father's work "in slavery time, my father worked at the field. plowed and hoed and made cotton and corn--what else was he goin' to do. my mother was a cook. sustenance "my master fed us and clothed us and give us something to eat. some of them was hell a mile. some of them was all kinds of ways. our people was good. one of them was mean. father's brother "my father's brother belonged to elijah. i had an auntie over in there too. i don't know what become of them all. they were all in kemper county, mississippi. churches "the white people had churches in slavery times just like they have now. the white people would have service one a month. but like these street cars. white people would be at the front and colored would fill up back. they'll quit that after a while. sometimes they would have church in the morning for the white folks and church in the evening for the colored. they would baptize you just like they would anybody else. "i'll tell you what was done in slave time. they'd sing and pray. the white folks would take you to the creek and baptize you like anybody else. "sometimes the slaves would be off and have prayer meetings of their own--nothing but colored people there. they soon got out uh that. "sometimes they would turn a tub or pot down. that would be when they were making a lot of fuss and didn't want to bother nobody. the white people wouldn't be against the meeting. but they wouldn't want to be disturbed. if you wanted to sing at night and didn't want nobody to hear it, you could just take an old wash pot and turn it down--leave a little space for the air, and nobody could hear it. amusement "the grown folks didn't have much amusement in slavery times. they had banjo, fiddle, melodian, and things like that. there wasn't no baseball in those days. i never seed none. they could dance all they wanted to their way. they danced the dotillions and the waltzes and breakdown steps, all such as that. pick banjo! u-umph! they would give corn huskins; they would go and shuck corn and shuck so much. get through shucking, they would give you dinner. sometimes big rich white people would give dances out in the yard and look at their way of dancing, and doing. violin players would be colored. "have cotton picking too sometimes at night, moonshiney nights. that's when they'd give the cotton pickings. say you didn't have many hands, then they'd go and send you one hand from this place and one from that place. and so on. your friends would do all that for you. between 'em they'd git up a big bunch of hands. then they'd give the cotton picking, and git your field clared up. they'd give you something to eat and whiskey to drink. how freedom came "notice was given to my father that he was free. white people in that country give it to him. i don't know what they said to my father. then the last gun was fired. i don't know where peace was declared. notice come how that everybody was free. told my daddy, 'you're just as free as i am.' some went back to their daddy's name. some went back to their master's name. my daddy went back to his old master's name. right after the war "first year after the war, they planted a crop. didn't raise no cotton during the war, from the time the war started till it ended, they didn't raise no cotton. "after the war, they give the colored people corn and cotton, one-third and one-fourth. they would haul a load of it up during the war i mean, during the time before the war, and give it to the colored people. "they had two crops. no cotton in the time of the war, nothing but corn and peas and potatoes and so on. all that went to the white people. but they divided it. they give all so much round. had a bin for the white and a bin for the colored. the next year they commenced with the third and fourth business--third of the cotton and fourth of the corn. you could have all the peanuts you wanted. you could sell your corn but they would only give you fifty cents for it--fifty cents a bushel. "my father farmed and sharecropped for a while after the war. he changed from his master's place the second year and went on another place. he farmed all his life. he raised all his children and got wore out and pore. he died in kemper county, mississippi. all his children and everything was raised there. life since the war "i came to arkansas in the eighties. come to helena. i did carpenter and farm work in helena. i made three crops, one for phil maddox, two with miss hobbs. i come from helena here. "i married in mississippi in roland forks, sixty miles this side of vicksburg. i had two boys and three girls. two girls died in helena. one died in roland forks before i come to helena. nary one of the boys didn't die. "i don't do no work now. this rheumatism's got me down. i call that age. if i could work, i couldn't git nothing worth while. these niggers here won't pay you nothing they promise you. my boy's got me to feed as long as i live now. i did a batch of work for the colored people round here in the spring of the year and i ain't got no money for it yit. "i belong to the mount zion baptist church; i reckon i do. i got down sick so i couldn't go and i don't know whether they turned me out or no. i tell you, people don't care nothin about you when you get old or stricken down. they pretend they do, but they don't. my mind is good and i got just as much ambition as i ever had. but i don't have the strength. "i haven't got but a few more days to lag round in this world. when you get old and stricken, nobody cares, children nor nobody else." interviewer: miss bailie c. miller person interviewed: mag brown, clarksville, arkansas age: "i was born in north carolina and come south with my white folks. they was trying to git out of the war and run right into it. my mother died when i was a baby. i don't remember my mother no more than you do. i left my white folks. when i was years old, we lived out in the country. they was willing to keep me but after the war they was so poor. the girls told me if i could come to town and find work i had better do it. two of them come nearly to town with me. they told me i was free to come to town and live with the colored folks. i didn't know what it meant to be free. i was just as free as i wanted to be with my white folks. when i got to town i stayed with your aunt awhile then she sent me down to stay with your grandma. a white girl who lived with them, like one of the family, learned me how to cook and iron. i knew how to wash. "i don't know anything about the present generation. i ain't been able to git out for the last year or two. i think i broke my foot, for i had to go on crutches a long time. "the white folks always sung but i don't know what they sung. i didn't pay no tention to it then." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mary brown, clarendon, arkansas age: born in "mama was born in slavery but never sold. grandma and her husband was sold and brung eleven children to crystal springs. they was sold to mr. munkilwell. i was born there. grandma was born in virginia. her back was cut all to pieces where she had been beat by her master. both of them was whooped. he was a hostler and blacksmith. "when grandma was a young woman she didn't have no children, so her master thought sure she was barren. he sold her to taylors. here come 'long eleven children. taylor sold them. after freedom she had another. he was her onliest boy. that was so funny to hear her tell it. i never could forgit it long as i ever know a thing. grandma's baby child was seventy-four years old, 'cepting that boy what was a stole child. she died not long ago at carpendale, mississippi. i got the letter two weeks ago. but she had been dead a while 'fore they writ to me. her name was aunt miny. she didn't have no children. "grandma said the first time she was sold--the first day of july--they put her in a trader yard in virginia. she was crying and says, 'take me back to my mama.' an old woman said, 'you are up to be sold.' "aunt helen, her sister, was taking her husband something in the field. they fooled her away from her five little children. grandma said she never was seen no more. she was much older than grandma. grandma stayed with her slavery husband till he died. "since freedom some people tried to steal my mama. she was a fast runner and could dance. they wanted to make money out of her. they would bet on her races. at lernet school they took about thirty-six children off in wagons. never could get trace of them. never seen nor heard of a one of them again. that was in this state at lernet school years ago but since freedom. "i was born during the war soon after master munkilwell took mama over. he didn't ever buy her. mama died young but grandma lived to be over a hundred years old. she told me all i know about real olden times. "i just looks on in 'mazement at this young generation. they is happy all right. times not hard for them glib and well as they seems. times have changed a sight since i was born in this world and still changing. sometimes it seems like they are all right. ag'in times is tough on old folks like me. this is all in the bible--about the times and folks changing." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mattie brown. helena. arkansas age: "i heard mother say time and ag'in i was a year and two months old the year of the surrender. i was born in montgomery, alabama. mother was a milker and a house woman. father died when i was a baby. mother never married. there was three of us to raise. i'm the youngest. "sister was the regular little nurse girl for mother's mistress. i don't recollect her name. the baby was sickly and fretful. my sister set and rocked that baby all night long in a homemade cradle. mother said she'd nod and go on. mother thought she was too young to have to do that way. mother stole her away the first year of the civil war and let her go with some acquaintances of hers. they was colored folks. mother said she had good owners. they was so good it didn't seem like slavery. the plantation belong to the woman. he was a preacher. he rode a circuit and was gone. they had a colored overseer or foreman like. she wanted a overseer just to be said she had one but he never agreed to it. he was a good man. "mother said over in sight on a joining farm the overseers whooped somebody every day and more than that sometimes. she said some of the white men overseers was cruel. "mother quilted for people and washed and ironed to raise us. after freedom mother sent for my sister. i don't recollect this but mother said when she heard of freedom she took me in her arms and left. the first i can recollect she was cooking for soldiers at the camps at montgomery, alabama. they had several cooks. we lived in our own house and mother washed and ironed for them some too. they paid her well for her work. "i recollect some of the good eating. we had big white rice and big soda crackers and the best meat i ever et. it was pickled pork. it was preserved in brine and shipped to the soldiers in hogheads (barrels). we lived there till mother died and i can recollect that much. when mother died we had a hard time. i look back now and don't see how we made it through. we washed and ironed mostly and had a mighty little bit to eat and nearly nothing to wear. it was hard times for us three children. i was the baby child. my brother hired out when he could. we stuck together till we all married off." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: molly brown age: or over brinkley, ark. one morning early i (irene robertson) got off the bus and started up main street. i hadn't gone far before i noticed a small form of a woman. she wore men's heavy shoes, an old dark dress and a large fringed woolen shawl; the fringe was well gone and the shawl, once black, was now brown with age. i passed her and looked back into her face. i saw she was a negro, dark brown. her face was small with unusually nice features for a woman of her race. she carried a slick, knotted, heavy walking stick--a very nice-looking one. on the other arm was a rectangular split basket with wires run through for a handle and wrapped with a dirty white rag to keep the wire from cutting into her hand or arm. i stopped and said, "auntie, could you direct me to molly brown's house?" "i'm her," she replied. "well, i want to go home with you." "what you want to go out there for?" "i want you to tell me about times when you were a girl," i said. "i'm not going home yet. i got to get somethin' for dinner." "well, you go ahead and i'll follow along." "very well," she said. i window shopped outside, and i noticed she had a box of candy, but it was a ¢ box and had been opened, so i thought it may be nearly anything just put in the box. the next store she went into was a nice-looking meat market and grocery combined, i followed in behind her. a nice-looking middle-aged man gave her a bundle that was large enough to hold a ¢ meat roast. it was neatly tied, and the wrapping paper was white, i observed. she thanked him. she turned to me and said, "give me a nickel." i said, "i don't have one." then i said teasingly, "why you think i have a nickel?" she said, "you look like it." i opened my purse and gave her a dime. she went over to the bread and picked up a loaf or two, feeling it. the same man said, "let that alone." the old woman slowly went on out. i was amazed at his scolding. then he said to me, "she begs up and down this street every day, cold or hot, rain or shine, and i have to watch her from the time she enters that door till she leaves. i give her scrap meat," he added. "how old is she?" "she was about fifty years old sixty years ago when she came to brinkley. she is close to a hundred years. people say she has been here since soon after the town started." he remarked, "she won't spend that dime you gave her." "well, i will go tell her what to buy with it," i replied. i hurried out lest i loose her. she had gained time on me and was crossing the cotton belt ry. tracks. i caught up with her before she went into a small country grocery store on # highway. she had passed several negro stores, restaurants, etc, "i want a nickel's worth of meal, please, sir." i said, "auntie, buy a dime's worth of meal." "i don't want but a nickel's worth." the man handed it to her to put in the basket. "give me a piece candy." the merchant gave her a nice hard stick. she broke it half in to and offered me a piece. i said, "no, thank you, auntie." she really wanted me to have it, but i refused it. she blowed her nose on her soiled old white underskirt. she wormed and went on out. i asked the merchant "how old is she?" "bless her heart, i expect she is ninety years old or more. i give her some hard candy every time she comes in here. i give her a lot of things. she spends her money with me." then i asked if she drew an old age pension. he said, "i think she does, but that is about ¢ and it runs out before she gets another one. she begs a great deal." i lagged behind. the way she made her way across the broadway of america made me scringe. i crossed and caught up with her as she turned off to a path between a garage and blacksmith shop. i said, "auntie, let me take your basket." she refused me. i said, "may i carry your meal or your meat?" "i don't know you." she said shortly. a jolly man at the side of the garage heard me. i said, "i'm all right, am i not" to the man. he said, "aunt molly, let her help you home. she is all right. i'm sure." i followed the path ahead of her. when we turned off across a grassy mesa the old woman said, "here," and handed over her basket. i carried it. when we got to her house across a section of hay land at least a mile from town, she said, "push that door open and go to the fire." an old negro man, not her husband and no relation, got a very respectable rocking chair for me. he had a good fire in the fireplace. the old woman sat on a tall footstool. she was so cold. she said, "bring me some water, please." a young yellow boy stepped out and gave her a cup of water. she drank it all. she put the meat bones and scrap meat on the coals in an iron pot in some water. she had the boy scald the meal, sprinkle salt in it and add a little cold water to it. he put it in an iron pan and put a heavy iron lid over it. the kettle was iron. the boy set it aside and put the bread on hot embers. she sat down and said, "i'm hungry." i said, "auntie, what have you in that box?" she reached to her basket, untied some coins from the corner of the soiled rag--three pennies and a nickel. she untied her ragged hose--she wore two pairs--tied above the knee with a string, and slipped the money to the foot and in her heavy shoes. it looked safe. then the old negro man came in with an armfull of scrub wood and placed it by the fireplace on the floor. he said, "the government sent me here to live and take care of aunt molly. she been sick. i build her fires, and me and that boy wait on her." i asked, "is the boy kin". he said, "no'm, she's all alone." he went away and the boy went away. the old woman called them and offered them candy. she had twelve hard pieces of whitish, stale chocolate candy in the box. the boy refused and went away, but the old man took three pieces. i observed it well, when she passed it to me, for worms. i refused it. it seemed free from bugs though. she ate greedily and the old man went away. we were alone and she was warm. she talked freely till the old negro man returned at one o'clock for dinner. notwithstanding the fact the meal hadn't been sifted and the meat not washed, it looked so brown and nice in two pones and the meat smelled so good i left hurriedly before i weakened, for i was getting hungry from the aroma. "i was born at edgefield county, south carolina, and lived there till after i married." "did you have a wedding?" "i sure did." "tell me about it." "i married at home, at night, had a supper, had a nice dance." "you did?" "i did." "did a colored man marry you?" "colored preacher--jim woods." "did he say the ceremony?" "he read it out of a little book." "did you have a nice supper?" "course i did! white folks helped fix my weddin' supper. had turkey, chickens, baked shoat, pies and cake--a table piled up full. mama helped cook it. it was all cooked on fireplace. "how were you dressed?" "dressed like folks dressed to marry." "how was that?" "i wore three or four starched underskirts trimmed in ruffles and a white dress over em. i wore a long lacy vail of net." "did you go away?" "i lived close to my ma and always lived close bout her. i was called a first class lady then." "you were." "my parents name tempy harris and albert harris. she was a cook. he was a farmer. they had five children. the reason i come to arkansas was cause brother albert and caroline come here and kept writin' for us to come. my folks belong to the harrises. i don't know nothin' bout em--been too long--and i never fooled round their houses. some my folks belong to the joneses. they kinfolks of the harrises. "no, i never saw no one sold nor hung neither. "remember grandpa. his daddy was a white man. his wife was a black woman. mama was a brown woman like i is. "i ain't had narry child. my mother died here in this house. way me an my husband paid for the house, he farmed for jim black and mr. gunn. i cooked for jim woodfin. then i run a roomin' house till four years ago. four years ago i went to south carolina to see my auntie. her name julia. they all had more 'n i had. she'd dead now. all of em dead bout it. she was a light woman--julia. her pa was a white man; her ma a light woman. julia considered wealthy. "i don't know nothin' bout freedom. i seen the soldiers. i seen both kinds. the white folks was good to us. we stayed on. then we went to albany, georgia. we lived there a long time--lived in florida a long time, then come here. "the joneses and harrises had two or three families all i know. they didn't have no big sight of land. they was good to us. i picked up chips, put em in the boxes. picked em up in my dress, course; i fetched up water. we had rocked wells and springs, too. we lived with man named holman in georgia. we farmed. i used to be called a smart woman, till i done got not able. my grandpa was a white man; mama's pa. "what i been doin' from - ? what ain't i done! farmin', i told you. buildin' fences was common. feedin' hogs, milkin' cows, churnin'. we raised hogs and cows and kept somethin' to eat at home. i knit sox. i spin. i never weaved. folks wore clothes then. they don't wear none now. pieced quilts. could i sew? course i did! got a machine there now. (pointed to an old one.) "i never seen no ku klux. i hid if they was about. i sure did hear bout em. they didn't never come on our place. "i told you i never knowed when freedom come on. "i went to school in south carolina. i went a little four or five years. i could read, spell, cipher on a slate. course i learned to write. course i got whoopins; got a heap o' whoopins. people tended to childern then. what kind books did we have? i read and spelled out of the blue back speller. we had numbers on our slates. the teacher set us copies. we wrote with soapstone. some teachers white and some colored. "well, course i got a bible. (disgusted at the question). i go to church and preachin' every sunday. yes. ma'am, now. "i don't study votin'. i don't vote. (disgusted). i reckon my husband and pa did vote. i ain't voted. "course i go to town. i go to keep from gettin' hungry. "me and this old man get demodities and i get some money. "i told you i don't bother young folks business. i thought i told you i don't. if i young i could raise somethin' at home that the reason i go hungry. i give down. i know i do get hungry. "one thing i didn't tell you. i made tallow candles when i was a young woman. "i don't know nothin' bout that civil war." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: peter brown. helena, arkansas age: "i was born on the woodlawn place. it was owned by david and ann hunt. i was born a slave boy. master hunt had two sons and one girl. bigy and dunbar was the boys' names. annie was the girl's name. "my parents' names was jane and william brown. papa said he was a little shirt tail boy when the stars fell. grandma sofa and grandpa peter bane lived on the same place. i'm named after him. my papa come from tennessee to mississippi. i never heard ma say where she come from. "my remembrance of slavery is not at tall favorable. i heard the master and overseers whooping the slaves b'fore day. they had stakes fixed in the ground and tied them down on their stomachs stretched out and they beat them with a bull whoop (cowhide woven). they would break the blisters on them with white oak paddles that had holes in it so it would suck. they be saying, 'oh pray, master.' he'd say, 'better pray fer yourself.' i heard that going on when i was a child morning after morning. i wasn't big enough to go to the field. i didn't have a hard time then. ma had to work when she wasn't able. pa stole her out and one night a small panther smelled them and come on a log up over where they slept in a canebrake. pa killed it with a bowie knife. ma had a baby out there in the canebrake. pa had stole her out. they went back and they never made her work no more. she was a fast breeder; she had three sets of twins. they told him if he would stay out of the woods they wouldn't make her work no more, take care of her children. they prized fast breeders. they would come to see her and bring her things then. she had ten children, three pairs of twins. jonas and sofa, peter and alice, isaac and jacob. "when i was fifteen years old, mother said, 'peter, you are fifteen years old today; you was born march , .' she told me that two or three times and i kept up wid it. i am glad i did; she died right after that. "ma and pa et dinner, well as could be. took cholera, was dead at twelve o'clock that night. it was on monday. ike and jake took it. they got over it. i waited on the little things. one of them said, 'peter, i'm hungry.' i broiled some meat, made a ash cake and put the meat in where i split the ash cake. he et it and went to sleep. he started mending. sister come and got the children and took them to lake providence. i fell in the hands then of some cruel people. they had a doctor named dr. coleman come to see ma and pa. he said, 'don't eat no fruit, no vegetables.' he said, 'eat meat and bread.' i et green plums and peaches like a boy fifteen years old then would do. i never did have cholera. a boy fifteen years old didn't know as much as boys do now that age. the master died b'fore the cholera disease come on. we had moved from the hill place to a place in the bottoms. it was on the same place. none of his family hod cholera but neighbors had it. we buried ma and pa on the neighbor's place. we had kin folks on the harris place. while we was at the graveyard word come to dig two or three more graves. "master's house was set on fire, the smokehouse emptied, the gin burned and the cotton. the mules was drove out of the lot. that turned me ag'in' the yankees. we helped raise that meat they stole. they left us to starve and fed their fat selves on what was our living. i do not believe in parts of slavery. that whooping was cruel, but i know that the white man helped the slave in ways. the slaves was worked too hard. men was no better than they are now. "my owner had two fine black horses name night and shade. clem was a white driver. we lived close to fiat where they had horse races. he told clem to get night ready to win some money. he told clem not to let nobody have their hand on the horse. clem slept in the stable with the horse. they had three horses on the track. they made three rounds. night lost three times, but on friday night come in and won the money. he made two or three thousand dollars and paid clem. i never heard how much. freedom "some men come to our house searching for arms. we had a chest. they threw things winding. said it was freedom. we didn't think much of such freedom. had to take it. we didn't have no arms in the house. we never seen free times and didn't know what to look for nohow. we never felt times as good. we moved to the bottoms and i lost my parents. "i fell in the hands of some mean people. they worked me on the frozen ground barefooted. my feet frostbit. i wore a shirt dress and a britches leg cap on my head and ears. i had no shoes, no underwear. i slept on a bed made in the corner of a room called a bunk. it had bagging over straw and i covered with bagging. aunt july (julie) and uncle mass harris come for me. sister brought my horse pa left for me. they took me from, them folks to stay at mr. w.c. winters. he was good to me. he give me fifty dollars and fed me and my horse. he give me good clothes and a house in his yard. i was hungry. he fattened me and my horse both. "they broke the ku klux up by putting grapevines across the roads. i know about that? i never seen one of them in my life. "election days years gone by was big times. i did vote. i voted regular a long time. the last president i voted for was wilson. "i farmed and worked on steamboats on the mississippi river. i was what they called rousterbout. i loaded and unloaded freight, i worked on the choctaw, jane white, kate adams, and other little boats a few days at a time. kate adams burnt at moons landing. i stopped off here at helena for christmas. some people got drowned and some burned to death. the mud clerk got lost. he went in and got two bags of silver money, put them in his pockets. the stave plank broke and he went down and never come up. he was at the shore nearly but nobody knew he had that silver in his pockets. he never come up and he drowned. people seen him go in but the others swum out. he never come up. they missed him and found him dead and the two bags of silver. i was due to be on there but i wanted to spend christmas with grandma and my wife. the choctaw carried ten thousand bales of cotton at times. i worked at the oil mill sixteen or seventeen years. i night watched on the transfer twenty-two years. i come to helena when i was thirty years old. i'm eighty-six now. the worst thing i ever done was drink whiskey some. i done quit it. i have asthma. the doctors say whiskey is bad on that disease. i don't tetch it now. "i think the present generation is crazy. i wish i had the chance they have now. the present times is getting better. i ask the lord to spare me to be one hundred years old. i'm strong in the faith. i pray every day. he will open the way. the times have changed in my life." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: william brown, hazen, arkansas age: i was born in virginia but i was born after slavery. i heard my folks talk a heap about oldern times. the way i come here was dr. hill brought bout families down to mississippi to work on farms. i come to deer creek close to sunflower, mississippi. i lived there years and i drifted to arkansas. i don't remember if they was in any uprisings or not. if they was any rebellion cept the big rebellion i don't recall it. my whole families was in de heat of the war. my mother and father's owner was john smith. i recollects hearin them talk bout him well as if it was yesterday--we worked on mcfowell place close to petersburg, virginia when i was little. then i worked for miss bessie and mr. john stewart last fore i come with dr. hill. i had lived up there but he come and settled down in mississippi. the first place i worked on in arkansas was the john reeds bout miles from danville. i stayed there years. my folks stayed on there but i rambled to little rock. i worked with mr. l.c. merrill. i milked cows and cut grass, fed cows. he has a automobile company in little rock now. i farmed bout all my life. now i don't own nothing. i stays at my daughters. i been married twice. both my wives dead. the times change so much i don't know whether they any better or not. the black race ain't never had nuthin--some few gets a little headway once in a while. i used to vote some--didn't care nuthin bout it much. never seed no good come of it. heap of them vote tickets like somebody tell em or don't know how dey vote. the young generations better off than the old folks now. the things change so fast i don't know how they will get by. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: william brown w. twenty-fifth street north little rock, arkansas age: [hw: u.s. dictatorship predicted] "i was born in arkansas in cross county at the foot of crowley's ridge on the east side of the ridge and just about twelve miles from old wittsburg, on may , . i got the date from my mother. she kept dates by the old family bible. i don't know where she got her learning. she had a knowledge of reading. i am about her sixth child. she was the mother of thirteen. "my mother's master was named bill neely. her mistress was named mag neely. "my mother was one of the leading plow hands on bill neely's farm. she had a old mule named jane. when the yankees would come down, bill neely and all his friends would leave home. they would leave when they would hear the cannon, because they said that meant the yankees were coming. when neely went away, he would carry my mother to do his cooking. "she would leave the children there and carry just the baby when she went. old aunt malinda--she wasn't our aunt; she was just an old lady we called aunt malinda who cooked for the kitchen--would cook for us while she was gone. when the yankees had passed through, my mother and the master would all come back. "my original name was not brown. it was pope. i became brown after the war was over. i moved on the old barnes' farm. when the soldiers were mustered out in the end of the war, a lot of soldiers worked on that place. peter brown, an old colored soldier mustered out from memphis, met my mother, courted her, and married her. all the other children that were born to her were called brown, and the people called her brown, and just called all the other children brown too, including me. and i just let it go that way. but my father was named harrison pope. he died in the confederate army out there somewheres around little rock. he had violated some of the military laws, and they put him in that thing they had to punish them by, and when they taken him out, he contracted pneumonia and died. i don't know where he is buried. i would to god i did! you know when these southern armies went along they carried colored stevedores to do the work for them. patrollers "i was a little fellow in the time of the pateroles. if the slaves wanted to go out anywhere, they had to get a pass and they had to be back at a certain time. if they didn't get back, it would be some kind of punishment. the pateroles was a mighty bad thing. if they caught you when you were out without a pass, they would whip you unmercifully, and if you were out too late they would whip you. wherever colored people had a gathering, them pateroles would be there looking on to see if they could find anybody without a pass. if they did find anybody that couldn't show a pass, they would take him right out and whip him then and there. ku klux "i know the ku klux must have been in use before the war because i remember the business when i was a little bit of a fellow. they had a place out there on crowley's ridge they used to meet at. they tried to make the impression that they would be old confederate soldiers that had been killed in the battle of shiloh, and they used to ride down from the ridge hollering, 'oh! lordy, lordy, lordy!' they would have on those old uniforms and would call for water. and they would have some way of pouring the water down in a bag or something underneath their uniforms so that it would look like they could drink four or five gallons. "one night when they come galloping down on their horses hollering 'oh! lordy, lordy' like they used to, some yankee soldiers stationed nearby tied ropes across the road and killed about twenty-five of the horses and broke legs and arms of about ten or fifteen. they never used the ridge any more after that. parents "my father's master was shep pope and his wife was named julia pope. i can't remember where my father was born but my mother was born in tuscaloosa county, alabama. i don't know the names of my grandfather and grandmother on either side. slave houses "the old slave house was a log house built out of hewed logs. the logs were scalped on each side to give it the appearance of a box house. and they said the logs would fit together better, too. they would chink up the cracks with grass and dirt--what they called 'dob'. that is what they called chinking to keep the wind and rain out. "i was born in a one-room hut with a clapboard room on one side for the kitchen and storeroom. they would go out in the woods and split out the clapboards. my mother had eight of we children in that room at one time. furniture "as to furniture, well, we had benches for chairs. they were made out of punching four holes in a board and putting sticks in there for legs. that is what we sat on. tables generally were nailed up with two legs out and with the wall to support the other side. the beds were made in a corner with one leg out and the two walls supporting the other sides. they called that bed the 'georgia horse'. we had an old cupboard made up in a corner. food "food was generally kept in the old cupboard my mother had. when she had too much for the cupboard, she put it in an old chist. right after the war "my mother had eight children to feed. after the emancipation she had to hustle for all of them. she would go up to work--pick cotton, pull corn, or what not, and when she came home at night she had on old dog she called 'coldy'. she would go out and say, 'coldy, coldy, put him up.' and a little later, we would hear coldy bark and she would go out and coldy would have something treed. and she would take whatever he had-'possum, coon, or what not-and she would cook it, and we would have it for breakfast the next morning. "mother used to go out on neighboring farms and they would give her the scraps when they killed hogs and so on. one night she was coming home with some meat when she was attacked by wolves. old coldy was along and a little yellow dog. the dogs fought the wolves and while they were fighting, she slipped home. next morning old coldy showed up cut almost in two where the wolves had bitten him. we bandaged him up and took care of him. and he lived for two or more years. the little yellow dog never did show up no more. mother said that the wolves must have killed and eaten him. schooling "i put in about one month schooling when i was a boy about six or seven years old. then i moved into st. francis county and went two weeks to a subscription school a few miles below forrest city. later i went back and took the examination in cross county and passed it, and taught for a year. i got the bulk of my education by lamp light reading. i have done some studying in other places--three years in shorter college where i got the degreee of b.d. and d.d. at the age of fifty-five. i have preached for fifty-seven years and actually pastored for forty-four years. i followed farming in my early days. when i first married my wife, we farmed there for ten or twelve years before i entered the ministry. i have been married fifty-seven years. marriage "i was married january , . i am now in the fifty-seventh year of marriage. my wife was named mary ellen stubbs. she was from baldwyn, mississippi. they moved from mississippi about the winter of and they made one crop in arkansas before we married. they stopped in our county and attended our church. i met her in that way. the most remarkable thing was that during the time i was acquainted with her our pastor became incapacitated and i took charge of the church. i ran a revival and she was converted during the revival. but she joined the c.m.e. church. i belong to the a.m.e. slave sales "i remember my mother carrying the children from the bill neely place to the pope place. that saturday evening after we got there, there came along some slave traders. they had with them as i remember some ten or twelve boys and girls and some old folks that were able to work. they had them chained. i asked my mother what they were going to do with them and she said they were carrying them to louisiana to work on a cane farm. one boy cried a lot. the next morning they put those slaves in the road and drove them down to wittsbarg the same as you would drive a drove of cattle, wittsburg was where they caught the boat to go down to louisiana. that was the best mode of travel in those days. opinions "in a few words, my opinion of the present is that our existence as democrats and republicans is about played out. "if mr. roosevelt is elected for a third term, i think we will go into a dictatorship just as russia, germany, and italy have already done. i think we are nearer to that now than we heve ever been before. i do not think that mr. roosevelt will become a dictator, but i do believe that his being elected a third time will cause some one else to become dictator. my opinion is that he is neither democrat nor republican. "our young people are advancing from a literary point of view, but i claim that they are losing out along moral lines. i don't believe that we value morals as well as the people did years ago who didn't know so much. i believe that the whole nation, white and black, is losing moral stamina. they do not think it is bad to kill a man, take another man's wife or rob a bank, or anything else. they desecrate the churches by carrying anything into the church. there is no sacred place now. carnivals and everything else are carried to the church. "if mr. roosevelt is not reelected again, the country is going to have one of the bloodiest wars it has ever had because we have so many european doctrines coming into the united states. i have been living seventy-eight years, and i never thought that i would live to see the day when the government would reach out and take hold of things like it has done--the wpa, the fera, and the rfc, and other work going on today. we are headed for communism and we are going to get in a bloody war. there are hundreds of men going 'round who believe in communism but who don't want it to be known now." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: maggie broyles. forrest city. arkansas age: about ? "i was born in decatur, tennessee. mother was sold on the block at public auction in st. louis. master bob young bought a boy and a girl. my father was a full-blood irishman. his name was lassiter. she didn't have no more children by him. he was hired help on bob young's place. "bob young had one thousand five hundred acres of land. he had several farms. little hill and creek farms. they had a rock walk from the kitchen to the house. i slept in a little trunnel bed under my mother's mistress' bed. the bed was corded and had a crank. they used no slats in them days. we called master bob young's wife miss nippy; her name was par/nel/i/py. they was good old people. his boys was rough. they drunk and wasted the property. "the white folks had feather beds and the slaves had grass beds. we'd pull grass and cure it. it made a'good bed. miss nippy learnt us to work. i know how to do near 'bout anything now. she kept an ash hopper dripping all the time. we made all our soap and lye hominy by the washpots full. mother cooked and washed and kept house. she took the lead wid the house-work. miss nippy ride off when she got ready. mother went right on wid the work. i took care of the chickens and took the cows to the pasture. i helped to wash clothes. i stood on a block to turn meat. we had a brick stove and a grill to fry meat on. we had good clothes and good to eat. after i was grown i'd go back to see miss nippy. she raised me. she say, 'i thought so much of your mama. i love you. i hope you live a long time.' mama had a hard time and miss nippy knowd all about it. "after bob young bought mother he went back and bought aunt sarah. they growed up together. they could dance with a glass of water on their heads and never spill a drap. "ma said when she married they had a corn shucking and a big dinner four o'clock in the morning. her name was luiza. she had two children by him. aunt jane on welches place took him away from her. he quit mother cold to go wid her. after freedom she married ben pitts. the way she married at the corn shucking, they jumped over the broom back'ards and master bob young 'nounced it. she was killed no time after freedom, but she had had six children. miss nippy kept me. she was good to me and trained me to read. we all never left after freedom. i never left till i was good and grown. "i always thought master bob young buried his money during the war. children wasn't allowed to watch and ask questions. i was standing in the chimney corner and seen him bury a box of something in the flower garden. i was in miss nippy's room. i never did know if it was money or what. he had a old yaller dog followed him all the time. truman was a speckled dog set about on the front porch to bark. "sam, the boy that was bought when i was in st. louis, was hard to control. bob young beat him. he died. they said he killed him. they buried him in the white folks' cemetery. "they celebrated christmas visiting and big parties. we would have eggnog and ten or fifteen cakes. master bob young was a consumptive. he had it thirty-five years. they all died out with it. they kept a big ten or fifteen gallon demijohn with willow woven around the bottom full of whiskey, all the time upstairs. they kept the door locked. "i stole miny ah drink. find the door unlocked. i got too much one time. it made me sick. i thought i had a chill. she thought i been upstairs. they was particular with the children, both black and white then. they put the children to bed by sundown and they would set around the fire and talk. she raised elnora and the baby altona after mother got killed. she give them good clothes and good to eat. their papa took the boy. he left after mother got killed. we took a pride in the place like it was our own. we didn't know but what it was our very own. "we had a acre in garden. we raised everything. we had three or four thousand pounds of meat and three cribs of corn. i ketched it when i left them. i made thirty-three crops in my life. my children all grown and gone. my son-in-law died. he had dropsy eight months. he had a dead liver. i've wanted since he died. i've had a hard time since he died. he was a worker and so good to us all. "mother worked with a white woman. mother was full-blood indian herself. the woman's husband got to dealing with his daughter. she had three babies in all. they said they put them up in the ceiling, up in a loft. this old man got mad with bob young and burnt his gin. mother seen him slipping around. they ask her but she wouldn't tell on him, for she didn't see him set it on fire. they measured the tracks. he got scared mother would tell on him. one night a colored man on the place come over. her husband was gone somewhere and hadn't got home. she was cooking supper. they heard somebody but thought it was a pig come around. hogs run out all time. the step was a big limestone rock. she opened the door and put the hot lid of the skillet on it to cool. stood it up sideways. then they heard a noise at that door. it was pegged. so she went along with the cooking. it wasn't late. he found a crack at the side of the stick and dirt chimney, put the muzzle of the gun in there and shot her through her heart. the man flew. she struggled to the edge of the bed and fell. the children was asleep and i was afraid to move. the moon come up. i couldn't get her on the bed. i put a pillow under her head and a quilt over her, but i didn't think she was dead. the baby cried in the night. i was so scared i put the eight-months-old baby down under there to nurse. it nursed. she was dead then, i think now. when four o'clock come it was daylight. the little brother said, 'i know what's the matter, our mama's dead.' i went up to mr. bob young's. he brought the coroners. i was so young i was afraid they was going to take us to jail. i asked little brother what they said they was going to do. he said, 'they are going to bury mama in a heep (deep) hole. they set out after her husband and chased him clear off. they thought he shot her by him not coming home that night and her cooking supper for him. "this white man left and went to texas. his wife said the best woman in decatur had been killed. they put him on the gallows for killing his daughter's babies, three of them and put them in the loft. he told how he killed mother. he had murdered four. he was afraid mother would tell about him. she knowd so much. she didn't tell. indians don't tell. she was with his girl when the first baby was born, but she thought it died and she thought the girl come home visiting, so his wife said she had told her to keep her from telling. it was a bad disgrace. his wife was a good, humble, kind woman. "master bob young sent for ben pitts after they'd run him off, and he let him have his pick of us. he took the boy and lived on the place. her other husband come and got his two children. miss nippy took our baby girl and the other little girl. i was raised up at her house, so she kept me on. kept us all till we married off. "i'd feel foolish to go try to vote. i'm too old now. "i don't get help from the government yet. we are having a hard time to scratch around and not go hungry." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: ida bryant, hazea. arkansas (very very black negro woman) age: "my mother was hulda williams. grandpa was jack williams. her mistress was a widow woman in slavery times. they lived in louisiana. i was born close to bastrop in morehouse parish. my father died when i was ten years old. he was old. i was a child. things look different to you then you know. grandpa was hansen terry, grandma aggie terry. they called pa major terry but he belong to bill talbot. hansen terry was a free man. _he molded his own money._ he died in south carolina. pa come from edgefield, south carolina to alabama. stayed there awhile then come on to louisiana. he slipped off from his master. between south carolina and louisiana he walked forty miles. he rode all the other time. my folks always farmed. "times have been getting some better all along since i was a chile. times is a heap better now than i ever seen in my life. the young men depends on their wives to cook and make a living. they don't work much--none of em. we old niggers doin' the wash in' and the young women doin' cookin' and easy jobs. none of the men ain't workin' to do no good! a few months in the year ain't no workin'. "i get commodities. i owns this house now. i bout paid it out. i washes three washin's a week. the rest of the time i pieces up quilts for myself. i need cover." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: belle buntin, marianne, arkansas age: up in 's "i never was sold. i was born in oakland, mississippi. my master said he wanted all he raised. he never sold one. he bought my mother in lexington county. she was a field hand. our owners was master johnson buntin and mistress sue buntin. they had two children--bob and fannie. he had a big plantation and four families of slaves. charlotte was the cook. myra worked at the house and in the field. he had seven little colored boys and two little colored girls. i spent most of my time up at the house playing with bob and fannie. when mistress whooped one she whooped all three. she would whoop us for stealing her riding horse out. we would bridle it and all three ride and ride. we got several whoopings about that. "i have seen colored folks sold at oakland. they had a block and nigger traders come. one trader would go and see a fine baby. he keep on till he got it. i've seen them take babies from the mother's arm and if the mother dare cry, they would git a beatin'. they look like they bust over their grief. "if you was out after seven o'clock the patrollers git you. they would beat and take you home. some masters say to them, 'you done right,' and some say, 'you bring my hands home; i'll whoop them myself.' "the patrollers caught one of gaddises women and whooped her awful for coming to town on sunday. i never did know why she went to town that way. "that selling was awful and crowds come to see how they sell. they acted like it was a picnic. some women was always there, come with their husbands. some women sold slaves and some bought them. "i never did see none sell naked. i seen men took from their wives and mothers and children. let me tell you they didn't have no squalling around or they would get took off and a beating. "master alex buntin was dr. buntin. he said, 'i worked like one of my slaves and bought my slaves with what i made and i am not going to have them 'bused by the patrollers. george and kit and johnson was his cousins. kit wasn't so good to his slaves. "it was my job to brush the flies off the table. i had a fly brush. i would eat out of bob's and fannie's plates. miss sue say, 'bell, i'm going to whoop you.' i say, 'miss sue, please don't, i'm hungry too.' she say, 'you stop playing and eat first next time.' then she'd put some more on their plates. we sat on a bench at the table. we et the same the white folks did all cooked up together. "one time dr. buntin got awful mad. the dogs found some whiskey in a cave one of his slaves had hid there. they would steal and hide it in a cave. he got a beating and they washed it in salt water to keep them from getting sore and stiff. "some folks kept dogs trained to hunt runaway niggers. they was fat, and you better not hit one or hurt it if it did bite or you would git a awful beating. "master alex was a legislator. he had to leave when the yankees come through. they killed all the legislators. i loved him. he run a store and we three children went to the store to see him nearly every day. he took us all three on his knees at the some time. i loved him. when he was gone, i said, 'miss sue, where is master alex?' she say, 'maybe he be back pretty soon.' while he was gone they had a battle in a little skirt of woods close by. we hung to miss sue's skirt tail. i seen the yankees run by on horses and some walking. mr. jordan, a southern soldier, was shot in his ribs. mr. buford was shot in his knee. some of the other southern soldiers drug them up to our house. miss sue nursed them. i think they got well and went home. "three days before master alex left they sent all the stock off and put the turkeys and geese under the house, and chickens too. it was dark so they kept pretty quiet. when the yankees got there they stripped the smoke-house. we had a lots of meat and they busted the storehouse open and strowed (strewed) meat and flour all along the road. they hired mammy (charlotte) to cook a big meal for them. she told the man she was 'fraid miss sue whoop her. he said, 'whooping time near 'bout out.' he asked her 'bout some chickens but she wasn't goin' to tell him 'cause it was her living too for them to waste up. they never found the geese, turkeys, and chickens. they rambled all through the house looking for master alex and went through every drawer and closet upstairs and down. it was scandalous. they had miss sue walking and crying and us three children clinging to her skirt tail scared to death and crying too. when they left, the big lieutenant rode off ahead on a fine gray horse. they come back when we just got the table sot and et every crumb of our dinner. they was a lively gang. i hate 'em. i was hungry. rations was scarce. they wasted the best we had. master alex hod three stores and he kept the middle one. freedom "mistress told all master alex's slaves they had been freed. the men all left. my mother left and took me. i got mad and went back and lived there till i married. master alex come back after two weeks. my mother soon died after the surrender. she died at batesville, mississippi. lots of the slaves died. their change of living killed lots of 'em. my father lived on sam bronoy's (branough's) place. master alex wanted to buy him but he took him on to texas before i was born. i never did see him. "i been farming, cooking, wash and iron along. i been in arkansas twelve or fourteen years. "how am i supported? i'm not much supported. my boy don't have work much of the time. i don't get the pension. i trusts in the lord. i belong to new bethel baptist church down here. "times--i don't know what to think. my race is the under folks and i don't never say nothing to harm 'em. i'm one of 'em. times is hardest in my life. i have to sit. i can't walk a step--creeping paralysis." interviewer: miss irene robertson parson interviewed: jeff burgess, clarendon, arkansas age: born in or , forgot which "i was born in granville, texas. my master was strathers burgess and mistress polly burgess. my master died 'fore i was born. he died on the way to texas, trying to save his slaves. keep them from leaving him and from going into the war. they didn't want to fight. his son was killed in the war. my folks didn't know they was free till three years after the war was over. they come back to caloche bay, the old home place. there was a bureau at de valls bluff. they had to let the slaves go and they was citizens then. my folks wasn't very anxious to leave the white owners because times was so funny and they didn't have nowhere to go. the courts was torn up powerful here in arkansas. "heap of meanness going on right after the war. one man tell you do this and another man say you better not do that you sho get in trouble. it was hard to go straight. they said our master was a good man but awful rough wid his slaves and the hands overseeing too. guess he was rough wid his family too. "times is hard with me, i gits $ pension every month. i got no home now. i got me three hogs. i lives three miles from here (clarendon). "if i wasn't so old and no account i'd think the times the best ever. it's bad when you get old. i jess sees the young folks. i don't know much about them. seems lack they talk a lot of foolish chat to me. i got a lot and a half in town. they tore down my house and toted it off for fire wood. it was rented. then they moved out and wouldn't pay no rent. they kept doing that way. i never had a farm of my own. "i was good with a saw and axe. i cleared land and farmed. once i worked on the railroad they was building. i drove pile mostly. farming is the best job and the best place to make a living. i found out that myself." interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: norman burkes west eleventh street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i didn't quite make slavery. me and freedom came here together. "i was born in union county, arkansas. my mother was born in virginia and my father was an alabamian. "i've heered 'em say how they done in slavery times. whupped 'em and worked 'em and didn't feed 'em much. said they'd average about three pounds of meat a week and a peck of meal, a half gallon of molasses. that was allowed the hands for a week. no sugar and no coffee. and they'd issue flour on saturday so they could have sunday morning biscuits. "my father was sold to virginia and he and my mother was married there and they moved with their white people here to arkansas. "they called their owner old master. yes'm, i can remember him. many times as he whipped me i ought to remember him. i never will forget that old man. they claimed he was pretty good to 'em. he didn't whup 'em much, i don't think. "if my mother was livin' she could tell you everything about virginia. she was one hundred and two when she died. my folks is long livers. "my oldest brother was sold in virginia and shipped down into texas about ten years before i was born and i ain't never seen him. "they sold wives from their husbands and children from their parents and they couldn't help it. just like this war business. come and draft 'em and they couldn't help it. "i think the way things is now, they're goin to build up another war." extra comment i was interviewing this man on the front porch and at this point, he got up and went into the house, so the interview was ended as far as he was concerned. interviewer: miss irene robertaon person interviewed: will burks, sr. pine city, ark.-- mi. from holly grove age: "my parents names was katherine hill and bill burks. they had five boys and three girls. their owners fur as i knows was frank and polly burks. they had a heap of slaves. they was good white folks. my folks stayed on two or three years. they was both field hands. they had to go to the house and master frank burks told em they was free. in judge scott paid their way and i come wid them to forrest city. there was a crowd. he bought em out here to farm. we come christmas . i never will forgit that. it was jes different in a new country and left some of our folks an all that. "i was born close to columbia, tennessee. i used to see the soldiers pass long the big road, both sides. seem lack theyd be in strings a mile long. i never heard much bout the war. they wouldn't let white nor black children set round and hear what they was talkin' bout. why they send em off to play--build playhouses outer rocks and hay, leaves, any little thing they throw way we take it to play house. white children played together then cause it was a long ways between white folks house, and colored children raised up wid em. i don't see none that now. "one thing i done a long time was stay at the toll gate. they had a heap of em when i was a boy. the fences was rock or rail and big old wooden gates round and on it marked, "toll gate." i'd open and shut the gate. walkers go free. horseback riders--fifteen cents. buggies--twenty-five cents. wagons--fifty cents. the state broke that up and made new roads. some they changed a little and used. after that i stand 'bout on roads through fields--short ways folks went but where the farmers had to keep closed up on count of the crops. i open and shut the gate. they'd throw me a nickel. that was first money i made--stayin' at toll gates about columbia, tennessee. "ku klux come to our house and took my papa off wid em. mama was cryin', she told us children they was goiner hurt him. i recollect all bout it. they thought my papa knowed about some man bein' killed. my papa died wid knots on his neck where they hung him up wid ropes. it hurt him all his life after that. it made him sick what all they done to him tryin' to make him tell who killed somebody. he was laid up a long time. i recollect that. when they found out papa didn't know nothin' bout it, they said they was sorry they done him so mean. "i vote a republican ticket lack my papa till i cluded it not the party, it is the man that rules right. i voted fur mr. roosevelt. i know he is. (a democrat) i know'd it when i voted for him. times is tough but they was worse 'fo he got elected. things you buy gets higher and higher that makes it bad. we got two hogs, one cow, few chickens and a home. i owns my home for a fact. my wife is . i am purty nigh years old. what make it hard on us, we is bout wore out. "i been farmin' and carpenterin' all my life. last years i been farmin' wid mr. l.m. osborne at osborne. we work forty acres and made bales. i had a team and he had a team. so i worked it on halves. that was long time ago. in i believe. best farmin' i ever done. we got twenty cents pound." interviewer: mrs. annie l. lacotts person interviewed: adeline burris, dewitt, arkansas age; adeline burris is a little old white-haired wrinkled-faced mulatto or yellow negro woman who says she was old enough to be working in the fields when the war began. according to her story she must have been about then, which would make her at least years old now. she looks as though she might be a hundred. she is stooped and very feeble but can get around some days by the help of a stout walking stick; at other times she cannot leave her bed for days at a time. she owns nothing and is living in the home of her daughter-in-law who is kind to her and cares for her as best she can. she says she was born in murry county, tennessee. columbia was the county seat. when asked if she was born during slavery time she said, "yes, honey, my mammy was one of de slaves what belonged to mr. billie and miss liza renfroe. lord bless her heart she was good to my mammy and her chillun! i had two little brothers, twins, and when dey come to dis world i can remember how our old mistress would come every day to see about dem and my mammy. she'd bring things to eat, clothes for the babies and everything else. yes sir! my mother didn't want for _anything_ as long as she stayed with miss liza, not even after de negroes was _freed_. when i was a little girl i was give to my young mistress, and i stayed with her till my folks was coning to arkansas and i come too." "why did your folks move to arkansas?" "well, you see we heard this was a good country and there was a white man come there to get a lot of niggers to farm for him down on the river and we come with him. he brought a lot of families on a big boat called a flatboat. we were days and nights floating down the river. we landed at st. charles. i married in about two years and haven't ever lived anywhere else but arkansas county and i've always been around good white folks. i'd been cold and hungry a lot of times if it wasn't for some of dese blessed white folkes' chillen; dey comes to see me and brings me things to eat and clothes too, sometimes." "how many tines did you marry, aunt add.?" "just one time; and i just had four chillen, twins, two times. one child died out of each sit--just left me and becky and bob. bob and dover, his wife, couldn't get along but i think most of it's his fault, for dover's just as good to me as she can be. my own child couldn't be better to me den she is. "i don't know, honey, but looks to me like niggers was better off in dem days den they are now. i know dey was if dey had good white folks like we did. dey didn't have to worry about rent, clothes, nor sumpin to eat. dat was there for them. all they had to do was work and do right. course i guess our master might not of been so good and kind ef we had been mean and lazy, but you know none of us ever got a whippin' in our life. "honey, come back to see aunt add. sometime. i likes to talk to you." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: jennie butler short main street, little rock, arkansas age: between and [hw: nurses ? ? ?][tr: illegible] "i was born february , in richmond, virginia. i was a nurse raised by our white folks in the house with the adamses. sue stanley (white and indian) was my godmother, or 'nursemother' they called em then. she was a sister-in-law to jay goold's wife. she married an adams. i wasn't raised a little nigger child like they is in the south. i was raised like people. i wasn't no bastard. my father was henry crittenden, an indian full blooded creek. he was named after his father, henry crittenden. my mother's name was louisa virginia. her parents were the gibsons, same nationality as her husband. my 'nursemother' was a white woman, but she had english and indian blood in her. my mother and father were married to each other just like young people are nowadays. none of my people were slaves and none of them owned any slaves. house "in richmond, they lived in a little log cabin. before i had so much trouble i could tell you all about it, but i never forget that little log cabin. that is near oak grove where lincoln and garfield and nat turner met and talked about slavery. furniture "we had oak furniture. we had a tall bed with a looking glass in the back of it, long bolsters, long pillow cases just like we used to make long infant dresses. there were four rooms in the cabin. it was in the city. the kitchen was a little off from the house. you reached it by going through a little portico. food "we ate bananas, oranges, hazelnuts, apples, fruit for every month in the year for breakfast, batter cakes, egg bread. the mornings we had egg bread we had flesh. for dinner and supper we had milk and butter and some kind of sweetness, and bread, of course. we had a boiled dinner. we raised everything-even peanuts. clothes "we made everything we wore. raised and made the cloth and the leather, and the clothes and the shoes. contacts with slaves and slave owners "i don't know nothin' about slavery. i didn't have nothin' to do with them folks. we picked em up on our way in our travels and they had been treated like dogs and hadn't been told they were free. we'd tell em they was free and let em go. leaving richmond "all i can tell you is that we come on down and never stopped until we got to memphis, and we tarried there twenty-five years. we came through louisiana and georgia on our way out here and picked up many slaves who didn't know they was free. they was using these little boats when we came out here. in louisiana and georgia when we came out here, they weren't thinkin' bout telling the niggers they were free. and they weren't in clarksville either. we landed in little rock and made it our headquarters. occupations "christian work has been the banner of my life-labor work, giving messages about the bible, teaching. mostly they kept me riding--i mean with the doctors. when we were riding, the doctors didn't go in a mother's room; he sent the rider in. they call em nurses now and handle them indifferently. the doctor jus' stopped in the parlor and made his money jus' sitting there and we women did all the work. in , i gave up my riding license. it was too rough for me in arkansas. and then they wouldn't allow me anything either. "now i have a poor way of making a living because they have taken away everything from me. i prays and lives by the bible. i can't get nothin' from my husband's endowment. he was an old soldier in the civil war on the confederate side and i used to get $ a month from pine bluff. he was freed there. wilson was president at the time i put in for an increase for him in the days of his sickness. he was down sick thirty years and only got $ a month. the pension was increased to $ for about one year. he died in , march , and was in his ninetieth year or more from what he told me. the picture shows it too. voting "paying my taxes was the votin' i ever done. they never could get me to gee nor haw. there wasn't any use voting when you can see what's on the future before you. i never had many colored friends. none that voted. and very few indians and just a few others. and them that stood by me all the while, they're sleeping. thoughts of young people "don't know nothin' bout these young folks today. don't nothin' spoil a duck but his bill. i have had a hard time. i am heavy and i'm jus' walkin' bout. a little talk with jesus is all i have. i'll fall on my knees and i'll walk as jesus says. my heart's bleeding. i know i'm not no more welcome than a dog. "i pays for this little shack and when you come to see me, you might as well come to that kitchen door. i ain't going to use no deceit with nobody. i'll show you the hole i have to go in." interviewer's comment i understand that sister butler gets a pension of $ a month. although her voice is vigorous, her mental powers are somewhat weak. she cannot remember the details of anything at all. she evidently had heard something about nat turner, but it would be hard to tell what. the nat turner rebellion, so called, a fanatical affair which was as much opposed by the negroes as by the whites, took place in southampton county, virginia, in august and september , the same year in which jennie butler claims birth. she would naturally hear something about it, but she does not remember what. she had a newspaper clipping undated and minus the reading matter showing her husband's picture, and another showing herself, february , , the arkansas democrat. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: e.l. byrd n. cedar, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in . i just can remember the yankees. they come through there and got horses and money and anything else they wanted. to my reasoning that's the reason the north has got more now. they got all the money they could find. and they took one fellow belonged to the same man i did. "my owner's name was jack byrd. we stayed with him about a year and then we farmed for ourselves. "i never went to school much. "my mother was a widow woman and i had to work. that was in south carolina. "i come to arkansas in . i didn't marry till i was about thirty-seven. i got one child living. that's my daughter; i live with her. she's a bookkeeper for perry's undertaking company. "when i come to arkansas i stopped down here in ashley county. i farmed till i come to pine bluff. i been here forty years. i worked at the stave mills. i just worked for three different firms in forty years. "i used to own this place, but i had to let it go on account of taxes. then my daughter bought it in. "i been tryin' to get a pension but don't look like i'm go in' to get it. "i have to stay here with these children while my daughter works. it takes all she makes to keep things goin'." interviewer: miss irene robertson. person interviewed: emmett augasta byrd, marianna, arkansas age: "i was born in washington county, missouri. i'm eighty-three years old. mother's owner was william byrd. he got killed in a dispute over a horse. a horse trader shot him. his name was cal dony.[tr: there is a mark that may be a line over the 'o' or a tilde over the 'n'.] father's owner was byrd too. mother was miss harriett byrd's cook. yes, i knowed her very well. i was nine years old when i was stole. "me and my older brother was both stole. his name was hugh byrd. we was just out. it was in september. a gang out stealing horses stole us. it was when price made his last raid to missouri. it was some of the soldiers from his gang. we was playing about. they overtook us and let us ride, then they wouldn't let us git off. they would shot us if we had. in a few days we was so far off. we cried and worried a heap. "it was eighteen years before i see my mother. the old snag i was riding give out and they was leading so they changed me. i cried two or three days. they didn't pay my crying no 'tention. they had a string of nigger men and boys, no women, far as from me 'cross to that bank. i judge it is three hundred yards over there. "after the battle of big blue river my man got killed and another man had charge of me and somebody else went off with my brother. i never seen him. that battle was awful, awful, awful! well, i certainly was scared to death. they never got out of missouri with my brother. in he went to st. louis to my mother. she was cooking there. my father went with the yankees and was at jefferson barracks in the army during the war. he was there when we got stole but she went later on before he died. he was there three months. he took pneumonia. they brought me in to kansas and back by ft. smith. "talking about hard times, war times is all the hard times i ever seen. no foolin'! it was really hard times. we had no bread, shoot down a cow and cut out what we wanted, take it on. we et it raw. sometimes we would cook it but we et more raw than cooked. when we got to ft. smith we struck good times. folks was living on parched corn and sorghum molasses. they had no mills to grind up the corn. times was hard they thought. further south we come better times got. when we landed at arkadelphia we stayed all night and i was sold next day. mr. spence was the hotel keeper. he bought me. he give one hundred fifty dollars and a fine saddle horse for me. i never heard the trade but that is what i heard 'em say afterwards. mr. spence was a cripple man. john merrican left me. he been mean to me. he was rough. hit me over the head, beat me. he was mean. he lived down 'bout warren, down somewhere in the southern part of the state. i never seen him no more. mr. spence was good to me since i come to think about it but then i didn't think so. we had plenty plain victuals at the hotel. he meant to be good to me but i expected too much i reckon. then it being a public place i heard lots what was said around. i come to think i ought to be treated good as the boarders. now i see it different. mr. spence walked on a stick and a crutch. he couldn't be very cruel to me if he had wanted to. he wasn't mean a bit. i was the bellboy and swept 'round some and gardened. "in , in may, i run off. i went to dallas county across ouachita river. i stayed there with matlocks and russells and welches till i was good and grown. mr. spence never tried to find me. i hoped he would. they wasn't so bad but i had to work harder. they never give me nothing. i seen mr. spence twice after i left but he never seen me. if he did he never let on. i never seen his wife no more after i left her. i didn't see him for four years after i left, then in three more years i seen him but the hotel had burned. freedom "mr. spence told me i was free. i didn't leave. i didn't have sense to know where to go. i didn't know what freedom was. so he went to the free mens' bureau and had me bound to him till i was twenty-one years old. he told me what he had done. he was to clothe me, feed me, send me to school so many months a year, give me a horse and bridle and saddle and one hundred fifty dollars when i was twenty-one years old. that would have been eight or nine years. seemed too long a time to wait. i thought i could do better than that. i never done half that good. i never went to school a day in my life. i was sorry i run off after it was too late. "i heard too much talking at the hotel. they argued a whole heap more than they do now. they set around and talk about slavery and freedom and everything else. it made me restless and i run off. i was ashamed to be seen much less go back. folks used to have shame. ku klux "in i lived with john welch one year. i seen the going out and coming in. i heard what they was doing. i wasn't afraid of them then. i lived with one of 'em and i wasn't afraid of 'em. i learned a good deal about it. they called it uprising and i found out their purpose was to hold down the nigger. they said they wanted to make them submissive. they catch 'em and beat 'em half to death. i heard they hung some of 'em. no, i didn't see it. i knew one or two they beat. they took some of the niggers right out of the cotton patch and dressed them up and drilled 'em. when they come back they was boastful. then they had to beat it out of 'em. some of 'em didn't want to go back to work. since i growed up i thought it out that mr. spence was reasonably good to me but i didn't think so then. it was a restlessness then like it is now 'mong the young class of folks. the truth is they don't know what they want nor what to do and they don't do nothing much no time. "i went to see my mother. i wrote and wrote, had my white folks write till i found my folks. i went back several times. mother died in . we used to could beat rides on freight trains--that was mighty dangerous. we could work our way on the boats. i got to rambling trying to do better. i come to phillips county. they cut it up, named it lee. i got down in here and married. i was jus' rambling 'round. i been in lee county sixty-one years. i married toreckly after i come here. i been married twice, both wives dead. i was about twenty-three years old when i married. i had four children. my last child got killed. a limb fell on him twenty years ago in april. he was grown and at work in the timber. "i farmed all my life--seventy years of it. i like it now and if i was able i would not set up here in town a minute. jus' till i could get out there is all time it would take for me to get back to farming. i owned two little places. i sold the first fifty acres when my wife was sick so i could do for her. she died. my last wife got sick. i was no 'count and had to quit work. mr. dupree built that little house for me, he said for all i had done for 'im. he said it would be my home long as i live. he keeps another old man living out there the same way. mr. dupree is sick--in bad health--skin disease of some sort. we lives back behind this house. mr. dupree is in this house now. (mr. dupree has eczema.) i used to work for him on the farm and in the store. "i never was a drunkard. that is ruining this country. it is every saturday night trade and every day trade with some of them. no, but i set here and see plenty. "the present times is better than it used to be 'cause people are cleverer and considerate in way of living. a sixteen-year-old boy knows a heap now. five-year-old boy knows much as a ten-year-old boy used to know. i don't think the world is going to pieces. it is advancing way i see it. the bible says we are to get weaker and wiser. young folks not much 'count now to do hard work. some can. "i get eight dollars and i work about this place all i am able. it keeps us both going." produced from images generously made available by the library of congress, manuscript division) slave narratives _a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves_ typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress _illustrated with photographs_ washington volume xi north carolina narratives part prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of north carolina [hw:] = handwritten notes by original editor. [tr:] = inline transcriber notes. see end of document for additional notes. informants jackson, john h. johnson, ben johnson, isaac johnson, tina jones, bob jones, clara , jordon, abner lassiter, jane lawson, dave lee, jane littlejohn, chana mcallister, charity mccoy, clara cotton mccullers, henrietta mccullough, willie mclean, james turner magwood, frank manson, jacob manson, roberta markham, millie mials, maggie mitchel, anna mitchner, patsy moore, emeline moore, fannie moring, richard c. nelson, julius nichols, lila organ, martha parker, ann penny, amy perry, lily perry, valley pitts, tempe plummer, hannah pool, parker raines, rena ransome, anthony richardson, caroline riddick, charity riddick, simuel rienshaw, adora robinson, celia rogers, george rogers, hattie rountree, henry scales, anderson scales, catherine scales, porter scott, william shaw, tiney smith, john smith, john smith, josephine smith, nellie smith, sarah ann smith, william sorrell, laura sorrell, ria spell, chaney spikes, tanner stephenson, annie stewart, sam t. stone, emma sykes, william taylor, annie taylor, r.s. thomas, elias thomas, jacob thornton, margaret tillie trell, ellen trentham, henry james upperman, jane anne privette whitley, ophelia wilcox, tom williams, catharine williams, rev. handy williams, john thomas williams, lizzie williams, penny williams, plaz williamson, melissa woods, alex wright, anna yellady, dilly yellerday, hilliard illustrations tina johnson fannie moore julius nelson lila nichols tempe pitts adora rienshaw william scott tiney shaw john smith josephine smith sam t. stewart william sykes n.c. district: no. worker: mrs. w.n. harriss no. words: subject: memories of uncle jackson interviewed: john h. jackson s. sixth st. wilmington, n.c. [tr: date stamp: jun ] memories of uncle jackson "i was born in , in the yard where my owner lived next door to the city hall. i remember when they was finishin' up the city hall. i also remember the foreman, mr. james walker, he was general manager. the overseen (overseer) was mr. keen. i remember all the bricklayers; they all was colored. the man that plastered the city hall was named george price, he plastered it inside. the men that plastered the city hall outside and put those colum's up in the front, their names was robert finey and william finey, they both was colored. jim artis now was a contractor an' builder. he done a lot of work 'round wilmin'ton. "yes'm, they was slaves, mos' all the fine work 'round wilmin'ton was done by slaves. they called 'em artisans. none of 'em could read, but give 'em any plan an' they could foller it to the las' line." interviewer: "did the owner collect the pay for the labor, uncle jackson?" "no, ma'm. that they did'n. we had a lot of them artisans 'mongst our folks. they all lived on our place with they fam'lies. they hired theyselves where they pleased. they colle'ted they pay, an' the onliest thing the owner took was enough to support they fam'lies. they all lived in our yard, it was a great big place, an' they wimmen cooked for 'em and raised the chilluns. "you know, they lays a heap o' stress on edication these days. but edication is one thing an' fireside trainin' is another. we had fireside trainin'. "we went to church regular. all our people marched behind our owners, an' sat up in the galle'y of the white folks church. now, them that went to st. james church behind their white folks didn' dare look at nobody else. 'twant allowed. they were taught they were better than anybody else. that was called the 'silk stockin' church. nobody else was fitten to look at. "my mother was the laund'ess for the white folks. in those days ladies wore clo'es, an' plenty of 'em. my daddy was one of the part indian folks. my mammy was brought here from washin'ton city, an' when her owner went back home he sold her to my folks. you know, round washin'ton an' up that way they was ginny (guinea) niggers, an' that's what my mammy was. we had a lot of these malatto negroes round here, they was called 'shuffer tonies', they was free issues and part indian. the leader of 'em was james sampson. we child'en was told to play in our own yard and not have nothin' to do with free issue chil'en or the common chil'en 'cross the street, white or colored, because they was'nt fitten to 'sociate with us. you see our owners was rich folks. our big house is the one where the ladies of sokosis (sorosis) has their club house, an' our yard spread all round there, an' our house servants, an' some of the bes' artisans in wilmin'ton lived in our yard. "you know, i'm not tellin' you things what have been _told_ me, but i'm tellin' you things i _knows_. "i remember when the zoabbes company came from georgia here to wilmin'ton an' they had all ladies as officers.[ ] "i remember when the confederates captured part of the union army at fort sumter, s.c., and they brought them here to wilmin'ton and put them out under fourth street bridge, and the white ladies of wilmin'ton, n.c. cooked food and carried it by baskets full to them. we all had plenty of food. a warehouse full of everything down there by the river nigh red cross street, an' none of us ever went hungry 'till the war was over. "i remember when gen'ral grant's army came to the river. they mounted guns to boombar the city. mr. john dawson an' mr. silas martin, they went on the corner of second an' nun streets on the top of ben berry's house an' run up a white sheet for a flag, an' the yankees did'n' boombar us. an' mr. martin gave his house up to the progro marshells, and my mother cleaned up the house an' washed for them. her name was caroline west. "i remember when that provo marshell told the colored people that any house in wilmin'ton they liked, that was empty, they could go take it, an' the first one they took was the fine bellamy mansion on market an' fifth street." "uncle jackson", asked the interviewer, "don't you remember that house was headquarters of the federal army? how could colored people occupy it?" uncle jackson: "i don't remember nothin' about federal soldiers bein' in that house, but i'm tellin' you i _knows_ a lot of common colored folks was in it because i seen 'em sittin' on the piazza an' all up an' down those big front steps. i _seen_ 'em. nice colored people wouldn't 'a gone there. they had respec' for theirselves an' their white folks. but dr. bellamy came home soon with his fam'ly an' those colored people got out. they wan't there long. "endurin' of slavery i toted water for the fam'ly to drink. i remember when there was springs under where the new court house is now, and all the white folks livin' 'round there drank water from those springs. they called it jacob spring. there was also a spring on market street between second and third streets, that was called mccrayer (mccrary) spring. they didn't 'low nobody but rich folks to get water from that spring. of co'se i got _mine_ there whenever i chose to tote it that far. we did'n' work so hard in those days. i don't know nothin' about field han's an' workmen on the river, but so far as i knows the carpenters an' people like that started work at o'clock a.m. and stopped at o'clock p.m. of course 'round the house it was different. our folks done pretty much what the white folks did because we was all pretty much one an' other. "did i ever know of any slaves bein' whipped? i seen plenty of 'em whipped over at the jail, but them was _bad_ niggers, (this with a grimace of disgust, and shaking of the head), they needed whippin'. but (with a chuckle) i sho' would have hated to see anybody put they han's on one of my owner's people. we was all 'spectable an' did'n know nothin' about whippen. our mammy's spanked us aplenty, _yes mam_ they did. "i remember when they didn't have no trussels 'cross either river, an' they had a passages boat by the name of walker moore, an' the warf was up there by the charlotte railroad (s.a.l.) the boat would take you from there to the bluff an' then you would have to catch the train to go to greensboro, and other places in no'th carolina. "i remember when the fourth street fire department bell was in front of the city hall. an' mr. maginny had his school right back of the city hall. "i believe we was all happy as slaves because we had the best of kere (care). i don't believe none of us was sold off because i never heard tell of it. i have always served nice folks an' never 'sociated with any other kind. i brought up mis ----'s chil'ren an' now she gives me a life intrust in this place i lives in. i hav'nt never to say really wanted for anything. i hav'nt never bothered with wimmen, an' had nothin' to bother me. "i mus' tell you' bout gov'ner dudley's election, an' the free issue niggers. they say mr. dudley told 'em if they'd vote for him he'd do more for 'em than any man ever had. so they voted for him an' he was elected. then he ups an' calls a const'utional convention in raleigh an' had all the voting taken away from 'em. an' that the big thing he done for em."[ ] footnotes: [footnote : note: have not been able to verify this memory, and think perhaps the unusual uniforms of the zoaves caused the small boy to think they were women, or some adult may have amused themselves by telling him so.] [footnote : note: governor dudley was elected before uncle jackson was born, but he enjoyed thoroughly telling this joke on the 'free issue niggers'.] n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: ex-slave story story teller: ben johnson editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp: jun ] ex-slave story an interview with ben johnson of hecktown, durham, durham county, may , . uncle ben, who is nearly blind and who walks with a stick, was assisted to the porch by his wife who sat down near him in a protecting attitude. he is much less striking than his wife who is small and dainty with perfect features and snow white hair worn in two long braids down her back. she wore enormous heart shaped earrings, apparently of heavy gold; while uncle ben talked she occasionally prompted him in a soft voice. "i wuz borned in orange county and i belonged ter mr. gilbert gregg near hillsboro. i doan know nothin' 'bout my mammy an' daddy, but i had a brother jim who wuz sold ter dress young missus fer her weddin'. de tree am still standin' whar i set under an' watch 'em sell jim. i set dar an' i cry an' cry, 'specially when dey puts de chains on him an' carries him off, an' i ain't neber felt so lonesome in my whole life. i ain't neber hyar from jim since an' i wonder now sometimes if'en he's still livin'. "i knows dat de marster wuz good ter us an' he fed an' clothed us good. we had our own gyarden an' we wuz gittin' long all right. "i seed a whole heap of yankees when dey comed ter hillsboro an' most of 'em ain't got no respeck fer god, man, nor de debil. i can't 'member so much 'bout 'em do' cause we lives in town an' we has a gyard. "de most dat i can tell yo' 'bout am de ku klux. i neber will fergit when dey hung cy guy. dey hung him fer a scandelous insult ter a white 'oman an' dey comed atter him a hundert strong. "dey tries him dar in de woods, an' dey scratches cy's arm ter git some blood, an' wid dat blood dey writes dat he shall hang 'tween de heavens an' de yearth till he am daid, daid, daid, an' dat any nigger what takes down de body shall be hunged too. "well sar, de nex' mornin' dar he hung, right ober de road an' de sentence hangin' ober his haid. nobody'ud bother wid dat body fer four days an' dar hit hung, swingin' in de wind, but de fou'th day de sheriff comes an' takes hit down. "dar wuz ed an' cindy, who 'fore de war belonged ter mr. lynch an' atter de war he told 'em ter move. he gives 'em a month an' dey ain't gone, so de ku kluxes gits 'em. "hit wuz on a cold night when dey comed an' drugged de niggers out'n bed. dey carried 'em down in de woods an' whup dem, den dey throws 'em in de pond, dere bodies breakin' de ice. ed come out an' come ter our house, but cindy ain't been seed since. "sam allen in caswell county wuz tol' ter move an' atter a month de hundret ku klux come a-totin' his casket an' dey tells him dat his time has come an' if'en he want ter tell his wife good bye an' say his prayers hurry up. "dey set de coffin on two cheers an' sam kisses his ole oman who am a-cryin', den he kneels down side of his bed wid his haid on de piller an' his arms throwed out front of him. "he sets dar fer a minute an' when he riz he had a long knife in his hand. 'fore he could be grabbed he done kill two of de ku kluxes wid de knife, an' he done gone out'n de do'. dey ain't ketch him nother, an' de nex' night when dey comed back, 'termined ter git him dey shot ano'her nigger by accident. "i imembers [tr: 'members] seein' joe turner, another nigger hung at hillsboro in ' but i plumb fergot why it wuz. "i know one time miss hendon inherits a thousand dollars from her pappy's 'state an' dat night she goes wid her sweetheart ter de gate, an' on her way back ter de house she gits knocked in de haid wid a axe. she screams an' her two nigger sarvants, jim an' sam runs an' saves her but she am robbed. "den she tells de folkses dat jim an' sam am de guilty parties, but her little sister swears dat dey ain't so dey gits out of it. "atter dat dey fin's out dat it am five mens, atwater, edwards, andrews, davis an' markham. de preacher comes down to whar dey am hangin' ter preach dar funeral an' he stan's dar while lightnin' plays roun' de dead mens haids an' de win' blows de trees, an he preaches sich a sermon as i ain't neber hyard before. "bob boylan falls in love wid another oman so he burns his wife an' four youngins up in dere house. "de ku kluxes gits him, of course, an' dey hangs him high on de old red oak on de hillsboro road. atter dey hunged him his lawyer says ter us boys, 'bury him good, boys, jist as good as you'd bury me if'en i wuz daid.' "i shuck han's wid bob 'fore dey hunged him an' i he'ped ter bury him too an' we bury him nice an' we all hopes dat he done gone ter glory." n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: isaac johnson story teller: isaac johnson editor: daisy bailey waitt isaac johnson lillington, north carolina, route , harnett county. "i am feelin' very well this mornin', while i don't feel like i used to. i done so much hard work, i'm 'bout all in. dey didn't have all dese new fangled things to do work an' go 'bout on when i wus a boy. no, no, you jes' had to git out an' do all de work, most all de work by hand. i wus ten years old when de yankees come through. i wus born feb. , . "i belonged to jack johnson. my missus' name wus nancy. my father wus bunch matthews; he belonged to old man drew matthews, a slave owner. my mother wus named tilla johnson. she belonged to jack johnson, my marster. de plantation wus near lillington, on the north side o' de cape fear river and ran down to near de lillington cross roads one mile from de river. i had one brother and six sisters. my brother wus named phil and my sisters name mary, caroline, francis and i don't remember de others names right now. been so long since i saw any of 'em. dey are all dead. yes sir, dey are all dead. i do not remember my grandpa and grandma. no sir, i don't. "i wus too small to work, dey had me to do little things like feedin' de chickens, an' mindin' de table sometimes; but i wus too small to work. dey didn't let children work much in dem days till dey were thirteen or fourteen years old. i had plenty to eat, good clothes, a nice place to sleep an' a good time. marster loved his slaves an' other white folks said he loved a nigger more den he did white folks. our food wus fixed up fine. it wus fixed by a regular cook who didn't do anything but cook. we had gardens, a plenty o' meat, a plenty, an' mo' biscuit den a lot o' white folks had. i kin remember de biscuit. i never hunted any, but i went bird blindin' an' set bird traps. i caught lots o' birds. "jack johnson, my marster never had no children of his own. he had a boy with him by the name of stephen, a nephew of his, from one of his brothers. marster jack had three brothers willis, billy, and matthew. i don' remember any of his sisters. there was 'bout four thousand acres in de plantation an' 'bout slaves. marster would not have an overseer. "no sir, de slaves worked very much as they pleased. he whupped a slave now an' then, but not much. i have seen him whup 'em. he had some unruly niggers. some of 'em were part indian, an' mean. dey all loved him doe. i never saw a slave sold. he kept his slaves together. he didn't want to git rid of any of 'em. we went to de white folks church at neill's creek a missionary baptis' church. "we played during the christmas holidays, an' we got 'bout two weeks th of july, and lay by time, which wus 'bout the fourth. we had great times at corn shuckin's, log rollin's and cotton pickin's. we had dances. marster lowed his slaves lots o' freedom. my mother used to say he wus better den other folks. yes, she said her marster wus better than other folks. "the white folks didn't teach us to read an' write. i cannot read an' write, but de white folks, only 'bout half or less den half, could read an' write den. dere were very few pore white folks who could read an' write. i remember de baptizin's at de reuben matthews mill pond. sometimes after a big meeting dey would baptize twenty four at one time. no slaves run away from marster. dey didn't have any scuse to do so, cause whites and colored fared alike at marster's. we played base, cat, rolly hole, and a kind of base ball called 'round town. "dr. john mcneill looked after us when we were sick. we used a lot of herbs an' things. drank sassafras tea an' mullen tea. we also used sheep tea for measles, you knows dat. you know how it wus made. called sheep pill tea. it shore would cuore de measles. 'bout all dat would cuore measles den. dey were bad den. wus den dey is now. "i saw wheeler's cavalry. dey come through ahead of de yankees. i saw colored people in de yankee uniforms. dey wore blue and had brass buttons on 'em. de yankees an' wheeler's cavalry took everything dey wanted, meat, chickens, an' stock. we stayed on wid marster after de war. i've never lived out of de state. we lived in de same place ontill old marster an' missus died. den we lived wid deir relations right on an' here. i am now on a place deir heirs own. "ole marster loved his dram, an' he gave it to all his slaves. it sold for ten cents a quart. he made brandy by de barrels, an' at holidays all drank together an' had a good time. i never saw any of 'em drunk. people wan't mean when dey were drinking den. it wus so plentiful nobody notices it much. marster would tell de children 'bout raw head and bloody bones an' other things to skeer us. he would call us to de barn to git apples an' run an' hide, an' we would have a time findin' him. he give de one who found him a apple. sometimes he didn't give de others no apple. "i married ellen johnson may , de year de war went up, an' my wife is livin' as you see, an' able to be about. i'm not able to work, not able to go out anywhere by myself. i know i cain't las' much longer but i'm thankful to de lord for sparin' me dis long." ac n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: tina johnson story teller: tina johnson editor: daisy bailey waitt [illustration: tina johnson [tr: man named tina, or wrong photo.]] tina johnson ex-slave story an interview with tina johnson , s. bloodworth street, raleigh. "i wuz bawned in richmon', georgia 'round eighty-five years ago. my mammy wuz named cass an' my father, dat is my step-father wuz named john curtis. i got de name of johnson frum gen'l johnson, i doan know who my real daddy wuz. "my mammy belonged ter a mis' berry who wuz pretty good ter her, but we ain't had nothin' but de coarsest food an' clothes. i had one brother name dennis an' me an' him wucked wid de others in de cotton patch. "we had done moved nigh augusta when sherman come, an' sherman's sister wuz a-livin' in augusta. dat's de reason dat sherman missed us, case he ain't wantin' ter 'sturb his sister none. "i ain't seed nary a yankee, but fer two days an' nights i hyard de guns roarin' an' felt de earth shakin' lak a earthquake wuz hittin' it. de air wuz dark an' de clouds hunged low, de whole earth seemed ter be full of powder an' yo' nostrils seemed lak dey would bust wid de sting of it. "atter de surrender we stayed on an' went through de ku klux scare. i know dat de ku kluxes went ter a nigger dance one night an' whupped all of de dancers. ole marster berry wuz mad, case he ain't sont fer' em at all an' he doan want dem. "seberal year's atter de war mammy married john curtis in de baptist church at augusta, an' me an' dennis seed de ceremony. i pulled a good one on a white feller 'bout dat onct. he axed me if i knowed dat my pappy an' mammy wuz married 'fore i wuz borned. i sez ter him dat i wonder if he knows whar his mammy an' pappy wuz married when he wuz borned. "we comed ter raleigh 'fore things wuz settled atter de war, an' i watches de niggers livin' on kush, co'nbread, 'lasses an' what dey can beg an' steal frum de white folkses. dem days shore wuz bad." n.c. district: no. worker: mary hicks no. words: subject: ex-slave story story teller: bob jones editor: george l. andrews [tr: date stamp: aug ] ex-slave story bob jones an interview with bob jones, years of age, county home, raleigh, north carolina. "i wus borned in warren county on de plantation 'longin' ter mister logie rudd. my mammy wus frankie. my pappy wus named [tr: illegible] [h]arry jones. him an' my oldes' brother burton 'longed ter a mister jones dar in de neighborhood. "marster logie an' young marster joe wus nice as dey could be, but mis' betsy wus crabbed an' hard ter git along wid. she whupped de servants what done de house work an' she fussed so bad dat she moughty nigh run all us crazy. hit wus her what sold my aunt sissy ann an' hit wus her what whupped my sister mary so bad. dar warn't but six of us slaves but dem six run a race ter see who can stay outen her sight. "young marster joe wus one of de fust ter go ter de war an' i wanted ter go wid him but i bein' only fourteen dey 'cided ter sen' sidney instead. i hated dat, 'case i shorely wanted ter go. "we neber seed marse joe but twice atter he left, de time when his daddy wus buried an' when dey brung his body home frum de war. "one day about seben or eight yankees comed 'roun' our place lookin' fer reb. scouts, dey said, but dey ain't fin' none so dey goes on 'bout dere business. de nex' day a few of our soldiers brings marse joe's body home frum de war. "i doan 'member whar he wus killed but he had been dead so long dat he had turned dark, an' sambo, a little nigger, sez ter me, 'i thought, bob, dat i'ud turn white when i went ter heaben but hit 'pears ter me lak de white folkses am gwine ter turn black.' "we buried young marse joe under de trees in de family buryin' groun' an' we niggers sung swing low sweet chariot an' nearer my god to thee an' some others. de ole missus wus right nice ter ever'body dat day an' she let de young missus take charge of all de business frum dat time. "we stayed on de rudd plantation fer two years atter de war, den we moves ter method whar i met edna crowder. we courted fer seberal months an' at las' i jist puts my arm 'roun' her waist an' i axes her ter have me. she ain't got no mammy ter ax so she kisses me an' tells me dat she will. "durin' de course of our married life we had five chilluns but only one of dem lived ter be named, dat wus hyacinth, an' he died 'fore he was a month old. "edna died too, six years ago, an' lef' me ter de mercies of de worl'. all my brudders an' sisters dead, my parents dead, my chilluns dead, an' my wife dead, but i has got a niece. "till lately i been livin' at de wake county home, but my niece what lives on person street says dat iffen i can git de pension dat she can afford ter let me stay ter her house. i hope i does, 'case i doan want ter go back ter de county home." eh n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: clara jones story teller: clara jones editor: daisy bailey waitt clara jones cannon street "i been unable ter work fer years; i am blind. i been in bed helpless fer four years. i eats all i can get, and takes what i am told ter take. de lord helps me, i am depending on him. he put me into de world and he can take me out. i was years old at de surrender. my missus wus dillie scott. i wus a scott before i married william jones. my marster wus aaron scott. i loved my white folks. hain't got no word ter say against 'em. don't think de government goin' to help me any; i have been fooled so many times. we all should fix our salvation right that's the thing that counts now. my time is 'bout spent here. "de white folks went off to de war; dey said dey could whup, but de lord said, 'no', and dey didn't whup. dey went off laffin', an' many were soon cryin', and many did not come back. de yankees come through, dey took what dey wanted; killed de stock; stole de horses; poured out de lasses and cut up a lot of meaness, but most of 'em is dead and gone now. no matter whether dey were southern white folks, or northern white folks, dey is dead now. "i am helpless, my son, de baby, who is de only livin' chile i has, takes care o' me. my son is a baptis' minister, but he has no church. he stays here, and looks after me. he is forty years old. he has heart disease, and his lungs are bad. he has no regular job, so some times we have very little ter eat. our water is cut off now. we never have money to buy any ice. we have had only one ten cent piece of ice this summer. sometimes my son sets up wid me all night. "maybe de lawd will help us sometime. i trusts him anyway. yes, i trusts de lawd." ac n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: clara jones story teller: clara jones editor: geo. l. andrews [tr: date stamp: aug ] clara jones an interview with clara jones of cannon street, raleigh, north carolina. "i doan know how old i is but i wus borned long time ago case i wus a married 'oman way 'fore de war. we lived on mr. felton mcgee's place hear in wake county. i wurked lak a man dar an' de hours wus from sunup till dark mostly. he ain't had but about fifty slaves but he makes dem do de wurk of a hundret an' fifty. we ain't had no fun dar, case hit takes all of our strength ter do our daily task. yes'um we had our tasks set out ever' day. "one day, right atter my fifth chile wus borned, i fell out in de fiel'. marster come out an' looked at me, den he kicks me an' 'lows, 'a youngin' ever' ten months an' never able ter wurk, i'll sell her'. "a few days atter dat he tuck me an' my two younges' chilluns ter raleigh an' he sells us ter marse rufus jones. "marse rufus am a good man in ever' way. he fed us good an' he give us good clothes an' we ain't had much wurk ter do, dat is, not much side of what we had ter do on mcgee's plantation. "we had some fun on marse rufus' plantation, watermillion slicin's, candy pullin's, dances, prayer meetin's an' sich. yes mam, we had er heap of fun an' in dat time i had eleben chilluns. "my husband, william, still stayed on ter mister mcgee's. we got married in , de year 'fore de war started, i think. i can't tell yo' much 'bout our courtin' case hit went on fer years an' de marster wanted us ter git married so's dat i'd have chilluns. when de slaves on de mcgee place got married de marster always said dat dere duty wus ter have a houseful of chilluns fer him. "when de yankees come mis' sally, marse rufus' wife cried an' ordered de scalawags outen de house but dey jist laughs at her an' takes all we got. dey eben takes de stand of lard dat we has got buried in de ole fiel' an' de hams hangin' up in de trees in de pasture. atter dey is gone we fin's a sick yankee in de barn an' mis' sally nurses him. way atter de war mis' sally gits a letter an' a gol' ring from him. "when de news of de surrender comes mis' sally cries an' sez dat she can't do widout her niggers, so marse rufus comes in an' tells us dat we can stay on. "william moves ober dar, takes de name of jones an' goes ter farmin' wid a purpose an' believe me we makes our livin'. we stay dar through all of de construction days an' through de time when de ku kluxes wus goin' wild an' whuppin's all de niggers. we raise our eleben chilluns dar an' dar's whar my husban' died in an' den i comes ter raleigh. "i wurked till four years ago when i had a stroke now i ain't able ter wurk an' i sho' does want my pension. will yo' tell dem ter sen' hit in de nex' mail." n.c. district: no. writer: daisy whaley no. words: subject: abner jordan, ex-slave of durham county. interviewed: abner jordan durham county home. abner jordan ex-slave, years. "i wus bawn about an' i wus bawn at staggsville, marse paul cameron's place. i belonged to marse paul. my pappy's name wus obed an' my mammy wus ella jordan an' dey wus thirteen chillun on our family. "i wus de same age of young marse benehan, i played wid him an' wus his body guard. yes, suh, whare ever young marse benehan went i went too. i waited on him. young marse benny run away an' 'listed in de war, but marse paul done went an' brung him back kaze he wus too young to go and fight de yankees. "marse paul had a heap of niggahs; he had five thousan'. when he meet dem in de road he wouldn' know dem an' when he azed dem who dey wus an' who dey belonged to, dey' tell him dey belonged to marse paul cameron an' den he would say dat wus all right for dem to go right on. "my pappy wus de blacksmith an' foreman for marse paul, an' he blew de horn for de other niggahs to come in from de fiel' at night. dey couldn' leave de plantation without marse say dey could. "when de war come de yankees come to de house an' axed my mammy whare de folks done hid de silver an' gol', an' dey say dey gwine to kill mammy if she didn' tell dem. but mammy say she didn' know whare dey put it, an' dey would jus' have to kill her for she didn' know an' wouldn' lie to keep dem from hurting her. "de sojers stole seven or eight of de ho'ses an' foun' de meat an' stole dat, but dey didn' burn none of de buildin's nor hurt any of us slaves. "my pappy an' his family stayed wid marse paul five years after de surrender den we moved to hillsboro an' i's always lived 'roun' dese parts. i ain' never been out of north carolina eighteen months in my life. north carolina is good enough for me." n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: jane lassiter story teller: jane lassiter editor: geo. l. andrews [tr: date stamp: aug ] jane lassiter about years old. battle street raleigh, n.c. "i am 'bout years old. i am somewhere in my seventies, don't zackly know my age. i wus here when de yankees come an' i 'member seein' dem dressed in blue. i wus a nurse at dat time not big enough to hold a baby but dey let me set by de cradle an' rock it. "all my white folks dead an' all my people am dead an' i haint got no one to ax 'bout my age. dey had my age an' my mother's age in de bible but dey am all dead out now an' i don't know whur it is. "my mother an' me belonged to the councils. dr. kit council who lived on a plantation in de lower edge of chatham county, 'bout three miles from new hill.[ ] my father belonged to de lamberts. their plantation wus near pittsboro in chatham county. my father wus named macon lambert an' his marster wus named at lambert. our missus wus named caroline an' father's missus wus named beckie. my grandfather wus phil bell. he belonged to the bells. they lived in chatham county. my grandmother wus named peggy an' she belonged to de same family. "we lived in little ole log houses. we called 'em cabins. they had stick an' dirt chimleys wid one door to de house an' one window. it shet to lak a door. "we did not have any gardens an' we never had any money of our own. we jest wurked fer de white folks. "we had plenty sumptin to eat an' it wus cooked good. my mother wus de cook an' she done it right. our clothes wus homemade but we had plenty shiftin' clothes. course our shoes wus given out at christmas. we got one pair a year an' when dey wore out we got no more an' had to go barefooted de rest of de time. you had to take care of dat pair uv shoes bekase dey wus all you got a year. the slaves caught game sometime an' et it in de cabins, but dere wus not much time fer huntin' dere wus so much wurk to do. "dere wus 'bout fifty slaves on de plantation, an' dey wurked from light till dark. i 'member dey wurkin' till dark. course i wus too small to 'member all 'bout it an' i don't 'member 'bout de overseers. i never seen a slave whupped, but i 'members seein' dem carryin' slaves in droves like cows. de white men who wus guardin' 'em walked in front an' some behind. i did not see any chains. i never seen a slave sold an' i don't 'member ever seein' a jail fer slaves. "dere wus no books, or larnin' uv any kind allowed. you better not be ketched wid a book in yore han's. dat wus sumptin dey would git you fer. i ken read an' write a little but i learned since de surrender. my mother tole me 'bout dat bein' 'ginst de rules of de white folks. i 'members it while i wus only a little gal. when de yankees come thro'. "dere wus no churches on de plantation an' we wus not 'lowed to have prayer meetings in de cabins, but we went to preachin' at de white folks church. i 'member dat. we set on de back seat. i 'member dat. "no slaves ever run away from our plantation cause marster wus good to us. i never heard of him bein' 'bout to whup any of his niggers. mother loved her white folks as long as she lived an' i loved 'em too. no mister, we wus not mistreated. mother tole me a lot 'bout raw head an' bloody bones an' when i done mean, she say, 'better not do dat any more raw head an' bloody bones gwine ter git yo'.' ha! ha! dey jest talked 'bout ghosts till i could hardly sleep at nite, but de biggest thing in ghosts is somebody 'guised up tryin' to skeer you. ain't no sich thing as ghosts. lot of niggers believe dere is do'. "we stayed on at marsters when de surrender come cause when we wus freed we had nothin' an' nowhere to go. dats de truth. mister, dats de truth. we stayed with marster a long time an' den jest moved from one plantation to another. it wus like dis, a crowd of tenants would get dissatisfied on a certain plantation, dey would move, an' another gang of niggers move in. dat wus all any of us could do. we wus free but we had nothin' 'cept what de marsters give us. "when we got sick, you sees we stayed wid a doctor, he looked after us, but we had our herbs too. we took sassafras tea, catnip an' horehound tea an' flag. flag wus good to ease pain. jest make a tea of de flagroots an' drink it hot. "i married kit lassiter in chatham county an' i had seven chilluns. three boys an' four girls. all am dead but two. two girls are livin'. one named louie finch, her husband dead. she stays wid me an' supports me. she cooks an' supports me. my other livin' daughter is venira mclean. she lives across de street wid her husband. her husband had a stroke an' ain't able to wurk no more. dey live on five dollars a week. dey ain't able to help me now. i moved ter raleigh years ago. my husband died here. "i heard 'bout de ku klux but dey never give our family no trouble cause we didn't give 'em no cause to bother us. i don't know all 'bout slavery but i 'members dere wus a lot of big fat greasy niggers goin' around, an' i reckin dey fared good or dey wouldn't a been so fat. dey got plenty to eat even if dey did wurk 'em. "i believe slavery wus all rite whur slaves wus treated right. i haint got nuff edication to tell you nothin' 'bout lincoln an' dem udder men. heard 'em say he come thro', reckon he did too. i belong to the 'united holiness church'." footnotes: [footnote : hw: new hill (newhill p.o.), wake county.] n.c. district: no. worker: travis jordan subject: dave lawson ex-slave story lived at blue wing, n.c. [tr: date stamp: aug ] dave lawson ex-slave my father who knew the principle characters told me this story years ago "yes, suh, de wus' i knows 'bout slavery times is what dey tols me 'bout how come dey hung my gran'mammy an' gran'pappy. dey hung dem bof at de same time an' from de same lim' of de tree, but dat was way back yonder befo' mistah lincoln come down here to set de niggers free. my mammy wuzn' but six months ole den an' i wuzn' even bawn, but aunt becky tole me 'bout it when i was ole enough to lissen. "dis ain' no nice tale you gwine hear. it's de truf, but 'tain't nice. de fus' time i heard it i didn' sleep none for a week. everytime i shut my eyes i seed marse drew norwood wid dat funnel in his mouf an' de hot steam blowin' up like a cloud 'roun' his wicked face an' skeered eyes. "dey say my gran'pappy's ole marse was de meanes' white man de lawd ever let breath de breaf of life. his name was marse drew norwood. he was de riches' lan' owner anywhare 'roun'. he owned more lan' an' more niggers den anybody in person or granville counties. but he didn' make his money wid no farm, no suh, he sho didn', he made his money buyin' an' sellin' niggers. he bought dem cheap an' sold dem high. he would catch all de niggers dat run away from other plantations an' keep dem in his lockup 'twell he fatten dem, den he would take dem way off down in georgia, alabama or some place like dat an' sell dem for a big price. he would come back wid his pockets runnin' over wid money. some folks say he stold niggers to sell, but nobody never could catch him. "marse drew lived over here on de virginia line 'tween red bank an' blue wing. he owned lan' 'cross de no'th carolina line too an' lived close to blue wing. he treated his niggers so mean dey was all de time runnin' off. if he caught dem he beat dem near 'bout to death. he did beat cindy norwood to death one time kaze she run off to marse reuben jones place an' axed him to keep her. she got pizen in de cut places on her back an' had fits three days befo' de lawd took her. but marse drew jus' laugh an' say he didn' keer; dat she wuzn' no 'count nohow. "i ain't never seed marse drew kaze i was bawn way after de niggers was freed, but dey tole me he looked like a mad bull. he was short wid a big head set forward on his big shoulders. his neck was so short dat he couldn' wear no collar; he jus' kept de neck bindin' of his shirt pinned wid a diaper pin. de debil done lit a lamp an' set it burnin' in his eyes; his mouf was a wicked slash cut 'cross his face, an' when he got mad his lips curled back from his teef like a mad dog's. when he cracked his whip de niggers swinged an' de chillun screamed wid pain when dat plaited thong bit in dey flesh. he beat mistis too. mis' cary wuzn' no bigger den a minute an' she skeered as a kildee of marse drew. she didn' live long dey say kaze marse drew whipped her jus' befo' dey fus' baby wuz bawn. "marse drew done whip luzanne kaze she burnt de biscuits, an' mis' cary give her some salve to rub on de cut places on her back. when marse drew foun' it out he got so mad dat he come back to de big house an' tole mis' cary dat he gwine touch her up wid his whip kaze she give luzanne de salve, dat when he want his niggers doctored he gwine doctor dem hese'f, so he got to use his lash a little bit to make her remember. "mis' cary got so skeered dat she run 'roun' an' 'roun' de house, but marse drew run after her, an' every now an' den he th'ow out dat plaited whip an' curl it 'roun' her shoulders. every time it hit it cut clean through her clothes. mis' cary got so skeered dat de baby come dat night befo' 'twuz time. de baby wuz bawn dead an' mis' cary went on to glory wid it. dey say she was glad to go. yes, suh, everything on dat plantation, animal an' man was skeered of dat whip--dat whip dat never lef' marse drew's wris'. it was made of home-tanned leather plaited in a roun' cord big as a man's thum'. all day it swung from a leather strop tied to his wris' an' at night it lay on a chair 'side de bed whare he could reach it easy. "it was jus' befo' de yankees come over here to fight dat marse drew bought cleve an' lissa lawson. dey was my gran'mammy an' gran'pappy. my mammy den was a baby. marse drew bought dem for fo' hundred an' fifty dollars. dat was cheap kaze de niggers was young wid hard farm trainin'. ole marse didn' buy mammy. he said a nigger brat wuzn' no good, dey wouldn' sell an' dey might die befo' dey growed up, 'sides dey was a strain on de mammy what breas' nussed it. lissa cut up powerful kaze he made her leave de baby behin', but marse drew jus' laughed an' tole her dat he would give her a puppy; dat dey was plenty of houn's on de plantation. den he snapped de chains on dey wris' an' led dem off. lissa an' cleve never seed dat baby no more. aunt beck lawson took an' raised her an' when she got grown she was my mammy. "yes, suh, marse drew bought dem niggers like he was buyin' a pair of mules. dey wuzn' no more den mules to him. it was early summer when he brung dem to de plantation, but when wheat cuttin' time come lissa an' cleve was sent to de wheat fiel's. dey was smart niggers, dey worked hard--too hard for dey own good. in dem times 'twuz de smart, hard workin' niggers dat brought de bes' price, an' nobody didn' know dat better den marse drew. "one day cleve seed marse drew watchin' lissa. she was gleamin' de wheat. her skin was de color of warm brown velvet; her eyes was dark an' bright an' shinin' like muscadines under de frosty sun, an' her body was slender like a young tree dat bends easy. as she stooped an' picked up de wheat, flingin' it 'cross her arm, she swayed back an' fo'th jus' like dem saplins down yonder by de creek sways in de win'. "cleve watched marse drew on de sly. he seed him watchin' lissa. he seed de lustful look in his eyes, but 'twuzn' lissa he lustin' after; 'twuz money he seed in her slender swayin' body, in de smooth warm brown skin, an' de quick, clean way she gleam de wheat. stripped to de wais' on de alabama auction block she would bring near 'bout a thousan' dollars. cleve 'gun to sweat. he turned so sick an' skeered dat he could hardly swing de scythe through de wheat. marse drew done took his baby away, an' now sumpin' way down in his heart told him dat he was gwine take lissa. he didn' keer if he parted dem, 'twuz dollars he seed swingin' 'roun' his head--gol' dollars shinin' brighter den stars. "'twuz de nex' day dat marse drew went to cleve's cabin. he walk up whistlin' an' knock on de door wid de butt of his whip. "cleve opened de door. "ole marse tole him to pack lissa's clothes, dat he was takin' her to souf boston de nex' day to sell her on de block. "cleve fell on his knees an' 'gun to plead. he knew ole marse wuzn' gwine take lissa to no souf boston; he was gwine take her way off an' he wouldn' never see her no more. he beg an' promise marse drew to be good an' do anything he say [hw: to] do if he jus' leave him lissa, dat she was his wife an' he love her. but marse drew hit him 'cross de face wid his whip, cuttin' his lip in half, den he went over an' felt of lissa's arms an' legs like she might have been a hoss. "when he done gone cleve went over an' set down by lissa an' took her han'. lissa 'gun to cry, den she jumped up an' 'menced to take down her clothes hangin' on de wall. "cleve watched her for a while, den he made up his min' he gwine do sumpin', dat she ain't gwine be took away from him. he say: 'quit dat, lissa, leave dem clothes alone. you ain't gwine leave me, you ain't gwine nowhare, hear me?' den he tole her to make up a hot fire while he brung in de wash pot. he brung in de big iron pot an' set it on de hearth an' raked de' red coals all 'roun' it, den he filled it wid water. while it was heatin' he went to de door an' looked out. de sun done gone down an' night was crowdin' de hills, pushin' dem out of sight. by daylight dat white man would be comin' after lissa. "cleve turned 'roun' an' looked at lissa. she was standin' by de wash pot lookin' down in de water, an' de firelight from de burnin' lightwood knots showed de tears droppin' off her cheeks. cleve went outside. 'bout dat time a scritch owl come an' set on de roof an' scritched. lissa run out to skeer it away, but cleve caught her arm. he say, 'don't do dat, lissa, leave him alone. dat's de death bird, he knows what he's doin'. so lissa didn' do nothin', she let de bird keep on scritchin'. "when 'twuz good an' dark cleve took a long rope an' went out, tellin' lissa to keep de water boilin'. when, he come back he had marse drew all tied up wid de rope an gagged so he couldn' holler; he had him th'owed over his shoulder like a sack of meal. he brung him in de cabin an' laid him on de floor, den he tole him if he wouldn' sell lissa dat he wouldn' hurt him. but marse drew shook his head an' cussed in his th'oat. den cleve took off de gag, but befo' de white man could holler out, cleve stuffed de spout of a funnel in his big mouf way down his th'oat, holdin' down his tongue. he ax him one more time to save lissa from de block, but marse drew look at him wid hate in his eyes shook his head again. cleve didn' say nothin' else to him; he call lissa an' tole her to bring him a pitcher of boilin' water. "by den lissa seed what cleve was gwine do. she didn' tell cleve not to do it nor nothin'; she jus' filled de pitcher wid hot water, den she went over an' set down on de floor an' hol' marse drew's head so he couldn' move. "when ole marse seed what dey was fixin' to do to him, his eyes near 'bout busted out of his head, but when dey ax him again 'bout lissa he wouldn' promise nothin', so cleve set on him to hol' him down, den took de pitcher an' 'gun to pour dat boilin' water right in dat funnel stickin' in marse drew's mouf. "dat man kicked an' struggled, but dat water scalded its way down his th'oat, burnin' up his insides. lissa brung another pitcher full an' dey wuzn' no pity in her eyes as she watched marse drew fightin' his way to torment, cussin' all niggers an' abraham lincoln. "after dat lissa an' cleve set down to wait for de sheriff. dey knew 'twuzn' no use to run, dey couldn' get nowhare. 'bout sunup de folks come an' foun' marse drew, an' dey foun' lissa an' cleve settin' by de door han' in han' waitin'. when dem niggers tole what dey done an' how come dey done it dem white folks was hard. de sheriff took de rope from' roun' marse drew an' cut it in two pieces. he tied one rope 'roun' cleve's neck an' one rope 'roun' lissa's neck an' hung dem up in de big oak tree in de yard. "yes, suh, dat's what happened to my gran'mammy an' gran'pappy in slavery times. dis here cabin we's settin' in is de same cabin whare cleve an' lissa scalded marse drew, an' dat oak tree 'side de paf is de same tree dey was hung on. sometimes now in de fall of de year when i'se settin' in de door after de sun done gone down; an' de wheat am ripe an' bendin' in de win', an' de moon am roun' an' yeller like a mush melon, seems like i sees two shadows swingin' from de big lim' of dat tree--i sees dem swingin' low side by side wid dey feets near 'bout touchin' de groun'." n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: jane lee person interviewed: jane lee editor: g.l. andrews [tr: date stamp: sep ] jane lee an interview with jane lee, years old, selma, north carolina. "i wus borned de slave of marse henry mccullers down here at clayton on de wake an' johnston line. my daddy wus named addison an' my mammy wus named caroline. daddy 'longed to mr. john ellington who also lived near clayton. i doan know de number of mr. ellington's slaves, but i know dat marse henry had six or seben. "marse henry ain't had no oberseer ner no patterollers nother. he managed his business hisself an' ain't needed nobody. he whupped dem when dey needed hit but dat ain't often, not dat he ain't put de whuppin' on dem what did need hit. "i 'members de yankees comin' good as iffen hit wus yesterday. dey comed wid a big noise, chasin' our white folks what wus in de army clean away. dey chase dem to raleigh an' den dey kotch 'em, but dey ain't had much time, ter do us any damage case dey wus too busy atter de rebs. "de woods wus full of runaway slaves an' rebs who deserted de army so hit wus dangerous to walk out. marse henry give us a speech about hit an' atter i seed one rag-a-muffin nigger man dat wus so hongry dat his eyes pop out, i ain't took no more walks. "atter de war we moved on mr. ellington's place wid daddy an' dar i stayed till i married wyatt lee. wyatt wus a bad proposition an' he got shot in fayetteville atter we had five chilluns. wyatt tuck a woman to fayetteville an' a man named frank mattiner killed him about her. den my oldest boy went to wurk in virginia an' a man named rudolphus killed him 'bout a yaller gal. both of de murderers runaway an' ain't never been ketched. "all five of my chilluns am daid now, an' fer de past ten years i'se done ever'thing but cut cord wood. "how does i live? well i lives now an' den. de county gives me two dollars a month an' de house am mine durin' my life time. mr. parrish sold hit to judge brooks wid de understandin' dat hit am mine long as i live. i don't know why, none of us never 'longed ter de parrish's ner nothin' dat i knows of." n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: chana littlejohn person interviewed: chana littlejohn editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp: jun ] chana littlejohn state street [hw marginal note: to p. ] "i remember when de yankees come. i remember when de soldiers come an' had tents in marster's yard before dey went off to de breastworks. my mother wus hired out before de surrender an' had to leave her two chilluns at home on marster's plantation. when she come home christmas he told her she would not have to go back any more. she could stay at home. this wus de las' year o' de war and he tol' her she would soon be free. "my eyes are mighty bad. de doctor said he would work on 'em if somebody in de agriculture building would pay it.[ ] i can't see at all out of one eye and the other is bad. "i doan reckon i wus ten years old when de yankees come, but i wus runnin' around an' can remember all dis. guess i wus 'bout eight years old. i wus born in warren county, near warrenton. i belonged to peter mitchell, a long, tall man. there were 'bout a hundred slaves on de plantation. my missus wus named laura. mother always called me 'ole betsy' when she wus mad at me. betsy wus marster peter's mother. i remember seein' her. she wus a big fat 'oman wid white hair. she give biscuits to all de chillun on saturdays. she also looked out for de slave chilluns on sunday. my father wus named marcillus littlejohn and my mother wus named susan littlejohn. "we had gardens and patches and plenty to eat. we also got de holidays. marster bought charcoal from de men which dey burnt at night an' on holidays. dey worked an' made de stuff, an' marster would let dem have de steer-carts an' wagons to carry deir corn an' charcoal to sell it in town. yes sir, dis wus mighty nice. we had plank houses. dere wus not but one log house on de plantation. marster lived in de big house. it had eight porches on it. "dere wus no churches on de plantation, an' i doan remember any prayer meetin's. when we sang we turned de wash-pots an' tubs in de doors, so dey would take up de noise so de white folks could not hear us. i do remember de gatherin's at our home to pray fur de yankees to come. all de niggers thought de yankees had blue bellies. the old house cook got so happy at one of dese meetin's she run out in de yard an' called, 'blue bellies come on, blue bellies come on.' dey caught her an' carried her back into de house. "when de overseer whupped one o' de niggers he made all de slaves sing, 'sho' pity lawd, oh! lawd forgive!. when dey sang awhile he would call out one an' whup him. he had a sing fur everyone he whupped. marster growed up wid de niggers an' he did not like to whup 'em. if dey sassed him he would put spit in their eyes and say 'now i recon you will mind how you sass me.' "we had a lot o' game and 'possums. when we had game marster left de big house, and come down an' et wid us. when marster wan't off drunk on a spree he spent a lot of time wid de slaves. he treated all alike. his slaves were all niggers. dere were no half-white chilluns dere. "marster would not let us work until we were thirteen years old. den he put us to plowin' in soft lan', an' de men in rough lan'. some of de women played off sick an' went home an' washed an' ironed an' got by wid it. de oberseer tried to make two of 'em go back to work. dey flew at him an' whupped him. he told de marster when he come home, marster said, 'did you 'low dem women to whup you?' 'yes', he replied, den marster tole him if women could whup him he didn't want him. but he let him stay on. his name wus jack rivers. he wus hired by marster. marster rivers did not have any slaves. dere wus no jail on de plantation, case when er overseer whupped er nigger he did not need any jail. "de black folks better not be caught wid a book but one o' de chilluns at our plantation, marster peter mitchell's sister had taught aunt isabella to read and write, an' durin' de war she would read, an' tell us how everythin' wus goin'. tom mitchell, a slave, sassed marster. marster tole him he would not whup him, but he would sell him. tom's brother, henry, tol' him if he wus left he would run away, so marster sold both. he carried 'em to richmond to sell 'em. he sold 'em on de auction block dere way down on broad street. when dey put tom on de auction block dey found tom had a broken leg and marster didn't git much fer him. he wanted to git enough fer these two grown settled men to buy two young men. tom wus married. he wus sold from his wife and chilluns. marster did not git enough fer 'em to pay for dese two young boys. he had to pay de difference in money. de boys were 'bout or years ole. when marster got back wid 'em de overseer tole him he had ruined his plantation. de boys soon become sick wid yeller fever an' both died. dey strowed it 'round, an' many died. marster shore made a mess o' things dat time. "dr. ben wilson, of warren county wus marster mitchell's brother-in-law. he 'tended de sick folks an' he made many trips. sometimes as soon as he got home dey sent fer him again. "we played mumble-peg an' hop-scotch when i wus a child, we played jumpin' de rope a lot. "i have never been married. i had only one brother. he has been dead six years. since he died i have had a hard time makin' a livin'. brother john lived wid me until he died. i had only one sister. she died many years ago. i think slavery wus mighty hard an' wrong. i joined de church 'cause i had religion an' de church would help me to keep it. people should be religious so dey will have a place in de beyond. "abraham lincoln wus a good man. i have his picture. i think mr. roosevelt is a good god-fearin' man. when he gits sick i prays fer him. when he is sick i is jist as scared as i kin be. i prays fer him ter stay well." le footnotes: [footnote : the office of the state board of welfare is in the agriculture building.] n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: charity mcallister story teller: charity mcallister editor: daisy bailey waitt charity mcallister south street "my name is charity mcallister. i wus here a long time before de yankees come here. i wus 'bout grown when dey come through. i ain't hardly able to cook my little sumptin' to eat now. i ain't able to work out. no sir, not able to work. done and worked my time out. i wus a grown gal when de yankees come. i wus 'bout years old. i loves to give you de truth and i knows i wus dat old. i wus a grown gal. "my father wus named robert blalock. he 'longed to de blalocks o' harnett county. my mother wus annie mcallister. she 'longed to jennett mcallister in harnett county. i 'longed to john greene at lillington, harnett county. my mother first 'longed to john greene. she got in de family way by a white man, and john greene sold her to a speculator named bill avery of raleigh, a speculator. dey sold my brother. he wus as white as you is. when de surrender come mother went back to miss jennett mcallister in harnett county. dat's how dey got back dere. i wants to tell de truth and dats what i is goin' to do. "i tell you i wus whupped durin' slavery time. dey whupped us wid horsehair whups. dey put a stick under our legs an' tied our hands to de stick and we could not do nuthin' but turn and twist. dey would sure work on your back end. every time you turned dey would hit it. i been whupped dat way and scarred up. we slept on mattresses made o' tow sacks. our clothes were poor. one-piece-dress made o' carpet stuff, part of de time. one pair o' shoes a year after christmas. dey give 'em to us on january first; no shoes till after christmas. dey did not give us any holidays christmas in harnett county. dat wus 'ginst de rules. no prayer nor nuthin' on de plantation in our houses. dey did not 'low us to go to de white folks church. dey did not 'low de slaves to hunt, so we did not have any game. dey did not 'low us any patches. no sirree, we did not have any money. "de slaves slep' a lot on pallets durin' slavery days. a pallet wus a quilt or tow carpet spread on de floor. we used a cotton pillow sometimes. dere wus about slaves on de plantation. we had no overseer on master's plantation, and no books and schools o' any kind for niggers. i cannot read and write. no sir, i wish i could read and write. "i split rails and worked in de cape fear river low grounds. we fenced de fields wid rails split from trees, pine trees. dey were eleven feet long. "yes sir, i seed de patterollers. i seed a plenty of dem scoundrels. oh! ho, de ku klux, ha!, ha! dey were real scandals, and i jest caint tell you all de mean things dey done right after de war. reubin matthew's slave, george matthews, killed two ku klux. dey double teamed him and shot him, and he cut 'em wid de ax, and dey died. "i wus married right after de war. de second year after de war, i married richard rogers, but i kep' de name o' mcallister right on. my husband been dead a good long time. lawd, i don't know how long. i been married one time, and dat wus one time too much. i have two sons, one name clarence, and one named john, two daughters, one in newport news, one in washington, d.c., one named lovie, and one named lula." bn district no.: worker: travis jordan subject: clara cotton mccoy ex-slave years durham, n.c. rfd # clara cotton mc-coy ex-slave years "yes'm, i was bawn eighty-two years ago. my mammy died den an' my gran'mammy raised me. i sho do 'member when dat man sherman an' his mens marched through orange county, but, it didn' take no army of yankees to ruin my white folks home, it took jus' one yankee, but even dat didn' bow my mistis' head. "i ain't never seed nobody as proud as my mis' 'riah cotton. she never bowed her head to trouble nor nobody; she never even bowed her head in chu'ch. when de preacher prayed she jus' folded her hands an' set up straight, facin' de lawd wid no fear. no, suh, my mistis ain't gwine bow her head no time. young mis' laughter broke her mammy's heart, but she ain't make her bend her head. "mis' laughter's sho nuff name was mis' clorena cotton. she wasn' tall an' dark like mis' 'riah; she was little an' roun' an' pretty as a thorn flower, all pink an' gol'. she was jus' like a butterfly, never still a minute, skippin' here an' yonder, laughin' wid everybody. dat's whare she got her name. us niggers 'gun to call her mis' laughter kaze she was so happy. she was de only one dat could make mis' 'riah smile. she would run up to mis' 'riah an' ruffle her hair dat she done comb back so slick an' smooth, den she would stick a red rose behin' her ear, an' say: 'now, pretty mammy, you look like you did when pappy come cou'tin'.' marse ned would lay down his paper an' look fus' at mis' 'riah den at mis' laughter, an' for a minute mis' 'riah would smile, den she would look firm an' say to mis' laughter, 'don't you know dat rightousness an' virtue am more 'ceptable to de lawd den beauty? you's worldly, clorena, you's too worldly.' "mis' laughter would throw back her head an' laugh, an' her eyes would shine bright as blue glass marbles. she tole mis' 'riah dat she 'specs dat when her man come he gwine see her face befo' he seed her rightousness, so she gwine wear roses an' curls den he would know her when he seed her. den befo' mis' 'riah could speak her mind, mis' laughter done gone skippin' down de hall, her little feets in de gol' slippers twinklin' from de ruffles of her pantalets. everybody on de place love dat chile an' de house wasn' never de same after she done gone away. "my gran'mammy, rowena, say dat mis' 'riah was bawn for trouble. she was bawn de las' day of march 'tween midnight an' day. de moon was on de wane, an' jus 'as mistis was bawn de wind come down de chimbley an' blew de ashes out on de hearth. gran'mammy say dat mean trouble an' death; dat new bawn baby ain't never gwine keep long de things she love de mos', an' she better never love nobody too well, if she do dey gwine be took away from her, an' trouble sho did follow mis' 'riah after she growed up. "when de war come marse ned went off to fight. he was marse general cotton den. dat didn't leave nobody at home 'cept mis' 'riah, her mammy, mis' roberta davis, but we called her ole mistis, den dare was mis' laughter an' young marse jerome. young marse wasn' but fifteen when de war started, but dey got him in de las' call an' he didn' never come back no more. "de plantation was big, but mis' 'riah 'tended to things an' handled de niggers same as a man. de fus' year of de war she rode a hoss 'bout de fields like an overseer, seein' after de cotton an' cawn an' taters. but de yankees come an' set fire to de cotton; dey took de cawn to dey camp for dey hosses, an' dey toted off de taters to eat. de nex year mis' 'riah didn' plant no cotton a tall kaze de seeds an' gin done been burned up, but she had de niggers plant cawn, taters an' a good garden. dat fall de wind blew de hickory leaves to de no'th an' by spring trouble done come sho nuff. dey was a drouth an' de cawn didn' come up; de garden burned to pa'chment, but de taters done all right. wid all dat mis' 'riah held up her head an' kep' goin'. den one day a buzzard flew over de house top an' his wings spread a shadow out on de roof. dat night death come an' got ole mistis. she passed on to glory in her sleep. ''twas de lawd's will,' mis' 'riah tole gran'mammy, an' she still held up her head. but gran'mammy said dat if somebody had shot dat buzzard an' wiped his shadow off de roof ole mistis wouldn' have gone nowhare. "de nex' spring dey wasn' much to plant. de yankees done kep' totin' off everything, hosses an' all, 'twell dey wasn' much lef'. but de niggers, gran'mammy an' pappy along wid dem, dug up de garden wid de grubbin hoe an' planted what seeds dey had. mis' 'riah's an' mis' laughter's clothes 'gun to look ole, but gran'mammy kep' dem washed an' sta'ched stiff. 'twas mis' laughter dat kep' us from frettin' too much. she would look at mis' riah an' say, 'we'll be all right, mammy, when marse ned comes home.' sometime she call her pappy marse ned jus' like dat. one day marse ned did come home. dey brung him home. 'twas 'bout sunset. i 'members kaze 'twas de same day dat my ole black hen hatched de duck eggs i done set her on, an' de apple trees wus bloomin'. de blooms look jus' like droves of pink butterflies flyin' on de sky. dey brought marse ned in de house an' laid him out in de parlor. mis' 'riah stood straight 'side him wid her head up. 'twas de lawd's will, she tole gran'mammy, but gran'mammy shook her head an 'gun to cry, an' say: 'you can't put dat on de lawd, mis' 'riah, you sho can't. 'twasn' de lawd's will a tall, 'twas de will of de cussed yankees.' den she turn 'roun' an' took mis' laughter's hand an' led her up stairs an' put her to bed. "after dat things got worse. dat wind dat blew trouble down de chimbley for mis' 'riah when she was bawn 'gun to blow harder. de war got young marse jerome an' shot him down. dey won't much to eat, de coffee was made out of parched cawn an' de sweetnin' was cane lasses, an' de ham an' white bread done been gone a long time. dey won't no eggs an' chickens, an' dey won't but one fresh cow, but nobody ain't never seed mis' 'riah bow her head nor shed a tear. "when de surrender come dey was yankees camped all 'roun' de plantation an' hillsboro was full of dem. one day a yankee mans come to de house. he was young. he come to see if mis' 'riah didn' want to sell her place. mis' 'riah stood in de door an' talked to him, she wouldn' let him come on de po'ch. she tole him she would starve befo' she would sell one foot of her lan' to a yankee, an' dat he shouldn' darken de door of her house. "'bout dat time mis' laughter come down de hall an' stood behin' her mammy. her hair curled 'bout her head yellow as a dandylion an' she had on a blue dress. when dat sojer seed her he stopped an' dey looked an' looked at each other 'twell mis' 'riah turned 'roun'. when she done dat mis' laughter turned an' run up de stairs. "after dat mis' 'riah wouldn' let dat chile go no place by hersef. i was her bodyguard, everywhare she went i had to go too. we would go to walk down in de pine woods back of de paster, an' somehow dat yankee would go to walk in dem woods too. every time we seed him he would give me a piece of money, an' when i got back to de house i didn' tell nothin'. den one day i heard dat sojer tell mis' laughter dat he was gwine away. mis' laughter 'gun to cry an' i didn' hear what else dey said kaze dey sent me down de path. but dat night mis' laughter put her clothes in her box an' made me tote it down to de paster an' hide it in de blackberry patch. den she give me a note an' tole me to go to bed an' go to sleep, but when mornin' come to give de note to mis' 'riah. "de nex' mornin' i give de note to mis' 'riah, but by den mis' laughter done gone off wid dat yankee. mis' 'riah called all us niggers in de big room. she took down de family bible from de stand an' marked out mis' laughter's name. 'i ain't got no daughter,' she say. ''member, de chile dat i had am dead an' her name mustn' never be called in dis house no more.' "we all went out 'cept gran'mammy, but mis' 'riah wouldn' let her talk to her 'bout forgivin' mis' laughter, an' when de letters 'gun to come dey was sent back unopened. "mis' 'riah's niece, mis' betty an' marse john davis, hur husban', come to live wid mis' 'riah to help her 'ten' to things, but nobody was 'lowed to call mis' laughter's name. even though dey was free, gran'mammy an' pappy an' some more of us niggers stayed on at de plantation helpin' on de farm, but in 'bout a year mis' 'riah took sick. mis' betty wanted to sen' for mis' laughter, but mis' 'riah wouldn' even answer, but mis' betty sent for her anyhow an' kept her down stairs. den one day de sun turned black an' de chickens went to roost in de day time. gran'mammy flung her apron over her face an' 'gun to pray kase she knew de death angel was comin' after mis' 'riah. mis' betty got mis' laughter an' when she come up de stairs all us house niggers stood in de hall watchin' her go in to see mis' 'riah. she was layin' on de bed wid her eyes shut like she was sleep. "mis' laughter went in an' kneel down by de bed. 'mammy, mammy,' she say soft jus' like dat. "mis' 'riah's hands caught hold of de quilt tight, but she ain't opened her eyes. gran'mammy went up an' laid her hand on her head, but she shook it off. "de tears was runnin' down mis' laughter's cheeks. 'mammy,' she say, 'i'se sorry--i loves you, mammy.' "mis' 'riah turned her face to de wall an' her back on mis' laughter. she ain't never opened her eyes. 'bout dat time de sun come out from behin' dem black wings of shadow an' mis' 'riah's soul went on to glory to meet marse ned. "yes'm, mis' 'riah sho was proud, but gran'mammy say 'twon' no war dat brung all dat trouble on her, she say 'twas de wind dat come down de chimbley de night she was bawn--de no'th wind dat blowed de ashes 'bout de hearth." n.c. district: no. worker: mary hicks no. words: subject: a good mistress teller: henrietta mccullers editor: daisy bailey waitt a good mistress an interview with henrietta mccullers, eighty-seven years old, of e. davie street, raleigh, north carolina. "i wus borned roun' eighty-seben years ago in wake county. me an' my mammy 'longed ter mis' betsy adams an' my pappy 'longed ter mr. nat jones. i think dat marse nat had a whole passel o' slaves, but mis' betsy ain't had more'n six or seben. "yo' ax me iffen mis' betsy was good ter us? she wus so good dat i loved her all her life an' now dat she's daid i loves her in her grave. "we et de same rations what she et an' we slept in de same kind o' bed she slept in. i knows dat sometimes she'd have company an' she'd do a heap o' extra fixin'; but she ain't neber fix better fer de company dan fer us. "she'd let us have a co'n shuckin' onct a year, an' of course, we had a heap of prayer meetin's an' a few socials. she ain't wanted her niggers ter dance case she am such a good christian, but she let us have candy pullin's an' sich. "when de wuck warn't pushin' she'd let us go fishin' an' swimmin' an' all, only we jist waded, case we ain't used enough ter de water. yo' know dat niggers am natu'lly skeerd o' water anyhow. "iffen de wuck wus pushin' we wucked from sunup till dark an' mis' betsy wucked too. man, she wus a wuckin' woman, an' she made us wuck too; but i loves her better dan i does my own chilluns now, an' dat's one reason dat i wants ter go ter heaben. all my life when i done a bad thing i think 'bout mis' betsy's teachin's an' i repents. "i plowed an' dug ditches an' cleaned new groun'; an' hard wuck ain't neber hurted me yit. de master wus too puny to wuck, an' i often thinks dat maybe he married mis' betsy to look atter him. dey only had one man, uncle mose, an' so, of course, he had to have some help ter ten' 'bout a hundert acres. "most of our lan' wus planted in feed stuff fer us an' de cattle. an' so we raised ever'thing but de coffee. sometimes we drunk japonica tea, an' done without de coffee. "on sunday's yo' should o' seen us in our sunday bes' goin' ter church 'hind de missus coach, wid ole uncle mose high on de box. we can't read de hymns eben iffen we had a book 'cause we ain't 'lowed ter have no books, but we sung jist de same. "at christmas time we had a party at de big house. mis' betsy had sabed a bushel er so o' de lates' apples an' she made a big dish of lasses candy an' we popped pop corn an' wus happy. mis' betsy always give us some clothes an' we had a feas' all through de week of holidays. "when de yankees comed dey jist about cleaned us out. dey kills pigs, turkeys, calves an' hens all over de place, dey gits de beserves an' a heap o' de lasses an' dey sass mis' betsy. all dis wus dem bad-mannered soldiers' fault, case abraham lincoln ain't mean't fer it ter be dis way, i know. i reckon dat most o' dem soldiers wus pore white trash. dey doan keer 'bout de niggers, but dey ain't wanted our white folks ter be rich. "de yankees ain't stayed long in our neighborhood case dey am a-lookin' fer our soldiers, so dey goes away. "did i leave atter de war wus ober? naw sir, i ain't, an' all de rest stayed on too. uncle mose stayed on too. uncle mose stayed de rest o' his life, but i left two years atterwards when i got married. "my memory am gittin' so short dat i doan 'member my daddy's name, ner my brothers an' sisters names. i 'member dat my mammy wus named piety do' an' i 'members my fust lesson from mis' betsy, 'doan lie, an' doan steal, ax fer what you needs, needs, mind you, not what you wants.'" "niggers ort ter be back in slavery now, dey'd be better an' happier dan dey is. i ain't neber had a whuppin' in my life an' dat's more dan most of dese free niggers can say." eh n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: willie mccullough person interviewed: willie mccullough editor: g.l. andrews [tr: date stamp: oct (unclear)] willie mccullough mckee street, raleigh, north carolina. age years. "i was born in darlington county, south carolina, the th of june . my mother was named rilla mccullough and my father was named marion mccullough. i remember them very well and many things they told me that happened during the civil war. they belonged to a slave owner named billy cannon who owned a large plantation near marion, south carolina. the number of slaves on the plantation from what they told me was about fifty. slaves were quartered in small houses built of logs. they had plenty of rough food and clothing. they were looked after very well in regard to their health, because the success of the master depended on the health of his slaves. a man can't work a sick horse or mule. a slave occupied the same place on the plantation as a mule or horse did, that is a male slave. some of the slave women were looked upon by the slave owners as a stock raiser looks upon his brood sows, that is from the standpoint of production. if a slave woman had children fast she was considered very valuable because slaves were valuable property. "there was classes of slavery. some of the half-white and beautiful young women who were used by the marster and his men friends or who was the sweetheart of the marster only, were given special privileges. some of 'em worked very little. they had private quarters well fixed up and had a great influence over the marster. some of these slave girls broke up families by getting the marster so enmeshed in their net that his wife, perhaps an older woman, was greatly neglected. mother and grandmother tole me that they were not allowed to pick their husbands. "mother tole me that when she became a woman at the age of sixteen years her marster went to a slave owner near by and got a six-foot nigger man, almost an entire stranger to her, and told her she must marry him. her marster read a paper to them, told them they were man and wife and told this negro he could take her to a certain cabin and go to bed. this was done without getting her consent or even asking her about it. grandmother said that several different men were put to her just about the same as if she had been a cow or sow. the slave owners treated them as if they had been common animals in this respect. "mother said she loved my father before the surrender and just as soon as they were free they married. grandmother was named luna williams. she belonged to a planter who owned a large plantation and forty slaves adjoining mr. cannon's plantation where mother and father stayed. my grandmother on my mother's side lived to be years old, so they have tole me. "i ran away from home at the age of twelve years and went to charleston, south carolina. i worked with a family there as waitin' boy for one year. i then went to savannah, ga. i had no particular job and i hoboed everywhere i went. i would wait all day by the side of the railroad to catch a train at night. i rode freight trains and passenger trains. i rode the blind baggage on passenger trains and the rods on freight trains. the blind baggage is the car between the mail car and the engine. the doors are on the side and none at the end. i hoboed on to miami over the florida east coast railroad. i next went from miami to memphis, tenn. after staying there a few days and working with a contractor, i again visited charleston, s.c. i had been there only two days when i met some yankees from minnesota. they prevailed on me to go home with them, promising if i would do so they would teach me a trade. i went with them. we all hoboed. we were halted at the blue ridge mountains but we got by without going to jail. we then went to n.j. from n.j. to chicago, ill., then into milwaukee, wis., then on into minneapolis, minn. many towns and cities i visited on this trip, i did not know where i was. my yankee companions looked out for me. they taught me the trade of making chairs and other rustic furniture. they taught me ways of making different pieces of furniture. i spent years in minnesota but during that time i visited the south once every three years, spending several days in the county of my birth. mother and father farmed all their lives and they often begged me to settle down but the wanderlust had me and for years i travelled from place to place. even while in minnesota i did not stay in minneapolis all the time. i visited most every town in the state during the eleven years i stayed there and made hobo trips into most of the adjoining states. "the main yankee who taught me the trade was joe burton. he and the gang helped me to get food until i learned the trade well enough so i could make a living working at it. "i have made a lot of money making and selling rustic furniture, but now i am getting old. i am not able to work as i used too. not long ago i made a trip from raleigh to charleston, s.c., but the trip was different from the old days. i hitch-hiked the entire distance. i rode with white folks. on one leg of the trip of over miles i rode with a rich young man and his two pals. they had a fruit jar full of bad whiskey. he got about drunk, ran into a stretch of bad road at a high rate of speed, threw me against the top of his car and injured my head. i am not over it yet. "i quit the road in . my last trip was from raleigh, n.c. to harrisburg, penn. and return. i have made my home in raleigh ever since. done settled down, too ole to ramble anymore." le n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: , subject: james turner mclean storyteller: james turner mclean editor: daisy bailey waitt james turner mclean lillington, n.c. route "my name is james turner mclean. i was born in harnett county near cape fear river in the buies creek section, feb. , . i belonged to taylor hugh mclean, and he never was married. the plantation was between buies creek and the cape fear river; the edge of it is about yards from where i now live. the place where i live belongs to me. 'way back it belonged to the bolden's. "the boldens came from scotland, and so did the mcleans. there were about five hundred acres in this plantation and marster hugh mclean had about fifty slaves. the slaves lived in quarters and marster lived in the big house which was his home. marster took good care o' his darkies. he did not allow anybody to whip 'em either. we had good food, clothes and places to sleep. my father was jim mclean and my mother was named charlotta mclean. my grandmother was named jane. i called my mother 'sissie' and called my grandmother 'mammy' in slavery time. they did not have me to do any heavy work just tending to the calves, colts, and goin' to the post office. "the post office was at mr. sexton's and we called it sexton's post office, on the raleigh and fayetteville road. the stage run on this road and brought mail to this place. this post in my yard is part of a stage coach axle. you see it? yes sir, that's what it is. i got it at fayetteville when they were selling the old stage coach. we bought the axle and wheels and made a cart. we got that stuff about ; my father bought it. he gave twelve dollars for jes' the wheels and axle. this was after we had taken the iron clad oath and become more civilized. "we were daresome to be caught with a paper book or anything if we were tryin' to learn to read and write. we had to have a pass to go around on, or the patterollers would work on us. i saw a lot of patterollers. marster gave his negroes a pass for twelve months. he sent his timber to wilmington, and worked timber at other places so he gave his slaves yearly passes. then when the war was about up me and him went to the post office, and he got the paper. all the niggers were free. we stopped on the way home at a large sassafras tree by the side o' the road where he always stopped to read, and he read, and told me i was free. "i did not know what it was or what it meant. we came on to the house where my mother was and i said, 'sissie, we is free.' she said, 'hush, or i will put the hickory on you.' i then went to grandma, the one i called mammy and threw my arms around her neck and said, 'mammy we are free, what does it mean?' and mammy, who was grandma, said, 'you hush sich talk, or i will knock you down wid a loom stick.' "marster was comin' then, and he had the paper in his hand and was cryin'. he came to the door and called grandma and said, 'you are free, free as i am, but i want you to stay on. if you go off you will perish. if you stay on now the crop is planted and work it, we will divide.' marster was cryin' and said, 'i do not own you any longer.' he told her to get the horn and blow it. it was a ram's horn. she blew twice for the hands to come to the house. "they were workin' in the river lowground about a mile or more away. she blew a long blow, then another. marster told her to keep blowin! after awhile all the slaves come home; she had called them all in. marster met them at the gate, and told them to put all the mules up, all the hoes and plows, that they were all free. he invited all to eat dinner. he had five women cooking. he told them all he did not want them to leave, but if they were going they must eat before they left. he said he wanted everybody to eat all he wanted, and i remember the ham, eggs, chicken, and other good things we had at that dinner. then after the dinner he spoke to all of us and said, 'you have nowhere to go, nothin' to live on, but go out on my other plantation and build you some shacks.' "he gave them homes and did not charge any rent. he bought nails and lumber for them, but he would not build the houses. some stayed with him for fifteen years; some left. he gave them cows to milk. he said the children must not perish. "marster was a mighty good man, a feelin' man. he cried when some of his slaves finally left him. mother and father stayed till they got a place of their own. i waited on him as long as he lived. i loved him as well as i did my daddy. i drove for him and he kept me in his house with him. he taught me to be honest, to tell the truth, and not to steal anything. "when freedom came marster gave us a place for a school building and furnished nails and gave the lumber for the floors. he instructed them in building the windows. he was goin' to put his sister jenette mcallister in as teacher. she had married jim mcallister at the bluff church, right at the lower part of the averysboro battleground where some of the last fightin' between the north and south was done, but a man by the name of george miller of harnett county told him he knew a nigger who could teach the school. he employed the nigger, whose name was isaac brantley, to teach the school. he came from anderson's creek in the lower part of harnett county. we learned very little, as the nigger read, and let us repeat it after him. he would hold the book, and spell and let us repeat the words after him without lettin' us see in the book. he stayed there two months, then a man by the name of matthews, haywood matthews, son of henderson matthews came. they were white folks, but went for negroes. haywood teached there. he got the children started and most of 'em learned to read and write. "i saw the yankees come through. also wheeler's cavalry. the yankees took chickens and things, and they gave us some things, but wheeler's cavalry gave us nothin'. they took what they wanted and went on. marster hid his horses and things in the pecosin. "when the yankees came marster was hid. they rode up to my mother and asked her where he was. she said, 'i do not know.' they then asked her where was de silver, his money, an' de brandy, an' wine. they got one demijohn full o' brandy. they went into the house, tore up things got his china pipe, fixed for four people to smoke at one time. you could turn a piece and shett off all de holes but one, when one man wanted to smoke. they threw away his old beaver hat, but before they left they got it and left it in the house. wheeler's cavalry stomped things and broke up more den de yankees. "daddy hid marster's money, a lot of it, in the jam o' de fence. he covered it with sand that he threw out of a ditch that ran along near the fence. the yankees stopped and sat on the sand to eat their dinner and never found the money. "i have never seen a slave sold, and none never ran away from marster's plantation. when any of his men went to visit their wives he let them ride the stock, and give them rations to carry. there was a jail for slaves at summerville. i saw it. "we went to the white folks church at neill's creek. mother used herbs to give us when we were sick. dr. turner, dr. john turner, looked after us. we were bled every year in the spring and in the fall. he had a little lance. he corded your arm and popped it in, and the blood would fly. he took nearly a quart of blood from grandma. he bled according to size and age. "we ought to think a lot o' abraham lincoln and the other great men such as booker t. washington. lincoln set us free. slavery was a bad thing and unjust." ac n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: frank magwood person interviewed: frank magwood editor: g.l. andrews frank magwood "i was born in fairfield county, south carolina, near the town of ridgeway. ridgeway was on the southern railroad from charlotte, n.c. to columbia, south carolina. i was born oct. , . i belonged to nora rines whose wife was named emma. he had four girls frances, ann, cynthia, and emma and one son named george. there was about one thousand acres of land inside the fences with about two hundred acres cleared. there were about seventy slaves on the place. my mother and father told me these things. father belonged to a man by the name of john gosey and mother belonged to ole man rines. my father was named lisbon magwood and my mother was named margaret magwood. they were sold and resold on the slave auction block at charleston, south carolina, but the families to whom they belonged did not change their names until mother's name was changed when she married father in . "there were twelve children in the family, three boys and nine girls. only two boys of this family are living, walter and myself. "mother and father said at the beginning of the war that the white folks said it would not last long and that in the first years of the war they said one southern soldier could whup three yankee soldiers, but after awhile they quit their braggin. most everything to eat and wear got scarce. sometimes you couldn't git salt to go in the vegetables and meat that was cooked. people dug up the salty earth under their smoke houses, put water with it, drained it off and used it to salt rations. "there came stories that the yankees had taken this place and that they were marching through georgia into south carolina. they burned columbia, the capitol of south carolina, and had both whites and black scared, they were so rough. the yankees stole, burned, and plundered. mother said they hated south carolina cause they started the war there. they burned a lot of the farm houses. the army, so my father and mother said, was stretched out over a distance of sixty-two miles. jest think of a scope of country sixty two miles wide with most of the buildings burned, the stock killed, and nothing to eat. the southern army and the northern army had marched back and forth through the territory until there was nothing much left. where sherman's army stopped and ate and fed their horses the negroes went and picked up the grains of corn they strowed there and parched and ate them. people also parched and ate acorns in south carolina. "father and mother got together after the war and they moved to a widow lady's place by the name of ann hunter, near ridgeway. she was good to us and we stayed there sixteen years. ann hunter had three sons, abraham, george and henry. abraham went to south america on a rambling trip. he decided to stay there. he was a young man then and he married a spaniard. when he came home to see his mother it was the year of the earthquake in . he was a grown man then and he brought his wife and children with him. he had three children, all of them spoke spanish and could not understand their grandmother's talk to them. his wife was a beautiful woman, dark with black hair and blue eyes. she just worshipped her husband. they stayed over a month and then returned to south america. i have never seen 'em since or had any straight news of them. "mother and father lived on the farm until they died, with first one ex-slave owner and another. they said they had nothing when the war ended and that there was nothing to do. "i stayed with my mother and father near ridgeway until i was years of age. i left the farm then and went to work on the railroad. i thought i was the only man then. i was so strong. i worked on the railroad one year then i went to the stone mountain rock quarry in georgia. "i got my hand injured with a dynamite cap after i had worked there a year and i came home again. i went back to working on the farm as a day hand. i worked this way for one year then i began share croppin'. "i farmed ever since i came to wake county years ago. i farmed on mr. simpkins place one year then mr. dillon bought the place and i stayed there nine more years then i became so near blind i could not farm. i came to raleigh to this house four years ago. i have been totally blind since the fifteenth of last december. "i married alice praylor near ridgeway when i was years of age. we had nine children. "my last marriage was to mamie williams. i married her in south carolina. we had four children. they are all living, grown and married off. my chief worry over being blind is the fact that it makes me unable to farm anymore." le n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: jacob manson person interviewed: jacob manson editor: g.l. andrews jacob manson n. haywood st. raleigh, n.c. years of age. "it has been a long time since i wus born--bout all my people am dead 'cept my wife an one son an two daughters. de son an' one daughter live in n.c. an de other daughter lives in richmond, va. "i belonged to col. bun eden. his plantation wus in warren county an' he owned 'bout fifty slaves or more. dere wus so many of 'em dere he did not know all his own slaves. we got mighty bad treatment an' i jest wants to tell you a nigger didn't stan' as much show dere as a dog did. dey whupped fur mos' any little trifle. dey whupped me, so dey said, jes to help me git a quicker gait. de patterollers come sneakin' round often an' whupped niggers on marster's place. dey nearly killed my uncle. dey broke his collar bone when dey wus beatin him an marster made 'em pay for it 'cause uncle never did git over it. "marster would not have any white overseers. he had nigger foremen. ha! ha! he liked some of de nigger 'omans too good to have any udder white man playin' aroun' 'em. "we wurked all day an some of de night an' a slave who made a week, even atter doin dat, wus lucky if he got off widout gettin' a beatin. we had poor food an' de young slaves wus fed outen troughs. de food wus put in a trough an de little niggers gathered round an' et. our cabins wus built of poles an had stick an dirt chimleys one door an one little winder at de back end of de cabin. some of de houses had dirt floors. our clothin' was poor an homemade. "many of de slaves went bareheaded an barefooted. some wore rags roun dere heads an some wore bonnets. marster lived in de great house. he did not do any work but drank a lot of whiskey, went dressed up all de time an had niggers to wash his feet an comb his hair. he made me scratch his head when he lay down so he could go to sleep. when he got to sleep i would slip out. if he waked up when i started to leave i would have to go back an' scratch his head till he went to sleep agin. sometimes i had to fan de flies way from him while he slept. no prayer-meetings wus allowed, but we sometimes went to de white folks church. dey tole us to obey our marsters an be obedient at all times. when bad storms come dey let us rest but dey kept us in de fields so long sometimes dat de storm caught us 'fore we could git to de cabins. niggers watched de wedder in slavery time an de ole ones wus good at prophesyin' de wedder. "marster had no chilluns by white women. he had his sweethearts 'mong his slave women. i ain't no man for tellin false stories. i tells de truth an dat is de truth. at dat time it wus a hard job to find a marster dat didn't have women 'mong his slaves. dat wus a ginerel thing 'mong de slave owners. "one of de slave girls on a plantation near us went to her missus an tole her 'bout her marster forcing her to let him have sumthin to do wid her an her missus tole her, 'well go on you belong to him.' "another marster named jimmie shaw owned a purty slave gal nearly white an he kept her. his wife caught 'im in a cabin in bed wid her. his wife said sumthin to him 'bout it an' he cussed his wife. she tole him she had caught him in de act. she went back to de great house an got a gun. when de marster come in de great house she tole 'im he must let de slave girls alone dat he belonged to her. he cussed her agin an sed she would have to tend to her own dam business an' he would tend to his. dey had a big fuss an den marster shaw started towards her. she grabbed de gun an let him have it. she shot 'im dead in de hall. dey had three chillun, two sons an one married daughter. missus shaw took her two sons an' left. de married daughter an her husband took charge of de place. missus an her sons never come back as i knows of. "a lot of de slave owners had certain strong healthy slave men to serve de slave women. ginerally dey give one man four women an' dat man better not have nuthin' to do wid de udder women an' de women better not have nuthin to do wid udder men. de chillun wus looked atter by de ole slave women who were unable to work in de fields while de mothers of de babies worked. de women plowed an done udder work as de men did. no books or larnin' of any kind wus allowed. "one mornin' de dogs begun to bark an' in a few minutes the plantation wus kivered wid yankees. dey tole us we wus free. dey axed me whur marster's things wus hid. i tole 'em i could not give up marster's things. dey tole me i had no marster dat dey had fighted four years to free us an' dat marster would not whup me no more. marster sent to de fields an' had all de slaves to come home. he told me to tell 'em not to run but to fly to de house at once. all plow hands an' women come running home. de yankees tole all of 'em dey wus free. "marster offered some of de yankees sumtin to eat in his house but dey would not eat cooked food, dey said dey wanted to cook dere own food. "i saw slaves sold in slavery time. i saw 'em whupped an many ran away. some never come back. when we wus sick we took lots of erbs an roots. i married roberta edwards fifty-one years ago. we had six sons and three daughters. atter the war i farmed around from one plantation to another. i have never owned a home of my own. when i got too ole to work i come an' lived wid my married daughter in raleigh. i been here four years. i think slavery wus a mighty bad thing, though it's been no bed of roses since, but den no one could whup me no mo." le n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: roberta manson person interviewed: roberta manson editor: g.l. andrews roberta manson n. haywood street, raleigh, n.c. age . "i wus borned de second year of de war an' de mos' i know 'bout slavery wus tole to me by other colored folks. my marster wus weldon edwards and my missus wus missus lucy. the plantation wus in warren county near ridgeway. my father wus named lanis edwards and my mother wus named ellen edwards. they both 'longed to weldon edwards. father and mother said he wus mighty rough to 'em. i heard my mother say dat marster whupped father so bad dat she had to grease his back to git his shirt off. "marster allowed de overseers to whup de slaves. de overseers wus named caesar norfeir, jim trissel, and david porter. "dere wus a ole man dere by de name of harris edwards who fed up the hogs an' things. he wus sick an' he kept him sick. well after awhile de ole marster tried to make him work. de overseers den took him out way down in the plum orchard. dey pulled his tongue out an whupped him. he died an' wus found by de buzzards. de overseers wus named jim trissel an david porter dat did dat. dis ole slave 'longed to missus; and when she found it out dere wus a awful fuss. one of de white overseers tried to put it off on de udder. it finally fell on jim trissel and dey soon got rid of him. missus tole him, 'you have killed my poor ole sick servant.' mr. jim trissel killed several slaves an dey wus shore 'fraid of him. he knocked my father down wid a stick an when he fell my father knocked his hip out of place. dey whupped father 'cause he looked at a slave dey killed an cried. "dey didn't allow no prayermeetings or parties in de houses. no books in de houses. no books or papers, no edication. "some of de owners when dey knowed freedom wus commin' dey treated de slaves wusser den ever before. de ole men an women dat wus unable to work wus neglected till dey died or was killed by beatin' or burnin'. col. skipper did dat thing. he lived near clarksville, va. he put a lot of ole men an women on a island in the roanoke river. de river rose an stayed up eighteen days an dey parished to death. dey were sent dere when sick and dey died. mr. skipper had over two hundred slaves. he wus one of the richest men in the south and mr. nick long wus another rich man. nick long owned de plantation now known as the caledonia state's prison farm. gen. ransom's plantation wus a part of de land 'longing to the caledonia state prison farm now. it joined nick long's plantation. "father and mother had bad fare, poor food, clothes an shoes. dey didn't sift slave meal. dey had no sifters. sometimes de collards and peas was not cleaned 'fore cookin'. dey said de more slaves a man had de wusser he wus to slaves. marster had dirt floors in de cabins. dey slept on straw bunks made outen baggin' and straw. some slept on wheat, straw an' shucks an' covered wid baggin. "ole man mat bullock, a negro slave, an' his mother ella an' grandmother susan, also slaves, froze to death. mat bullock the son of ole man mat bullock tole me this. dese slaves 'longed to jim bullock who's plantation wus near townsville, n.c. "weldon edwards who owned father and mother had a whuppin post an dey said dey whupped ole man jack edwards to death 'cause he went to see his sick wife. he crawled from de whuppin post to de house atter bein whupped and died. dey tole him 'fore dey whupped him dat dey wus goin to stop him from runnin' away. families wus broken up by sellin'. dey couldn't sell a slave dat wus skinned up. aunt millie, agie, gracy and lima wus sold from the edwards family. aunt millie cried so much cause she had to leave her young baby dat dey talked of whuppin her, ut den dey say 'we cannot sell her if we whup her an' so dey carried her on. mother sed marster weldon edwards sole four women away from dere young chilluns at one time. "we lived in log cabins with dirt floors, one door, and one small winder at de back. de cabins had stick an dirt chimbleys. "when freedom come mother and father stayed on wid marster cause dey didn't have nuthin. dey couldn't leave. dey farmed for shares. next year the overseer who had beat father so bad come atter him to go an work with him. it wus mr. david porter. i axed pa ain't dat de man who beat you so when you wus a slave? an pa say, 'you shet your mouth.' he stayed with mr. porter two years den we went to mr. william paschal's. we stayed there four years. endurin' the next fifteen years we moved a good many times. we farmed round and round an' finally went to mr. peter wyms' place near where i wus borned. "i wus married there to jack manson, years ago in january. i had eight chilluns five girls an' three boys. three are living now. one boy and two girls. two of the chilluns are in n.c. and one, a girl, is in virginia. "i think slavery wus a bad thing but when freedom come there wus nuthin' else we could do but stay on wid some of de white folks 'cause we had nuthin to farm wid an nuthin to eat an wear. "de men who owned de plantations had to have somebody to farm dere lan' an' de slaves had to have somewhur to stay. dats de way it wus, so if dere wus a lot of movin' about de exslaves kept doin de wurk cause dat's de only way dey had to keep from perishin'. de marsters needed 'em to farm dere lan' an' de exslaves just had to have somewhur to live so both parties kept stayin' an' wurkin together. "de nigger made mos' dey has out of workin' fer white folks since de war 'cause dey didn't have nuthin' when set free an dat is all dere is to it." n.c. district: worker: travis jordan no. words: subject: millie markham's story interviewed: millie markham st. joseph st., durham, n.c. [tr: date stamp: jun ] ex-slave story as told by millie markham of st. joseph st., durham, n.c. "i was never a slave. although i was born somewhere about , i was not born in slavery, but my father was. i'm afraid this story will be more about my father and mother than it will be about myself. "my mother was a white woman. her name was tempie james. she lived on her father's big plantation on the roanoke river at rich square, north carolina. her father owned acres of land and many slaves. his stables were the best anywhere around; they were filled with horses, and the head coachman was named squire james. squire was a good looking, well behaved negro who had a white father. he was tall and light colored. tempie james fell in love with this negro coachman. nobody knows how long they had been in love before tempie's father found it out, but when he did he locked tempie in her room. for days he and miss charlottie, his wife, raved, begged and pleaded, but tempie just said she loved squire. 'why will you act so?' miss charlottie was crying. 'haven't we done everything for you and given you everything you wanted?' "tempie shook her head and said: 'you haven't given me squire. he's all i do want.' "then it was that in the dark of the night mr. james sent squire away; he sent him to another state and sold him. "but tempie found it out. she took what money she could find and ran away. she went to the owner of squire and bought him, then she set him free and changed his name to walden squire walden. but then it was against the law for a white woman to marry a negro unless they had a strain of negro blood, so tempie cut squire's finger and drained out some blood. she mixed this with some whiskey and drank it, then she got on the stand and swore she had negro blood in her, so they were married. she never went back home and her people disowned her. "tempie james walden, my mother, was a beautiful woman. she was tall and fair with long light hair. she had fifteen children, seven boys and eight girls, and all of them lived to be old enough to see their great-grandchildren. i am the youngest and only one living now. most of us came back to north carolina. two of my sisters married and came back to rich square to live. they lived not far from the james plantation on roanoke river. once when we were children my sister and i were visiting in rich square. one day we went out to pick huckleberries. a woman came riding down the road on a horse. she was a tall woman in a long grey riding habit. she had grey hair and grey eyes. she stopped and looked at us. 'my,' she said, 'whose pretty little girls are you?' "'we're squire walden's children,' i said. "she looked at me so long and hard that i thought she was going to hit me with her whip, but she didn't, she hit the horse. he jumped and ran so fast i thought she was going to fall off, but she went around the curve and i never saw her again. i never knew until later that she was mis' charlottie james, my grandmother. "i don't know anything about slavery times, for i was born free of free parents and raised on my father's own plantation. i've been living in durham over sixty-five years." n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: a slavery story story teller: maggie mials editor: george l. andrews [tr: date stamp: sep ] maggie mials years old, of maple street, raleigh, north carolina. "i'll never forgit de day when de yankees come through johnston county. "i belonged to tom demaye an' ole missus in slavery time wus named liza. "de demayes lived in raleigh when i wus born, so mother tole me, but dey moved to a place near smithfield. he had 'bout a dozen slaves. we had little cabins to live in, but marster had a big house to live in that set in a grove. de food i got wus good because i was a pet in de family. my mother was a cook an' a pet. my marster wus good to all of us an' i fared better den dan i do now. ole marster thought de world of me and i loved him. marster allowed his slaves to visit, have prayer meetings, hunt, fish, an' sing and have a good time when de work wus done. some of de slave owners did not like marster cause he wus so good to his slaves. they called us 'ole man demayes damn free niggers.' i don't know my age zackly but i was a big gal, big enough to drag a youngin roun' when de yankees come through. i wus six years old if no older. "when de yankees come dey called us to de wagons an' tole us we wus free. dey give each of us a cap full of hard-tack. dey took clothes an' provisions an' give us nothin'. one crowd of yankees would come on an' give us something an' another would come along an' take it away from us. dey tole us to call marster an' missus johnny rebs, that we wus free an' had no marsters. dat wus a day for me. some of de yankees wus ridin', some walkin', an' some runnin'. dey took de feather beds in marsters house to de windows, cut dem open an' let de feathers blow away. it wus a sad time to me 'cause dey destroyed so much of marster's stuff. "after de yankees left we stayed right on with marster a long time, den we moved away to other members of de family. mother would not give up de family an' she an' daddy stayed wid dem as long as dey lived. i love de family now an' i rather be livin' wid 'em den like i is. dere is only a few of de younger set of de demayes livin'. ole marster an' missus' had three boys, sye, lee, zoa; girls, vick, correna and phidelia, six chilluns in all. dey is all dead but i can't never forgit 'em if i live to be a hundred years ole. "i tries to live right before god an' man cause i knows i haint got much longer on dis earth. i knows i got to lay down sometime to rise no more till judgment day, den i wants to meet ole marster, missus an' de family in dat country where dere'll be no more goodbyes. "i was married at twenty years ole to theodore miles at de ole mack powell place near de neuse river, in wake county. i wus hired as a house girl at dis place wid mr. alango miles family. dey wus some of de demaye family. i had ten chillun, four boys an' six girls. six of my chillun are livin' now. two boys an' four girls. my husband been dead 'bout years. he died in oct. . buried on de third sunday in october. "i have farmed most of my life an' have raised a big family. sometimes we wus hongry an' sometimes we had plenty. none of my chilluns wus never arrested an' none ever went to prison. i thinks dats something to knock on wood about. "slavery was a good thing by all niggers who happened to have good marsters. de owners wus to blame for slavery gettin' such a bad reputation. some of 'em jus' done a little too much an' sich caused de war an' give de niggers freedom. slavery wus good for some an' bad for others." eh n.c. district: no. worker: mary hicks no. words: subject: ex-slave story teller: anna mitchel editor: daisy bailey waitt anna mitchel ex-slave story. an interview with anna mitchel, of s. person street, raleigh, north carolina. "i wus borned in vance county an' i 'longed ter mr. joseph hargrove, de same man what owned emily an' rufus hargrove, my mammy an' pappy. he also owned joseph an' cora, my bruder an' sister. my mammy uster 'long ter 'nother man what lived in virginia, but mr. hargrove buyed her when she wus sold on de choppin' block at richmon'. he already had my pappy so dey got married dar on his plantation. "marster ain't neber whup nobody, case he am too much de gentleman, but de oberseer done nuff fer 'em all. "dar wasn't no sadday evenin's off 'cept fer de wimen what had eight or ten chilluns an' dey got off ter wash 'em up. in de rush time, dat is, when de fodder wus burnin' up in de fiel's or de grass wus eatin' up de cotton dey had ter wuck on sunday same as on monday. "my mammy wus a seamstress, an' i'se knowed her ter wuck all night an' half de day ter make clothes fer de slaves. "we ain't had but two meals a day an' dey wus scant. we had a few frolicks, dances an' sich lak onct in a while an' onct a year we all went ter a show, sorter lak a circus. "i 'members dat we sung 'swing low sweet chariot,' 'de promised lan',' 'ole time religion,' an' one dat goes: "'dark wus de night an' col' de groun' on which my saviour lay, an' sweat lak drops of blood run down while ter de god he pray.' "dar wus a few mo' but i done fergit. "does you know dat i can't 'member much 'bout de slave days? i doan recoleck when de yankees comed, mebbe dey ain't come ter our part o' de country. i 'members when marse joseph comed out ter de slave cabins an' tells us dat we can leave case we am free. i think dat dat wus de las' of august, case de fodder wus in. "i still knows a lady an' gentleman do'. a lady or gentleman speaks nice ter you, case dey wus borned wid a silver spoon in dey mouth, but de other kin' what talks biggety shows plain dat de spoons which dey am borned wid am brass." eh n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: , subject: a slave story reference: patsy mitchner editor: george l. andrews [tr: date stamp: jul ] patsy mitchner years old, of mckee street, raleigh, n.c. "come right in, honey, i been expectin' some of you white folks a long time from what i dreampt an' i wants to tell you my story. you see i is umble an' perlite 'cause my white folks teached me dat way. "come right in, i'm not feelin' well. my husban' has been dead a long time. i cannot stan' up to talk to you so have a seat. "i belonged to alex gorman, a paper man. he printed the 'spirit of the age,' a newspaper. i reckon you can find it in the museum. i reckons dey keeps all way back yonder things in dere jest to remember by. he had a lot of printers both black an' white. de slaves turned de wheels de most of de time, an' de white mens done de printin'. dere wus a big place dug out at each side of de machine. one man pulled it to him an' de other pulled it to him. dey wurked it wid de han's. it wus a big wheel. dey didn't have no printers den like dey got now. "de ole printin' place is standin' now. it stands in front of de laundry on dawson street, where a lot of red wagons stan's goin' up towards the bus station. de ole buildin' wid stairsteps to go up. dey sot de type upstairs an' de machine wus on de groun' floor. "marster married gormans twice an' dey wus both named mary. don't know whether dey wus sisters or not, but dey wus both virginia women. so my missus name wus mary gorman. "i do not know my age, but i wus 'bout years old when wheeler's cavalry come through. dey skeered me so much i squatted like a rat. dey pulled clothes off de line an' stole clothes from stores an' went down to de depot an' changed clothes. dey stole de womens drawers an' filled 'em wid things. dey stole meat, corn an' other things an' put 'em in womens drawers, throwed 'em across dere horses backs an' went on. you know women den wore long drawers open in front, ha! ha! "wheeler's cavalry tied up de legs an' front of 'em an' filled de legs an' seat full of things dey stole. dey jest grabbed everything an' went on. dey had a reason for leavin'; de yankees wus at dere heels. "jest as soon as dey lef' de yankees come. you know, dere wus a man here by de name of governor holden an' de flag wus a red an' white flag, an' when de yankees come dere wus another flag run up. "i want to try to tell de truth 'cause i wus teached dat way by marster an' missus. "de flag brought peace 'cause de yankees did not tear up de town. dey had guards out around de houses an' dey marched back an' forth day an' night to keep everybody from robbin' de houses. "de yankees wid dere blue uniforms on jest kivered de town. dey wus jest like ants. dey played purty music on de ban' an' i liked dat. i wus fraid of 'em dough 'cause marster an' missus said dey were goin' to give us to 'em when dey come. i stayed hid mos' of de time right after de surrender 'cause i didn't want de yankees to ketch me. when de others lef' after de surrender i run away an' went to rev. louis edwards, a nigger preacher. he sent me to my aunt at rolesville. my aunt wus named patsy lewis. i stayed dere bout three weeks when my uncle rented whur cameron park is now an' tended it dat year. we all come to raleigh an' i have lived here all my life, but the three weeks i stayed at rolesville. "i have wurked for white folks, washin', cookin', an' wurkin' at a laundry ever since freedom come. "i never seed my father in my life. my mother wus named tempe gorman. dey would not talk to me 'bout who my father wus nor where he wus at. mother would laf sometime when i axed her 'bout him. "marster treated his niggers mean sometimes. he beat my mother till de scars wus on her back, so i could see 'em. "dey sold my mother, sister an' brother to ole man askew, a slave speculator, an' dey were shipped to de mississippi bottoms in a box-car. i never heard from mother anymore. i neber seed my brother agin, but my sister come back to charlotte. she come to see me. she married an' lived dere till she died. "in slavery time de food wus bad at marsters. it wus cooked one day for de nex', dat is de corn bread wus baked an' de meat wus biled an' you et it col' fer breakfas'. de meat wus as fat as butter an' you got one rashen an' a hunk of corn bread fer a meal. no biscuit wus seen in de slave houses. no sir, dat dey wus not. no biscuit for niggers at marsters. "our clothes wus bad an' our sleepin' places wus jest bunks. our shoes had wooden bottoms on 'em. "i heard 'em talk about patterollers so much i wus skeered so i could hardly sleep at night sometimes. i wus 'fraid dey would come an' catch me but i neber seed one in my life. "i neber seed any slaves sold, in chains, or a jail for slaves. i neber seed a slave whupped. marster took 'em in de back shed room to whup 'em. "we was not teached to read an' write. you better not be caught wid no paper in yore han' if you was, you got de cowhide. i darsent to talk back to 'em no matter what happen'd dey would git you if you talked back to 'em. "i married tom mitchner after de war. i went by de name of patsy gorman till i wus married. now i goes by de name of patsy mitchner. my husban', tom mitchner, was born a slave. my marster lived whar de bus station now is on de corner of martin an' mcdowell streets in dat ole house dat stan's near dere now. i wus born an' bred in raleigh an' have neber libed out of wake county. "ole dr. jim mckee, who is dead an' gone, looked atter us when we wus sick. he give us medicine an' kep us clean out better en people is clean out now. dr. john mckee at de city hall is his son. dey pays no 'tention to me now; guess dey has forgotten me. "did you say ghosts, lawsy, no i neber seed one but our spirits is always wonderin' aroun' eben before we dies. spirits is wonderin' eberywhere an' you has to look out for 'em. "witches is folks. i neber had a spell put on me by one, but i knowed a woman once who had a spell put on 'er, an' it hurt her feet, but a ole white man witch doctor helped take de spell off, but i think it wus de lord who took it off. i is a christain an' i believes eberythin' is in his han's. "de people is worser now den dey was in slavery time. we need patterollers right now. 'twould stop some uv dis stealin' an' keep a lot of folks out of de penetentiary. we need 'em right now. "slavery wus better for us den things is now in some cases. niggers den didn't have no responsibility, jest wurk, obey an' eat. now dey got to shuffle around an' live on jest what de white folks min' to give 'em. "slaves prayed for freedom. den dey got it dey didn't know what to do wid it. dey wus turned out wid nowhere to go an' nothin' to live on. dey had no 'sperence in lookin' out for demselves an' nothin' to wurk wid an' no lan'. "dey made me think of de crowd onetime who prayed for rain when it wus dry in crap time. de rain fell in torrents an' kept fallin' till it was 'bout a flood. de rain frogs 'gin to holler an' callin' mo' rain an' it rained an' rained. den de raincrow got up in a high tree an' he holler an' axed de lord for rain. it rained till ebery little rack of cloud dat come ober brought a big shower of large drops. de fiel's wus so wet an' miry you could not go in 'em an' water wus standin' in de fiel's middle of ebery row, while de ditches in de fiel's looked like little rivers, dey wus so full of water. it begun to thunder agin in de southwest, right whar we call de 'chub hole' of de sky, whar so much rain comes from an' de clouds growed blacker an' blacker back dere. "den one of de mens who had been prayin' for rain up an' said, 'i tell you brothers if it don't quit rainin' eberything goin' to be washed away.' dey all looked at de black rain cloud in de west wid sor'ful faces as if dey felt dey didn't know what use dey had for rain after dey got it. den one of de brothers said to de other brothers kinder easy an' shameful like, 'brothers don't you think we overdone dis thing?' dats what many a slave thought 'bout prayin' for freedom. "before two years had passed after de surrender dere wus two out of every three slaves who wushed dey wus back wid dere marsters. "de marsters kindness to de niggers after de war is de cause of de nigger havin' things today. dere wus a lot of love between marster an' slave en dar is few of us dat don't love de white folks today. "slavery wus a bad thing an' freedom, of de kin' we got wid nothin' to live on wus bad. two snakes full of pisen. one lyin' wid his head pintin' north, de other wid his head pintin' south. dere names wus slavery an' freedom. de snake called slavery lay wid his head pinted south an' de snake called freedom lay wid his head pinted north. both bit de nigger, an' dey wus both bad." eh. n.c. district: ii worker: mrs. w.n. harriss no. words: subject: emeline moore, ex-slave. interviewed: emeline moore. hanover street, wilmington, n.c. edited: mrs. w.n. harriss emeline moore, ex-slave hanover street, wilmington, n.c. "i don' exac'ly know how ole i is, but dey say i mus' be eighty. no mam, i ain' got nothin' in no fam'ly bible. where'd i git a fam'ly bible? my mammy (with a chuckle) had too many chillun to look after to be puttin' 'em down in no bible, she did'n have time, an' she did'n have no learnin' nohow. but i reckon i is eighty because i 'members so much i's jes' about forgotten it all. "my folks belonged to colonel taylor. he an' mis' kitty lived in that big place on market street where the soldiers lives now, (the w.l.i. armory) but we was on the plantation across the river mos' of the time. "of co'se i was born in slavery, but i don' remember nothin' much excep' feedin' chickens. an' up on market street mis' kitty had chickens an' things, an' a cow. the house had more lan' around it than it got now. i do remember when they thought eve'ybody 'roun' here was goin' to die an' i got skeered. no'm t'want no war it was the yaller fever. we was kept on the plantation but we knowed folks jes died an' died an' died. we thought t'would'nt be nobody left. i don't remember nothin' about lincoln travelin' aroun'. i always heard he was president of the lunited states, an' lived in washington, an' gave us freedom, an' got shot. of co'se i knows all about booker washington, a lot of our folks went to his school, an' he been here in wilmington. i'd know a lot about slave times only i was so little. i have heard my mammy say she had a heap easier time in slavery than after she was turn' loose with a pa'cel of chilluns to feed. i married as soon as i could an' that's how i got this house. but i can't work, an' i disremembers so much. the welfare gives me regerlar pay, an' now an' then my friends give me a nickel or a dime. "i lives alone now, until i can git a decent 'ooman to live with me. i tells you missus these womens an' young girls today are sumpin else. after you had 'em aroun' awhile you wish you never knowed 'em. "sometimes when i jes sets alone an rocks i wonder if my mammy didn't have it lots easier than i does." n.c. district: asheville worker: marjorie jones no. words: , subject: interview with fannie moore, ex-slave. story teller: fannie moore editor: marjorie jones date: september , [tr: cover page is in a format labeled "state editorial identification form".] [illustration: fannie moore] interviewer: marjorie jones, date: sept. , . interview with: fannie moore, ex-slave, valley street, asheville, n.c. "nowadays when i heah folks a'growlin an' a'grumblin bout not habbin this an' that i jes think what would they done effen they be brought up on de moore plantation. de moore plantation b'long to marse jim moore, in moore, south carolina. de moores had own de same plantation and de same niggers and dey children for yeahs back. when marse jim's pappy die he leave de whole thing to marse jim, effen he take care of his mammy. she shore was a rip-jack. she say niggers didn't need nothin' to eat. dey jes like animals, not like other folks. she whip me, many time wif a cow hide, til i was black and blue. "marse jim's wife war mary anderson. she war the sweetest woman i ebber saw. she was allus good to evah nigger on de plantation. her mother was harriet anderson and she visit de missus for long time on de farm. all de little niggers like to work fo' her. she nebber talk mean. jes smile dat sweet smile and talk in de soffes' tone. an when she laugh, she soun' jes like de little stream back ob de spring house gurglin' past de rocks. an' her hair all white and curly, i can 'member her always. "marse jim own de bigges' plantation in de whole country. jes thousands acres ob lan'. an de ole tiger ribber a runnin' right through de middle ob de plantation. on one side ob de ribber stood de big house, whar de white folks lib and on the other side stood de quarters. de big house was a purty thing all painted white, a standin' in a patch o' oak trees. i can't remember how many rooms in dat house but powerful many. o'corse it was built when de moores had sech large families. marse jim he only hab five children, not twelve like his mammy had. dey was andrew and tom, den harriet, nan, and nettie sue. harriett was jes like her granny anderson. she was good to ebberbody. she git de little niggers down an' teach em dey sunday school lesson. effen ole marse jim's mammy ketch her she sho' raise torment. she make life jes as hard for de niggers as she can. "de quarters jes long row o' cabins daubed wif dirt. ever one in de family lib in one big room. in one end was a big fireplace. dis had to heat de cabin and do de cookin too. we cooked in a big pot hung on a rod over de fire and bake de co'n pone in de ashes or else put it in de skillet and cover de lid wif coals. we allus hab plenty wood to keep us warm. dat is ef we hab time to get it outen de woods. "my granny she cook for us chillens while our mammy away in de fiel. dey wasn't much cookin to do. jes make co'n pone and bring in de milk. she hab big wooden bowl wif enough wooden spoons to go 'roun'. she put de milk in de bowl and break it up. den she put de bowl in de middle of de flo' an' all de chillun grab a spoon. "my mammy she work in de fiel' all day and piece and quilt all night. den she hab to spin enough thread to make four cuts for de white fo'ks ebber night. why sometime i nebber go to bed. hab to hold de light for her to see by. she hab to piece quilts for de white folks too. why dey is a scar on my arm yet where my brother let de pine drip on me. rich pine war all de light we ebber hab. my brother was a holdin' de pine so's i can help mammy tack de quilt and he go to sleep and let it drop. "i never see how my mammy stan' sech ha'd work. she stan' up fo' her chillun tho'. de ol' overseeah he hate my mammy, case she fight him for beatin' her chillun. why she git more whuppins for dat den anythin' else. she hab twelve chillun. i member i see de three oldes' stan' in de snow up to dey knees to split rails, while de overseeah stan off an' grin. "my mammy she trouble in her heart bout de way they treated. ever night she pray for de lawd to git her an' her chillun out ob de place. one day she plowin' in de cotton fiel. all sudden like she let out big yell. den she sta't singin' an' a shoutin', an' a whoopin' an' a hollowin'. den it seem she plow all de harder. when she come home, marse jim's mammy say: 'what all dat goin' on in de fiel? yo' think we sen' you out there jes to whoop and yell? no siree, we put you out there to work and you sho' bettah work, else we git de overseeah to cowhide you ole black back.' my mammy jes grin all over her black wrinkled face and say: 'i's saved. de lawd done tell me i's saved. now i know de lawd will show me de way, i ain't gwine a grieve no more. no matter how much yo' all done beat me an' my chillun de lawd will show me de way. an' some day we nevah be slaves.' ole granny moore grab de cowhide and slash mammy cross de back but mammy nebber yell. she jes go back to de fiel a singin'. "my mammy grieve lots over brothah george, who die wif de fever. granny she doctah him as bes' she could, evah time she git way from de white folks kitchen. my mammy nevah git chance to see him, 'cept when she git home in de evenin'. george he jes lie. one day i look at him an' he had sech a peaceful look on his face, i think he sleep and jes let him lone. long in de evenin i think i try to wake him. i touch him on de face, but he was dead. mammy nebber know til she come at night. pore mammy she kneel by de bed an' cry her heart out. ol' uncle allen, he make pine box for him an' carry him to de graveyard over on de hill. my mammy jes plow and cry as she watch em' put george in de groun'. "my pappy he was a blacksmith. he shoe all de horses on de plantation. he wo'k so hard he hab no time to go to de fiel'. his name war stephen moore. mars jim call him stephen andrew. he was sold to de moores, and his mammy too. she war brought over from africa. she never could speak plain. all her life she been a slave. white folks never recognize 'em any more than effen dey was a dog. "it was a tubble sight to see de speculators come to de plantation. dey would go through de fields and buy de slaves dey wanted. marse jim nebber sell pappy or mammy or any ob dey chillun. he allus like pappy. when de speculator come all de slaves start a shakin'. no one know who is a goin'. den sometime dey take 'em an' sell 'em on de block. de 'breed woman' always bring mo' money den de res', ebben de men. when dey put her on de block dey put all her chillun aroun her to show folks how fas she can hab chillun. when she sold her family nebber see her agin. she nebber know [hw: how] many chillun she hab. some time she hab colored children an' sometime white. taint no use to say anything case effen she do she jes git whipped. why on de moore plantation aunt cheney, everbody call her aunt cheney, have two chillun by de overseeah. de overseeah name war hill. he war as mean as de devil. when aunt cheney not do what he ask he tell granny moore. ole granny call aunt cheney to de kitchen and make her take her clothes off den she beat her til she jest black an' blue. many boys and girls marry dey own brothers and sisters an' nebber know de difference lest they get to talkin' bout dey parents and where dey uster lib. "de niggers allus hab to get pass to go anywhere offen de plantation. dey git de pass from de massa or de missus. den when de paddyrollers come dey had to show de pass to dem, if you had no pass dey strip you an' beat you. "i remember one time dey was a dance at one ob de houses in de quarters. all de niggers was a laughin an' a pattin' dey feet an' a singin', but dey was a few dat didn't. de paddyrollers shove de do' open and sta't grabbin' us. uncle joe's son he decide dey was one time to die and he sta't to fight. he say he tired standin' so many beatin's, he jes can't stan' no mo. de paddyrollers start beatin' him an' he sta't fightin'. oh, lawdy it war tubble. dey whip him wif a cowhide for a long time den one of dem take a stick an' hit him over de head, an' jes bus his head wide open. de pore boy fell on de flo' jes a moanin' an' a groanin. de paddyrollers jes whip bout half dozen other niggers an' sen' em home and leve us wif de dead boy. "none o' the niggers have any learnin', warn't never 'lowed to as much as pick up a piece o' paper. my daddy slip an' get a webster book and den he take it outen de fiel and he larn to read. de white folks 'fraid to let de children learn anythin'. they fraid dey get too sma't and be harder to manage. dey nebber let em know anything about anythin'. never have any church. effen you go you set in de back of de white folks chu'ch. but de niggers slip off an' pray an' hold prayer-meetin' in de woods den dey tu'n down a big wash pot and prop it up wif a stick to drown out de soun' ob de singin'. i 'member some of de songs we uster sing. one of dem went somethin' like dis: "'hark from de tomb a doleful soun' my ears hear a tender cry. a livin' man come through the groun' whar we may shortly lie. heah in dis clay may be you bed in spite ob all you toil let all de wise bow revrant head mus' lie as low as ours.' "then dey sing one i can hardly remember but dis is some of de words: "'jesus can make you die in bed he sof' as downs in pillow there on my bres' i'll lean my head grieve my life sweetly there. in dis life of heaby load let us share de weary traveler along de heabenly road.' "back in dose time dey wasn't no way to put away fruit and things fo' winter like dey is today. in de fall of de yeah it certainly was a busy time. we peel bushels of apples and peaches to dry. dey put up lots o' brandied peaches too. de way dey done dey peel de peaches and cut em up. then dey put a layer ob peaches in a crock den a layer ob sugar den another layer ob peaches until de crock was full. den dey seel de jar by puttin' a cloth over de top then a layer o' paste then another cloth then another layer ob paste. dey keep dey meat bout de same way foks do today 'cept dey had to smoke it more since salt was so sca'ce back in dat day. dey can mos' ob de other fruit and put it in de same kin' o' jars dat dey put de peaches in. dey string up long strings o' beans an' let 'em dry and cook em wif fat back in de winter. "folks back den never heah tell of all de ailments de folks hab now. dey war no doctahs. jes use roots and bark for teas of all kinds. my ole granny uster make tea out o' dogwood bark an' give it to us chillun when we have a cold, else she make a tea outen wild cherry bark, pennyroil, or hoarhound. my goodness but dey was bitter. we do mos' enythin' to git out a takin' de tea, but twarnt no use granny jes git you by de collar hol' yo' nose and you jes swallow it or get strangled. when de baby hab de colic she git rats vein and make a syrup an' put a little sugar in it an' boil it. den soon [hw: as] it cold she give it to de baby. for stomach ache she give us snake root. sometime she make tea, other time she jes cut it up in little pieces an' make you eat one or two ob dem. when you hab fever she wrap you up in cabbage leaves or ginsang leaves, dis made de fever go. when de fever got too bad she take the hoofs offen de hog dat had been killed and parch em' in de ashes and den she beat em' up and make a tea. dis was de most tubble of all. "de yeah fore de war started marse jim died. he war out in de pasture pickin' up cow loads a throwin' em in de garden an' he jes drop over. i hate to see marse jim go, he not sech a bad man. ater he die his boys, tom an' andrew take cha'ge of de plantation. dey think dey run things diffe'nt from dey daddy, but dey jes git sta'ted when de war come. marse tom and marse andrew both hab to go. my pappy he go long wif dem to do der cookin. my pappy he say dat some day he run four or five miles wif de yankees ahind him afore he can stop to do any cookin. den when he stop he cook wif de bullets a fallin all roun de kettles. he say he walk on ded men jes like he walkin on de groun'. some of de men be dead, some moanin' an' some a groanin', but nobody pay no tention, case de yankees keep a comin. one day de yankees come awful close marse andrew hab de confed'rate flag in his han'. he raise it high in de air. pappy say he yell for him to put de flag down case de yankees was a comin' closer an' was agoin' to capture him anyway. but marse andrew jes hol' de flag up an run 'hind a tree. de yankee sojers jes take one shot at him an' dat was de las' of him. my pappy bring him home. de fambly put him in alcohol. one day i went to see him and there he was a swimmin' round in de water. mos' ob his hair done come off tho. he buried at nazereth. i could go right back to de graveyard effen i was there. den my pappy go back to [hw: stay] with marse tom. marse tom was jes wounded. effen he hadn't had a bible in his pocket de bullet go clear through his heart. but yo' all kno' no bullet ain't goin' through de bible. no, you can't shoot through god's word. pappy he bring marse tom home an' take care of him til he well. marse tom give pappy a horse an' wagon case he say he save his life. "many time de sojers come through de plantation an' dey load up dey wagons wif ebberthing dey fin', lasses, hams, chickens. sometime dey gib part of it to de niggers but de white folks take it way when dey git gone. de white folks hide all de silverware from de soldiers. dey fraid dey take it when dey come. some time dey make us tell effen dey think we know. "after de war pappy go back to work on de plantation. he make his own crop, on de plantation. but de money was no good den. i played wif many a confed'rate dollar. he sho was happy dat he was free. mammy she shout fo' joy an' say her prayers war answered. pappy git pretty feeble, but he work til jest fore he die. he made patch of cotton wif a hoe. dey was enough cotton in de patch to make a bale. pappy die when he years old. mammy she live to be . "after de war de ku klux broke out. oh, miss dey was mean. in dey long white robes dey scare de niggers to death. dey keep close watch on dem afeared dey try to do somethin'. dey have long horns an' big eyes an' mouth. dey never go roun' much in de day. jes night. dey take de pore niggers away in de woods and beat 'em and hang 'em. de niggers was afraid to move, much les try to do anything. dey never kno' what to do, dey hab no larnin. hab no money. all dey can do was stay on de same plantation til dey can do better. we lib on de same plantation till de chillun all grown an' mammy an' pappy both die then we leave. i don' know where any of my people are now. i knows i was bo'n in . i was years old de fust of september." n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: richard c. moring story teller: richard c. moring editor: daisy bailey waitt richard c. moring ex-slave story an interview with richard c. moring of e. south street, raleigh, n.c. "my mammy wus cherry, an' my pappy wus jacob. mr. anderson clemmons owned mammy, an' mr. fielding moring owned pappy. "i doan know much 'bout mr. moring, case we stayed wid mr. clemmons near apex, in dis same county. "mr. clemmons owned less'n a dozen slaves, but he wus good ter 'em. de oberseer, mr. upchurch, whupped de slaves some, but not very much. "we had nuff ter eat an' w'ar an' we wuck hard, but no harder dan we has since dat time. marster 'lowed us our own gyarden an' tater patch, we also had our own hawgs. "dey 'lowed us some fun lak dancin', wrestlin' matches, swimmin', fishin', huntin' an' games. we also had prayer meetin's at our cabins. "when dere wus a weddin' dar wus fun fer all, case hit wus a big affair. dey wus all dressed up in new clothes, an' marster's dinin' room wus decorated wid flowers fer de 'casion. de ban' which wus banjoes, an' fiddles 'ud play an' de neighborin' folks 'ud come. "de preacher married 'em up good an' tight jist lak he done de white folks, an' atter hit wus ober an' de songs wus sung marster's dinin' table wus set an' dar was a weddin' supper fer all. "i doan 'member so much 'fore de war but i 'members dat de rebs go by an' dat de yankees chase 'em. (i is on mr. morings' place den clost ter morrisville.) "de yankees am so busy chasin' de rebs dat dey doan stop ter bodder us much, 'cept ter kill de chickens an' so on. "dar's a place out from morrisville whar de yankees an' de rebels had er little skirmish on dat trip. we could hyar de guns go boomin', an' atter hit wus ober we chilluns went dar an' pick up de balls an' boxes of dese hardtacks whar de soldiers had fit. "i fergit ter tell you 'bout de fust gang o' yankees what come by. dey wus lookin' fer food an' when dey got ter our place dey comes in an' he'ps dereselbes ter marster's stuff. dey kilt all de live things, took all de hams an' sich, an' dey foun' 'bout a bushel o' aigs. dey put 'em in de big wash pot an' biled 'em an' dey goes ter de spring house an' gits seben er eight poun's o' butter. when de aigs am biled dey splits 'em open an' puts de butter on 'em an' eats 'em dat way. dat's de fust aigs dat eber i tasted, an' dey shore give me all i wants. "we went back ter mr. clemmons' 'fore de surrender, case when dat happen mis' jane clemmons tells us'n herself dat we am free. all o' we chilluns, duncan, candice, mariah, len, willis, william, sidney, lindy, mary, rilda, an' me, all of mammy's chilluns was dar at de en' of de war. "we stayed on at mr. clemmons fer seberal years, in fac' till de ole folks died. my young missus mis' katy ellis lives on hillsboro street, an' i often goes ter see her an' she sometimes gives me money, so you sees de feelin' dat 'zists twixt me an' my white folkses. "i'll tell you de story 'bout de witch at de mill iffen you wants ter hyar hit, i hyard my grandmammy tell hit when i wus a little feller." the witch at the mill "onct dar wus a free nigger what ownes a mill an' he am makin' a heap o' money. he married a han'some nigger wench an' hit 'peared lak his luck all went bad. de folkses quit bringin' dere co'n ter be groun' an' he 'gan ter git pore. "'long in dem times de slaves sometimes runned away from deir cruel marsters an' dey'd go ter dis nigger at de mill. he'ud put 'em ter sleep in de mill, but dey can't sleep on de 'count of fusses an' scratchin'. "'last one night a nigger what has runned away comed ter spen' de night, an' he sez dat he am not skeerd o' nothin' de owner can put him ter sleep in de house if he wants ter, case his wife am spendin' de night wid a friend of hern, but he 'sides ter put him in de mill. "he tells de runaway nigger 'bout de witch, but atter de nigger gits hisself a butcher knife he ain't skeered no mo' an' he goes on ter de mill. "'way in de night de nigger sees somethin', an' de whites o' his eyes shines lak lamps. de things comes nearer an' nearer an' he sees dat hit am a big black cat wid de savage notion o' eatin' him. "de nigger swings his knife an' off comes one of de ole cat's feets. she gives a awful screech an' goes outen de winder. "de nex' mornin' de owner's wife am sick in de bed an' she' fuses ter git up. de man tells her ter git up an' cook his breakfas', but she 'fuses ter stir. "'you better git up, you lazy trollop', de man shouts an' wid dat he drags de 'oman outen de bed. he am 'mazed when he sees dat her han' am cut off, an' he yells fer de neighbors. "when de neighbors gits dar dey makes a big bresh pile an' dey ties her on hit an' burns her up. atter dat de man had good luck, eben atter he married ag'in." note: this witch story is a variant of _the old brownrigg mill_ by doctor richard dillard. n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: julius nelson story teller: julius nelson editor: daisy bailey waitt [illustration: julius nelson] julius nelson ex-slave story an interview with julius nelson, of state prison, raleigh, n.c. "i doan 'member no slavery, of course, so 'taint no use ter ax me no questions. i does know dat my mammy wus named ann an' my pappy wus named alex. dey 'longed ter a mr. nelson in anson county. dere wus 'leben o' us youngins but dey am all daid now 'cept me. "i doan reckon dat i is but roun' sebenty, case i wus jist five years old at de close o' de war. what's dat, i'se sebenty seben? lan' how de time do fly! "anyhow i jist barely does 'member how de ho'n blowed 'fore de light o' de day an' how we got up an' had our breakfast an' when de ho'n blowed at sunrise we went ter de fiel's in a gallop. at dinner time de plantation bell rung an' we'd fly fer home. "one big fat nigger 'oman cooked de dinner fer us fifty er sixty slaves an' in er hour or so we'd go back ter de fiel's fer mo' wuck. i sez us, but i means dem what could wuck. i did pull weeds an' pick up apples, an' dem things. "dese dinners hyar 'min's me o' de plantation dinners somehow. maybe case it am 'bout de same quantity. great big pots o' turnip salet, collards, peas, beans, cabbages, potatoes or other vege'ables, an' a oben full o' sweet' taters in de winter. dar wus a heap o' pies in de summertime, an' honey, an' 'lasses, an' lasses cake in de winter time. dar wus big pones o' co'n bread all de year roun' an' whole sides o' meat, an' on new years' day hogshead an' peas. "fur supper we gine'ly had pot licker, lef' from dinner, 'taters maybe an' some sweetnin'. dar wus ash cakes fur supper an' breakfas' most o' de time an' hominy, which de marster had grown hisself. de smart nigger et a heap o' possums an' coons, dar bein' plenty o' dem an' rabbits an' squirrels in abundance. "did yo' eber eat any kush? well dat wus made outin meal, onions, salt, pepper, grease an' water. hit made a good supper dish. sometimes in de heat o' de day marster let us pick blackberries on de hedgerow fer our supper. we little' uns often picks de berries, an' den we have a big pan pie fer supper. "on holidays we sometimes had chicken pie an' ham an' a lot o' other food. dem wus de happy times, 'specially on christmas mornin' when we all goes ter de big house ter celebrate an' ter git our gif's. dey give us clothes, food, an' fruit. one christmas we had a big tub of candy, i reckolicts. 'bout twict a year we had a sociable when de niggers from de neighborin' plantations 'ud be invited an' dey'd come wid deir banjoes an' fiddles an' we'd dance, all o' us, an' have a swell time. "we little'uns 'ud play fox-on-de-wall, tag, mulberry bush, drap handerchief, stealin' sticks an' a whole heap of others dat i disremembers right now. "we shucked our co'n on rainy days mostly, but de marster lets us have one big co'n shuckin' eber' year an' de person what fin's a red year can kiss who dey pleases. hit wus gran' times dat we had den. "we also had regular weddin's wid a preacher an' all de fixin's an' de marster usually give us a big supper case he knowed dat he wuz gwine ter soon habe more slaves from de union. "iffen de yankees comed ter our part o' de country i don't 'member seein' dem but i does know dat de ku kluxes done give us a heap of trouble. "i'se libed a long time, 'specially de fifteen years dat i'se spent hyar, but i knows how ter treat white folkses, an' i knows dat de wuck an' de healthy rations dat de niggers got 'fore de war am why dey am stronger dan de young niggers o' dis day." n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: plantation life teller: lila nichols editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp: jun ] [illustration: lila nichols] plantation life an interview with lila nichols of cary, wake county, n.c. may , . "we belonged ter mr. nat whitaker atter his marriage. his daddy, mr. willis, give us to him. we lived near rhamkatte wid mr. willis, an' we wuz happy. my pappy wuz named yancey an' my mammy wuz named sabra. dar wuz two brothers named yancey an' add, an' five sisters: alice, sally, martha, betty an' helia. "ole massa wuz good ter his slaves, but young massa nat wuzn't. we ain't had half nuff ter eat most o' de time, an' we ain't had no shoes till we wuz twenty-one. we had jist a few pieces of clothes an' dey wuz of de wust kind. our cabins wuz shacks, an' we got seberal whuppin's near 'bout ever' day. fer example i had de job of gittin' up de aigs in de ebenin', an' if de ain't de right number of dem missus mae whupped me. i also looked atter de bitties, an' iffen one of' em died i got a whuppin' too. "once missus wuz sick, an' a slave gal named alice brung her some water an' somethin' ter eat. missus got sick on her stomick, an' she sez dat alice done try ter pizen her. ter show yo' how sick she wuz, she gits out of de bed, strips dat gal ter de waist an' whups her wid a cowhide till de blood runs down her back. dat gal's back wuz cut in gashes an' de blood run down ter 'er heels. atter dat she wuz chained down by de arms an' laigs till she got well; den she wuz carried off ter richmond in chains an' sold. "we wucked all de week, my mammy plowin' wid a two-horse plow, all de year when she warn't cleanin' new ground or diggin' ditches; an' she got two days off when her chilluns wuz borned. we ain't had no passes ter go nowhar, an' we ain't allowed offe'n de groun's. "i know one time do' missus 'cides ter whup a 'oman fer somethin' an' de 'oman sez ter her, 'no sir, missus, 'ain't 'lowin' nobody what wa'r de same kind of shirt i does ter whup me.' "we wuz glad when de yankees comed, aldo' dey acted lak a pack o' robbers. dey burned de cotton, dey stold eber' thing dey could lay han's on, an' dey tored up ever' thing scand'lous. dey'd go ter de house an' knock at de do', den missus would lock it an' yell at 'em dat she warn't gwinter open it. dey doan keer, dey jist kicks it down an' walks right in. "dey snatch pictures frum de side o' de house an' throw 'em down an' break 'em. dey drunk up all of massa's brandy, an' dey insults de white wimmen an' de blacks alike. "de yankees comed on a thursday an' we lef' on sunday. when we left de yard wuz full of dem yankees, cussin', an' laughin', an' drinkin'. we went to raleigh, an' de fust winter wuzen't so bad atter all. we doan keer nothin' 'bout mr. lincoln, case he ain't keerin' 'bout us. he wuz lak de rest of de yankees, he jist doan want de south ter git rich. dey tol' us dat de warn't no slaves in de no'th but we done found out dat de only reason wuz 'cause dey can't stan' de cold weather dar, an' dat de no'th am greedy of us. "i 'members de ku klux klan, an' i ain't got nothin' 'ginst 'em, case dey had ter do somethin' wid dem mean niggers an' de robber yankees, who had done ruint us all. i knowed some niggers what ain't got 'long so well an' dey done mean, case dey blame de white folks; but atter awhile dey sees dat it am massa lincoln's fault, so dey gits quiet. i said dat we wuz glad dat de yankees comed. we wuz, jist cause our massa warn't good lak some massas, an' at dat, we ain't want ter be free." n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no words: subject: a slavery story person interviewed: martha organ date of interview: may , editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp: jun ] [hw: story about the girl being burnt in front of fire. good. but not remarkable. _used_] a story of slavery as told by martha organ of cary as she heard her mother tell it many years ago. "i doan know nothin' 'bout slavery 'cept what i hyard my mother tell, an' dat ain't so much. "i know dat my pappa's name wuz handy jones an' my mammy's name wuz melisa. she belonged to a mr. whitaker but atter she married my pappa she belonged ter mr. rufus jones, mr. rufus wuz mr. wesley jones' brother at de ole fanning jones place; an' he owned a sizable plantation. mr. jones wuz good ter 'em. dey ain't nebber give him no trouble an' he ain't nebber whip none of 'em. "i've hyarn her tell a whole heap 'bout de patterollers an' de ku klux klan but of course i wuz borned atter de surrender, i now bein' jist sixty one. "i 'members 'specially what mammy said 'bout when de yankees come. she said dat it wuz on a thursday an' dat de ole master wuz sick in de bed an' had sent some slaves ter de mill wid grain. when dese men started back frum de mill de yankees overtook 'em an' dey killed de oxes in de harness, cut off de quarters an' rid [hw: ter] de house wid dat beef hangin' all over de horses. dey throwed what dey ain't wanted away, but of course dey took de meal an' de grain. "de ole master had hyard dat dem yankees wuz comin' an' he had buried de silverware in a san' bar, but lawd dem yankees foun' hit jist lak it were on top o' de groun'. dey stold eber'thing dat day git dere han's on, 'specially de meat frum de smoke house. dey went down inter de cellar an' dey drunk up master's brandy an' dey got so drunk dat dey ain't got no sense atall. when dey left dey carried my bruther off wid 'em, an' nobody ever hyard frum him ag'in. dey said dat de president was'nt thought much of dem days. "mr. jones died a few days atter de surrender an' hit 'pears lak he made a will what give all of his niggers a little piece o' land. somehow dis mr. whitaker, what my mammy uster belong to had somepin' ter do wid it, so he went ter de co't house in raleigh ter have de will broke up; an' he draps daid. mr. jones an' mr. whitaker wuz buried de same day. "speakin' 'bout ghosts, my mammy tol' me 'bout a ghost what she'd seed an' when i wuz a chile, i seed it too. "it wuz closter ephues church on de durham highway, an' de ghosts wuz three wimmen, dressed, in white an' widout heads. de rize an' flewed ober de wagin an' went ter de churchyard, an' dat wuz de las' time i seed 'em. i doan believe in ghosts much, but fo' de lawd i seed dat one an' my mammy an' pappy seed it 'fore i wuz borned. "my mammy said dat she'd seed some slave sales but dat dey warn't so bad. she nor my pappy ain't neber had no whippin's an' she said dat de wust thing she eber seed wuz a gal burnt. hit wuz dis way: missus jones had sold a gal dat she raised named alice ter a neighborhood 'oman. alice had been ust ter goin' to de missus house an' warmin', so when she went inter dis 'omans house ter warm de 'oman made her stand fore de fire till her legs burned so bad dat de skin cracked up an' some of it drapped off. missus jones found it out an' she give de 'oman back her money an' took alice home wid her." mh/eh n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no words: subject: ann parker person interviewed: ann parker editor: daisy bailey waitt ann parker ex-slave story an interview with ann parker in the wake county home, raleigh, north carolina. "i reckon dat i is a hundert an' three or a hundert an' four years old. i wuz a 'oman grown at de end o' de war. "i ain't had no daddy case queens doan marry an' my mammy, junny, wuz a queen in africa. dey kidnaps her an' steals her 'way from her throne an' fetches her hyar ter wake county in slavery. "we 'longed ter mr. abner parker who lived near raleigh an' he had maybe a hundert slaves an' a whole heap of lan'. i ain't neber laked him much, case we had ter wuck hard an' we ain't got much ter eat. he ain't 'lowed us no fun, but we did have some, spite o' him. "we uster git by de patterollers an' go ter de neighborin' plantations whar we'd sing an' talk an' maybe dance. i know onct do' dat we wuz in a barn on mr. liles' place when de patterollers comed, all dat could git out scated, but de ones dat got ketched got a whuppin'. "i got seberal whuppin's fer dis, dat an' tother; but i specks dat i needed 'em. anyhow we wuz raised right, we warn't 'lowed ter sass nobody an' we ole'uns still knows dat we is got ter be perlite ter yo' white ladies. "daughter, did i tell yo' 'bout my mamny bein' a queen. yes, she wuz a queen, an' when she tol' dem niggers dat she wuz dey bowed down ter her. she tol' dem not ter tell hit an' dey doan tell, but when dey is out of sight of de white folkses dey bows down ter her an' does what she says. "a few days 'fore de surrender mammy, who am also a witch, says ter dem dat she sees hit in de coffee grounds dat dey am gwine ter be free so all o' us packs up an' gits out. "we got along pretty good atter de war, an' on till lately. atter i gits too ole ter wuck i sets on de post-office steps an' begs. i got a good pile o' money too, but somebody done stole hit an' now i'se hyer in de county home. "i fell an' broke my arm sometime ago, case my right side am daid an' i tries ter crawl offen de bed. when i gits back from de hospital dey ties me in dis cheer ter keep me from fallin' out, but i want ter git a loose. de nigger boy what helps me up an' down ain't raised lak i wuz, he fusses an' he he ain't got de manners what he ort ter habe." l.e. n.c. district: worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: a slave story reference: amy penny editor: george l. andrews [tr: date stamp: aug ] amy penny cannister street, raleigh, north carolina. "i do not know my age. i wus borned in mecklenburg [hw: county], virginia. my marster give my age in a bible but i lost it by lendin' it out. my mother died 'fore i 'membered her. she wus named dinah epps. my grandmother wus named eliza epps. she lived to be years old. my father wus named jerry epps. marster's name wus victor epps, an' my missus wus named martha. i married bob penny. "de plantation wus at mecklenburg, virginia, near boylan, [hw: boydton, in mecklenburg co., va.] virginia. i don't 'member how many slaves but dere wus a good number. i never heard 'em numbered out as i knows of. i never saw a slave sold. i never saw one whupped. i heard 'em talk about paterollers but i never saw one. "i don't 'member when i come to raleigh. i have been here so long. my grandmother an' grandfather come here an' i come too. "i plowed in virginia, an' i cooked too. dey did not pick any work fur me. we lived in log houses. yes, indeed, we had plenty to eat. i never suffered for sumptin' to eat till i come to raleigh. on de plantation we got plenty allowance. we had good clothes on de plantation. "i am more naked now den i ever been before in my life. "we went to both de white an' colored churches in virginia. i never could learn to read an' write. i never could learn to make a number correct. i just can't learn. i tried my bes' to write. i went to four sessions of school but couldn't learn. i wus raised by some mighty good white people. i wanted to learn so bad i slept wid my books under my head but i couldn't learn. "i am well thought of at my home in virginia. dey have sent me rations since i been here. i had de worse time of my life since de surrender. i don't know nothin' 'bout de yankees comin' through only what i heard others say. i heard 'em talkin' 'bout freedom an' de war but i didn't know or care nothin' 'bout it. my father went to manassas gap to de war. i heard him talk 'bout de breastworks but i don't know nothin' 'bout 'em. "i wus my father's only chile. he didn't have any chillun by his las' wife. i fergot de name of his las' wife. "i heard 'em say abraham lincoln come through de south an' just learned ever'thing 'bout de folks. he wus 'guised so nobody knowed who he wus. yes, i heard 'bout dat an' when dey foun' out he been here he done come through an' gone back. "slavery wus better den it is now. shore it wus. i don't know much 'bout de war but my first life in virginia wus better den it is now. i never did have any mean white folks. de lord made me lucky in dat way. de yankees took, stole, an' carried off a lot of things an' dere wus a lot of talk 'bout 'em, but i never saw 'em 'cept when dey wus paradin'. i never seed any of 'em down dere at my marster's plantation. "my grandfather died in raleigh. grandmother wus de mother of thirteen chilluns but none of 'em 'cept two ever seed raleigh. dey wus so scattered 'bout 'cept de two younges', a boy an' a girl. dey come to raleigh atter de surrender when grandmother an' me come. we lived worser in raleigh den we did in virginia, an' if i wus back home wid my white folks i would git plenty to eat but i don't git it here. dey sends me a little money now an' den. here is some of dere letters where dey sent me money. you can see by dese letters dat my virginia white folks loves me an' i love dem. "i wus 'bout ten years ole when de war wus goin' on. i think slavery wus not such a bad thing 'pared wid de hard times now." eh n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: slavery days in franklin county story teller: lily perry editor: geo. l. andrews [tr: date stamp: jul ] slavery days in franklin county an interview with lily perry, years old, of mckee street, raleigh, n.c. "i wus borned on de plantation of mister jerry perry near louisburg, about eighty-four years ago. my daddy, riddick, 'longed ter him an' so did my mammy, do she 'longed ter a mis' litchford 'fore she married daddy. "de fust things dat i can remember wus bein' a house gal, pickin' up chips, mindin' de table an' feedin' de hogs. de slop buckets wus heavy an' i had a heap of wuck dat wus hard ter do. i done de very best dat i could but often i got whupped jist de same. "when dey'd start ter whup me i'd bite lak a run-mad dog so dey'd chain my han's. see hyar, hyars de scars made by de chains. dey'd also pick me up by de years an' fling me foun',[tr: roun'] see hyar, i can wiggle my years up an' down jist lak a mule can, an' i can wiggle' em roun' an' roun' lak dat, see! "one day i ain't feelin' so good an' de slops am so heavy dat i stops an' pours out some of it. de oberseer, zack terrell, sees me an' when i gits back ter de house he grabs me ter whup me. "de minute he grabs me i seize on ter his thumb an' i bites hit ter de bone, den he gits mad an' he picks me up an' lifts me higher dan my haid an' flings me down on de steel mat dere in front of de do'. "dey has ter revise me wid cold water from de spring an' i wus sick fer a week. we ain't had good food which makes me weak an' i still has ter do heavy wuck. "dar wus a slave block in louisburg an' i'se seed many a slave sold dar. very few wus put in chains, most of 'em wus put in a kivered wagon wid a guard an' wus chained at night. i'se seed many a 'oman cryin' fer her chile when one er de tother wus put on de slave block in louisburg. "i wus 'bout twelve years old when de yankees come. i wus pickin' up chips in de yard when dey comes by wid dere hosses steppin' high an' dere music playin' a happy chune. i wus skeered, but i don't dasent run case marster will sho have me whupped, so i keeps on wid my wuck. "dey pass fast on down de road an' dey doan bother nothin' in our community but de white folkses hates 'em jist de same. "marster jerry tells us 'bout a week later dat we am free an' all of de two hundret 'cept 'bout five er six goes right off. he tells all of us dat he will pay us effen we will stay an' wuck, so me an' my family we stays on. "we lives dar fer seberal years den i marries robert perry who lives on de same plantation wid us. we ain't had but one daughter an' dat's kate, who still libes wid me. "me an' robert wus raised up tergether, he bein' five years older'n me an' i loved him frum de time i wus borned. i know how he uster hate ter see me git dem beatin's an' he'd beg me not ter let my mouth be so sassy, but i can't help hit. he uster take my beatin's when he could an' a heap of times he sneak out ter de fiel's in de ebenin' an' toted dat slops ter de pigs. "onct when marster wus whuppin' me robert run up an' begged marse ter put de whuppin' on him 'stead of me. de result wus marse whupped us both an' we 'cided ter run away. "we did run away, but night brung us back ter another whuppin' an' we ain't neber run away no mo'. "we wus at a frolic at louisburg when he proposes ter me an' he do hit dis way, 'honey gal, i knows dat you doan love me so powerful much, but will you try ter do hit fer me?' "course i sez, 'go long, nigger, iffen i doan love yo' den dar ain't no water in tar riber.' den i sez, 'we can git marse henry outen de bed an' he'll marry us ternight.' "rob wus tickled pink an' sho nuff we wus married right away dat very night. "we lived pore, dat i knows, but we wus too happy in ourselves ter worry 'bout sich things an' de lack. "i laughs now ter think how ignorant we niggers wus. we'd do our washin' an' 'bout de time we hung hit on de line, we'd see a string of folks comin' home frum de prospect church an' we'd know dat we'd done our washin' on a sunday." ac n.c. district: no. worker: mary hicks no. words: subject: a slave story, the woman overseer person interviewed: valley perry editor: george l. andrews [tr: date stamp: aug ] [hw: story of kind mistress who stops cruelty on plantation. use whole story.] the woman overseer an interview with valley perry, years of age, of cary, north carolina, route # . "course bein' no older dan i is i can't recollect 'bout de war, but i'se heard my manny [tr: mammy] tell a little an' my gran'mammy tell a right smart 'bout dem slavery times yo's talkin' 'bout. "gran'mammy josephine, an' mammy clarice 'longed ter a mr. nat whitaker in wake county. "mr. nat's wife wus named mis' lucy, an' she wus so good dat ever'body what ever seed her 'membered her. dar is eben de belief among de niggers dat she riz up ter heaben alive, like elijah. "dey said dat mr. nat's oberseer wus kinder mean ter de slaves, an' when he whupped dem dey 'membered hit ter de longest day dey lived. mr. nat wusen't near so bad an' mis' lucy wus a angel. she'd beg mr. nat ter make de oberseer stop, but mr. nat 'fused, 'case he said dat de niggers won't obey him iffen he teaches dem he won't let de oberseer punish dem good an' plenty. den mis' lucy 'ud cry an' she'd run an' grab de oberseer's arm an' beg him ter stop. she'd cry so hard dat he'd hafter stop. "finally de oberseer goes ter mr. nat an' complains, an' he sez dat he am gwine ter quit de job iffen mr. nat doan make mis' lucy keep outen his business. "mr. nat axes him ter tell him 'fore he starts ter beat 'em, an' ter set a time fer de beatin' an' dat he will git mis' lucy offen de place. well, de oberseer does what mr. nat sez an' waits ter whup eber'body on chuesday an' on chuesday mr. nat takes mis' lucy ter town. "mis' lucy am tickled pink dat she am a-goin' shoppin' an' she ain't suspicion nothin' at all. when she gits ter shoppin' do' she ain't satisfied, an' terreckly she tells mr. nat dat she wants ter go home. mr. nat tries to git her ter go ter a concert but mis' lucy sez no, dat she feels lak somethin' am happenin' at home. "mr. nat begs her ter stay on an' enjoy herself, but when she won't listen ter no reason at all he starts home. de mules creep an' poke, but mis' lucy herself whups 'em up, an' dey gits home sooner dan dey am expected. "when dey drives up in de yard de oberseer am so busy whuppin' de niggers what has done bad dat he ain't seed mis' lucy till she am right on him, den she snatch de heavy bullwhup an' she strikes him two or three times right in de face. "mis' lucy look delicate, but she cuts de blood outen his cheek an' she shets up one of his eyes an' brings de blood a-pourin' from his nose. den de meek little 'oman draws back de whup ag'in an' she 'lows, 'git offen dis plantation, an' iffen ever i ketches you here ag'n i'll shoot you, you beast.' "dat settled de oberseer's hash an' atter he left mis' lucy went ter doctorin' cut up backs. gran'mammy said dat dar wusn't no more trouble wid de niggers an' mis' lucy done all of de punishin' herself. "she made de meanest ones l'arn a whole passel of scripture, she punish de chillun by makin' dem memorize poems an' sich. sometimes she sont 'em ter bed widout supper, sometimes she make 'em work at night, sometimes she prayed fer 'em, an' once in a coon's age she whupped. dey said dat she could really hurt when she meant to, but she whupped as de las' thing ter do an' she whupped wid a keen little switch 'stead of de leather. "once atter she had whupped a little nigger she said, 'clarice, dis hurt me wusser dan hit did yo'.' "clarice look at mis' lucy den she sez, 'iffen hit hurt yo' wusser dan hit did me i'se powerful sorry fer you.' dat little gal wus my mammy. "my gran'father wus named jake, an' he 'longed ter a family by de name of middleton some whar in de neighborhood. marse nat ain't had no use fer mr. middleton 'case he tried ter act up, an' he wus a new york yankee ter boot, what thought that he owned de heabens an' de yearth. when gran'father jake fell in love wid gran'mammy nobody ain't knowed hit, 'case dere marsters am mad at each other an' dey knows dat dere won't be no marryin' twixt de families. "time goes on an' gran'father runs away an' comes ter see gran'mammy, but one night mr. middleton follers gran'father an' fin's him in gran'mammy cabin. "mr. middleton doan wait ter say nothin' ter nobody, when he peeps in at de winder an' sees dem a-settin' at de table eatin' musk melons what gran'pappy had stole outen his patch. he jist comes in a-rarin' an' a-tarin' an' starts a-whuppin' wid his ridin' quirt. he whups gran'father fer a while, den he pitches in on gran'mammy. "while all dis am a-goin' on somebody runs fer marster nat an' when he gits dar dere am trouble in de shack. marse nat ain't so heaby as mr. middleton, but man, he puts de beatin' on mr. middleton, den he makes him sell jake ter him an' he pays him spot cash right den an' dar. "de nex' day he thinks ter ax gran'mammy what jake am a-doin' in her cabin, an' gran'mammy tells him dat she loves jake an' dat she wants ter marry him. marse nat laugh fit ter kill an' he sez dat dey'll have a big weddin' at de house fer dem. "dey did habe a big weddin' an' gran'mammy wore a red dress dat mis' lucy give her. she said dat she wish dat gran'father could of wore red too. "she said dat when mammy wus borned dat ole doctor freeman 'tended her an' dat she stayed in de bed two weeks. mis' lucy wus good ter de niggers lak dat. "i 'members gran'mammy tellin' 'bout de yankees comin' an' how she stood front of mis' lucy's door wid de ax an' tol' 'em dat she'd chop out anybody's brains what tried ter go in. de door wus open an' dey could see mis' lucy a-settin' dere white as a sheet, so dey went on sarchin' fer valuables, an' all de time dem valuables wus in mis' lucy's room." n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: tempe pitts person interviewed: tempe pitts editor: daisy bailey waitt [illustration: tempe pitts] tempe pitts ex-slave story an interview with tempe pitts, of tarboro st., raleigh, n.c. "i wuz borned in halifax county ninety-one years ago. see dis paper, hit wuz writ our fer me by ole marster's granddaughter dis year. hit says not only dat i is ninety-one but dat i wuz her mammy, an' dat i wuz a good an' trus'worthy servant. "my mammy wuz phillis pitts, an' my daddy wuz isaac williams. we 'longed fust ter mr. mason l. wiggins dar in halifax, den through de marriages we 'longed ter captain hardy pitts. both o' dem famblies wuz good ter me an' dey ain't neber done me dirty yit. "de pitts' owned ober two hundert slaves, case dey also had a plantation in firginia. we had all we could eat an' good, do' tough clothes. hit's de lawd's truff dat i ain't lakin' fer nothin' den. when we wuz sick we had de bes' doctor an' all de medicine dat he said dat we ought ter habe; an' we ain't wuck when we wuz sick nother. "i 'members jist one whuppin' dat i got, an' i needed hit too. missus pitts sont me out in de yard ter scrub de wilverware [tr: silverware] wid some san'. i knowed dat i wuz supposed to scrub hit good an' den wash it all off, but 'stid of dat i leaves hit layin' dar in de yard wid de dirt on it. she whups me fur it, but she jist stings my laigs wid a little switch. "i seed de oberseer whup a slave man but de best i 'members hit de nigger warn't whupped much. "i ain't neber seed no slave sales, do' i did see a whole slew o' slaves a-marchin' ter be sold at richmond. dey neber wuz chained do', an' sometimes i 'specks dat dese niggers what claims dat dey seed sich things am a-tellin' a lie. "de maddest dat i eber git, an' de only time dat eber i cuss bad wuz when de yankees come. dey stold de meat an' things from de smoke house, an' eber thing else dat dey can git. dey ain't done nothin' ter me, but de way dey done my white folkses made me mad, an' i jumps straight up an' down an' i yells, 'damn dem yankees an' damm ole abraham lincoln too!' "at de surrender did i leave? naw sir, i stay right on dar. missus die fust, den marster, an' atter dat i leaves, an' i gits married. "my mammy an' pappy, dey tells me, wuz married in de marster's dinin' room by jumpin' de broom. i ain't sayin' nothin' 'bout de ceremony case i ain't sayin' nothin' 'bout my white folkses, but sometimes i does wonder why i'se red-headed when my pappy an' mammy wuz black as tar. maybe i is part white, but i ain't sayin' nothin' 'bout my white folkses as i done tol' yo'." l.e. n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: hannah plummer person interviewed: hannah plummer editor: daisy bailey waitt hannah plummer smith street "my name is hannah plummer. i was born near auburn, in wake county, january , . my father was allen lane and my mother was named bertcha lane. we belonged to gov. charles manly, that is mother and myself, father belonged to some maiden ladies, susan and emma white. the governor had large plantations, but mother and myself lived with them on their lot right where the rex hospital now stands on south and fayetteville streets. governor manly owned the block down to the railroad, and we chillun went into [hw: ?] grove, it was a grove then, to pick up walnuts and hickory nuts. "my father was a stonecutter and he hired his time and gave it to his missus and lived with us. mother was at governor manly's. he said father was a high-headed fellow and said he was livin' on his lot and in his house and that he didn't do anything for him, and that he ought to keep up his family. mother was the washerwoman for the governor and his family. missus manly, the governor's wife, i forget her first name, did not take any particular interest in her servants. she had slave servants for everything: a wash and ironer, a drawing room and parlor cleaner, a cook, waiting men, waitresses and a maid who did nothing but wait on her. "governor manly was a mighty rich man, and he had several plantations and a lot o' slaves. i don't remember how many slaves he owned. mother was given meal and meat and had to cook it just the same as she would now. they didn't allow her food from the great house. mother had ten children, and at times we did not have enough to eat. we went hungry a lot. the boys were named fred, david, matthew, allen, and thomas. girls, cinderilla, corinna, hannah, victoria, and mary. all were born slaves but two. thomas and mary. david and myself are all that are left alive. "i remember that we lived in a plank house, with three rooms and a shed porch. mother washed clothes under the porch. the house had two rooms downstairs and one upstairs. (oh! i have thought of the governor's wife's name, missus name, it was charity.) we used trundle beds of wood. mother made our bed clothes at night. she also made bonnets and dresses. sometimes she made bonnets and sold them. the child that set up with her she gave some kind o' sweets. i set up with her a lot because i liked to eat. mother was allowed the little money she made makin' bonnets and dresses at night. "they whupped slaves on the place. i could hear the blows and hear 'em screamin' cryin' an' beggin', but i never saw it. i never saw a slave sold an' i never saw any in chains. "i do not remember how many children old marster had, i only remember one; he was marster basil manly. he was an officer in the confederate army. he used to come home with his pretty clothes an' his hat with plumes on it. mother tole me that before she was married marster gave her to his son basil as a maid for his wife caroline. "missus caroline whupped her most every day, and about anything. mother said she could not please her in anything, no matter what she done or how hard she tried. missus would go up town and come back and whup her. mother was a young girl then. one day miss caroline went up town, an' come back mad. she made mother strip down to her waist, and then took a carriage whup an' beat her until the blood was runnin' down her back. mother said she was afraid she would kill her, so she ran for the woods and hid there, and stayed three weeks. she made up her mind she wasn't comin' back. "the old governor charles manly, went to mother's father, jimmie manly an' tole him if he did not get bertcha back he would whup him. her father tole him he did not know where she was, an' that he belonged to him an' he could do with him as he liked, but he was not goin' one step to hunt bertcha, my mother. then the governor went to grandmother an' tole her she had to find her. he tole her to leave the lot an' stay away until her daughter came back. grandmother did not know where she was. "the niggers on different plantations fed mother by carrying things to certain hidin' places and leavin' it. grandmother got word to her, an' she said she would come back, but not to mis' caroline. she told marster, so marster let her stay with grandmother until christmas, then they allowed her to hire herself out. she hired herself to mrs. simpson. she was good to her and allowed her to work for herself at night, sit up as long as she wanted to, and she stayed with her until she was married. then she went back to old marster's. "when the war ended mother went to old marster and told him she was goin' to leave. he told her she could not feed all her children, pay house rent, and buy wood, to stay on with him. marster told father and mother they could have the house free and wood free, an' he would help them feed the children, but mother said, 'no, i am goin' to leave. i have never been free and i am goin' to try it. i am goin' away and by my work and the help of the lord i will live somehow'. marster then said, 'well stay as long as you wish, and leave when you get ready, but wait until you find a place to go, and leave like folks.' marster allowed her to take all her things with her when she left. the white folks told her good bye. "we went to a colored methodist church in slavery time but we had a white pastor. his name was dr. pell. he was a mighty nice man and all the colored people loved him. after the surrender it was a long time that the colored people had white preachers in their churches. it was a long time after the war before any of the colored churches had negro preachers. william warrick was the first colored preacher in raleigh. he preached in the basement of the baptist church now standing on the corner of hillsboro and salisbury streets. i went to church and sunday school there after the surrender. "i went to school in raleigh and taught school in ft. payne, alabama. my husband was a carpenter and went there where he could get good wages. slavery was a very bad thing. abraham lincoln was one of the best men that ever lived. "roosevelt is just grand. he is no doubt one of the greatest men of any age. i love to look at his picture. i love him because he has done so much for humanity. i pray to the lord to let him live to serve his country, and help his people." le n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: parker pool person interviewed: parker pool editor: daisy bailey waitt parker pool "good morning, how is yer? dat front door am locked mister, but i'll come 'round and undo it." "i'm not feeling ve'y well an' it looks lak dey'll rob me out'n all i got. dey had a mortgage on my home fer $ . i paid it, an' den dey got to gamblin' on it, an' tuk it. i didn't git de right receipts, when i paid: dat's de truf. i got a farm loan on de house part, yes sir, an' i still has it. "i wuz born near garner, wake county, north carolina. i belonged to aufy pool. he wuz a slave owner. his plantation wuz near garner. i am years old. i wuz born august , that's what my grandmammie tole me, an' i ain't never fergot it. "my missus name wuz betsy. my fust master, i had two, wuz master aufy pool. den he give us to his son, er his son bought us in at de sale when master aufy died. after master aufy died, his son, louis pool wuz my master den, an' his plantation wuz in johnston county. my mother wuz named violet pool. she died in child-birth two years atter i wuz born. my father wuz named peter turner. he belonged to john turner in johnston county, right near clayton. "my grandfather, i had two grandfathers, one on my mother's side and one on my father's side. on my mother's side tom pool, on my father's side jerry beddingfield. i never seed my great-grandparents, but my great-grandfather wuz name buck. he wuz right out o' africa. his wife wuz name hagar. i never have seen dem, but my grandmother wuz deir daughter. dey had three chillun here in america. my grandmammie and grandfather told me this. my brothers were name, oldest one, haywood, den lem, an' peter, an' me, parker pool. de girls, oldest girl wuz minerva rilla. "i had good owners. my missus and master dey took jes as good keer o' me as they could. dey wuz good to all de han's. dey giv' us plenty to eat, an' we had plenty o' clothes, sich as they wuz, but de wuz no sich clothes as we have now. dey treated us good, i will have to say dat. dey are dead in their graves, but i will have to say dis fer 'em. our houses were in de grove. we called master's house 'de great house'. we called our homes 'de houses'. we had good places ter sleep. "we got up at light. i had to do most o' the nursin' o' de chillun, case when choppin' time come de women had to go to work. we had plenty ter eat, an' we et it. our some'in to eat wuz well fixed an' cooked. we caught a lot o' 'possums, coons an' other game, but i tell yer a coon is a lot harder to ketch den a possum. we had one garden, an' de colored people tended the garden, an' we all et out'n it. "dere wuz about acres in de plantation. all de farm lan' wuz fenced in wid wood rails. de hogs, cows an' stock wuz turned out in de woods, an' let go. the cows wuz drived home at night, dat is if dey didn't come up. dat is so we could milk de ones we wanted ter milk. "we dug ditches to drain de lan', blin' ditches; we dug 'em an' den put poles on top, an' covered 'em wid brush an' dirt. we put de brush on de poles to keep de dirt from runnin' through. den we ploughed over de ditches. "we tanned our leather in a tan trough. we used white oak bark an' red oak bark. dey put copperas in it too, i think. "i knows how to raise flax. you grow it an' when it is grown you pull it clean up out of de groun' till it kinder rots. dey have what dey called a brake, den it wuz broke up in dat. de bark wuz de flax. dey had a stick called a swingle stick, made kinder like a sword. dey used dis to knock de sticks out o' de flax. dey would den put de flax on a hackle, a board wid a lot of pegs in it. den dey clean an' string it out till it looks lak your hair. dey flax when it came from de hackles wuz ready for de wheel whur it wuz spun into thread. i tell you, you couldn't break it either. "when it wuz spun into thread dey put it on a reel. it turned times and struck, when it struck it wuz called a cut. when it come from de wheel it wuz called a broach. de cuts stood fer so much flax. so many cuts made a yard, but dere wuz more ter do, size it, and hank it before it wuz weaved. most of the white people had flax clothes. "we had no church on de plantation. we had prayer meetin' an' candy pullin's, an' we would ask slaves from udder plantations. my master had no public corn shuckin's. his slaves shucked his corn. he had about head. de slaves dey went to de white folks church. dey had a place separate from de white folks by a railin'. we could look at de preacher an' hear him preach too. "no, sirree, dey wouldn't let us have no books. dey would not let none o' de chilluns tell us anything about a book. i cain't read an' write, not a bit. dey preached ter us to obey our master. preacher john ellington wuz my favorite preacher. no nigger wuz allowed ter preach. dey wuz allowed ter pray and shout sometimes, but dey better not be ketched wid a book. de songs dat dey sung den, dey hardly ever sing 'em now. dey were de good ole songs. 'hark from de tomb de doleful sound'. 'my years are tender,' 'cry, you livin' man,' 'come view dis groun' where we must shortly lie'. "no one ran away from our plantation, but dey did from some other plantations. when some o' de niggers were carried by their masters to wait on 'em as servants up no'th, some o' de other people would see how dey were treated an' git 'em to run away. when dere master started home dey couldn't find 'em. dey took and educated 'em and made women an' men out'en 'em. "we visited at night during slavery time. de men went courtin'. when a man, a slave, loved a 'oman on another plantation dey axed der master, sometimes de master would ax de other master. if dey agreed all de slave man an' 'oman had ter de [hw: do] sa'dy night wuz fer him to come over an' dey would go to bed together. dere wuz no marriage--until atter de surrender. all who wanted to keep de same 'oman atter de surrender had to pay ¢ fer er marriage license, den $ . , den $ . . if de magistrate married you, you didn't have to pay anything, less he charged you. "we got de holidays, christmas, and atter lay-by-time o' de crops. dey had big dinners den. dey had big tables set in de yard, de rations wuz spread on 'em, an' everybody et. we had brandy at christmas. "i have been whupped twice, an' i have seen slaves whupped. ha! ha! missus whupped me. she wouldn't let nobody else whup me neither. i 'members what it wuz about as if it wuz yesterday. she wuz fretted 'bout de cook. we wuz skinnin' i'sh taters. she tole us to make haste, if we didn't make haste an' peel de taters she would whack us down. i laughed, she sent me to git a switch. she hit me on de legs. when we were whupped we would say, 'oh! pray,' and dey would quit. if you acted stubborn dey would whup you more. she axed me, 'ain't you gwine ter say 'oh! pray?' i wuz mad. she wuz not hurtin' me much, an' i wouldn't say nuthin'. atter awhile i said, 'oh! pray', an' she quit. i had good owners all o' dem. my masters never did hit me. missus would not whup me much. she jes wanted ter show off sometimes. "we had good doctors when we got sick. i 'members dr. james o' clayton comin' to our house. dey carried dere pills an' medicine den, an' lef' it at de house fer you. "my master had a son in de war, walter pool. he wuz a footso'dier at first. he got sick an' he come home sick on er furlough. he hired er man to go in his place at first, den de man went. atter awhile de men got so skurce, he had to go agin; den he got de chance to go in de cavalry. ole master bought him a horse, an' he could ride nex' time. he belonged to the st. ga. reg. nd cavalry gen. dange's brigade, c. co. n.c. volunteers. "i saw de confederates' general johnson come through clayton, an' de yankees come de nd [hw: second] day atter dey come through. i think i seed enough yankees come through dere to whup anything on god's earth. de yankees camped three miles from our plantation at mrs. widow sarah saunders across white oak creek on de averysboro road. her son, capt. ed. saunders wuz in de confederate army. she wuz a big slave owner. she had about slaves. she wuz called a rich 'oman. "de yankees played songs o' walkin' de streets of baltimore an' walkin' in maryland. dey really played it. dey slaughtered cows and sometimes only et de liver. i went to de camp atter dey lef' an' it wuz de awfulest stink i ever smelt in my life. dey lef' dem cows part o' 'em lying whur dey were in de camp. dey killed geese an' chickens, an' skinned 'em. sometimes dey skinned de hind quarters uv a cow, cut 'em off an' lef' de res'. "when dey tole me i wuz free i didn't notice it, i stayed on and worked jest lak i had been doin', right on wid missus and master. i stayed dere a year atter de surrender. "i dunno what ter think o' abraham lincoln. dey said he wuz all right. i guess he wuz a man god loved, er all right man. i think some o' de slaves wuz better off when dey had owners and wuz in slavery den dey is now. de colored people are slaves now more den dey wuz den. i can show you wherein de nigger's got all his expenses ter bear now. he gits his pay out'en de white man and de white man don't pay him much. de nigger in de south is jest as much a slave as ever. de nigger now is a better slave den when dey owned him, 'cause he has his own expenses to bear. if you works a horse an' doan have him ter feed, you is better off, dan if you had ter feed and care fer him. dat is de way dat thing is now. "i seed many patterollers durin' slavery. if dey caught you out at night without a pass dey would whup you. "i think mr. roosevelt is a mighty nice man. he has done me a lot o' good. no man can make times real good till everybody is put to work. wid de lan' lyin' out dere can't be real good times. dis is my 'lustration. my horse died las' year. i ain't got no money ter buy nother and can't git one. you see dat lan' lyin' out dere i have farmed it every year fer a long time. through part o' de year i always had vegetables and sich ter sell, but now my horse is dead an' i can't farm no more. i ain't got nothin' ter sell. i is bad out o' heart. i shore hope sumpin' will be done fer me." n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: rena raines person interviewed: rena raines editor: g.l. andrews [tr: date stamp: aug ] rena raines "i wus three years ole when de yankees come through. i do not 'member much 'bout slavery, but i knows a lot my mother tole me. "my mother wus named vicey rogers an' my father wus named bob hunter. he 'longed ter de hunters of wake county an' mother longed ter marster john rogers. her missus' name wus ann rogers. i 'members my grandfather on my mother's side but do not 'member any more of my grandparents. "marse john rogers wus a ole batchelor before he wus married an' he had 'bout twelve slaves when he married mis' ann hunter. she owned one slave, a colored boy, when she wus married. her father gave her the slave. the plantation wus between apex an' holly springs in wake county. all my people lived in wake county an' i wus born on de plantation. marster wus good ter his niggers before he wus married, but when she came in it got mighty rough. it got wusser an' wusser till 'bout de time of de surrender. de place wus a hell on earth, mother said, if dere could ever be one. missus had slaves whupped fur most any little thing an' den she wud not allow 'em to have much ter eat. my mother tole me all about it, atter de surrender. mother said missus runned the plantation an' made it hard fur all de slaves. she jist liked ter see slaves beat almost ter death. dere wus a lot of niggers whupped in dat neighborhood by the overseers, owners an' patterollers. "slaves wus sold 'round from one to a nother 'mongst de white folks. mother said you jist couldn't tell when you would git whupped. de wurk wus hard from sun to sun. poor food ter eat, poor clothes, barefooted most of de time, an' a general hard time, till freedom put an end to it. my mother tole me ole man pasqual bert who lived near 'em in wake county had his niggers whupped all day sometimes. he beat 'em unmercifully an sometimes made away wid 'em an' dey wus not seed no more. she said de way he whupped his slaves wus ter lay 'em up an' down on a log wid de bark off. he made 'em lie flat down on dere stomachs an' den buckled 'em on den de overseers beat 'em unmercifully. one time a overseer's wife heard a pat, pat, pat, down at de whuppin' log an' she ax him what it wus an' why he beat niggers from sun to sun an he tole her ole man bert made 'im do it or else leave. so his wife says 'we will leave, you must not beat any more niggers if we perish to death,' an de overseer left. mother said ole man bert fed his little niggers out of a trough like hogs. ole man bert also had niggers tied to barrels an whupped. "de grown slaves got one pair shoes a year. dey wus give ter dem at xmas. an de chillun didn't have no shoes at all. de clothes wus homemade. de houses wus made out of logs an had stick an dirt chimleys to 'em. de sleepin' places wus bunks fer de grown niggers an de chillun slept on de floor on pallets. a pallet wus made by spreadin' a quilt made of towbaggin' or rags on de floor, dat's where de chillun slept in our neighborhood before de surrender. "mother and father married by jumpin' de broom. dey put de broom down on de floor den day helt one another's hands an den dey jumped de broom, den day went ter de slave house an' went ter bed. mother an' father come ter raleigh atter de surrender an wus married right. mother an' father lef' ole man rogers as soon as dey wus free. dey lived on hardtack an' pickled meat de yankees give for sometimes den dey went an' stayed wid mr. gray jones an' when i wus a great big girl we lef' an moved ter chatham county. pa bought a place, paid for it, built a little house on it an' lived dere until he died. "i married in chatham county an' lived dere till my husband died den i kept stayin' till all my chillun married off an' i come ter raleigh ter live wid my son. i had four chilluns. dey are all dead but de one i live wid. "i have been unable to git out of de house widout help fur a long time. i have heart trouble an' high blood pressure. slavery wus a right bad thing. i thank god it is over." le n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: anthony ransome person interviewed: anthony ransome editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp: jun (unclear)] anthony ransome ex-slave story (free) an interview with anthony ransome of s. tarboro st. raleigh, n.c. "i reckon dat i is eighty years old, an' i wus borned in murfreesboro in hertford county. my mammy wus named annice an' my father wus named calvin jones. my brothers wus named thomas, wesley, charlie, henry an' william. "we wus borned free, my mammy bein' de daughter of a white 'oman, an' my paw's paw onct saved do life o' his master's chile, an' wus freed. "my paw wus a shoemaker an' he made a putty good livin' fer us. course we ain't knowed so much 'bout slavery, but doctor manning who lived near us owned some slaves an' he treated 'em bad. we could hyar 'em screamin' at de top of dere voices onct in a while, an' when dey got through beatin' 'em dey wus tied down in de cellar. dey ain't had much ter eat nother. "dar wus a preacher what tol' us 'bout a member of his congregation durin' de war. de wife wus sold from de husban' an' he married ag'in. atter de war his fust wife comed back an' atter his secon' wife died he married de fust one ober ag'in." n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: caroline richardson person interviewed: caroline richardson editor: g.l. andrews [tr: date stamp: sep ] [hw: a (circled)] caroline richardson an interview with caroline richardson who does not know her age. she resides near the northern city limits of selma. "i reckin dat i is somers 'bout sixty year old. anyhow i wus ten or twelve when de yankees come ter marse ransome bridgers' place near clayton. dat's whar i wus borned an' my pappy, my mammy an' we 'leben chilluns 'longed ter marse ransome an' mis' adeline. dar wus also young marse george an' young miss betsy who i 'longed to. "mis' adeline wus little an' puny an' marse ransome wus big an' stout, dat's why it am funny dat mammy won't let mis' adeline whup her but she don't say nothin' when de marster gits de whup. dere ain't nobody got many whuppin's nohow an' a slave on marster's place had ter be mean ter git a whuppin'. you see mammy would sass dem all. "we ain't heard much 'bout de war, nothin' lak we heard 'bout de world war. i knows dat nobody from our plantation ain't gone ter dat war case marse ransome was too old an' marse george wus a patteroller, or maybe he wus just too young. dar was a little bit of talk but most of it we ain't heard. i tended to de slave babies, but my mammy what cooked in de big house heard some of de war talk an' i heard her a-talkin' to pappy about it. when she seed me a-listenin' she said dat she'd cut my year off iffen i told it. i had seen some of de slaves wid clipped years an' i wanted to keep mine, so i ain't said nothin'. "one day mis' betsy come out ter de yard an' she sez ter we chilluns, 'you has got de habit of runnin' ter de gate to see who can say howdy first to our company, well de yankees will be here today or tomorrow an' dey ain't our company. in fact iffen yo' runs ter de gate ter meet dem dey will shoot you dead.' "ober late dat evenin' i heard music an' i runs ter de gate ter see whar it am. comin' down de road as fast as dey can i sees a bunch of men wid gray suits on a-ridin' like de debil. dey don't stop at our house at all but later i heard dat dey wus wheeler's cavalry, de very meanest of de rebs, though 'tis said dat dey wus brave in battle. "about a hour atter wheeler's men come by de yankees hove into sight. de drums wus beatin', de flags wavin' an' de hosses prancin' high. we niggers has been teached dat de yankees will kill us, men women an' chilluns. de whole hundert or so of us runs an' hides. "yes mam, i 'members de blue uniforms an' de brass buttons, an' i 'members how dey said as dey come in de gate dat dey has as good as won de war, an' dat dey ort ter hang de southern men what won't go ter war. "i reckin dat dey talk purty rough ter marse ransome. anyhow, mammy tells de yankee captain dat he ort ter be 'shamed of talkin' ter a old man like dat. furder more, she tells dem dat iffen dat's de way dey're gwine ter git her freedom, she don't want it at all. wid dat mammy takes mis' betsy upstairs whar de yankees won't be a-starin' at her. "one of de yankees fin's me an' axes me how many pairs of shoes i gits a year. i tells him dat i gits one pair. den he axes me what i wears in de summertime. when i tells him dat i ain't wear nothin' but a shirt, an' dat i goes barefooted in de summer, he cusses awful an' he damns my marster. "mammy said dat dey tol' her an' pappy dat dey'd git some land an' a mule iffen dey wus freed. you see dey tried ter turn de slaves agin dere marsters. "at de surrender most of de niggers left, but me an' my family stayed fer wages. we ain't really had as good as we done before de war, an' 'cides dat we has ter worry about how we're goin' ter live. "we stayed dar at de same place, de ole zola may place, on de wake an' johnston line, fer four or five years an' i went to school a little bit. atter we left dar we went to mr. john h. wilson's place near wilson's mill. it wus at de end of dese ten years dat mammy wus gwine ter whup bill, my brother, so he went off ter louisanna an' we ain't seed him since. "at de end of dis time i married barney richardson an' we had three chilluns, who am all dead now. we worked an' slaved till we bought dis house an' paid fer it, den in he died. i married john haskins de second time but he's been dead now fer about ten years. "i told you dat i owned dis shack but you see how de top has come ter pieces an' de steps has fell down. i'm behind in my taxes too so i'm 'spectin' dem ter take it away from me at any time. i has been dependent on de white folks now fer four or five years. de county gives me two dollars a month an' de white folks gives me a little now an' den. you see dat i can't straighten up so i can't work in five years. "drawin' water out of dat well wid no curb shore bothers me too, come an' look at it." i looked at the well and in the well and was horrified. there was no curbing at all, only a few rotting planks laid over the hole, and on these she stood right over the water while she drew up the heavy bucket with a small rope and without the aid of a wheel. "i reckin dat some of dese days somebody will draw me outen dis well," she continued briskly. "anyhow hit don't matter much. "you see dat little patch, wid de roastin' ears comin' an' de peas a-bloomin'. i grubbed it up wid my hoe an' planted it myself. iffen you can spare it i wish you'd give me a quarter an' iffen you're round here 'bout three weeks stop an' git you a mess of peas." n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: charity riddick story teller: charity riddick editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp: jun (unclear)] charity riddick e. d. street. "i am years old, you know after comes , dats how old i am. a year ago, a little over a year ago, i wus by de age in de bible. my son ernest riddick tole me dat. he is gone to greensboro to work. he carried de bible wid him. if i had de bible i could tell de story better den i can. my full name is charity riddick and my husband wus weldon riddick. he is dead. my father wus named lewis jones. mother wus named haley jones. i had three brothers, washington, william and turner, two sisters mary and celia. all my people are dead except my sons. i have three sons livin'. "i got sick an' i got way down in my taxes. i am payin' a dollar on' em every time i can get it. i ain't able to work much. i chops in de garden to make a little to eat. my sons help me some. dey have children you know, but dey send me a little. dey is all married. one has eight chillun, the other five chillun and de third has four chillun. dey can't help me much. "i belonged to madison pace in slavery time. he dead an' gone long ago do'. my missus wus name mis' annie pace. sometimes i got plenty to eat and sometimes i didn't. all i got came through my mother from marster and missus. i was in my mother's care. i wus so young dey didn't have much to do with me. the plantation wus about three miles east o' raleigh. "dis house did belong to me, but i am a long way behind on it. dey lets me stay here and pay what i kin. i rents a room to an old lady fer cents a week. i buys oil and wood wid it. de lights has been cut off. i uses a oil lamp fur light. lights done cut off. i can't pay light rent, no sir, i haint been able to pay dat in a long time. "in slavery time when de people you call de yankees come, i wus small, but father took us and left the plantation. we lived in raleigh after that. father did not stay on de plantation anymore but he farmed around raleigh as long as he lived. he made corn, peas, potatoes and other things to feed us with. i used to hear 'em talk about de ku klux. we wus mighty afraid of dem. "i used to hear my father say he had a very good master. my min' is not good but i remember we used water from a spring and lived in a little log house out from my master's 'great house'. i remember sein' de slaves but i do not remember how many dere wus. i never saw a slave whupped. my mother's son wus sold, that wus my brother washington wus sold away from her before de surrender. mother cried a lot about it. i remember sein' her cry about my brother bein' sold. "i remember sein' de yankees. dey told us dey were the blue jackets dat set us free. i wus afraid o' dem. i am old enough to have been dead long ago. guess it is the mercy of the lord dats lets me live. "all i know about abraham lincoln is what i been told. dey say, i think dey said he set de slaves free. i don't know much good or bad about mr. roosevelt. i can't read and write. dey would not let a nigger have any books. dey were perticular 'bout dat. when dey tole us 'bout de bible dey say it say obey your marster. dis is 'bout all i 'members. yes, 'bout all i 'members." ac n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: simuel riddick story teller: simuel riddick editor: daisy bailey waitt simuel riddick everette ave. "my name is simuel riddick. i was born the fourth day february, . my owners, my white people, my old mistress wrote me a letter telling me my age. my mother was nancy riddick; she belonged to the riddicks in the eastern part of the state. my father was named elisha riddick. my master was named elisha and my mistress sarah riddick. they had three daughters, sarah, christine, and mary, one boy named asbury riddick. "i was born in perquimans county, north carolina and i have lived in north carolina all my life. we had good food, for marster was a heavy farmer. there were about acres cleared on the plantation, and about slaves. the great house was where marster lived and the quarters was where we lived. they were near the great house. i saw only one slave whupped. i had mighty fine white people, yes, mighty fine white people. they did not whup their slaves, but their son whupped my mother pretty bad because she did not bale enough corn and turnips to feed the fattening hogs. "he was a rang tang. he loved his liquor, and he loved colored women. the ole man never whupped anybody. young marster married in the marmaduke family in gates county. he sold one man who belonged to his wife, mary. i never saw a slave sold. "i have seen lots o' paterollers. they were my friends. i had friends among 'em because i had a young missus they run with. dats why they let me alone. i went with her to cotton pickin's at night. they came, but they didn't touch me. my young missus married dr. perry from the same neighborhood in perquimans county. bill simpson married her sister. he was from the same place. watson white married the other one. he was from perquimans. "there were no half-white children on marster's plantation, and no mixups that ever came out to be a disgrace in any way. my white folks were fine people. i remember marster's brother's son tommy going off to war. marster's brother was named willis riddick. he never came back. i got a letter from my missus since i been in raleigh. she was a fine lady. she put fine clothes on me. i was a foreman on the plantation and looked after things in general. i had charge of everything at the lots and in the fields. they trusted me. "when the war broke out i left my marster and went to portsmouth, virginia. general miles captured me and put me in uniform. i waited on him as a body servant, a private in the u.s. army. i stayed with him until general lee surrendered. when lee surrendered i stayed in washington with general miles at the willard hotel and waited on him. i stayed there a long time. i was with general miles at fortress monroe and stayed with him till he was in charge of north carolina. he was a general, and had the th irish brigade. he also had the bluecats and greentorches. "i waited on him at the abbeck house, alexandria, virginia after the war. i stayed with the general a long time after the war. i didn't go with general miles when he was ordered to the plains of the west. "i stayed on the bureau here in raleigh. dr. h.c. wagel was in charge. after i left the bureau i worked at the n.c. state college several years then i worked with the city at the city parks. i never left the state after coming here with general miles. "i had mighty good white people, was treated all right, was made foreman and treated with every kindness. i haven't anything to say against slavery. my old folks put my clothes on me when i was a boy. they gave me shoes and stockings and put them on me when i was a little boy. i loved them and i can't go against them in anything. there were things i did not like about slavery on some plantations, whuppin' and sellin' parents and children from each other but i haven't much to say. i was treated good. "don't know much about abraham lincoln, haven't much to express about mr. roosevelt. he is a mighty pleasant man tho'. i learned to read and write after the war. i could not read and write when i was a soldier." ac n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: ex-slave stories person interviewed: adora rienshaw editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp: jun (unclear) ] [illustration: adora rienshaw] ex-slave stories an interview with adora rienshaw, , of south bloodworth street, raleigh. "i wuz borned at beulah, down hyar whar garner am now, an' my parents wuz cameron an' sally perry. when i wuz a month old we moved ter raleigh. "we wuz called 'ole issues', case we wuz mixed wid de whites. my pappy wuz borned free, case his mammy wuz a white 'oman an' his pappy wuz a coal-black nigger man. hit happened in mississippi, do' i doan know her name 'cept dat she wuz a perry. "she wuz de wife of grandfather's marster an' dey said dat he wuz mean ter her. grandfather wuz her coachman an' he often seed her cry, an' he'd talk ter her an' try ter comfort her in her troubles, an' dat's de way dat she come ter fall in love wid him. "one day, he said, she axed him ter stop de carriage an' come back dar an' talk ter her. when he wuz back dar wid her she starts ter cry an' she puts her purtty gold haid on his shoulder, an' she tells him dat he am her only friend, an' dat her husban' won't eben let her have a chile. "hit goes on lak dis till her husban' fin's out dat she am gwine ter have de baby. dey says dat he beats her awful an' when pappy wuz borned he jist about went crazy. anyhow pappy wuz bound out till he wuz twenty-one an' den he wuz free, case no person wid ary a drap of white blood can be a slave. "when he wuz free he comed ter raleigh an' from de fust i can remember he wuz a blacksmith an' his shop wuz on wolcot's corner. dar wuz jist three of us chilluns, charlie, narcissus, an' me an' dat wuz a onusual small family. "before de war judge bantin's wife teached us niggers on de sly, an' atter de war wuz over de yankees started hayes's school. i ain't had so much schoolin' but i teached de little ones fer seberal years. "de southern soldiers burned de depot, which wuz between cabarrus an' davie streets den, an' dat wuz ter keep de yankees from gittin' de supplies. wheeler's cavalry wuz de meanest troops what wuz. "de yankees ain't got much in raleigh, case de confederates has done got it all an' gone. why fer a long time dar de way we got our salt wuz by boilin' de dirt from de smoke house floor where de meat has hung an' dripped. "i'm glad slavery is ober, eben do' i ain't neber been no slave. but i tell yo' it's bad ter be a 'ole issue.'" n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: celia robinson story teller: celia robinson editor: daisy bailey waitt celia robinson e. cabarrus st. "my name, full name, is celia robinson. i can't rest, i has nuritus so bad; de doctor says it's nuritus. i do not know my age, i wus eight or ten years old at de close o' de war. de ole family book got burned up, house an' all. i wuz borned a slave. dat's what my father and mother tole me. my father, he 'longed to dr. wiley perry of louisburg, n.c., franklin co., an' my mother 'longed to mcknight on an adjoining plantation. i do not know mcknight's given name. my father wus named henderson perry. he wuz my marster's shop man (blacksmith). my mother wus named peggy perry. mcknight's wife wus named penny. i member her name. "i member when de yankees came ter my mother's house on de mcknight plantation near louisburg an' dey went inter her things. when de yankees came down my brother buck perry drug me under de bed and tole me to lie still or de yankees would ketch me. i member de sweet music dey played an' de way dey beat de drum. dey came right inter de house. dey went inter her chist; they broke it open. dey broke de safe open also. dey took mother's jewelry. but she got it back. missus went ter de captain an' dey give back de jewelry. my missus wus de cause of her gittin' it back. "i wuz old enough to go up ter where my brother kept de cows when de war ended. i member where he kept de calves. my brother would carry me up dere ter hold de calves off when dey wus milking de cows. my marster would take me by de hand and say 'now, celia, you must be smart or i will let de bull hook you.' he often carried me up to de great house an' fed me. he give me good things ter eat. yes, i am partly white. it won't on my mother's side tho', but let's not say anything about dat, jist let dat go. don't say anything about dat. marster thought a lot o' me. marster and missus thought there wus nothin' like me. missus let me tote her basket, and marster let me play wid his keys. "i cannot read an' write. i have never been ter school but one month in my life. when i wus a little girl i had plenty ter eat, wear, an' a good time. "i 'member when my father would come ter see mother. de patterollers tole him if he didn't stop coming home so much dey wus goin' ter whip him. he had a certain knock on de door, den mother would let him in. "i 'member how mother tole me de overseer would come ter her when she had a young child an' tell her ter go home and suckle dat thing, and she better be back in de field at work in minutes. mother said she knowed she could not go home and suckle dat child and git back in minutes so she would go somewhere an' sit down an' pray de child would die. "we lived at dr. wiley perry's one year atter de war, then we moved ter de plantation of seth ward, a white man who was not married, but he had a lot of mulatto children by a slave woman o' his. we stayed dere four years, den we moved ter de charles perry plantation. father stayed dere and raised children an' bought him a place near de town o' franklinton. i got along during my early childhood better dan i do now. yes, dat i did. i plowed, grubbed an' rolled logs right atter de war, i worked right wid de men. "i married henry robinson. we married on de perry plantation. we had two children born ter us, ada an' ella. dey are both dead. i wish i had had two dozen children. i have no children now. if i had had two dozen, maybe some would be wid me now. i am lonesome and unable to work. i have been trying to wash and iron fer a livin', but now i am sick, unable to work. i live with my grandson an' i have nothing." n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: george rogers person interviewed: george rogers editor: daisy bailey waitt george rogers ex-slave story "george rogers is the name. i has carried fur years an' over. i will be the first day o' this comin' august. louis rogers wuz my father. my mother wuz penny rogers. all my brothers an' sisters are dead except one sister. she is livin' in buffalo, new york. she is somewhere in seventy years old. she wuz the baby in our home. my mother an' father an' all o' us belonged to felix rogers. he lived in the edge o' wake county next to greenville county. my mother came from canada. my master came here from canada an' married here. he married old man billy shipp's daughter. her name wuz matilda shipp. "i cannot read an' write. dey did not 'low no niggers to handle no papers in dem days. master had three plantations an' about one hundred slaves. we had good houses an' plenty to eat. my master wuz a good man. we had no church on the plantation, but we had prayermeeting in our houses. he 'lowed dat an' when dey had big meeting, he made us all go. we had dances or anything else we wanted to at night. we had corn shuckings, candy pullings, an' all the whiskey an' brandy we wanted. my daddy didn't do nuthin' but 'still for him. whiskey wuz only ten cents a quart den. "i have never seen him really whup a slave any more dan he whupped his own chilluns. he whupped us all together when we stole watermelons and apples. he made us chillun, white and black, eat together at a big table to ourselves. we had ordinary clothes, but we all went alike. in the summer and winter we all went barefooted and in our shirt tails mos' er de time. his chilluns wuz just as bad fer goin' barefooted as we niggers wuz. "we had our patches, and he allowed us to have the money we made on 'em. our houses were called slave quarters. our marster's house wuz a big fine two story-house. we slaves called it 'de great house'. none er de slaves from marster roger's plantation never run away. "we chillun played de games uv marbles, cat ball, an' we played base, prison base. at night we all played peep squirrel in the house. we played blindfold and tag. "we fished a lot in briar creek. we caught a lot o' fish. sometimes we used pin hooks we made ourselves. we would trade our fish to missus for molasses to make candy out uv. "when we got sick we had a doctor. his name wuz dr. hicks. i never wuz sick, but some uv de res' wuz. we had an old colored man who doctored on all us chillun. he give us roots an' herbs. "yes sir, i have seen slaves sold. my marster died the year the war started; den dey had a big sale at our house. dey had a sale, an' old man askew bought a whole lot o' our niggers. i don't know his name only dey called him 'old man askew'. he lived on salisbury street raleigh, down near de rex hospital, corner salisbury and lenoir streets. old man askew wuz a slave speculator. he didn't do nothin' but buy up slaves and sell 'em. he carried de ones he bought at our house to texas. he bought my half-sister and carried her to texas. atter de surrender i saw her in texas once, never no more. "when de war begin dey carried young marster off. his name wuz william rogers, an' dey sent me to wait on 'im. i wuz in camp wid 'im up here by de old fair grounds. atter we got there i seed old colonel farrabow, he wuz colonel o' dat regiment. we all lef' raleigh on wagons, an' i don't know whur we went atter we lef' raleigh; i wuz las'. we got on de train at fayetteville, whur dey kept de rations. we went to a place whur dere wuz a lot o' water. i don't know its name. we were dere about three days when dey had a battle, an' den colonel farrabow come round an' tole me marster wuz gone. he told us to go to the breas'works and work. i stayed dere three years and eight months. den dey had anudder battle dar just befo' i lef', and de yankees tuc' de place. "i went to de yankees den. dey give me clothes, shoes, sumtin to eat, and some money too. i worked for 'em while dey were camped in raleigh. i come wid' em back to raleigh. dey were camped on newbern avenue and tarboro street and all out in gatlin' field in de place now called lincoln park. de yankees, when dey tuc' us, tole us ter come on wid' em. dey tole us to git all de folks's chickens and hogs. we wuz behind 'em, an' we had plenty. dey made us steal an' take things fur 'em. wheeler's calvary went before us, dat's why dey wuz so rich. dey got all de silver, an' we got de chickens and hogs. "de yankees skinned chickens and geese. dey cut hogs an' cows up an' den skinned 'em. dey took jis' part of a cow sometime, jis' de hind quarters an' lef' de res'. we went to one place, an' de white 'oman only had one piece o' meat an' a big gang o' little chillun. i begged de yankees to let dat piece of meat alone, she wuz so po', but de officer tole 'em to take it, an' dey took her las' piece o' meat. "i stayed wid de yankees two years arter de surrender. dey carried me to florida when i lef' raleigh. when i lef' 'em in florida i went ter texas to min' cattle. i stayed in texas seven years. den mr. hardie pool from down here at battle bridge, wake county come out dere. when he started home i couldn't stan' it no longer, an' i jis tole him i wuz goin' back home to north carolina. no sir, when i got home, i would not go back. no mo mindin' cattle in texas fur me. i married arter i come back here. i married polly bancomb first, den a 'oman named betsy maynard, and las', emily walton. "when de surrender come marster wuz dead, but he lef' it so dat all his slaves who had families got a piece o' lan'. dere were four of 'em who got lan'. he wuz dead do', but missus done like he had it fixed. "we had white overseers. old man john robinson stayed there till de surrender; den he lef'. we used to kill squirrels, turkeys, an' game wid guns. when marster went off some o' us boys stole de guns, an' away we went to de woods huntin'. marster would come back drunk. he would not know, an' he did not care nuther, about we huntin' game. we caught possums an' coons at night wid dogs. marsa an' missus wuz good to us. "i heerd a heap uv talk about abraham lincoln, but i don't know nuthin' bout him. i like mr. roosevelt all right. he is all right as fur as i know of 'im. i digs fish worms fer a livin'; i can't work much. i jist works awhile in the mornin'. i don't git anything from charity, de county, ner de state. i don' have much. dese are de bes' shoes i has. dey flinged dem away, an' i picked 'em up. dey is jist rags uv shoes. i shore need shoes." l.e. n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: hattie rogers person interviewed: hattie rogers editor: g.l. andrews [tr: date stamp: aug ] hattie rogers "i was born a slave in new bern, n.c., craven county, the nd day of march . my full name is hattie rogers. my mother's name was roxanna jeffreys. her husband was named gaston jeffreys, but he was not my father. my father was levin eubanks, a white man. i was born before my mother was married. i called my father marse levin. we belonged to allen eubanks of new bern, n.c. and his sister's son was my father. his sister was named harriot and i was named after her. marster didn't care who our fathers was jest so the women had children. my father died in . my mother was years old when i was born. when i was a little girl they moved us out to the plantation on the white oak river in onslow county where we had plenty to eat and wear. we made the stuff and we ate it. our marster was good to us. marster carried me around in his arms a whole lot. he would say to me, 'come on harriot, and let's go get a dram. if you're like your daddy i know you like it.' "our marster did not whip us or allow anyone else to whip us. "when the yankees took new bern, two years before the war ended, we all were refuged to franklin county to keep them from setting us free. all who could swim the river and get to the yankees were free. some of the men swum the river and got to jones county, then to new bern and freedom. one of these was alec parker. the white oak river was in onslow county bordering jones county. there was a lot of slaves who did this, but he is the only one i personally remember. "when we got to franklin county, we saw plenty of patterollers, and many of the men were whipped. mother's husband was beat unmercifully by them. "there was no churches on the plantation, but we went to the white folks church and sat on the back seats. the white people was friendly to us in the eastern part of the state. indeed it was more stiff up in franklin county. some of the slave-owners was very mean to their slaves. i remember seeing some of the slaves almost beat to death. lawsy mercy, that was a time. i saw a slave-owner whip a colored woman named lucy, his servant. he was named john ellis, judge ellis's son in franklinton. "my mother cooked for judge ellis then. john ellis whipped lucy because he found a piece of pickle outside the pantry door. he accused her of stealing it. there was a string attached to a bell, near where lucy stayed. she was a house girl. he accused her of stealing the pickle and leaving it there when the bell rung, and she had to go in the house. he made her strip to her waist and then he made her hug a tree. he whipped her with a cowhide whip until she could only say in a weak voice, 'oh pray! marster john'. major thomason was there, and he went to marse john and said 'john, don't kill the dam nigger.' "a lot of the white folks hid in the woods and in caves and swamps. they hired slaves out when they didn't need 'em themselves. they hid jewelry in hoss stables by digging holes, putting the jewelry in, and then replacing the straw. "when the slaves was sent from white oak to franklinton before lee surrendered they had to walk all the way. we children was carried in dump carts drawn by mules. my marster nor none of his boys was ever in the confederate army. when they got us to franklinton they put us in jail for safe keeping. "if a woman was a good breeder she brought a good price on the auction block. the slave buyers would come around and jab them in the stomach and look them over and if they thought they would have children fast they brought a good price. "just before the war started when the birds would sing around the well, missus would say, 'war is coming, them birds singing is a sign of war; the yankees will come and kill us all.' i can see the old well now jest as plain. it had a sweep and pole. you pulled the sweep over by pulling the pole and bucket down into the well. when it sunk into the water, the heavy sweep pulled it up again. "i wouldn't tell anything wrong on my ole marster for anything. he was good to all of us. he offered my mother a piece of land after the war closed, but mother's husband would not let her accept it. my grandmother took a place he offered her. he gave her fifty acres of land and put a nice frame building on it. "the man we belonged to never was married. he bought a woman who had two little girls, on [tr: one] named lucy and the other abbie. he took lucy for a house girl to wait on his mother. she had eleven children by him. they're all dead except one. all the missus i ever had was a slave, and she was this same lucy. yes, sir he loved that woman, and when he died he left all his property to her. "when the slaves on the plantation got sick they relied mostly on herbs. they used sage tea for fever, poplar bark water for chills. "when the husbands and brothers and sweethearts were gone to the war the white ladies would sing. annie ellis and mag thomas would sing these pitiful songs. 'adieu my friends, i bid you adieu, i'll hang my heart on the willow tree and may the world go well with you.' "when i was three years old i remember hearing this song. 'old beauregard and jackson came running down to manassas, i couldn't tell to save my life which one could run the fastest, hurray boys, hurray!' "when the surrender came the yankees rocked the place where we were in. we were in a box car. they wanted to get a light-colored slave out. "the yankee officers came and gave mother's husband a gun and told him to shoot anyone who bothered us. they put a guard around the car, and they walked around the car all night. "my mother was dipping snuff when the yankees came. one rode up to her and said, 'take that stick out of your mouth.' mother was scared when the yankees tried to break in on us. she cried and hollered murder! and i cried too. i din't know about freedom. i was too young to realize much about it. when the war ended i had just been hired out. i was never sent off. i think slavery was an awful thing, and that abraham lincoln was a good man because he set us free." le n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: henry rountree person interviewed: henry rountree editor: g.l. andrews henry rountree henry rountree, years old, of near newsom's store in wilson county. "i wus borned an' bred in wilson county on de plantation of mr. dock rountree. i wus named fer his oldest son, young marse henry. my mammy, adell, my pappy, shark, an' my ten brothers an' sisters lived dar, an' aldo' we works middlin' hard we has de grandes' times ever. "we has two er three corn shuckings ever' fall, we has wood splittin' days an' invite de neighbors in de winter time. de wimmen has quiltin's an' dat night we has a dance. in de col' winter time when we'd have hog killin's we'd invite de neighbors case dar wus a hundret er two hogs ter kill 'fore we quit. yes, mam, dem wus de days when folkses, white an' black, worked tergether. "dar wus candy pullin's when we makes de 'lasses an' at christmas time an' on new year's eve we has a all night dance. on christmas mornin' we serenaded de marster's family an' dey gived us fruits, candy an' clothes. "my marster had game cocks what he put up to fight an' dey wus valuable. when i wus a little feller he had one rooster that 'ud whup me ever' time i got close ter him, he'd whup young marse henry too, so both of us hated him. "one day we set down wid bruised backs ter decide how ter git rid of dat ole rooster, not thinkin' 'bout how much he cost. we made our plans, an' atter gittin' a stick apiece ready we starts drappin' a line of corn to de ole well out in de barnyard. de pesky varmint follers de corn an' when he gits on de brink of de well we lets him have it wid de sticks an' pretty shortly he am drownded. marse ain't never knowed it nother. "de missus had a ole parrot what had once 'longed ter her brother who wus a sea captain. dat wus de cussingest thing i ever seed an' he'd cuss ever'body an' ever'thing. one day two neighborhood men wus passin' when dey heard somebody holler 'wait a minute.' when dey turns 'roun' de ole parrot sez, 'go on now, i jist wanted ter see how you looks, great god what ugly men!' an' de ole thing laughs fit ter bust. "dat ole parrot got de slaves in a heap of trouble so de day when de hawk caught him we wus tickled pink. de hawk sailed off wid de parrot screamin' over an' over, 'pore polly's ridin'. we laughed too quick case de hawk am skeerd an' turns de ole fool parrot loose. "hit's things lak dat dat i 'members mostly, but i does 'member when de news of de war come. ole missus says dat de will of de lord be done. den ole marse sez dat his slaves won't be no happier in heaben dan dey will wid him an' dat de yankees better keep outen his business. "de war comes on an' as de niggers l'arns dat dey am free dar am much shoutin' an rejoicin' on other plantations, but dar ain't nothin' but sorrow on ours, case de marster sez dat he always give us ever'thing dat we needs ter make us happy but he be drat iffen he is gwine ter give us money ter fling away. so we all has ter go. "ole marster doan live long atter de war am over, but till de day dat he wus buried we all done anything he ax us. "i has done mostly farm work all of my life, an' work aroun' de house. fer years an' years i lives on a part of marse's land an' atter dat i lives here. i ain't got no kick comin' 'bout nothin' 'cept dat i wants my ole age pension, i does, an' i'd like to say too, miss, dat de niggers 'ud be better off in slavery. i ain't seed no happy niggers since dem fool yankees come along." le by miss nancy watkins madison, rockingham county biography sketch of ex-slave, anderson scales, three fourths of a mile from his master's mansion in madison on hunter street, with his large plug tobacco factory across the street on the corner (where [hw: in] stands the residence of dr. wesley mcanally,) in some "quarters" which nat pitcher scales had near beaver island creek, anderson was born to slave mother, martha scales of a father, "man name uh edwards." baby anderson was the slave of william scales, at one time the world's largest manufacturer of plug or chewing tobacco and he was named for henry anderson, the husband of mrs. william scales' sister. cabins here "quarters" consisting of three or four log ones. cabins were near the old "free white schoolhouse" or rather the "schoolhouse" for whites. rolling around the yards with the other pickaninnies, anderson passed his babyhood, and when he was a boy he went to be house boy at marse jim dick cardwell's on academy street facing nat pitcher scales' home, later that of col. john marion gallaway. here he learned good manners and to be of good service. later he was houseboy in the big house just beyond the methodist church at james cardwell's who had a mill five miles west of madison and whose wife was sallie martin; granddaughter of governor alexander martin. here anderson learned more good manners and rendered more good house boy service such as sweeping floors, bringing in "turns" (armfuls) of fireplace wood, drawing water from the yard well and toting it into the house, keeping flies off the dining table, carrying out slops and garbage, for every town house had its back lot pigs. larger [hw correction: later] anderson was hired to nat wall, (colored) farmer and blacksmith, then to joshua wall, white planter of dan valley northeast of town a few miles. white men would get contracts to have the mail carried to various towns and anderson scales was hired by one of these contractors to carry the mail from madison to mt. airy, fifty miles distant in northwest surry county. he would go by horse and sulky (sulky) on monday, return on wednesday; go on thursday, return on saturday. this was in the late 's and 's. during the tobacco season, he worked in factories in winston (no salem then) and greensboro. then he worked in nat scales' factory in madison and in that of his former marster, william scales. he married cora dalton and started his home a mile up the ayresville road from town. the railroads having come with the consequent transporting of freight to and fro, anderson started a public draying business of one horse and a wagon, which lasted thirty eight years and was given up by him to his son-in-law, arthur cable who now, in , has an auto-truck and hauls large paper boxes from the gem dandy suspender and garter company located across franklin street from anderson's house boy home, that of james cardwell, to the post office. from the freight train depot, arthur hauls merchandise also in paper cartons to the feed stores which do not own an auto truck of their own, and he hauls to the garter factory a few two by three foot wooden boxes loaded with metal fillings for the suspenders. this is a complete contrast to the loads "drayed" by anderson through the 's, 's and the 's to about when the automobile began to change the world of transportation, and anderson's one horse wagon dray business along with it. for thirty-eight years anderson met every train to capture the trunks of visitors or "drummers" in town. two immense hogheads packed with leaf tobacco was sold on the floors of webster's ware house and planters' warehouse. two stacks of tobacco baskets loaded with the bundles of leaf, anderson, five feet high, and his lean horse could dray from the sales floors to the packing houses where the tobacco was packed and pressed into the hogsheads or else stored for removal at a greater profit. one such packing house was converted into the gem dandy garter factory about , and today three of the original five remain. one or two are still used for tobacco packing, though the season of - marked the hauling of immense loads of tobacco direct from the sales floors to the winston-salem buyers. one pack house is used as a fertilizer sales house. one loaded to the roof comb with heavily insured tobacco was mysteriously burned during the world war where such insurance collections were the fashion! thus anderson's dray business dwindled. any kind of hauling he could get done, and his horses, as they died from strenuous work, would be replaced by others who in no time learned the meaning of anderson's constant pulls on their reins and his constant and meaningful clucks. with no swivel features to his wagon, anderson could nevertheless work the horse and wagon into any kind of close position for loading and unloading. he always said the baggage of the writer was the heaviest he carried. this was so because of books packed in the trunk or in boxes and twenty-five cents a piece was the fare! anderson's wife and children at home were making the acre homestead pay with cow, pigs, chickens and vegetables quickly grown on soil enriched from his dray horse stable as well as the cow stable: "snaps", tomatoes, irish potatoes, roasting ears, butterbeans, squash in the summer, in the spring mustard and onions; in the winter "sallet" from the "seven top" and turnips, too. fruit trees planted in time gave fruit for eating, canning and "pursurving" while all the little darkies knew where wild strawberries, crab apples and black berries grew for the picking. with mommuh taking in white folks' washing and the dray horse money coming in, anderson scales prospered in madison where he started from zero scratch. he had money in the bank. anderson said after "srenduh", [hw addition: the surrender] he learned to read and write at a negro free school taught by matilda phillips. with his wife, cora dalton, sister of sam dalton, anderson joined the african methodist church fifty years ago. this was located just across the street from the home of his former employer, nat wall until when it was abandoned with its parsonage and a new brick church built on the mayodan road with stained glass memorial windows, electric lights, piano, well finished interior, and christened st. stephen's methodist episcopal church. the omission of the word "south" emphasized the fact that the members considered it a northern methodist church as well as african. in this church, anderson was exhorter, trustee and class leader. in then religious capacities, his education by the colored teacher, matilda phillips was a great help to him. anderson's second wife was dinah strong who had no children. she died december, from a goiter on her throat. for ten years or more anderson has operated a grocery store in the corner of the mayodan and the ayresville roads. customers come more at night, so anderson has time in the day to work his garden patches of onions, snaps and the like and to stop and rest on the porch of the small store house. clad in good dark clothes, a low crowned derby hat, he often snoozes as he rests his eighty-two year old frame. anderson and many of his children were distinguished by their very large round eyes with much white showing. one of his sons inherited the blackness of his skin. this was "little anderson" who once sought a warrant from a local justice to punish by trial some boy at the tobacco warehouse, who had remarked thus: "boy, charcoal would leave a light mark on your skin!" anderson's son, will scales, was the first husband of bertha who had to nurse him through the terrible spells he would have from liquor debauchery. will was the servant of the nat picket family and once mrs. pickett herself went down to their home and nursed will through one of his terrible "cramping spells." after will scales' death, bertha married cleve booker, plumber, ex-world war veteran and of surpassing good nature from washington, georgia. their oldest son they named chilicothe, ohio, because at that city, cleve was in war camp and met bertha who had gone there to go out in service. some of anderson scales other children still live in madison in homes marked by good construction, clean well furnished interior, artistic surroundings. martha married arthur cable who also holds an honored place in the church. one daughter married odell dyson. fannie sue married thompson. walter married morris carter's daughter. he died in early of pneumonia in west virginia. so his widow went to help take care of "pap anderson". nancy scales married eler william wells. when told that the pioneer graveyard of the scaleses which is a mile or so west of his store was a thick tangle of growth and no stones to the once wealthy tobacco manufacturer, william scales, unka anderson exclaimed may , : "you don't mean to tell me my ole marse ain't got no tombstone to his grave". a merchant's wife stated that about , anderson had more ready cash in the bank of madison than any white man in town, but uncle anderson disclaimed this. but the depression of - did not injure this energetic black man who started in a "quarters" cabin a mile or so west of his present home and store, lived all his life in madison and faces the "one clear call" with comfortable snoozes on his own front porch. respected by white and colored, anderson scales, , has guided his life by the gospel preached by his pastor, also an ex-slave, william scales of madison. by miss nancy watkins madison, north carolina rockingham county biography of ex-slave catherine scales about ten years old at the "srenduh", now quite feeble, but aristocratic in her black dress, white apron and small sailor hat made of black taffeta silk with a milliner's fold around the edge, aunt catherine is small, intensely black with finely cut features and thin lip. her hand is finely molded, fingers long and slender. her voice is soft and poise marks her personality. sallie martin, a ginger cake colored woman, sixty-five, has lived as a kind of caretaker with aunt catherine since and thereby gets her own roof and refreshment. for aunt catherine has gotten "relief" from the county welfare chief, mrs. john lee wilson, and jeff scales, seventy, brings sallie to the "relief" dispensary in his two horse wagon for the apples or onions or grape fruits or prunes with dried bena, milk, canned beef or potatoes as the stores yield. a white horse and a brown mule comprise the team, and several dogs trot along side. sally also small and frail looking sits in a chair planted in the flat wagon bed behind the drivers' seat, a plank resting on the sides. jeff drives close to the door, alights and helps sallie step on to the back of the bed, thence to a chair he has placed, then to the ground, just as polite whites did to their women folks after the war when they would ride to town or to church or to picnics in wagons in order to carry the family, the servants, the dinner, horse feed, water bucket, chairs, cushions. sallie gets in line, presents aunt katherine's card which she has gotten by mail, hears the dispensing lady call to the helping men what aunt catherine is to have, and struggles to the door with it where jeff meets her, transfers the load to his wagon bed. then with his hands he steadies sallie as she mounts the chair, then the back of the wagon bed, over the side with voluminous long skirts, and old fashioned ruffled sun bonnet. off to the hilly north part of madison called freetown, jeff's [tr: jeff] expertly guides his team through automobile traffi. [tr: traffic] during the worst of the depression aunt sallie said she kept her coal reserve in a tub upstairs so nobody could steal it. aunt katherine strengthened by her relief food can talk comfortably. "i shure did love my white fokes--ole marse, timberlikk (timberlake) an' ole miss mary timberlikk. my mother, lucy ann timberlikk bough their portraits at the sale of the old timberlake things, and kepp them an' brought them with her to madison, when we moved up here, an kepp them until mummy was in her last sickness, an' two of ole misses daughters came over from greensboro, an' begged,--an mammy sold the pictures to them for a quarter a piece. i still have ole misses mother's dish, though. i've got in [tr: it] packed away in a safe place. i'll get it and show it to you." it is a large flat platter of the ware called iron ware and was generally used to serve fried ham and eggs while the gravy came in a small deep dish. in summer, a heap of snaps greasy with middling meat slashed and boiled down dry with irish potatoes around the edge came to table in the platter. the keeper of the timberlake oil portraits was lucy, slave of nat scales, and lucy's husband was nathan scales. slave nat scales (named for marse nat) had married a black woman who came "across the water", sallis [tr: sallie?] green who become by purchase sallie scales. thus aunt katherine recalls her grandmother as one who "cum over the water with a white lady". the purchaser mrs. scales was from the leseur family. her father was clerk of the rockingham county court as early as [tr: missing date?] and kept the session records of his presbyterian church in a fine neat script. "the leseurs had as big a house as the scales house at deep springs. i've stayed many a nite in it. it was next to ole marse jimmie scaleses. john durham scales, marse jimmy's grandson lived and died in it--his grandmother's house, the old le seur place, ten miles down the dan river towards leaksville. miss mary le seur married marse gus timberlikk, an was the grandmother of william timberlake lipscomb who used to come up to madison and go to dr. schuck's beulah academy just after the srenduh. when marse billy'd get lonesome, he'd go down to spring garden and dance with the scales girls. ole marse le seur's wife was miss lizzie scales marse jimmie's. "nome, us slaves didn't have no chuch. marse nat scales ud let his slaves go to the babtizings. "i could hoe but i didn't do much clean up work. i spun on a great big wheel that went m-m-m-m-m. i wish i had a big wheel to spin on right now. my mammy, lucy ann, could weave. she sho loved her white fokes. cullud fokes didn't have much sence den. she would take cow hair and kyard and spin it with a little cottin in to rolls, and then she'd weave cloth out of it. "an how they made their shoes den: my father would cut shoes out of the raw cowhide and put them on bottoms (soles) he cut out uv wood. an he couldn't run in them a-tall, just had to stomp along! an day didn't put on shoe till nearly christmas." schooling aunt katherine said she "learned her letters" in a school fuh cullud fokes only taught by mr. sam allen just after the srenduh close to the old timberlake place. mr. sam was the son of mr. val(entine) allen an miss betsy martin (she was the granddaughter of governor martin). "sometimes miss betsy'd git worried with little nigguh rolling roun on de floor thub hader under her feet, an' she'd say: 'gway! gway!! gway fum hyuh! gway tuh pamlico!' an the little nigguhs'd say: 'miss betsy, whah's pamplico?' "'nine miles tother sede o' hell!' "yesin mr. sam allen learn't me my letters. he was crippled. he married a grogan, an' two allen girls married grogans--one, mary! mr. val's father was william allen. i went to mr. vaul allen's funeral an he was buried on his father's ole place, an miss betsy too. "how de cullud fokes did hate to be sold down south in de cotton country! one time ole marse jimmy scales wuz go sell uh hunduhd down south, and he died, an' all de cullud fokes wuz glad he died cause he wuz go sell um, an oftuh he died, day didn't halftuh be sold way fum home. "one slave woman wuz sold way fum home--had three chillun, and daze six an eight an ten yuhs ole. she sang a song juss fo day tuh hub off. she put her three children between her knees. she sung, 'lord, be with us.'" [illustration: musical score] do--me--sol--re--do--sol--te--sol--me--do--do--sol--fa--me--sol--do "remembuh me remembuh me oh lord remembuh me" this was sung full of quavers and pathos, and entreaty. "den she cried! an dey took huh off, and de chillun never saw her no more. "aftuh i learned my lettuhs at marse sam allens school, i learned a bible verse ebry day an if i want bixxy i'd learn ah half uh chaptuh. i read some newspapers, and some story books de miss mary timberlikk give us chillun to read an look ovuh. i learned to write in a copy book, an i'd write stories about christ, and several different stories. i filled a great big copy book with practice. i learned the most, tho', from webstuh's weekly in reidsville. we took that papuh goin on five yuhs. i read evrything in it. "nome, i didn't know miss irene mcgehiet. uncle john r. webster made that paper. it sure wuz a good paper! "my daddy wuz marse nat's slave, an porter scales wuz his slave too. ole marse jimmie scale's sons was nat pitcher and john durham, and john durham went to wah. he took richmond scales long wiff him to wait on him! cook fuh him! make his pallet! clean his clothes! rub down his horse! marse john durum'd sleep with richmond in de wintuh to keep him warm. richmond'd carry him watuh in his canteen during a battle. marse john durum had on a ring that wuz carved and he tole richmond take a good look at this ring sose he'd know him by it, if he didn't kum up aftuh a battle. richmond ud hole onto his hawse's tail, an go wif him fuhs he could fo a battle. "yes'm i ma'd, richmond scales when he wuz a widower an had a boy named jeff. i never had no chillun. jeff's ( ) seventy now, an lives right ovuh cross de street dere in the other hous the vadens built sixty years ago. i live in one, too." aunt katherine's house has a front room with stairway in the corner leading to one above. a back door leads to a side porch flanked by a two roomed ell, and ended by a pantry. chimneys with fireplaces once gave heat, but economy had put in aunt katherine's tiny stove which she a lump at a time in the winters of depression and relief - . a big fat clean double bed, bureau, wash stand, "centuh" table, chairs and the stairway consumed the living room floor space. "nome! i joined de chuch after a big meetin' held by preacher richard walker about . i joined the methodist chuch an i have always loved to go tuh chuch. this street goes on and goes into the mayodan road at our new brick ( ) methodist chuch. richmond scales, my husband died long ago; my mother, about four years ago. she was very old! i wanted to move to reidsville when we leff de ole plantation whab we could get more wok (waiting) waten on wimmen (obstetries) but the men fokes had kin fokes up hyuh, an we keem hyuh. "i know whah de ole sharp graveyard 'bout two miles fum (east) madison close to mist tunnuh (turner) peay's; cause lots uh cullud fokes buried there an i went to the funerals. i could go straight tuh it." by miss nancy watkins, volunteer madison, north carolina story of ex-slave, porter scales [tr: date stamp: jun ] monday, december , , the faithful colored friends of uncle porter scales transported his body from st. stephen's african methodist episcopal church located on the madison-mayodan highway to a plantation grave yard several miles east of town, along roads slippery with sleet. he was buried by the side of his first wife on the acre farm which uncle porter said he bought from mr. ellick llewellyn to raise his family on and which he later swapped to mr. bob cardwell for a town house in pocomo (kemoca, a suburb from first syllables of promoters' names, kemp--moore--cardwell--kemoca). in this town house, uncle porter passed away aged he thought ninety-seven. for a number of years, he had drawn a pension of $ . per year for his services to the confederate government in hauling foodstuff from charlotte, north carolina to danville, virginia. as a slave of nat pitcher scales residing in the brick mansion on academy street across from the methodist church, porter came to madison when ten years of age, and his memory held the development of madison from the erection of the churches around to details like seeing little bettie carter (mrs. b. watkin's mebane) cry from stage fright and pass up her "piece" at school "exhibition" (commencement). he saw madison grow from a tiny trading village with aristocratic slave holding citizens with "quarters" on their town lots to a town of with automobiles clipping by to mayodan, a mill town of , and a thickly populated though unincorporated country side. in , uncle porter was struck by an automobile, and since he [hw addition: has] poked his way about town cautiously with his cane, no longer working as handy man to thomas r. pratt's family on the corner of academy and market streets. his slavery home was in a two roomed (with loft) cabin next door to the house mr. pratt built in when he moved to madison from leaksville. this cabin col. gallaway in the 's had enlarged to house the episcopal rector, mr. stickney. uncle porter's slave home stands in , occupied by mr. pratt's daughter, mrs. pearl van noppen and sons. uncle porter was ever very polite and humble, for all his contacts he thought had always been with the highest of dan river aristocracy. his medium, lean body, with a head like julius caesar's was covered with skin of "ginger cake color". on the deep springs dan river plantation lived mrs. timberlake whose daughter married mr. le seur from an adjoining plantation just across the dan river from gov. alexander martin's danbury plantation. she in time married mr. scales, and as property of this lady, porter was born of legally married parents. porter's brother, nathan scales, was given by his mistress to her daughter, when she married another le seur, and thus he became nathan le seur. both brothers have descendants in madison of a high type of citizenship. porter, himself was given the choice by his ole miss of belonging to either of her two sons, john durham scales or nathaniel pitcher scales. porter chose nat scales as his young marse and come to madison to live with him about . by obeying orders from his marse nat pitcher scales, porter operated a train of fifteen wagons loaded with corn for the confederate cavalry from charlotte, north carolina to danville, virginia. thus a confederate soldier, he in his old age received a pension. porter said he got lots of practice in managing feed wagons by "waggoning in georgia" for his marster between the two cities, augusta and wadesboro. his master, he said, traded his services to "dan river jim scales" who "bossed" the teams between augusta and wadesboro which were owned by john durham scales and dan river jim scales. these wagons also carried corn. nat pitcher, porter's master by choice, operated a store at wadesboro, georgia. uncle porter's "waggoning in georgia" shows madison's connection with the far south not only through the scales family but through other families. but the great honor of a tobacco country slave was that of being sold "down south to the cotton country." so after the war, porter scales came back to the dan river in rockingham county, and bought his acres farm from mr. alex llewellyn. he liked to recount his matrimonial matters except those of his second wife who married him for a rich nigger widower, and spent his hard won dollars freely for lace curtains and such to adorn the town house in "pocomo" and finally forced him out of the "town" house into the woodhouse in the yard where he lived some years, dying there. his church friends took charge of his body and kept it until put away by the side of his first wife. she, martha foy, he said in to me, was bought by dr. ben foy of madison from wheeler hancock of wentroth. six of their children are living near madison and in west virginia, stephen and lindsay scales at the old place down at deep springs. he told of "going tuh see" the attractive betsy ann, house girl slave of mrs. nancy watkins webster but was "cut out" by noah black. aunt betsy ann black is remembered as being the superlative obstetrical nurse in homes of the rich about madison, and was designated by them as being a "lady" if ever there was a negro lady. she was never dressed except in "cotton checks". "being cut out" thus, porter cited as evidence of his aristocratic association: for one of aunt betsy's son became a methodist preacher, and two of her grandaughters teachers in the public schools of north carolina. porter told of the white school teacher, professor seeker who taught in the doll academy, madison's old "female academy" which still stands (remodeled since into a dwelling) on murphy street at the foot deep well in the street, by the old dr. robert gallway house (standing still in ) just south of john h. moore's five acre homeplace. professor seeker, he said left madison and went up on baughn's mountain to teach among the baughns, lewises and higgies and bibsons, pioneer families of that area. on that may , in his kemoca yard, uncle porter recited the poem which little bettie carter forgot in stage fright at professor seeker's "exhibition" before professor jacob doll ever started his "female school". all these pupils were pay "scholars". the free school for madison, the "old field schoolhouse" was way down the hill from the old dr. smith house near beaver island creek. only white folks intimate with itch, head lice and long standing poverty then sent their children to the "free ole feel schoolhouse". porter said as a laborer he helped build a big tobacco factory at dr. smith's old place. by , this factory had been purchased by madison negroes as community and fraternal "hall" for assemblies. it served thus to when it was abandoned, and in , it was torn down, the last of the several large plug tobacco factories operated in madison - by the scales, daltons and hays. porter could name and designate vocationally madison's early white residents, and others, too, whom his marse nat scales visited. his story of some civil war refugees led to how their slave girl, rose, acquired a small farm two miles east of town held to this day ( ) by her descendants, the ned collins family of madison. rose acquired the farm by kindness to its owners, who willed it to her. forced to live in cellars in petersburg, virginia, (mrs. a.r. holderby, william holderby, miss fannie holderby, mrs. aiken) because of bombording federal shells came to madison afflicted with tuberculosis. their slave girl was rose. the whites died except a son, who became a presbyterian minister. the whites were buried on a hill just north of the pioneer joel cardwell home ( siegfired smiths'). rose was married to uncle henry collins, and they lived on the place of mrs. louise whitworth and scylla bailey. these white women willed their tiny farm to rose collins because of her kindness to them in their old age. n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: william scott story teller: william scott editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp: jun ] [illustration: william scott] william scott ex-slave story church st., years old. "my name is william scott. i live at church street, raleigh, north carolina. i wuz born , march st. i wuz free born. my father wuz william scott. i wuz named after my father. my mother wuz cynthia scott. she wuz a scott before she wuz married to my father. she wuz born free. as far back as i can learn on my mother's side they were always free. "my mother and father always told me my grandfather wuz born of a white woman. my grandfather wuz named elisha scott. i have forgot her name. if i heard her name called i have forgot it. my grandfather on my mother's side wuz a waverly. i can't tell you all about dese white folks, but some of 'em, when they died, left their property to mulattoes, or half-breed children, and several of them are living in this community now. i can tell you exactly where they are, and where they got their property. some of them are over half white. they were by a negro woman who wuz a mulatto and a white man. dey air so near white you can't tell them from white folks. this condition has existed as long ago as i have any recollection, and it still exists, but there are not as many children according to the relations as used to be. "free negroes were not allowed to go on the plantations much. now you see my father wuz a free man. we lived right here in town. my father wuz a ditcher and slave gitter. one night the man he worked for got up a crowd and come to whup him and take his money away from him. he had paid father off that day. dat night dey come an' got him an' blindfolded him. he moved the blindfold from over his eyes and run an' got away from 'em. he never did go back o [tr: no] more to the man he had been workin' for. i wuz a little boy, but i heard pappy tell it. dat wuz tereckly after de surrender. pappy saw the man he had been workin' for when he slipped the blindfold off his face, and he knowed him. "i wuz a boy when the yankees came to raleigh. they came in on the fayetteville road. they stopped and quartered at the edge of the town. i remember they had a guardhouse to put the yankees in who disobeyed. later on they came in from the east and quartered at the old soldiers home right in there, but not in the buildings. there were no houses there when the yankees came. they had some houses there. they built 'em. they stayed there a good while until all the yankees left. when the yankees first came in they camped over near dix hill, when they come into town you hardly knew where they come from. they were jist like blue birds. they jist covered the face of the earth. they came to our house and took our sumpin' to eat. yes sir, they took our sumpin' to eat from us negroes. my daddy didn't like deir takin' our rations so he went to de officer and tole him what his men had done, and the officers had sumpin' to eat sent over there. "my mammy cooked some fur de officers too. dey had a lot of crackers. dey called 'em hard tack. the officers brought a lot of 'em over dere. we lived near the confederate trenches jist below the fayetteville crossin' on fayetteville street. the breastworks were right near our house. "i know when the colored men farmed on share craps, dey were given jist enough to live on, and when a white man worked a mule until he wuz worn out he would sell him to de colored man. de colored man would sometime buy 'im a old buggy; den he wuz called rich. people went to church den on steer carts, that is colored folks, most uv 'em. de only man i wurked for along den who wud gib me biscuit through de week wuz a man named june goodwin. the others would give us biscuit on sundays, and i made up my mind den when i got to be a man to eat jist as many biscuits as i wanted; and i have done jist dat. "my mammy used to hire me out to de white folks. i worked and made jist enough to eat and hardly enough clothes to wear to church until i wuz a man. i worked many a day and had only one herrin' and a piece of bread for dinner. you know what a herrin' fish is? 'twon't becase i throwed my money away, twas cause we didn't git it, nuther to save up. when we farmed share crap dey took all we made. in de fall we would have to split cord wood to live through de winter. "i will tell you now how i got my start off now, i am going to use dis man's name. i went to work for a man name george whitaker. i drive a wagon for him. he 'lowed me all de waste wood for my own use. this wuz wood dat would not sell good on de market. i hauled it over home. i worked for him till he died, en his wife lowed me a little side crap. i made this crap, took de money i got for it, and built a little storehouse. i disremember how long i worked fer mis' hannah whitaker. den i quit work for her and went to work for myself. i owns dat little storehouse yit, de one i worked wid mis' hannah whitaker, en from dat i bought me a nudder home. "when de yankees come to raleigh dere wuz a building dey called de governor's palace, it stood whur de auditorium now stands. right back o' where de courthouse now stands wuz a jail and a gallows an' a whuppin' pos' all dere together. i know when dey built de penitentiary dey hauled poles from johnston county. dey called dem johnston county poles. dey hauled em in on trains. dis post office wuz not built den. de post office den wuz built of plank set up an' down. "i remember seeing a man hung down at de jail. his name wuz mills. he wuz a white man. when he got on de scaffold he said, 'what you gwine to do to me do it quick and be done wid it'. "i think abraham lincoln done the colored man a heap of good. if it hadn't been for mr. roosevelt there are many livin' today who would have parished to death. there are plenty of people walkin' about now who would have been dead if mr. roosevelt had not helped them. the only chance i had to hold my home wuz a chance given me through him. at my age, i cannot make much at work, but through things he helped me, and i is holding my own." b.n. n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: tiney shaw, ex-slave of wake county, . story teller: tiney shaw editor: daisy bailey waitt [illustration: tiney shaw] tiney shaw ex-slave of wake county, . "my papa wuz a free nigger, case he wuz de son of de master who wuz named medlin. when a chile wuz borned ter a slave woman an' its pappy wuz de boss dat nigger wuz free from birth. i know dat de family wuz livin' on mis' susy page's place durin' de war an' we wus jist lak slaves alldo' we wuz said to be free den. "my pappy wuz named madison medlin, maybe for de president, an' my mammy wuz a pretty, slim brown-skinned gal when i could remember. dey said dat she wuz named fer betsy ross. i had four brothers, allison, william, jeems and john an' five sisters named cynthy ann, nancy, sally, caroline an' molly. "we hyard a heap 'bout de war, but de white folkses didn't want us to know 'bout it. most of de white wimmens had ter live by dere selves durin' de time dat de men folkses wuz away at de war, but de niggers in our neighborhood stuck ter de missus an' dar ain't no niggers from other plantations come dar ter insult 'em nother. "i 'members dat it wuz in april when de yankees come an' i hyard mis' susy cryin', case she wuz a widder 'oman; an' her crops wuz jist started ter be planted. she knowed dat she wuz ruint, i reckon. "me an' my mammy wuz sittin' by de fireplace when de yankees come. i crawled under de wash bench but de yankee officer drug me out an' he sez, 'go fetch me a dozen aigs, an' i wants a dozen now, mind yo'.' "i looked till i found twelve aigs an' i started ter de house wid 'em, but bein' so excited i drapped one uv dem an' cracked it. i wuz sceered stiff now sho' nuff, an' i runned inter de back do' an' crawled under de bed. de officer seed me do' an' he cracks his whup an' makes me come out den he sez, 'nigger what's dat out dar in dat barrel in de hallway?' "i sez, 'lasses sir', an' he sez 'draw me some in dis cup.' "i draws 'bout a half a cupful an' he sez, 'nigger dat ain't no 'lasses,' an' he cracks his whup ag'in. "i den draws de cup full as it could be an' he tells me ter drunk it. "i drinks dat whole cupful uf 'lasses 'fore he'll lemmie 'lone. den i runs back ter my mammy. "atter awhile de yankee comes back an' sticks his haid in de do' an' he 'lows, 'ole doman, yo' 'lasses am leakin'.' "sho' nuff it wuz leakin' an' had run all down de hall an' out in de yard, but he done pull de stopper out fer meanness so he could laff at mammy when she waded through dat 'lasses. dey laffs an' laffs while she go steppin' down through de 'lasses lak a turkey walkin' on cockleburs. "dem yankees done a lot of mischief, i knows case i wuz dar. dey robbed de folkses an' a whole lot of darkies what ain't never been whupped by de master got a whuppin' from de yankee soldiers. "de ku klux klan warn't half as bad as dem yankee robbers what stayed in raleigh atter de war, robbin', plunderin', an' burnin' up ever'thing. de south had ter have de ku klux klan but dey ain't had no need fer de yankees. "de first winter atter de war wuz de worse winter i ever knowed, an' i'se tellin' yo' dat wuz bad. maybe yo' doan think so but nigh 'bout ever' nigger in de world cussed ole abraham lincoln dat winter." b.n. n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: john smith story teller: john smith editor: office force [hw: slaves raised [tr: illegible], women, some reconstruction material] [illustration: john smith] john smith john smith, a negro in the wake county home, raleigh, n.c. interviewed by t. pat matthews, may , . "john smith is my name, an i wuz borned at knightdale, right at my marster's house. yes sir, right in his home. i wuz born right near whar de depot now is. my marster owned de lan', all de lan' dere. i wuz bred an' bawn dere on my marster's plantation. i is, countin' day an' night, years old, not countin' day an' night i is years old. "my marster's name wuz haywood smith an' he wuz one ob de bes' men i ebber seed. he wuz good to all us niggers, he would come round an' talk to us, he lubbed us, and we lubbed him. my marster, haywood smith, nebber married but he had a nigger 'oman. she also had a nigger husband. she had two chillun by marster haywood smith, a gal and a boy. peter knight owned my marster's lan' at knightdale atter my marster died. he died de year de war commence. "den de gardeen, de gardeen dat wuz appointed for all us slaves, and his name wuz bat moore, he carried us slaves to marster haywood smith's brother's chillun in alabama. he wuz de gardeen. i got dere de month de war commence. bat moore carried me to alabama. marster elam smith's chillun wuz named frank an' john elam. dem boy's mother wuz name' miss mary, dere fadder wuz daid. miss mary married agin. her first husband was elam. miss mary moved off, but i staid wid de boys. "my mother's name wuz rose smith, my father's name wuz powell. he died at wilmington, n.c. when dey wuz diggin' de trenches roun' de fort dere durin' da war. my mother died in greene co. alabama, at a place called smithfield. my father belonged to mack powell. i made no money before or atter de war. i worked in alabama until de war close. "i seed millions of yankees, just like bees. when de war close i went wid' em. i did not work enny for a year. i wuz so glad when de war ended, and dey tole me i wuz free i did not know what to do. i went wid de yankees, dey wuz kind to us. dey said dey wuz shore glad to see us. dey gib us just what dey wanted us to hab. "during de war, i had corn bread wid one piece o' meat a day. de meal wuz not sifted. de white folks had sifters made of horse hair but de slaves didn't have no sifters. when i carried a dress off to have it made on sunday for mist'ss during de war, when she could not make it herself, she gimme a biskit. we called sunday, blue monday. she gimme de biskit fur workin' on sunday. den i got a biskit fur going atter de dress. i got about two biskits a year when de war was going on. i wuz workin' to keep de soldiers fed, dey got de biskits. "tom bridgers wuz marster's overseer. he had chilluns by niggers. marster bridgers rode a horse when he went ober de plantation. "de only game i eber played wuz marbles. i played fer watermelons. we didn't hab eny money so we played fer watermelons. "in alabama we got up at o'clock and worked to or o'clock den we had breakfast, en rested till o'clock. dat wuz when de weather wuz dry and hot. it wud kill de truck to work it den. when it wuz wet we worked longer. in north carolina we worked from sun to sun, but we rested two hours at noon. you hardly ever heard of a man gittin' sick. if he did, he had de typhoid den dr. sewell at knightdale, atter a while called jedge sewell, would come en doctor him. old man jedge sewell was buried near st. augustine school, other side tarboro road. "i didn' have to pay anthing fer going to alabama. i wuz carried. bat moore carried me, he wuz de gardeen, but i had to pay to come back. dey went atter me, and i had to work two years to pay it back. yes, sir-ree, two whole years to pay fer coming back. i wuz glad to git back. sometimes, dey gib us a fofe of de crap to farm. some years we didn' make much, when it wuz dry. no, we didn' make much. people didn' sociate together, pore whites, free niggers, slaves, and de slave owners. no dey didn' sociate much befo' de war, but dey did atter de war, dey got to mixin' den. "i et rabbits, an' possums, coons an' fish. i muddied de water an' caught fish. i caught rabbits, coons, an' possums wid dogs. dey fared but middlin pore chance wid us. we caught rabbits in hollers an' caves; an' possums in trees, but we had a hard time ketchin' squirrels. we niggers had no guns, so we had a hard time ketchin' squirrels. i et rabbits in summer whin dey had kits in 'em. we caught all dese animals wid dogs. "de white chillun didn' work, but de white folks wuz good to me. yes, sir-ree, dey wuz good to me. if dey done anything to me it wuz my fault. i belonged to elam smith's chilluns, frank and john elam. "i seed many yankees during de war in alabama. when de war ended dey tole me i wuz free. i wuz so glad i didn' know whut to do. de yankees tole me i wuz free. i went wid 'em. i stayed wid 'em from may till august. den i slipped away from 'em. i had no clothes and shoes till de yankees come. yes, sir, i went barefooted. dey gimme clothes and shoes, but i slipped away from 'em because dey wanted me to do things i didn' want to do. "white folks, if i must tell you, i must. i think jesus sent you to me so i can tell my story. dey just wanted me to forage aroun' and git chickens, collards, taters en anybody's hogs i could git. i didn' have no slips or shoes, no unner clothes for years befo' de yankees come, but i slipped away. i didn' want to do what dey wanted me t'do. "de pore white folks done tolerable well but de rich slave owners didn' 'low 'em to come on dere plantations. dey didn' 'low free niggers to come on de plantations if dey could help it, but dey couldn' hep it. dey slipped in dere at night when de marster didn' know it. "my marster owned three plantations and slaves. he started out wid 'oman slaves and raised slaves. one wuz called short peggy, and the udder wuz called long peggy. long peggy had chillun. long peggy, a black 'oman, wuz boss ob de plantation. marster freed her atter she had chilluns, just think o' dat, raisin' slaves wid two 'omans. it sho is de truf do'. "there wuz no jails but dey had whippin' pos' on de plantations. when a nigger done anything he wuz tied and whupped, dare ain't no scars on my back, no nary a one. dere wuz slave auction blocks at rolesville, en down to rosinburg, harpsborough, below zebulon, next place, smithfield. "white folks didn' hep me to read an' write. if i wuz caught wid a book i had better run an' git in a hole somewhar. dey didn' low me to hab nothing to do wid books. "my marster preached to us on sunday. he wuz a preacher. my marster preached to his slaves. no slaves didn' run away from my marster. he wuz too good to 'em. de slaves from other places run away do', an' when dey caught 'em dey whupped 'em too. "yes sir, my marster gib us christmas. sometimes he gib us two weeks befo' we went to work agin christmas. licker wuz no mo 'en water. brandy, de highest price of any of it wuz cts. a gallon. we had a plenty uv licker, but nobody got drunk. sometimes a white man got drunk en now en den a nigger would git drunk. "all worked for one an'er den. i tell you dis young bunch ain't right, dey don't do right, dey don't work fer one an'er. "i never married befo' de war. nobody married on marster's plantation, but dey had 'omans. my 'oman wuz mighty good to me. i slep' anywhar i could befo' de war ended, in de shuck pen, cotton seed house, an' went barefooted in slavery days. i married helen jones atter de war. i had four chilluns by her, gals an' boys. one o' dem boys is livin' now, but i doan know whar he is. i had one child by my 'oman in slavery time. my 'oman died in greene county alabama. i been married twice. i married another 'oman named amy gumpton in wake county. she had four chillun by me, one, a boy is in de navy yard, a girl in brooklyn, new york, one in wake county, a farmer, an' one died. i lub de southern people, but de debbil got de bes' of 'em; dey wuz good to me. "i doan think mr. abraham lincoln wuz a good man, no sir-ree, de debbil got him atter he whupped and won all de lan'. he wanted to gib it back agin. de debbil got de bes' o' him. he didn' lib long atter he whupped, did he?" n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: john smith person interviewed: john smith editor: g.l. andrews john smith pettigrew st., raleigh, n.c. age . "my mother was named charlotte smith and father was named richmond sanders. you know niggers were sold an' traded an' given away just like stock, horses, mules an' de like in slavery time. "my mother belonged to john smith and father belonged to richmond sanders. i belonged first to john smith, but was give away when i was a child to solomon gardner. john smith's plantation was in johnston county near smithfield. solomon gardner's place was in wake county. all these people are dead an' gone. my uncle, ben thomas, died 'bout one month ago in johnston county. he was the last of the old gang. mother and father said we got reasonably good food and clothes. the houses were small and poorly furnished but were warm and they got on very well. there was 'bout twenty-five slaves on the place and they worked long hours under overseers. "the rules were strict about books, goin' visiting an' having meetings of any kind. no slave was allowed to carry guns or hunt without some white man with him unless his marster give him a pass. dey caught rabbits in gums, birds in traps an' hunted possums wid dogs at night. dere was not much time for fishin' cept at lay-by time and at de fourth of july. den slaves an' whites sometime went fishin' in de neuse river together. at christmas de holidays was give slaves and den dey had plenty to eat, shoes, etc. "slaves were sold at smithfield on a auction block but a lot were carried to richmond, va. and to fayetteville, n.c. children were not made to work till dey got or years old unless it was some light work around de house, mindin' de table, fannin' flies, an' pickin' up chips to start a fire, scratchin' marster's head so he could sleep in de evenings an' washin' missus feet at night 'fore she went to bed. some of de missus had nigger servants to bathe 'em, wash dere feet an' fix dere hair. when one nigger would wash de missus feet dare would be another slave standin' dere wid a towel to dry 'em for her. some of dese missus atter de war died poor. before dey died dey went from place to place livin' on de charity of dere friends. "i was born nd sunday in may . i remember seein' de yankees but i know very little 'bout 'em. guess mos' all dem yankees are dead now. de ones dat whupped an' de ones dat got whupped are mos' all dead. i lerned to read an' write since slavery. i remember de yankees. dey give us chilluns hardtack. dey had cans on dere backs an' guns, blue clothes an' brass buttons on dere clothes. dey had covered wagons in front an' dey was walkin'. i remember seein' dem kill a hog and take part of de hog an' carry it off on dere backs. "de only time i saw anything in de slave situation dat made a big impression on my mind was when marster thomas tied my aunt anne thomas to a peach tree and whupped her. i will never forgit how she cried. another thing i 'members, my uncle teached me to cuss folks. his name was needum thomas. i can remember fore i could walk better than i can remember happenings now. "atter de war my daddy took mother an' moved to dr. leach's in wake county, next year we went to mrs. betsy jordan's plantation in johnston county. the fourth year atter the war they put me to work. we stayed with the jordans several years then we moved to mr. thomas' where my aunt was whupped in slavery time an' de marster dat owned some of our people in slavery time. we stayed there a few years. then we moved to john avery's near smithfield. father bought a place there an' paid for it. "father believed in whuppin like de white folks did. he cut de blood out of me wid a switch an' scarred me up an' i left him. when i was twenty-one, a free man, i went back an' paid father for every day i was away from him from de time i ran away at years old till i was twenty-one. i owed him dat 'cause i was his until i was free. i believes dat is why god has allowed me to live such a long time, 'cause i paid a just debt. daddy said before he died i had done more for him dan de other chilluns. he whupped me too much but atter all he was my father an' i loved him an' paid him all i owed him for de time i was away. "i married three times in raleigh. i married juliva smith, she lived one and one half years. we had one child dat lived six days. i have no more chilluns. i married mahalda rand. she lived a year and three months and the third an' last time i married maggie taylor. i lived with her eleven years an' she died. i am single now. "haywood smith was my first father-in-law. he is 'bout years ole. he lives at de county home. "i am livin' right in dis world tryin' to be ready when god calls me. slavery was bad. workin' the colored people over two hundred years without giving 'em anything but dere food an' clothes. yes slavery was bad." le n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: josephine smith story teller: josephine smith editor: daisy bailey waitt [illustration: josephine smith] josephine smith ex-slave story an interview with josephine smith, years old of mark street, raleigh, n.c. "i wuz borned in norfolk, virginia an' i doan know who we belonged to, but i 'members de day we wuz put on de block at richmond. i wuz jist todlin' roun' den, but me an' my mammy brought a thousand dollars. my daddy, i reckon, belonged ter somebody else, an' we wuz jist sold away from him jist lak de cow is sold away from de bull. "a preacher by de name of maynard bought me an' mammy an' carried us ter franklinton, whar we lived till his daughter married doctor john leach of johnston county; den i wuz give ter her. "all my white folkses wuz good ter me, an' i reckon dat i ain't got no cause fer complaint. i ain't had much clothes, an' i ain't had so much ter eat, an' a many a whuppin', but nobody ain't nebber been real bad ter me. "i 'members seein' a heap o' slave sales, wid de niggers in chains, an' de spec'ulators sellin' an' buyin' dem off. i also 'members seein' a drove of slaves wid nothin' on but a rag 'twixt dere legs bein' galloped roun' 'fore de buyers. 'bout de wust thing dat eber i seed do' wuz a slave 'oman at louisburg who had been sold off from her three weeks old baby, an' wuz bein' marched ter new orleans. "she had walked till she wuz give out, an' she wuz weak enough ter fall in de middle o' de road. she wuz chained wid twenty or thirty other slaves an' dey stopped ter rest in de shade o' a big oak while de speculators et dere dinner. de slaves ain't havin' no dinner. as i pass by dis 'oman begs me in god's name fer a drink o' water, an' i gives it ter her. i ain't neber be so sorry fer nobody. "hit wuz in de mont' of august an' de sun wuz bearin' down hot when de slaves an' dere drivers leave de shade. dey walk fer a little piece an' dis 'oman fall out. she dies dar side o' de road, an' right dar dey buries her, cussin', dey tells me, 'bout losin' money on her. "atter de war i comes ter raleigh an' wucks fer major russ den i cooks a year on hillsboro street fer somebody who i can' 'member right now, den i goes ter louisburg ter cook in mr. dedman's hotel, an' hearin' 'bout melissa i fin's dat she am my sister, so i goes ter mis' mitchel's an' i gits her. "a few years atter de war i marries alex. dunson wuz a body slave fer major fernie green an' went through all de war. me an' him lived tergether sixty years, i reckon, an' he died de night 'fore thanksgivin' in . "slavery wuzn't so good, case it divided famblies an' done a heap o' other things dat wuz bad, but de wuck wuz good fer ever'body. it's a pity dat dese youngins nowadays doan know de value o' wuck lak we did. why when i wuz ten years old i could do any kind o' house wuck an' spin an' weave ter boot. i hope dat dese chilluns will larn somethin' in school an' church. dats de only way dey can larn it." ac n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: nellie smith person interviewed: nellie smith editor: daisy bailey waitt nellie smith main st. dunn, north carolina route "my name is nellie smith. i wus born on a plantation in harnett county in , near where linden now stands. i belonged to ole man jack williams. his wife wus dead when i wus borned. there were many acres in the plantation; it wus a large one. i don't know exactly how many acres. there were 'bout fifty slaves on the place. the slave houses were on a hill. marster lived in the big house; and it wus a big one too. "i do not remember ever goin' hongry when i wus a slave. father wus the butler and mother wus a house woman, and we got plenty to eat. my mother wus named rosetta williams and father wus named atlas williams. i do not remember my grandmother and grandfather, but i remember my great grandmother. "we had good home made clothes and good beds. jack williams wus good to his slaves. he wus good to me and my mother and father, i have heard 'em say that he wus always good to 'em. our livin' with him wus good and we loved him. he thought a lot o' his niggers. he had six children of his own boys and girls; the boys dr. jack williams, dr. jim williams, william williams, jim williams; the girls mary and martha. "i did little work in slavery time. sometimes i fanned flies off the table at meal times and did other light work. they made children do very little work in slavery time. we children played base, an' hide the switch. "i saw a jail for slaves in fayetteville, north carolina, but i never saw a slave sold. i saw an overseer whup a man once but he certainly didn't hurt him much. he done more talkin' dan whuppin. "we went to the white folks' church but they would not allow any of us any books. no one taught us to read an' write. my father ran away once because he would not take a whuppin'. when he came back they did not do or say anything to 'im. jack williams would not allow a patteroller to whup a nigger on his land. if they could git on his land dey were safe. he had overseers at the plantation. i remember one whose name wus buck buckannon. when we got sick dr. jack williams looked after us. when marster jim williams got to be a doctor he looked after us. "yes, i remember de yankees. dey went to our house one sunday mornin'. dey did not fight on our side of the river; dey fought on de other side o' de river near de smith house. it wus the battle of averysboro. de smith house wus a hospital. dey came into the house, my sister irene wus house girl. the yankees put deir pistols to her head and said, 'you better tell me where dem things are hid. tell us where de money and silver is hid at.' sister did not tell. boss had started off wid de silver dat mornin'. de yankees caught him, took it, an' his boots, horse and all he had. he come back home barefooted. dey got mos' everthing at marster's house. dey took my mother's shawl, an' a lot of things belongin' to de slaves. "i have heard o' de ku klux klan, ha! ha! yes, i have. i heard tell of dey beatin' up people, but i never got into any tangle wid 'em. i just don't know bout all dem old folks lincoln, davis, booker washington. i think slavery wus a bad thing cause dey sold families apart, fathers from their wives and children, and mothers away from their children. two of my sisters were fixed up to be sold when the war ended." le n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: sarah ann smith person interviewed: sarah ann smith editor: g.l. andrews [tr: date stamp: aug ? ] sarah ann smith an interview with sarah ann smith of west lenoir street, raleigh, north carolina. "i wus borned january , ter martha an' green womble in chatham county, near lockville. my father 'longed ter mr. john womble an' mammy 'longed ter captain elias bryant. dey had six chilluns, i bein' nex' ter de oldes'. "father wus a carpenter an' by his havin' a trade he got along better before an' atter de war dan de other niggers. mammy wus housekeeper an' cook an' she always wus neat as a pin an' as quick as lightnin'. both families wus good ter dere slaves, givin' dem plenty ter eat an' enough ter wear. "i stayed wid mammy on captain bryant's plantation, an' i doan 'member doin' any wurk at all 'cept lookin' atter de babies onct in a long while. "when de yankees come marse wus off ter de war so dey tuck de place wid out any trouble at all. dey wusn't as good ter us as our white folkses wus an' somehow we doan feel right 'bout 'em takin' marse's stuff, but we knows hit ain't no use ter say nothin' 'bout hit. "at last de war wus ober, de captain wus too busted ter hire us ter stay on, so we moved over ter mr. womble's place den. "life wus a heap different from what hit wus 'fore de surrender. we ain't had no fun now case when we has time we is too tired an' when we do have time is soldom. no mo' dances an' parties fer us. we ain't eben got de 'lasses ter have a candy pullin'. we ain't got de 'ligion we had 'fore de war, so prayer meetin' am not hilt often. de yankees gived us a school but dey ain't give us nothin' ter eat so we's got ter wurk, we ain't got no time fer edgercation. "i growed up in dis han' mouth way an' when i wus thirteen i seed henry smith who wus rentin' a little farm dar near us. he wus young an' slim an' yaller. my folks wanted me ter marry bill bunn but he wus thirty-odd, black an' heavy, an' i ain't laked him. "me an' henry we cou'ted jist as we pleased case dey warn't strict on us an' when i tol' him dat i reckin dat i is got ter marry bill bunn he gits mad an' he sez dat i ain't nother, case i is gwine ter marry him. well i did an' i ain't never been sorry yet. "henry has been dead now fo'teen years an' de five chilluns what we had am dead too an' i is hopin' ter git my pension soon. i does need hit, bein' all alone in de worl'." le n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: william smith story teller: william smith editor: daisy bailey waitt william smith oberlin road "my full name is william smith. i was born august , eighty years ago, near neuse river at a place called wilder's grove. i belonged to gaston e. wiley and my missus was sarah. don't remember how many children they had but one or two o' 'em are living in raleigh now, some place on north street. i had good food and clothing and a good place to sleep. i was not big enough to work much but they were good to me. i jest done little things aroun' the house. "i remember seein' the yankees. i seen 'em take things. yes, i wus big enough to see 'em shoot hogs, an' cows, an' kill the chickens. they went through the house and took what they wanted. after the war we moved over about the asylum on the haywood place. we went to bryant green's from the haywood place. we lived in raleigh a long time, then i went to arkansas. my mother and father died in raleigh. "i stayed in arkansas years, and then came back to raleigh. i am partly paralyzed. i have had a stroke. i married anna regan of wake county. she went from wake county to arkansas and i married her there. her mother's father and the family all went to arkansas. she is years old the th of last april. she has had two strokes and can't talk any more. we have no boys but two girls, matilda and emma maye smith. matilda parker my daughter lives in pittsburg, pa. emma maye works to support us. she works as nurse for mrs. j.h. hunter but right now is out of work. charity helps us a little. one half peck meal, pound powdered milk, two cans grape fruit juice, one half pound coffee per week. this amounts to about eighty cents worth rations per week. the charity don't have much to give. "i have been back from arkansas nine years the seventh of last april. i was never teached no books. i never saw a patteroller, but daddy told me about 'em. i do not remember much about churches before the surrender. i cannot read and write. "i don't remember the overseers, and i know nuthin' 'bout dem men lincoln and the rest of 'em you have asked me bout. reckon they were all right." bn n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: the bound girl person interviewed: laura sorrell editor: g.l. andrews [tr: date stamp: jul ] the bound girl an interview with laura sorrell, years old, of battle street, raleigh. the story is her mother's. "my mammy, virginia burns, wus borned in fayetteville, cumberland county. she never knowed her parents an' frum de fust she can 'member she is a bound girl. "frum de fust she could 'member she wus bound out ter a mis' frizelle what beat her, give her scraps lak a dog, an' make her wuck lak a man. dey eben makes her git on de well sweep an' go down in de well an' clean hit out. she said dat she wus skeerd nigh ter death. "she wus a grown woman when she 'cided dat she can't stand de treatment no mo'. she has cut wood since she wus big enough ter pick up de axe an' she makes up her min' ter quit. "dey wus a-fixin' ter chain her up an' beat her lak dey usually done when she 'cides ter go away. she has ter go den or take de whuppin' an' she ain't got time ter make no plans. "fust she runs ter de marster's bedroom an' slips on a pair of his ole shoes, den she goes out ter de big chicken house back of de barn. she hyars de marster a-callin' fer her 'fore she gits ter de woods so she runs back an' hides in de chicken house. "dey calls an' dey calls, an' de chickens comes ter de roost but she lays low an' doan make no fuss, so dey goes on ter sleep. she hyars de folkses a-callin' her but she lays still, den she sees de torches what dey am usein' ter find her an' she thanks god dat she ain't in de woods. atter awhile she thinks dat she can sneak out, but she hyars de bayin' of de bloodhoun's in de swamp so she lays still. "hit am four o'clock 'fore all gits quiet. she knows dat hit am safe ter go now, case she has done hyard mister frizelle an' one of de patterollers a-talkin' as dey goes back ter de house. dey 'cides ter go home an' start out ag'in de nex' mornin' bright an' early. "mammy am skeerd pink but she knows dat unless she am keerful dey am gwine ter ketch her. she lays still till daybreak den she flies fer de woods. "i'se hyard mammy say dat dem nights she slept in de woods wus awful. she'd find a cave sometimes an' den ag'in she'd sleep in a holler log, but she said dat ever'time de hoot owls holler or de shiverin' owls shiver dat she'd cower down an' bite her tongue ter keep frum screamin'. "she said dat de woods wus full of snakes an' hit wus near 'bout two weeks 'fore she got ter guilford county. she had stold what she et on de way dar, an' dat hadn't been much so she wus weak. "one day she crept outen de woods an' look roun' her an' hit bein' in july, she spies a watermillion patch. she looks roun' an' den flies out dar an' picks up a big million, den she shakes a leg back ter de woods. "while she wus settin' dar eatin' de watermillion a young white man comes up an' axes her her business an' she, seein' dat he am kind-lookin', tells him her story. "she fully 'specks him ter turn her ober ter de sheriff but 'stid of dat he tells her dat his name am daniel green, an' dat he am a union sympathizer, an' den he takes her ter some colored folkses house. "dese colored folkses am named berry an' my mammy am stayin' dar when she falls in love wid my paw, jake sorrell, an' marries him. "she ain't never been ter dances an' sich before but now she goes some, an' hit wus at one of dese dances whar she met my paw. when she gits engaged ter him she won't let him kiss her till she axes marster daniel iffen she can marry him. yo' see she wus wuckin' fer marse dan. "well he give his consent an' dey wus married. dey had me soon, case i wus eight months old when de yankees come, an' we wus freed by de law. "my mammy an' paw had a hard time do' dey ain't had but us two chilluns, but dey manages ter feed us all right. dey wus superstitious an' paid de witch doctor a right smart ter keep off de witches but jist de same we got along well as most folks eben do' we did have ter eat hard tack an' black molasses fer seberal years atter de war." le n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: ria sorrell person interviewed: ria sorrell editor: g.l. andrews [tr: date stamp: aug ] ria sorrell years old. e. edenton street, raleigh, n.c. "i jist lak three years of bein' one hundred years old. i belonged to jacob sorrell. his wife wus named elizabeth. my age wus give to me by mr. bob sorrell, the only one of ole marster's chilluns dat is livin' now. "dey had four boys, marcillers, bob, adolphus and dr. patrick sorrell. dey had three girls, averada an' two udder ones dat died 'fore dey wus named. i wus born on marster's plantation near leesville, in wake county. dats been a long time ago. i can't git around now lak i could when i wus on de plantation. "dere wus 'bout twenty-five slaves on de place an' marster jist wouldn't sell a slave. when he whupped one he didn't whup much, he wus a good man. he seemed to be sorry everytime he had to whup any of de slaves. his wife wus de pure debil, she jist joyed whuppin' negroes. she wus tall an' spare-made wid black hair an' eyes. over both her eyes wus a bulge place in her forehead. her eyes set way back in her head. her jaws were large lak a man's an' her chin stuck up. her mouth wus large an' her lips thin an' seemed to be closed lak she had sumptin' in her mouth most all de time. "when marster come ter town she raised ole scratch wid de slaves. she whupped all she could while marster wus gone. she tried to boss marster but he wouldn't allow dat. he kept her from whuppin' many a slave. she jist wouldn't feed a slave an' when she had her way our food wus bad. she said underleaves of collards wus good enough for slaves. marster took feedin' in his hands an' fed us plenty at times. he said people couldn't work widout eatin'. "our houses wus good houses, 'case marster seed to it dey wus fixed right. we had good beds an' plenty of kiver. de houses wus called de nigger houses. dey wus 'bout two hundred yards from de big house. our houses had two rooms an' marster's had seven rooms. "we didn't have any overseers, marster said he didn't believe in 'em an' he didn't want any. de oldest slaves on the place woke us up in the morning, an' acted as foreman. marster hardly ever went to de field. he tole squire holman an' sam sorrell, two ole slaves, what he wanted done an' dey tole us an' we done it. i worked at de house as nurse an' house girl most of de time. "mother an' father worked in de field. mother wus named judy an' father wus named sam. you sees father wus a slave foreman. marster bought squire holman from de holmans an' let him keep his name. dats why he wus called dat. "we worked from sunup till sunset wid a rest spell at o'clock of two hours. he give us holidays to rest in. dat was christmas, a week off den, den a day every month, an' all sundays. he said he wus a christian an' he believed in givin' us a chance. marster died of consumption. he give us patches an' all dey made on it. he give slaves days off to work dere patches. "i shore believes marster went to heaven, but missus, well i don't know. don' know 'bout her, she wus so bad. she would hide her baby's cap an' tell me to find it. if i couldn't fin' it, she whupped me. she would call marster, an' i doin' de best i could to please her, an' say come here jacob an' whup dis nigger, but marster paid no attention to her. he took our part. many wus de meals he give us unbeknown to his wife. dere wus no mixin' white an' black on marster's place, no sir, nothin' lak dat. he wus lak a father to us. sometimes he brought hog haslets an' good things to de nigger house an' tole us to cook it. when it wus done he come an' et all he wanted, got up an' said, 'i'm goin' now,' an' you didn't see him no more till next day. "we had prayer meetin' anytime an' we went to the white folks church. dere wus no whiskey on de place, no, no, honey, no whiskey. now at corn shuckin's dey had a big supper an' all et all dey wanted. i'll tell you jake sorrell wus all right. we didn't have any dances no time. some nights marster would come to our cabins, call us all into one of 'em an pray wid us. he stood up in de floor an' tole us all to be good an pray. i saw him die. i saw him when de breath went out of him. de last word he said wus, 'lord do your will, not mine.' den he breathed twice an' wus no mo'. "missus died since de surrender, when she got sick she sent for me to go an' wait on her. i went an' cleaned her lak a baby, waited on her till de evenin' she died dat night. i went off dat evenin' late to spend de night an' next mornin' when i got dere she wus dead. i jist couldn't refuse missus when she sent for me even if she had treated me bad. "my grandmother wus as white as you is. she wus lottie sorrell. marster bought my grandmother. i do not know my grandfather's name. grandmother wus a cook an' she tole me the reason she was so white wus 'cause she stood over de fire so much. ha, ha, dats what she tole me. she had long straight hair. i 'members her well. "yes i 'members de yankees. de southern, our folks, wus in front. dey come along a road right by our house. our folks wus goin' on an' de yankees right behind. you could hear 'em shootin'. dey called it skirmishin'. it wus rainin' an our folks wus goin' through de mud an' slush. dey had wagins an' some would say, 'drive up, drive up, goddamn it, drive up, de damn yankees right behind us.' dey had turkeys an' chickens' on de wagins an' on dere hosses. dey got things out of de houses an' took de stock. dey searched de houses an' took de quilts an' sheets an' things. "de yankees wus soon dere an' dey done de same thing. dat wus a time. dey took all dey could find an' dere want much left when all got through. de yankees poured out lasses an' stomped down things dey could not carry off. i wus afraid of de yankees. dey come up an' said, 'haint you got some money round here?' i tole 'em i knowed nothin' about money. dey called me auntie an' said 'auntie tell us whar de money is, you knows.' i says, 'dey don't let me see everything around here, no dat dey don't.' "when dey tole us we wus free we stayed right on wid marster. we got crackers an' meat from de yankees an' when de crop wus housed in de fall marster give us part of all we made. we come to raleigh on a ole steer cart to git our crackers an' meat dat wus our 'lowance. we stayed at marster's till father died. i married there. we finally moved to the page place 'bout eleven miles north of raleigh. we been farmin' wid de white folks eber since, till we got so we couldn't work. "i married buck sorrell since de surrender. we had four boys an' two girls, six children in all. dey are all dead, 'cept one, her name is bettie. she works at dr. rogers'. "dr young looked after us when we wus sick. "dere wus one thing dey wouldn't allow, dat wus books an' papers. i can't read an' write. i heard talk of abraham lincoln comin' through when talk of de war come 'bout. dey met, him an' jeff davis, in south carolina. lincoln said, 'jeff davis, let dem niggers go free.' jeff davis tole him you can't make us give up our property.' den de war started. "a lot of de niggers in slavery time wurked so hard dey said dey hated to see de sun rise in de mornin'. slavery wus a bad thing, 'cause some white folks didn't treat dere niggers right." le n.c. district: no. worker: mary hicks no. words: subject: a slavery story story teller: chaney spell editor: george l. andrews chaney spell an interview with chaney spell, years old, contena heights, wilson, north carolina. "i really doan know who my first marster wus, case i has been sold an' hired so much since den. i reckin dat i wus borned in new hanover er beaufort county an' i wus sold fust time in my mammy's arms. we wus sold ter a man in carteret county and from dar de speculators took me ter franklin county. i wus sold ter a mr. mckee an' dat's de fust thing dat i 'members. "i doan 'member anything 'bout maw 'cept dat dey called her sal an' dat she died years an' years ago. i reckin dat i once had a pappy, but i ain't neber seed him. "marster mckee wus mean to us, an' we ain't had nothin' to eat nor wear half of de time. we wus beat fer ever' little thing. he owned i reckin two er three hundret slaves an' he had four overseers. de overseers wus mean an' dey often beat slaves ter death. "i worked in de house, sometime 'round de table, but i ain't got so much to eat. "when word come dat we wus to be sold i wus glad as i could be. dey tol' me dat de marster has gambled away his money an' lost ever'thing but a few slaves. later i learned dat he had lost me to a mr. hartman in nash county. "marse sid hartman wus good as he could be, sometimes his overseers wusn't but when he foun' it out he let dem go. marse sid ain't got but one weakness an' dat am pretty yaller gals. he just can't desist dem at all. finally mis' mary found it out an' it pretty near broke her heart. de ole marster, marster sid's daddy, said dat long as he could ride a hoss he could look out fer de plantation so marse sid took mis' mary to de mountains. "soon atter dey went away de war broke an' ole marster wus right busy, not dat de slaves ain't stuck to him but de yankees won't let dem stick. when marse sid an' mis' mary come home de war wus closin' an' dey has lost dere slaves. de slaves still loves 'em do' an' dey goes over an' cleans house an' fixes fer de young folks. "atter de war i married lugg spell an' we had five chilluns. he's been dead dese many years an' i'se worked, worked an' worked to raise de chilluns. i has been on charity a long time now, a long time." eh n.c. district: no. worker: mary hicks no. words: subject: a slavery family reference: tanner spikes editor: george l. andrews [tr: date stamp: aug ] a slavery family an interview with tanner spikes, years of age, of bragg street, raleigh, north carolina. "my mammy had fifteen chilluns which wus all borned on doctor fab haywood's plantation here in wake county. my mammy 'longed ter him, but my daddy 'longed ter a mr. wiggins in pasquotank county. i think that dr. haywood bought him just 'fore de war. anyhow, we took de name of wiggins. "mammy's name wus lucinda an' pappy's name wus osburn. i doan 'member seein' many yankees on dr. haywood's place. i doan reckon many comed dar. anyhow, we had a gyard. "i 'members a corn shuckin' what happened 'fore de war wus over, an' what a time dem niggers did have. dey kisses when dey fin' a red year an' atter dat dey pops some popcorn an' dey dances ter de music of de banjo which uncle jed am a-playin'. dey dances all night de best i can 'member. "i seed a few yankees, but dey wus just lookin' fer something ter eat. we ain't knowed nothin' 'bout freedom, but de yankees tol' us dat we ort ter be free, dey also said dat we ort ter have meat an' stuff in de smokehouse. my mammy sez dat dey ain't got good sense an' she tells marse what dey said. "de yankees has done tuck all de rations so dar ain't nothin' lef' fer de niggers ter take but mammy tells marse haywood what dey sez anyhow. marse haywood sez dat iffen he ketch any niggers in his smokehouse dat he'll skin 'em alive. he also sez dat we ain't free an' dat we ain't never gwine ter be free. "de nex' year, atter de war, wus a hard year. we ain't had nothin' ter eat but hardtack an' 'lasses an' sometimes not half enough of dat. my pappy still farmed fer marse haywood, but hit ain't as good as it is in slavery days. "seberal years atter dat, while we wus livin' on davie street, i met frank spikes an' i married him. i can't tell yo' much 'bout our love-makin' case hit warn't much, but he always called me 'honey gal' an' he axed me ter marry him in de kitchen while i was washin' dishes. he jist puts his arms 'round me an' he sez, 'i wants ter marry yo', honey gal.' "well we gits married by de baptist preacher in raleigh fifty odd years ago an' we lives tergether till dis past march, when he dies. "other boys comed ter see me but i ain't loved none of dem but frank. he ain't never whupped me but onct an' dat wus fer sassin' him, an' i reckin dat i needed dat. "we had five chilluns an' i'se stayin' wid my daughter since he died, but i misses him, yes mam, i misses him purty awful." eh n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: annie stephenson person interviewed: annie stephenson editor: g.l. andrews [tr: date stamp: aug ] annie stephenson years old rosewood ave. richmond, va. now at saunder's street raleigh, n.c. "i wus born in hillsboro, n.c. i 'longed to charles holman and my missus wus named rachel. he owned a plantation near hillsboro. it wus a mighty big plantation in orange county, an' he had a good many slaves on dat place. we had tolerable good food an' log cabins and clothes dat you wove in de loom. home-wove cloth. we had no feather bed. we did not know nuthin' 'bout feather beds. slaves like dat had bunks an' some slept on de floor. we went barefooted most of the time. slave shoes had wooden bottoms on 'em. chilluns wus not give shoes at our place till dey wus big enough to work. "i 'member seein' de yankees. dey wore blue clothes an had brass buttons on 'em. de only work i done wus to sweep yards an' nurse small chilluns. i done very little heavy work. my mother wus named nicy oldman an' she worked in de field. my father wus named billy briggs, cause he 'longed to the briggs family. i do not 'member seein' my father but one time. i never seen a slave sold or whupped, but i heard tell of it. my mother tole me 'bout marster whuppin' so severe. we had a rough boss. he had two colored foremen. dey were slaves who 'longed to marster. "dere wus no patches allowed to any of the slaves, an' none of 'em had any money. "we wus not allowed to have any prayer meetin's. mother said she never knowed one on de plantation. "dere wus a lot of talk 'bout de patterollers but marster done his own sneakin' around. he done a lot of eavesdroppin'. my mother said when dey tho't he wus asleep he wus awake. he wus strict on his slaves an' i didn't know what church wus. no books of any kind wus allowed to slaves an' i can't read an' write. "they give two days christmas. mother said dat had always been marster's rule. "i 'member de cornshuckin's. dey lasted two or three days. dere wus enough slaves to shuck de corn. dey had plenty of cider at corn shuckin's an' a lot better things to eat den at other times. marster made corn, peas, an' tobacco on de farm, mostly corn. dey had plenty hogs an' dat wus a time when dey killed 'em. dryin' up de fat for lard, trimmin' an' saltin' de meat an' chitlins. de hog guts wus called chitlins. slaves wus allowed to eat meats as soon as de hogs wus gutted. dey wus allowed to boil some lean parts of de meat an' eat it at de killin's. "we played base an' hide an' jumpin' when i wus a chile. "when we got right smart an' sick we had a doctor. when we wus not mighty sick, we took tea made of catnip, sassafras, an' roots. "yes, i 'member when dey tole us we wus free. mother got up de chilluns to leave. she got just a few clothes. i 'member seein' my uncle come to de house an' put up de horse. he put 'im in de stable an' we all lef' together. we went to my uncle 'bout five miles away on his marster's plantation. his marster wus named harvey roundtree. we stayed there three weeks, den we went to a white man's place, bill gates. we stayed there several years. mother had six chilluns. three wus boun' out for dere victuals an' clothes an' three wus with her. "we come to wake county when i wus fully grown. we come in a covered wagon. i saw father one time to 'member him. he died before de war closed, an' mother never married again. we went to mr. jeff upchurch of wake county an' worked on his farm. we stayed there ten or twelve years an' i married while we wus there. i married albert stephenson. we stayed right on there about six years after we married. we then went to mr. lonnie stephen's place, the man who onct owned my husband's father. we stayed there two years workin' as day hands, then we rented a farm from mr. joe smith. dis wus de fust time any of us had ever farmed for ourselves. we kept it up until old age made us unable to farm an' all de chilluns had got grown an' lef' us. "we had thirteen chilluns, an' six is livin' yet. my husband died two years ago dis comin' august. "slavery from what i knows an' whats been tole me wus a mighty bad thing. don' see how some of de slaves stood it. i never did min' work but i is unable to work now. i has got a good will but i is worn out. de only way i lives is by goin' 'round 'mong my people. i have no home of my own." le n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: sam t. stewart, ex-slave person interviewed: sam t. stewart editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp: jun ] [illustration: sam t. stewart] sam t. stewart [hw: years.] "my name is sam t. stewart. i was born in wake county, north carolina dec. , . my father was a slave, a.h. stewart, belonging to james arch stewart, a slave owner, whose plantation was in wake county near what is now the harnett county line of southern wake. tiresa was my mother's name. james arch stewart, a preacher, raised my father, but my mother was raised by lorenzo franks, a quaker in wake county. when i was two years old james arch stewart sold my father to speculators, and he was shipped to mississippi. i was too young to know my father. "the names of the speculators were--carter harrison, and--, and a man named roulhac. i never saw my father again, but i heard from him the second year of the surrender, through his brother and my aunt. my father died in mississippi. "the speculators bought up negroes as a drover would buy up mules. they would get them together by 'negro drivers', as the white men employed by the speculators were called. their names were,----jim harris of raleigh, and----yes, dred thomas, who lived near holly springs in wake county. wagon trains carried the rations on the trip to mississippi. the drivers would not start until they had a large drove. then the slaves were fastened together with chains. the chain was run between them, when they had been lined up like soldiers in double file. a small chain was attached to a negro on the left and one to the negro on the right and fastened to the main chain in the center. billy askew was another speculator. he lived on the corner of salisbury and carbarrus street in raleigh. sometimes as many as thirty slaves were carried in a drove. they walked to mississippi. "my brothers and sisters are dead. down on the plantations our houses were built of poles daubed with mud, with a rived board (split board). i had good beds, good clothes, and plenty to eat. we made it and we ate it. when a slave owner treated his slaves unusually good some other slave owner would tell him that he was raising slaves who would rise against him. lorenzo franks, who owned me and my mother, was a quaker. he treated his slaves unusually well. he would not sell any of them. his brother was an iron side baptist preacher, and he would tell his brother he was raising slaves who would rise against him. franks owned seventeen slaves, i don't know how many stewart owned." [hw: m p. ] [tr: editor indicated three paragraphs on page (page of the volume) should have been moved here.] "i did farm work in slavery time. i earned no money except what we made on patches. these patches were given to my mother by my master. we caught birds and game, sent it to town, and sold it for money. we caught birds and partridges in traps. our master would bring them to town, sell them for us, and give us the money. we had a lot of possums and other game to eat. we got our food out of the big garden planted for the whole shebang. my master overseered his plantation. "we didn't think much of the poor white man. he was down on us. he was driven to it, by the rich slave owner. the rich slave owner wouldn' let his negroes sociate with poor white folks. some of the slave owners, when a poor white man's land joined theirs and they wanted his place would have their negroes steal things and carry them to the poor white man, and sell them to him. then the slave owner, knowing where the stuff was, (of course the slave had to do what his master told him.) would go and find his things at the poor white man's house. then he would claim it, and take out a writ for him, but he would give him a chance. he would tell him to sell out to him, and leave, or take the consequences. that's the way some of the slave owners got such large tracks of lands. "the free negro was a child by a white man and a colored woman, or a white woman and a negro slave. a child by a white man and a negro woman was set free when the man got ready. sometimes he gave the free negro slaves. oscar austin, an issue, was set free and given slaves by his master and daddy. old man oscar austin lived by the depot in raleigh. he is dead now. "when a child by a negro man slave and a white woman arrived he could not be made a slave, but he was bound out until he was years old. the man, who ever wanted him, had him bound to him by the courts and was his gardeen until he was years old. he could not be made a slave if he was born of a free woman. there were jails for slaves called dungeons; the windows were small. slaves were put into jail for misdemeanors until court was held, but a white man could not be kept there over days without giving bond. whites and slaves were kept in the same jail house, but in separate rooms. "they never taught me to read and write; and most slaves who got any reading and writing certainly stole it. there were rules against slaves having books. if the patterollers caught us with books they would whip us. there were whipping posts on the plantation but patterollers tied negroes across fences to whip them. there was no church on the plantation. we had prayer meetings in the cabins. we had big times at corn shuckings and dances. we all had plenty of apple and peach brandy but very few got drunk. i never saw a nigger drunk until after the surrender. we went to the white folks' church. we were partitioned off in the church. "the patterollers visited our house every saturday night, generally. we set traps to catch the patterollers. the patterollers were poor white men. we stretched grape vines across the roads, then we would run from them. they would follow, and get knocked off their horses. i knew many of the patterollers. they are mostly dead. their children, who are living now in wake county and raleigh, are my best friends, and i will therefore not tell who they were. i was caught by the patterollers in raleigh. "i would have been whipped to pieces if it hadn't been for a white boy about my age by the name of thomas wilson. he told them i was his nigger, and they let me go. we had brought a load of lightwood splints in bundles to town on a steer cart. this was near the close of the war. we had sold out one load of splints had had been paid for them in confederate money. we had several bills. we went into a bar and bought a drink, each paying one dollar a drink, or two dollars for two small drinks. the bar was in the house where the globe clothing store is now located on the corner of wilmington and exchange streets. just as i swallowed my drink a constable grabbed me by the back of the neck, and started with me to the guard house, where they done their whippin'. down at the guard house nick denton, the bar tender, told thomas wilson 'go, tell the constable that is your nigger'. thomas came running up crying, and told the constable i was his nigger. the constable told him to take me and carry me on home or he would whip both of us. we then hitched our ox to the cart and went home." [tr: the editor indicated with lines that the following three paragraphs should be moved to page of this interview (page of the volume).] "when i was a child i played marbles, 'hail over', and bandy, a game played like golf. in striking the ball we knocked it at each other. before we hit the ball we would cry, 'shins, i cry', then we would knock the ball at our playmates. sometime we used rocks for balls. "we got christmas holidays from christmas to new years day. this was also a time when slaves were hired out or sold. you were often put on the auction block at christmas. there was a whipping post, an auction block, and jail located on court house square where the news stand is now located on fayetteville street. there was a well in the yard. "we were treated by doctors when sick. we were given lots of herbs. "i do not believe in ghosts. "i did not feel much elated over hearing i was free, i was afraid of yankee soldiers. our mistress told us we were free. i farmed first year after the war. we had no horses, the yankees had taken the horses, and some of us made a crap with grubbing hoes. "i think abraham lincoln was a man who aimed to do good, but a man who never got to it. i cannot say anymore than that his intentions were good, and if he had lived he would have done more good." [hw: ---- insert from p. .] n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: ex-slave recollections person interviewed: emma stone editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp: jun ] ex-slave recollections an interview with emma stone, of heck's-town, durham, durham county. may , . "my mammy wuz a free issue an' my pappy belonged ter de bells in chatham county. pappy wuz named edmund bell, mammy wuz named polly mitchel. my sisters wuz fanny, jane, ann, josephine, narcissus, and cressie. my brothers wuz lizah, hilliard an' another one, but i doan 'member his name. "yo' knows dat i doan 'member much, but i does know dat days on de plantation wuz happy. when my mammy married pappy she moved ter de bell's plantation so we chilluns, long wid her, wuz lak de udder slaves. "de missus gib us her old hoop skirts ter play in an' we played nigh 'bout all de time. we wuz doin' dis when de yankees comed by. dey drives dere hosses up ter de gate an' dey says dat dey is lookin' fer wheeler's cavalry. we knows dat it done pass dar de day 'fore, but we is too skeered ter say a thing. "de yankees stays 'round dar fer a little while, an' dey gathers rations, den dey goes on atter wheeler. we uster sing a song 'bout wheeler's cavalry but i only 'members dat it went lak dis: "'wheeler's wheeler's cav--al--ry, marchin' on de battlefield wheeler's wheeler's cav--al--ry marchin' on de battlefield.' "it wuz really a game we played, while we marched an' pranced an' beat on tin pans. de missus ain't carin' case we is bein' true ter de south she thinks. shucks we doan care nothin' 'bout wheeler 'cept what we hyar, an dat ain't so good. we doan keer 'bout de yankees nother, case we is skeered of dem. "i hyard grown folkses praisen' lincoln but i doan know much 'bout him. i doan know nothin' much 'bout none of it, but i does know dat it wuz on a sunday dat de picket wuz lookin' fer wheeler an' dat we wuz playin' hide an' seek." n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: william sykes person interviewed: william sykes editor: daisy bailey waitt [illustration: william sykes] william sykes ex-slave story an interview with william sykes , of state prison, raleigh, n.c. "my mammy martha an' me we 'longed ter mister joshua long in martin county, an' my paw, henry 'longed ter squire ben sykes in tyrell county. squire sykes lived in what wus called gum neck, an' he owned a hundert slaves or more an' a whole passel of lan'. "i lived wid my mammy in martin county from de fust dat i could 'member, me an' my brothers, henry, benjamin an' columbus, an' my sisters hester, margaret, lucy an' susan. "i doan 'member so much what happen 'fore de war, of course, but i does 'member a heap of little things. i knows dat mister long an' mis' catherine wus good ter us an' i 'members dat de food an' de clothes wus good an' dat dar wus a heap o' fun on holidays. "most o' de holidays wus celebrated by eatin' candy, drinkin' wine an 'brandy. dar wus a heap o' dancin' ter de music of banjoes an' han' slappin'. "we had co'n shuckin's, an' prayer meetin's, an' sociables an' singin's. i went swimmin' in de crick, went wid ole joe brown, a-possum huntin', an' coon huntin', an' i sometimes went a-fishin'. "when de yankees comed dey come a tearin'. dey ain't done so bad in our neighborhood, case hit warn't so full of de 'infernal rebs', as de yankees said. dey tooked de bes' o' eber'thing do' but dey ain't doin' so much deruction. dey eben buyed terbacker from my mammy, an' dey paid her a dollar an' fifty cents a pound, stim an' all. "dey paid her wid shin plasters, which wus green paper money, an' de fust dat eber i seed. "we slaves wus skeerd o' de yankees, an' fer some reason i got sent ter paw at squire sykes' house in tyrell county. "squire sykes come stompin' in one day an' he says ter my paw, 'henry, dem damm yankees am comin' ter take my niggers 'way from me, an' i ain't gwine ter stan' fer hit nother. le's you an' me take dese niggers an' march straight ter de blue ridge mountains, an' up dar in dem mountains dar won't be no trouble, case dey won't dare come up dar atter us.' "wal, we got on de march fer de mountains an' we march on ter judge clayton moore's grandfather's place in mitchell county, whar we camps fer seberal days. "while we wus dar one day, an' while mr. jim moore, de jedge's daddy am in town de missus axes my cousin jane ter do de washin'. "jane says dat she has got ter do her own washin' an dat she'll wash fer de missus termorrer. de missus says 'you ain't free yit, i wants you ter know.' "'i knows dat i's not but i is gwine ter be free', jane says. "de missus ain't said a word den, but late sadday night mr. jim he comes back from town an' she tells him 'bout hit. "mr. jim am some mad an' he takes jane out on sunday mornin' an' he beats her till de blood runs down her back. "de patterollers wus thick dem days, mr. joe jones wus our regular patteroller an' he gibe us de very debil. "a few days atter jane got her beatin' we marches away. de wimen am left at jamesville but us mens an' boys, we marches on ter buncombe county an' we ain't seed no mo' yankees. "atter de war my paw an' mammy went ter live on mr. moore's plantation an' we had a hard time. a whole heap o' times i has had nothin' ter eat but one cupful o' peas an' a hunk of co'nbread all day long. a white lady, mis' douglas give me a quart of milk eber sunday, but i had ter walk three miles fer hit. "we ain't wucked none in slavery days ter what we done atter de war, an' i wisht dat de good ole slave days wus back. "dar's one thing, we ole niggers wus raised right an' de young niggers ain't. iffen i had my say-so dey'd burn down de nigger schools, gibe dem pickanninies a good spankin' an' put 'em in de patch ter wuck, ain't no nigger got no business wid no edgercation nohow. "yes'um, dey says dat i is a murderer". uncle william stroked his long white beard. "i runned from dis young nigger seberal times, an' i wus tryin' ter run wid my knife what i had been whittlin' wid open in my han'. i wus skeerd nigh ter death, so when he grabs me i throw up my han's an' in a minute he falls. i breshes de blood offen my coat, thinkin' dat he has hurt me, an' i sees de blood pourin' from de jugular vein. "i has sarved ten months o' my sentence which dey gived me, three ter five years fer manslaughter; what could i do? i stood up an' i said, 'thank you, jedge.'" l.e. n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: annie tate person interviewed: annie tate editor: daisy bailey waitt annie tate ex-slave story an interview with annie tate of s. harrington street, raleigh, n.c. "i wuz a year old when de war wuz ober but of course i ain't knowin' nothin' 'bout slavery 'cept what my mammy said, an' dat ain't so much. "i reckon dat it wuz a brother of calvin jones dat my mammy belonged ter, anyhow, it wuz at wake forest. my mammy wuz rosa jones till she married phil perry, my pappy. "my mammy's mammy, who also belonged ter de jones family killed herself 'cause dey sold her husban'. mammy said dat she wuz eight or ten years old at de time. "old marster wuz very fond of my grandpaw an' he wouldn't 'low de oberseer ter beat him, but ole marster went off on a trip an' he left young marster in charge of de big farm an' de whole slue o' slaves dat he owns. "one day atter ole marster wuz gone de oberseer tried ter run de hawg over gran'paw an' wuz cussin' him scan'lous. gran'paw cussed back at him an' den de oberseer started ter beat him. gran'paw drawed de hoe back ober his haid an' tells him dat if'en he comes a step closter dat he am gwine ter bust his haid open. de oberseer comes on an' de hoe 'cends on his haid choppin' hit wide open. "ole marster ain't dar so young marster makes seberal of de slaves hold him while he lashes him wid de cowhide. he cuts his back all ter pieces an' den he throws him in de barn, chained down ter de flo'. "gran'mammy snuke out ter see him an' whisper ter him through de cracks, but one night she goes out dar ter de barn an' he am gone. she runs ter young marster an' axes him whar am gran'paw an' he tells her dat he am sold ter a man from mississippi an' dat if'en she whimpers 'bout him sellin' de black bastard dat he will whup her, den wash her down wid vinegar, red pepper an' salt. "pore gran'maw am nigh 'bout crazy so she walks off'en de plantation. down on de aidge of de plantation runs de neuse so gran'maw gits dar, an' jumps in. "my mammy am little an' she ain't got no brothers an' sisters so de missus takes her in de house wid her. dey said dat de ole marster had a fit most when he fin's out 'bout what been done dar while he am gone, so he am extra good ter mammy. "at de surrender he calls his niggers in an' he says dat he will give 'em permission ter libe on de riber plantation, dey can build deir shacks dar an' live dar durin' dere life time. some of dem does dis, an' fer seberal years dey stays on dar. mammy said dat he tol' de ku kluxes ter stay off'en his lan' too, dat he could manage his own niggers." l.e. n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: r.s. taylor story teller: r.s. taylor editor: daisy bailey waitt r.s. taylor south mcdowell street "my name is ransom sidney taylor. i was borned in slavery the th day of january, . adam taylor was my father and mary taylor my mother. my brothers were: william h., jesse, and louis; sisters: virginia, annie, and isabella; all born in slavery. we all belonged to john cane. he owned a plantation on ramkatte road[ ] near yates mill, between yates mill and penny's mill. there was a whiskey still at penny's mill. "there were sixty slaves in all, but marster only kept seven on the plantation with him at yates mill. marster's sister mary was our missus after he died. he died before the surrender. the war was going on when he died. he was a northern man. his sister came down to the funeral from new york and then went back, then she came back to settle up the estate. she stayed here a long time then. she told all the slaves they were free. that was about the close of the war. "marster john cane was buried in the catholic graveyard in raleigh. his wife had died in the north, so my mother told me. we had plenty of something to eat, beans, peas, butter milk and butter and molasses and plenty o' flour.[ ] we made the wheat on the plantation and other things to eat. we didn't have clothes like they have now but we had plenty o' good and warm wove clothes. our shoes had wooden bottoms, but were all right. "we had prayer meetings on the plantation and at times we went to the white folks' church. marster was a catholic, but we went to the methodist church[ ], edenton street methodist church. my marster would not allow anyone to whip his negroes. if they were to be whipped he did it himself and the licks he gave them would not hurt a flea. he was good to all of us and we all loved him. "we called our parents pappy and mammy most o' the time. my marster looked like you, jes' the same complection and about your size. he weighed around pounds had curly hair like yours and was almost always smiling like you. my marster was an irishman from the north. mother and father said he was one o' the best white men that ever lived. i remember seein' him settin' on the porch in his large arm chair. he called me 'lonnie', a nickname. he called me a lot to brush off his shoes. i loved him he was so good. "our overseer was named john h. whitelaw. he got killed at the rock quarry near the federal cemetery when they were carrying a boiler to the rock quarry a long time after the surrender about or years ago. he and john were standing on the side of the boiler and the boiler turned over and killed both of 'em. marster's overseer was bad to us after marster died. nothing we could do would suit him, and he whipped the negroes. we never heard the word negroes until we moved to raleigh after the surrender. they called us niggers and colored folks. "we were darin' to have a book to study. it was against the confederates' rules at dat time, but marster called us in to have prayer meeting on sunday mornings. "i have seen patterollers. dey had' em but not when my marster was living. dey didn't come around den, but when he died dey come around every night; we never knowed when dey was comin', you know. "i never saw a slave really whipped. marster would switch a slave sometime, but it was a matter o' nothing 'cause he didn't hurt much. "we had good houses and plenty o' good places to sleep, and we fared fine in slavery time. we called marster's house with its long porch the 'dwelling house'. when the yankees came through they told us we were free and we didn't have to work for the johnnies no more. "we got everything all right on the plantation near yates mill, then we moved to raleigh. "my mammy belonged to old captain hunter before she was married to pappy. when she got married the taylors bought her, and she and pappy stayed with the taylors. as soon as we got the plantation fixed up, we moved to raleigh and mammy and pappy went back to her white folks, the hunters. my father was a carpenter by trade, and a preacher. he preached at st. paul's church on the corner of harrington and edenton streets. we lived in raleigh all our lives except annie. she went to brooklyn, new york and died there about four years ago. "i thinned corn, and turned potato vines, and helped look after and feed the stock. our marsters gave us some money, five and ten cents at a time. that's the only way we got any money. "we caught rabbits, hunting in the day time, and possums, hunting at night. we hunted on holidays. we had holidays at lay-by time, and the th of july. when we caught up with the work we had nothing to do. we got christmas holidays. "i never saw a slave sold and none never ran away. we went fishing in swift creek. i never saw a jail for slaves and never saw any in chains. we played push and spin on the plantation. "my mother looked after most of us when we were sick. she used roots, herbs, and grease, and medicine the overseer got in town. when my mother got through rubbin' you, you would soon be well. "when i first saw the yankees i was afraid of 'em. it was a curiosity to see 'em comin' through the fields with dem guns and things. they come down and talked with us and told us we were free and then i was not so scared of 'em. "i married francis [hw: corrected to frances] lipton in . we were married at the end of mcdowell street at mr. chester's home. just a quiet wedding with about friends present. i didn't think a thing about slavery while we fared mighty well; but it was bad on other plantations. "i don't know anything about booker t. washington, nor jefferson davis, but i know jim young. he was a negro politician. i do not know much about lincoln or roosevelt. "de[ ] yankees jes' shot hogs and cows and took everything on de plantation dey wanted. i can see 'em now runnin' chickens. dere was an old rooster, he said, 'cluck, cluck, cluck cluck,' as he run. dey shot his head off and he turned somersets awhile, and rolled over dead. jes' seemed lak if dem yankees pointed a gun at a chicken or hog dey would roll over dead. dey had live geese tied on their hosses. one ole gander would say, 'quack, quack, quack,' as the hoss stepped along and jarred him. some o' de yankee soldiers were carrying hams of hogs on deir bayonets. dat wus a time, lawsy, lawsy, a time. one ole hen, she had sense. when de yankees were killin' de res' o' de chickens she ran for de piney woods and hid dere and stayed till de yankees left raleigh; den she come home. mammy caught her and raised about forty chickens off her in raleigh." bn footnotes: [footnote : [hw: ramsgate road--nicknamed ramcat or rhamkatte in derision of governor tryon.]] [footnote : yates mill was a flour mill.] [footnote : [hw: st. paul's a.m.e. methodist church moved to edenton st. site in , formerly old christ church building.]] [footnote : the negroes interviewed frequently speak fairly correctly at first but when they begin to talk of old times lapse into dialect.] n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: elias thomas person interviewed: elias thomas editor: g.l. andrews [tr: date stamp: aug ] elias thomas years of age cannon ave., raleigh, n.c. "i was here when the civil war was goin' on an' i am years old. i was born in chatham county on a plantation near moncure, february . "my marster was named baxter thomas and missus was named katie. she was his wife. i don't know my father's name, but my mother was named phillis thomas. "it took a smart nigger to know who his father was in slavery time. i just can remember my mother. i was about four or five years old when she died. "my marster's plantation was fust the 'thomas place'. there was about two hundred acres in it with about one hundred acres cleared land. he had six slaves on it. "when i was eight years old he bought the boylan place about two miles from his first home and he moved there. there was about one thousand acres of land of it all with about three hundred acres cleared for farming. on the thomas place his house had six rooms, on the boylan place the house had eight rooms. he brought in more slaves and took over all the slaves after john boylan died. "john boylan never married. he was a mighty hard man to git along with, an' marster baxter thomas was about the only one who could do anything with him when he had one of his mad spells. they were no blood relation but marster got possession of his property when he died. it was fixed that way. "we called the slave houses 'quarters'. they were arranged like streets about two hundred yards on the northside of the great house. "our food was purty good. our white folks used slaves, especially the children, as they did themselves about eatin'. we all had the same kind of food. all had plenty of clothes but only one pair of shoes a year. people went barefooted a lot then more than they do now. we had good places to sleep, straw mattresses and chickenfeather beds and feather bolsters. a bolster reached clear across the head of the bed. "we worked from sun to sun with one hour and a half to rest at noon or dinner time. i was so small i did not do much heavy work. i chopped corn and cotton mostly. the old slaves had patches they tended, and sold what they made and had the money it brought. everybody eat out of the big garden, both white and black alike. ole missus wouldn't allow us to eat rabbits but she let us catch and eat possums. missus didn't have any use for a rabbit. "sometimes we caught fish with hooks in haw river, deep river, and the cape fear, and when it was a dry time and the water got low we caught fish in seines. "my marster only had two children, both boys, fred, and john. john was about my age and fred was about two years older. they are both dead. my marster never had any overseers, he made boss men out of his oldest slaves. "we thought well of the poor white neighbors. we colored children took them as regular playmates. marster's boys played with 'em too and marster gave them all the work he could. he hired both men an women of the poor white class to work on the plantation. we all worked together. we had a good time. we worked and sang together and everybody seemed happy. in harvest time a lot of help was hired and such laughing, working and singing. just a good time in general. we sang the songs 'crossin' over jordan' and 'bound for the promised land'. "i never saw a jail for slaves but i have seen slaves whipped. i saw crayton abernathy, a overseer, whip a woman in the cotton patch on doc. smith's farm, a mile from our plantation. i also saw ole man william crump, a owner, whip a man and some children. he waited till sunday morning to whip his slaves. he would git ready to go to church, have his horse hitched up to the buggy and then call his slaves out and whip them before he left for church. he generally whipped about five children every sunday morning. willis crump, a slave was tied up by his thumbs and whipped. his thumbs was in such a bad fix after that they rose and had to be cut open. willis was whipped after the war closed for asking for his wages and having words with ole man crump because he would not pay him. they fell out and he called his friends in and they took and tied him and whipped him. "no books were allowed to slaves in slavery time. i never went to school a minute in my life. i cannot read and write. we had prayermeetings on the plantation about once or twice a week. we went to the white folks church on sunday. we went to both the methodist and presbyterian. the preacher told us to obey our marsters. i remember the baptizings. they baptized in shattucks creek and haw river. i saw a lot of colored folks baptized. "i do not remember any slaves running away from our plantation but they ran away from ole man crump's and richard faucett's plantations near our plantation. jacob faucette ran away from faucette and tom crump ran away from ole man crump. they ran away to keep from getting a whippin'. "colored folks are afraid of bears so one of the slaves who saw tom crump at night told him he saw a bear in the woods where he was stayin'. tom was so scared he came home next morning and took his whippin'. both came home on account of that bear business and both were whipped. "when we got sick dr. hews, dr. wych and dr. tom buckhannan looked after us. a lot of the slaves wore rabbit feet, the front feet, for good luck. they also carried buckeyes. "i remember the yankees. i will remember seein' them till i die. i will never forgit it. i thought it was the last of me. the white folks had told me the yankees would kill me or carry me off, so i thought when i saw them coming it was the last of me. i hid in the woods while they were there. they tore up some things but they did not do much damage. they camped from holly springs to avant's ferry on cape fear river. william cross' plantation was about half the distance. the camp was about thirty miles long. general logan,[ ] who was an old man, was in charge. "i married martha sears when i was years old. i married in raleigh. my wife died in . we had fourteen children, five are living now. "when the war closed i stayed on eight years with my marster. i then went to the n.c. state hospital for the insane. i stayed there years. that's where i learned to talk like a white man." le footnotes: [footnote : hw: maj.-gen. john a. logan, fifteenth army corps (union.)] n.c. district: worker: mary hicks no. words: subject: mr. bell's plantation reference: jacob thomas editor: george l. andrews [tr: date stamp: aug ] mr. bell's plantation an interview with jacob thomas, years of age, of south bloodworth street, raleigh, north carolina. "i wus borned in elberton county, georgia, on de plantation of marse tom bell. my mammy, isobel, uster live in north carolina, but she wus sold from her husban' an' baby an' carried ter marse tom's place in georgia. atter she got dar she wus married agin an' had me. dat is i reckin dat she wus married. i never did know my pappy. "mammy wus sold in smithfield on de slave block an' carried off, chained 'hind a wagin. she turn' roun' an' looks back at her husban' who cries an' de oberseer's lash cuts his back, 'case dey ain't 'lowed ter cry at a sale. "from de time i can fust 'member i wucked on de farm. we planted cane, cotton, corn, an' rice in de low groun's. we ain't had ter wuck so powerful hard an' we am 'lowed a heap of pleasures, but some of us boys wus mean an' we had ter be whupped, lak de time we tied tin cans on de tail of jinks, marster's fine huntin' dog. de dog near run hisself ter death an' marse tom had us whupped fer hit. "he raised fine hosses too, an' he ain't 'lowed us boys ter git clost ter dem, but one sunday when uncle amos went ter sleep in de shade of de trees roun' de pasture i gits on lady, one of de fines' young mares, an' i flies away on her. "she ain't used ter nobody ridin' her bareback so she kicks up quite a rucus but i sets on. down cross de pasture she goes an' i enjoys hit fine till she steps in a hole an' falls. "de mare am crippled but i leads her back an' tries ter git away widout anybody seein' me. ole amos has woked up dis time an' of course he tells marse tom. "dat's de wust whuppin' i'se eber had, i'se tellin' yo'. dey streaked me all ober den dey makes me lay down, chained han' an' foot all de day long. dat ain't done no good do 'case i rid dem hosses eber'time i got de chance. "i got married ter pheobe de year dat de war begun. she wus a slim little brown-skinned gal what look so puny dat yo' jist natu'ally wants ter take care of her. i ain't courted her fer long 'case de marster gives his permission 'fore i axes fer hit. we is married 'fore de magistrate in june 'fore de war begun. "near 'bout at de start of de war i wus took ter atlanta ter he'p buil' de fort an' dar i stays till de yankees comes a-rippin' an' a-tarin'. dey shoots de fort ter pieces an' den marches in an' hangs up de ole stars an' stripes. "we had four chilluns den pheobe died an' lef' me. atter dis i moves ter star, south carolina, an' i marries rebecca white who also died five years ago an' so i comed ter live wid roberta. "i doan know whether slavery am better er not. most of de niggers claims dat all of de slaves wus good, but i knows better. i done a heap of meanness. an' once atter i done so mean an' got a whuppin' i runned away. comes night an' i comes back home an' de nex' day i done somethin' er other ter git another whuppin' fer. "dar's dis much we ain't worried 'bout livin' den lak we does now, an' dar's dis much fer bein' free, i has got thirteen great-gran'chilluns an' i knows whar dey everyone am. in slavery times dey'd have been on de block long time ago. "i always thought a lot of lincoln 'cause he had a heap of faith in de nigger ter think dat he could live on nothin' at all." eh n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: margaret thornton person interviewed: margaret thornton editor: g.l. andrews [tr: date stamp: sep ] margaret thornton an interview with margaret thornton, years old, of hayti, four oaks, north carolina. "i wus borned an' raised on de plantation of jake thornton of harnett county. my mammy, lula, my pappy, frank, an' my brother an' sisters an' me all wus dere slaves. de man i finally marries, tom, am also a slave on de plantation. "i wus jist five years ole when de yankees come, jist a few of dem to our settlement. i doan know de number of de slaves, but i does 'member dat dey herded us tergether an' make us sing a heap of songs an' dance, den dey clap dere han's an' dey sez dat we is good. one black boy won't dance, he sez, so dey puts him barefooted on a hot piece of tin an' believe me he did dance. "i know dat my white folks hated de yankees like pizen but dey had ter put up wid dere sass jist de same. dey also had to put up wid de stealin' of dere property what dey had made dere slaves work an' make. de white folks didn't loose dere temper much do', an' dey avoids de yankees. now when dey went protrudin' in de house dat am a different matter entirely. "i wus brung up ter nurse an' i'se did my share of dat, too honey, let me tell you. i has nursed 'bout two thousand babies i reckins. i has nursed gran'maws an' den dere gran' chiles. i reckin dat i has closed as many eyes as de nex' one. "atter de war we stayed on, case marse wus good ter us an' 'cided dat we ain't got nowhar ter go. i stayed on till i wus thirteen or fourteen an' den me an' tom married. he had a job at a sawmill near dunn, so dar we went ter live in a new shanty. "tom never did want me ter work hard while he wus able ter work, but i nursed babies off an' on all de time he lived. when he wus in his death sickness he uster cry case i had ter take in washin'. since he's daid i nurses mostly, but sometimes i ain't able ter do nothin'. i hopes ter git my pension pretty soon an' dat'll help a heap when i'm laid up, not able ter turn my han' at nothin'." le n.c. district: no. ii worker: mrs. w.n. harriss words: edited: mrs. w.n. harriss subject: tillie, daughter of a slave interviewed: tillie, caretaker, cornwallis headquarters, corner third and market sts, wilmington. tillie, daughter of a slave caretaker, cornwallis headquarters corner third and market streets wilmington, n.c. "la, miss fannie, what you mean askin' me what i knows about slavery! why i was bawn yeah's after freedom!" with a sweeping, upward wave of a slender, shriveled brown arm to indicate the wide lapse of time between her advent and the passing of those long ago days. the frail, little body might have been any age between sixty and a hundred; but feminine vanity rose in excited protest against the implication of age suggested by the question. tillie is one of the landmarks of wilmington. she was one of the servants in the house of which she is now caretaker, at the time of the owner's death, and the heirs have kept her on allowing her to live in the old slave quarters in the back garden. she sits in the sun on the coping of the brick wall, or across the street on the low wall of the grounds around st. james church. children and their nurses gather there on the lawn, and tillie holds forth at length on any topic from religion and politics to the cutting or losing of teeth. she makes the bold statement that she can tell you something about everybody in wilmington. that is "eve'body _we_ knows." there is a general uneasiness that perhaps she can. little escapes the large, keen, brown eyes, and the ears are perpetually cocked. after several conversations in passing, memory was coaxed to the time when as a _very_ young child she remembered incidents of slave times which she had heard from her mother. "my mother belonged to the bellamys, an' lived on their plantation across the river in brunswick. it was the bigges' place anywhere hereabouts. i was raised on it too. of co'se it was in the country, but it was so big we was a town all to ourselves. "did any of the colored people leave after freedom? of co'se they did'n'. were'nt no place to go to. none of us was 'customed to anybody but rich folks, an' of co'se their money was gone. i've heard mis' bellamy tell how her child'en made enough out of potatoes to buy their clo'es right on that plantation. so we all stayed right there. my mother brought us all up right there on the plot she'd been livin' on all the time. when i come along we had plenty to eat. she had a whole pa'cel of us, and we always had plenty of collards, an' po'k an' corn bread. plenty of fish. "o, yes, stuff was sold. i can remember timber bein' cut, an' our folks got some wages to buy clo'es. we did'n have no school, but we had a church. soon as i was big enough i came to wilmin'ton to work. i never has lived with none but [tr: duplicate "but" crossed out] the bes'. my mother always said 'tillie, always tie to the bes' white folks. them that has inflooence, 'cause if you gits into trouble they can git you out'. i've stuck to that. i've never had any traffic wid any but the blue bloods, an' now look at me. i'm not able to work, but i got a home an' plenty to eat. an' i ain't on no _relief_, an' tillie can sho' hold her head up." n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: ellen trell person interviewed: ellen trell editor: g.l. andrews [tr: date stamp: sep ] ellen trell age mckee st., raleigh, north carolina. "needham price owned about fifty slaves, and mother an' i were among that number. he was a very rich man, and owned a large plantation in wake county, n.c., near the town of knightdale. "my father belonged to tom bodie way down in edgecombe county, and mother and i went by the name of bodie. my father's given name was haywood. mother's name was caroline. the fare was bad in regard to food and clothing, but the slave quarters, though small and shanty-like in appearance, were warm an' dry. the rules were strick and the privileges few. mother was whipped and scarred by the lash so bad the scars were on her when she died. i have seen them many times. "there were no books of any kind allowed the slaves and no social gatherings tolerated. slaves were allowed to go to the white folks church and at times all slaves were carried to services at the church. the preacher told them to obey their marsters and missuses, that the bible said obey. "marster lived in a large house with fourteen rooms, which the slaves called the big house. he had four house servants to do his and missus bidding. they were 'specially trained as marster did a lot of entertaining in slavery time. marster and missus had a lot of parties where they served a lot of good food and various kinds of liquors to their guests. when marster was in his cups he was mighty rough, and any of the slaves who displeased him at these times were liable to get a beating. "i have heard a lot of talk about ghosts and witches among the colored folks. i have seen a few who had spells put on them by witches. my mother had a spell put on her and she lay in bed talking to herself and sweating draps of sweat as big as the end of my finger. she would groan and say, 'go away evil spirit, go away,' but the spell would not leave her until she went to a white witch-doctor and got cured. "after the surrender father came up from edgecombe county and he and mother went and worked with mr. ruth dunn of wake county. they stayed close, never going out of the county. mother, after a year of [hw: circle around "of"] two at mr. dunn's, began to think about goin' back home. she was free and though her ole marster had treated her rough she loved the missus and said she rather stay with marster price than anyone else. father went to see mr. price. he told him to tell caroline to come on back home and that he shure better bring her back. mother said when she got back home they all had a general good time cooking, eating, and laughing. marster tole her he never wanted her to leave him again. mother said she was so full of gladness she could not reply so she just stood there and cried. marster walked off. mother took charge of the house and father jist about took possession of the farm. he looked after the stock, all the farm tools, kept plenty of wood on the wood pile all the year roun'. "father and mother carried the keys and acted like the place belonged to them. they got most of the slaves who were agreeable to come back. marster gave them work and he loafed and prospered. because he trusted the negroes so much they felt the responsibility put upon them, and they worked for his interests. "mother and father stayed there until they died. i stayed with father and mother until i married badger farrell then we stayed in a cabin on the plantation several years. most of my life was spent near knightdale, wake county, until my husband died fifteen years ago. i had eight children, four girls and four boys. they are all dead except one, a boy, whom i have lived with in raleigh since my husband died. "i think slavery was a bad thing. this story is the things my mother and father told me of slavery and my own observations since i became old enough to remember the general happenings. mother said the place which had been a place of torture in slavery days turned out to be a haven of rest after slavery, a home where peace, plenty and contentment reigned supreme." le n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: henry james trentham person interviewed: henry james trentham editor: g.l. andrews henry james trentham raleigh, n.c. rt. age years "i wus born de second day of december . dat would make me years of age. i wus born on a plantation near camden, s.c. i belonged to dr. trentham and my missus wus named elizabeth. my father wus named james trentham and mother wus named lorie. i had two brothers and one sister. we all belonged to dr. trentham. "marster's plantation wus a awful big plantation with 'bout four hundred slaves on it. it wus a short distance from the wateree river. the slave houses looked like a small town and dere wus grist mills for corn, cotton gin, shoe shops, tanning yards, and lots of looms for weavin' cloth. most of de slaves cooked at dere own houses, dat dey called shacks. dey wus give a 'lowance of rations every week. de rations wus tolerably good, jest bout like people eat now. dere wus a jail on de place for to put slaves in, an in de jail dere wus a place to put your hands in called stocks. slaves wus put dere for punishment. "i seed lots of slaves whupped by de overseers. marster had four overseers on de place an' dey drove us from sunup till sunset. some of de women plowed barefooted most all de time, an' had to carry dat row an' keep up wid de men, an' den do dere cookin' at night. "we hated to see de sun rise in slavery time cause it meant anudder hard day, but den we was glad to see it go down. "marster lived in a large two story house wid 'bout twelve rooms in it. we called it de plantation house. dere wus a church on de plantation an' both white an' black went to preachin' dere. dere wus sunday school dere too. de preacher tole us to obey our missus an' marster. he tole us we must be obedient to 'em. yes sir, dat's what he tole us. some of de slaves run away. when dey wus caught dey wus whupped and put in de stocks in de jail. some of de slaves dat run away never did come back. de overseers tole us dey got killed reason dey never come back. "de patterollers come round ever now an' den an' if you wus off de plantation an' had no pass dey tore you up wid de lash. "marster an' missus rode around in a carriage drawn by two horses and driven by a driver. dey had four women to work in de house as cooks, maids, an' de like. "no huntin' wus allowed a slave if no white man wus wid 'im, an' dey wus not allowed to carry guns. "de corn shuckin's was a great time. marster give good licker to everybody den. when anybody shucked a red ear he got a extra drink of whiskey. we had big suppers den an' a good time at corn shuckin's. atter de shuckin' at nite [hw: night] dere would be a wrastlin' match to see who was bes' on de plantation. we got a week holliday at xmas. den wus de time shoes wus give to de slaves, an' de good times generally lasted a week. at lay-by time wus another big time. dat wus 'bout de fourth of july. dey give a big dinner an' everbody et all de barbecue an' cake dey wanted. "i saw slaves sold at camden. marster carried some slaves dere an' put 'em on de auction block an' sold 'em. i wus carried but i wus not sold. i went with the old doctor. i wus his pet. dey carried slaves away from de plantation in chains. dey carried five or six at a time. if a nigger didn't suit him he sold him. "missus didn't like for him to beat 'em so much no how. de old doctor had three boys, william, sidney and henry and two girls, missie and carrie. "dey would not allow slaves no books an' i can't read an' write. i did not git any learnin. "when a slave died dere wus only a few to go to de buryin. dey didn't have time to go, dey wus so busy workin'. de slaves wus burried in plain wood boxes which wus made by slave men on de plantation. our marster looked atter us when we got sick. "i married ella davis years ago in south carolina, near camden. we had twelve chilluns, six boys and six girls. "slavery wus pretty rough and i am glad it is all over." n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: jane anne privette upperman person interviewed: jane anne privette upperman editor: g.l. andrews [tr: date stamp: aug ] jane ann privette upperman years old, of west south street. "i wusn't livin in raleigh when my mother wus freed from slavery. we wus livin' in nash county right near the border of wake county. we belonged to shirley brantly. our missus wus named penina. "i wus born a slave, but i wus only 'bout two years old at de time of de surrender. i am now. i wus born in april. i had my age in a bible, but de book got tore to pieces an' my age got lost. "we lived on marster brantly's plantation an' de slave quarters wus near de great house. mother said she wurked in de fiel's from sun to sun. dey did not eat breakfast in de mornin' fore dey went to wurk. it wus cooked an' put on a shelf an' dey had breakfas' at about eleven o'clock in de day. mother said sometimes de flies got to de meat an' blowed it fore dey could come in to eat it. mother said de food wus bad an' not fixed right. "dere wus a lot of de slaves divided among marsters chillun. i can't remember how many. "marster wus a soldier an' when he come an' tole mother she wus free, missus penina tole her, 'no, you aint free, you'se got to stay here an' wurk right on.' marster tole her if she had been through wid what he been through wid she could give mother up as free as takin' a drink of water. "when de war ended father come an' got ma an' took her on to his marsters plantation. my father wus named carroll privette an' my mother wus cherry brantly, but after she wus free she begun to call herself by my fathers name, privette. father belonged to jimmie privette across tar river from whar ma lived. he lived near a little place named cascade. we lived there at father's marster's place till most of de chillun wus 'bout grown, den father bought a place in franklin county from mr. jack griffin. he stayed there long enough to pay for de place; den he sold it an' we moved to clayton. "at this time all de older chillun wus married, an' dats what dissatisfied my father. he had nobody to help him wurk. arch, frank, an' dennis wus married. mary wus married. two girls an' one boy wus lef' single. dere wus seben of de chillun. we moved from clayton to raleigh. i wus married in raleigh. i married william upperman. "mother an' faather died in raleigh. mother died right here in dis house. my mother an' father couldn't do no writin', but father could read a little. he could read hymns an' de bible. "i aint remember nothin' 'bout slavery 'ceptin' what i've heard 'em say. some said dey had a good time an' liked slavery. dat wus when dey had good marsters. den some says dey had a hard time an' didn't like it. dat wus when dey had bad marsters. slavery wus good an' bad accordin' to de kind of marster you had. "my husban' died september , . i am unable to wurk. i've had a stroke on one side. i'se jest hangin' 'round home. "my daughter wurks for de wpa an' supports me but now she has been laid off. my chillun, some of 'em live in harlem, new york, but dey has to have so much to live on dey can't help me. dey sends me a christmas present most of de time, an' dey remembers me on mother's day sometime. "i aint signed up wid any of de places to get money yet. don't see what i is goin' to do. i aint got 'nough money to pay bus fare to de registerin' place other side of town." le n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: ex-slave stories person interviewed: ophelia whitley editor: daisy bailey waitt ex-slave stories an interview by mary a. hicks with ophelia whitley of zebulon, (wake co.) n.c. may , . "i wuz borned at wakefield in , here in wake county. my mammy wuz named eliza an' my pappy wuz named thomas. dar wuz eleben uv us chilluns, frances, sally ann, jane, pattie, louisa, alice, firginia, sam, haywood, boobie and me. we belonged to mr. agustus foster an' he wuz right good to us even do' he had a hundred or so other slaves. "i 'members one whuppin' i got when i wuz little 'bout a big matter dat looked little at de time. mens would come by in kivered wagons, (we called dem speckled wagons) an' steal marse gus' nigger chilluns. he had lost a heap of money dat way, so he forbids us of goin' out ter de road an' he orders us ter stay 'way back in de rear uv de house. one day we sees a drove uv dese wagons comin' an' we flies down ter de road. de marster ketches us an' i flies, but he hobbles ter our cabin on his crutches an' he pinches me, pokes me wid de crutch an' slaps my face. "his son billy wuz de overseer an' he wuz good ter git along wid, but he shore made dem darkies wuck. de wimmen plowed an' grubbed, an' i'se known dem ter leave de field, go ter de house an' find a baby an' be back at wuck de next day. dat ain't happen often do', mostly dey done light wuck fer a week or so. de babies wuz carried to ant hannah's house an' she raised 'em all so's dat de other wimmen could wuck. de mammies ain't even 'member which wuz dere chilluns half de time, so dar wuz no mo'nin' when somebody got sold. "i 'members a slave sale an' hyarin' de marster tell cindy an' bruce ter act up fer de benefit of de buyers. cindy said dat she could do ever'thing, so she brung a good price, but bruce, atter sayin' dat he could do it all, wuz tole ter hitch up a hoss in a hurry. he got de hoss an' turned his head ter de spatter board an' tried to hook de hoss up hind part befo'. de marster can't find no buyer, so he whups bruce awful atter he gits him home, but dat black boy says, 'marse, yo' can kill me, but i'd ruther stay on hyar.' i'se seed niggers in chains, but dey wuz travelin', or wuz mighty bad niggers. "we had log cabins to live in an' dey wuz comfortable but we ain't had much jubilees, de marster not believin' in such things. we warn't teached nothin', not even religion an' we got whupped if we wuz ketched wid a piece uv paper or a slate. de white folks warn't teached nothin' den, an' you know dey won't gwine ter take no trouble wid de niggers. de niggers had a doctor do' when dey got sick same as de white folks, an' dey got a lot of spring tonic an' such, made out of barks an' roots. "when de slaves got married dey done it dis way: de marster hilt a broom an' dey solemnly steps over it twict den dey kissed an' dey wuz married, 'course dar wuz something dat de marster said, but i done forgot whut it wuz. "when we hyard dat de yankees wuz comin' some of de niggers went fer de woods an' stayed till atter de surrender, but most uv us stayed on an' wucked jist de same. "my marstar made his own brandy an' whiskey an' when de yankees come he wuz a rich man. his smoke house wuz ful o' hams an' he hid 'em in de ceilin' of my mammy's shack, an' he buried dem barrels of brandy, but de yankees done found it all an' dey ain't left nothin'. "i 'members how some of dem yankee officers cussed in front of my mussus an' how i tole' em dat dey mought be yankees but dey won't half raised at dat. "atter de surrender my marster had ter make de slaves leave, but he moved my papy's cabin furder an' we jist stayed on same as always till he died. i 'members moughty well when my mammy an' papy got married case i seed it two years atter de surrender. "dar wuz two witches lived in our neighborhood. dey wuz sisters named miss quinnie an' miss tilda an' i'se seed dem brewin' coffee a many a time an' pourin' it out in a long neck goard. dey done a powerful lot of things which i can't recollect right dis minute, anyhow dey wuz witches. "i uster see ghosts on dis very road nigh 'bout ever' night. dey wuz white an' spongy lookin' an' dey set under de bushes an' holler an' holler an' holler. i'se poured water on 'em many a time but it ain't done no good. "do you know chile, slavery wuz a good thing, but folks has improved a lot since den, an' de yankees warn't half as good ter us as our ole marster an missus wuz, even if'n dey did put a stop ter de ku klux klan beatin' sorry niggers dat had ort ter be hung." mh/le n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: ex-slave story story teller: tom wilcox editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp: jun ] [hw: has two songs beaten because worked on sun.] ex-slave story [hw: years] an interview on may , , with tom wilcox of method. "i wuz borned on march th, durin' de biggest snow dat eber hit eastern carolina; dey says dat hit wuz up ter de roof. de place whar i wuz borned wuz in warren county; jist acrost de halifax county line. my mammy's marster wuz mr. b. osco harris an' his wife wuz named martha. "my mammy's name wuz alice an' my pappie's name wuz camelin. i had three brothers, little berry, cornelius james, an' c.j. dar wuz four gals, anne, pattie, pennie, an' mary frances. "de white folks wuz good ter us an' we loved 'em, but we wanted ter be free, case de lawd done make us all free. "my missus wuz a religious woman an' i can't tell yo' de number uv times she has beat me case i done some kind uv wuck on a sunday. we went ter church ever sunday an' we wusn't 'lowed ter cuss an' sich things. "i wuz nine when de war commence. durin' de war an' i wuz workin' in de fiel', long wid de fifty or sixty other slaves. dar wuzn't nary a yankee track made in our section, an' we ain't knowed much 'bout de war. "as i done tell yo' onct we wuz fed an' clothed good an' we lived fer each other, but my pappy belonged ter one man an' my mammy ter another one an' so we wanted ter be all together. atter de war we stayed on till ' , den we come ter raleigh. most uv de wimmens an' chilluns wuz sent by de train, but me an' pappy an' berry, we walked all de way by louisburg, an' driv' pappy's thirteen heads of cattle. "in we buyed ten acres uv lan' at method fer three dollars a' acre an' moved out hyar. "no mam, we ain't liked jeff davis, but we did like mr. lincoln. i 'members a verse uv a song dat we sung durin' de first uv de war. it goes dis way. "'jeff davis is a rich man, lincoln is a fool, davis rides a big fat horse, lincoln rides a mule. knick knack dey say walk ole georgia row.' "dar wuz another song i 'members but i can't think uv no games, case we ain't neber played none. yo' has hyard dat atter a dog gits so full uv fleas he can't tote no mo'. well, dat's de way i is. i peddles my peanuts, but i barely makes a livin'. "hyar's de song do' de best i 'members it an' it wuz sung atter de war. "'ole confederate has done played out, shrew ball, shrew ball, ole confederate has done played out shrew ball say i, an' ole gen'l. lee can't fight no mo'; we'll all drink stone blind johnnies go marchin' home. "'i bought me a chicken fur fifty cents, shrew ball, shrew ball, i bought me a chicken fur fifty cents shrew ball say i, i bought me a chicken fur fifty cents an' de son uv a bitch done jump de fence, we'll all drink stone blind johnnies go marchin' home. "'eighteen hundret an' sixty one shrew ball, shrew ball, eighteen hundret an' sixty one shrew ball say i, eighteen hundret an' sixty one an' dat's de year de war begun we'll all drink stone blind johnnies go marchin' home. "'eighteen hundret an' sixty-five shrew ball, shrew ball, eighteen hundret an' sixty-five shrew ball say i, eighteen hundret an' sixty-five de yankees et ole lee alive; we'll all drink stone blind johnnies go marchin' home.'" n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: catharine williams person interviewed: catherine williams editor: daisy bailey waitt catharine williams barker street "my name is catharine williams. i was born december twenty fifth, . i remember my mother, but i do not know anything about my father. my mother's name was adeline williams. mother baked ash cakes, but my children would not eat 'em. she died fifty years ago. i had four children when she died, but i had three boys and two girls. i was born in virginia but i cannot tell what part. i was four years old when my mother brought me to north carolina. our old master, dabney cosby,[ ] moved from virginia to north carolina then. we came straight into raleigh, north carolina and have been living in raleigh ever since. "we were williams when owned by cosby and we were never sold again, but remained in the same family till we were set free after the surrender. we had good food, fair clothing and comfortable sleeping places. i know what a pallet is. all slep' on 'em a lot in slavery days, especially when it was hot weather. i makes 'em now sometimes. "my missus wus named fannie. i do not know how many slaves they owned, but marster did not have a plantation, he lived in town. he was a brick mason, and he made brick. he had two brick kilns. "our missus and marster were kind to us but they did not teach us to read and write. i learned to read and write since the surrender. i went to church and sunday school. there were no negro preachers, but we attended the white folks's church. we did not have any prayer meetings because our homes were in the white folks's yard. "i was never whupped, and mother and myself were well treated, so i have no complaint to make against our white folks. "the first work i done was nursing the children in the home, next i waited on the table, then general house [hw: work]. "at the last days of the war wheeler's calvary camped around my house at night. they tole us the yankees would be in raleigh the next morning and shore 'nough they came in next morning. if the citizens had not gone out and surrendered raleigh to the yankees they would have torn raleigh to pieces. we were living on the corner of hargett and dawson streets. the yankees done us no harm. they done all right in raleigh. they did not take nothing around home. they put out guards around the homes by the time they got in. we were not afraid of 'em, none of us children, neither white nor colored; they played such purty music and was dressed so fine. we run after the band to hear 'em play. "i heard talk of the patterollers, but never saw any. i knew very little about the jail in raleigh for slaves. i never saw any slaves sold or any in chains. i never knew of any slaves running away to the north. we children both white and colored enjoyed the christmas holidays together. we played running and jumping and hide and seek. "we had doctors when we got sick. dr. johnson was one of them. after the war we stayed on with marster and missus until they died. i have been on oberlin road about twenty-five years. "no sir, what you talkin' 'bout? no, there were no negro schools in raleigh at the time of the surrender, but i have had a good time all my life as far as bein' treated right is concerned. "i have never married. i will have to find that man yet, and at this age i don't expect to find him. ha! ha! never found that man yet. i am staying with my niece. "i know nothing about abraham lincoln. he helped us to be free. i knew nothing about jefferson davis, booker t. washington or roosevelt. i know very little about jim young, only he was a polititian." le footnotes: [footnote : dabney cosby, a practical architect and contractor, came to raleigh from halifax county, virginia, and did a good deal of building in the city between and . the original yarborough house ( ) was built by him. the heart house, corner hargett and dawson streets, cosby's home, and another stucco house, corner hargett and harrington streets are still standing in the locality mentioned in the story.] n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: rev. handy williams person interviewed: rev. handy williams editor: daisy bailey waitt rev. handy williams dunn, north carolina. "my name is handy h. williams. when de war went up i wus twelve years old, th of march. i belonged to blaney williams, and his wife wus named polly. my mother wus named margaret williams, and my father wus named sam williams. i do not remember my grandmother and grandfather; can't remember 'em. "my father lived in greene county. de plantation wus in greene county. dere were about acres in de farm and dere wus about slaves on it. "we lived in greene county till the war went up. we had plenty to eat, good clothes and a nice place to sleep. marster wus not good to us, but he gave us plenty to eat and wear. he worked us from light till dark and then my mother had to do house work after workin' in de fields all day, an' father had to do de feedin' or pick cotton at night. "we had no holidays. prayer meetings were not allowed in de quarters and a slave darsent to be caught wid a book in his han'. "de patterollers come by often an' dey caught and whupped de slaves many times. marster whupped slaves for mos' anything. sometimes he would get mad, an' whup us when he hardly had an excuse. yes sir, he would get drunk and whup somebody jest 'cause he was mad. some of de slaves run away. my uncle needham williams run away. when he come back he wus whupped an' then put up and sold. aunt chaney, my mother's sister, wus put up and sold. she wus sold away from her children. when de war went up, she come back home. my aunt beadie wus sold on de block in fayetteville. i remember her well, but we have never heard from her since. she never come back after the surrender. god only knows what become o' her. "when de war went up we went to harnett county to mr. jim surles' place, about three miles from whur this town now stands. dunn wus not here then. "we stayed there five years, and then moved to mingo in what is now sampson county on the louis martin tew place, and my father bought a place. the deed called for acres more or less. dat's what de deed called for. we paid for de place, but my father mortgaged de place. he didn't lose it, cause it wus fixed so dat no one could sell or mortgage it while any of de heirs wus livin'. all are dead 'cept pink williams and myself, and de lan' fell back to us. mammy and daddy are both dead long time ago, 'bout twenty-five years. "dey had overseers on marster's farm in greene county and dey were mean to de slaves. i wus not big enough to work much, but dey had me feedin' stock and helpin' around de house. "we children didn't play any games we wus afraid to play around de white folks. marster wus a rip snorter and he would get you if you got in his way. he lived in de great house not far distant from de quarters, but we did not go dere unless we had to go dere to work. "yes sir, you know how children is when dey hear wagins coomin', and a big crowd marchin' together. yes sir, i remember de yankees. dey rode dere horses against de fences and tore em down. dey comed in de yard and turned over de bee gums. dey shot de chickens. dey would say 'dere he goes, shoot him, shoot him', and den de guns would go 'bam, bam, bam, an' de chickens would fall dead'. dey shot de dogs in de yard. course, to heben, i am tellin' de truth. dey took de meat and destroyed mos' everything at marster's. after dey lef', if you could get a few beans or peas dey wus mighty good. people et tater peelings an' some come near starvin'. "i wus mighty lucky an' what i got i got it from de southern white folks; dey been mighty good to me since de war. i have worked for de town 'bout years and i work for it now. i ain't able to do much now, but i have a section of de courthouse. i keeps it might clean. "i know nothin' much bout de great men you ax me 'bout; don't remember much about 'em. i think slavery wus a bad thing, yes sir, i shore does." le n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: john thomas williams person interviewed: john thomas williams editor: g.l. andrews [tr: date stamp: sep ] john thomas williams years old. pettigrew street, raleigh, north carolina. "i don't know who i am nor what my true name is. i wus born december , on a plantation in new hanover county. the plantation belonged to john williams, whose wife wus named isabella and the farm wus on land which is now in the corporate limits of wilmington, n.c. "the reason i don't know who i am is that i don't remember my father and mother or any of my people. when i got so i could remember anything i wus with the williams family. marster an' missus, an' their family are the only ones i ever looked upon as my people. they never told me who i wus. "after the war i stayed with them a long time and helped them on the farm. they run a truck farm. i got along all right while i wus with the williams family, but when i got grown i left them. i loved them but i realized i wus a nigger and knew that i could never be like them, and that i wus one to myself. "when i left i went to little washington, n.c. then to plymouth. i stayed at these places several years working as a hand on truck farms. from there i went to charlotte, greensboro, and norfolk. i then went north an' stayed eight years in new york city as a waitman for a white man and his family. i then went to plymouth, n.c. "i married maggie swain, a former sweetheart, as soon as i got back to plymouth. we had two children. she lived six years. i then married mary davenport of little washington. we had seven children. she died and i come to raleigh and married maggie towel. we had no children by our marriage. "i own no home and have never owned one. excepting the eight years i spent in new york city my life has been spent in farming. i farm some now and do little jobs for the white folks. "i don't know much about slavery, as i wus too young to know much about it. there wus other slaves belonging to marster williams but i don't remember any of them because when i got so i could know what it wus all about they were free and gone from the plantation. "i have asked thousands of questions trying to find out who my people are but no one has ever told me who i am or who my people are. if i have any brothers and sisters, i don't know it. "i have nothing to say about being partly white, i leave that to your imagination. i have thought about it a lot. i don't know. "i have been blessed with good health, i am breaking now but i am still able to do light jobs. "i am a good fiddler. the white folks have taught me to do lots of different things. i have had very few advantages and i cannot read and write. "i have never been in jail in my life. i can give good references from dozens of white folks. i try to live right, be honest and above all give my fellow man a square deal." le interview with lizzie williams, ex-slave, max street, asheville, n.c. by marjorie jones, aug. , . "i's bo'n in selma, alabam', i can't mind how long ago, but jes 'bout ninety yeahs. i come to dis country 'bout . yes, i's purty porely des days an' i's gettin' homesick for my ol' home. "i's bo'n and lib on ol' man billy johnson's plantation--thousan's acres of groun' and plenty of niggahs. my pappy he allus b'long to ol' man billy. he not sich a bad man but de lawd knows i's seed bettah ones. when i's right sma't size missy mixon, she was marse billy's wife sistah, she get marse billy to let her hab me. she war a good woman. she took me to town to lib and make a little white girl outten me. y'all knows what i means; i got treated moh like de white folks den de res' of de' niggahs. "but 'twarn't long afore missy send me to new 'leans to nurse de sick chile of her sistah. i never war satisfi' down dar. evverbody so differen'. but de nex' year we go back to alabam'. "i went to marse ellis mixon's, he tubble mean to his niggahs. but i belong to de missus, she allus treat me good. all de little niggahs have to learn to work when dey little; get out'n pull weeds; dey neber had no time to play. most dem niggahs was scared to death, jes like de ones on billy johnson's plantation. dey know dey get whupped jes like a mule iffen dey act like dey don' wanna wurk. dey neber get much to eat, jes side meat, co'n bread and 'lasses. ol' billy he had overseers whut was mean to de pore niggahs. sometime dey ties dem up an' dey strip dem and dey whups dem wif cow hide, else dey lets other niggahs do it. "all de niggahs have to go to church, jes lik' de white fokes. dey have a part of de church for demselfs. after de wah we hab a church of our own. all de niggahs love to go to church an' sing. i mind a lot of de songs we used ter sing in de fiel's. i mind my pappy used ter sing in de fiel'. 'git on bo'd, little chillun, git on bo'd.' sometimes day babtiz in de ribber. den dey sing: "'i wanna be ready i wanna be ready i wanna be ready good lawd to walk in jarusalem jes like john. john say de city was jes four square, to walk in jarusalem jes like john. but i'll meet my mothah and fathah dar, to walk in jarusalem, jes like john.' "i 'members 'bout de paddyrollers. de niggahs hab' to get a pass from de massa or de missus if dey go ennywhar. de paddyrollers jes lik' police. 'bout dozen of dem ride 'long togedder. fus thing dey say: 'whar yo' pass?' den iffen yo' hab one dey lets you go but iffen you don' hab one dey strips yo' to de waist and dey lams yo' good till de blood comes. sometime dey rolls you over a barrel and lams you while de barrel rolls. "i mind a tale my pappy tell 'bout one time he see de paddyrollers comin'. he scared to death cas he did'n hab no pass. he kno' iffen dey finds him whut dey do. so pappy he gets down in de ditch an' throw sand an' grunts jes like a hawg. sho' nuf dey thinks he a hawg and dey pass on, cept one who was behin' de others. he say: 'dat am de gruntin'es ol' hawg i ebber hear. i think i go see him.' but de udders day say: 'jes let dat ol' hawg lone an' min' yo own business.' so day pass on. pappy he laff 'bout dat for long time. "i mind ol' mose, he hab monthly pass from de massa but he forgit it one day and de paddyrollers whup him and throw him in de callaboose. in de mawnin' when de massa wake and fin no fresh water and no fire in de stove and de cows not milk, he say: 'i know mose in de callaboose,' and he hab to go atter mose. "lots of de pore niggahs run away, but 'twarn't no use. der wa'nt no place to go. day was allus lookin' for you and den you had to work harder den ebber, 'sides all kin's of punishment you got. den dey nearly sta've you to def, jes feed you on bread and water for long time. "de niggahs nebber kno' nothin' 'bout learnin', jes wuk' all dey's fit for. de only thing i ebber do wif a book is jes to dust it off. i mind two little niggahs whose missy teach dem to read. emily, she look lik' a white gal. she was treated jes like she white. her daddy was a white man. emily was a sma't gal. she belong to one of de johnson mens. she do all de sewin' for her missy. when de missy go to buy clothes for de chillun she allus take emily along. her pappy pay no more 'tention to her den to de res' of de niggahs. but de missy she was good to her. she never stay in de quarters, she stay in de house with de white fokes. but emily have de saddes' look on her yaller face cas' de other niggahs whisper 'bout her pappy. "many de pore niggah women hab chillun for de massa, dat is iffen de massa a mean man. dey jes tell de niggahs whut to do and dey know better den to fuss. "ol' missus she good to me. i mind one time i got tubble mad an' say some ugly words. marse ellis he come up ahin' me and he say: ''lizabeth i gwina wallup yo' good for dat.' i 'mense cryin' and run to de missus and she say: 'look heah ellis mixon, y'all mind yo' own business an' look atter yo' own niggahs. dis one b'longs to me.' jes same when de missus went upstairs marse ellis take me in de smoke house and sta't to hit me. i yell for de missus an' when she come she plenty mad. marse say he nebber ment to whup me, jes scare me little. "i mind 'bout de wah. we niggahs neber know whut it 'bout. we jes go on an' work. nebber see nothin', nebber hear nothin', nebber say nothin', but de wah all 'roun'. evah day we heah dat de yankee sojers comin'. de plantations was gittin' robbed. evabody kep' a hidin' things. it was a tubble time. i mind plain when dey comes to selma. all de fokes was at church when de yankees come. day warn't no fightin' much, dey didn' hab time. dey jes march in an' take de town. but o, lawdy, dat night dey burn de stores an' houses an' take all de things dey want. cannons and guns all 'round, it war tubble sight. "marse ellis' plantation 'bout mile from selma on pea ridge. i mind one night marse come home from town and he say: 'lizabeth.' i say, 'yes, suh.' he say: 'bring me some fresh watah from de spring.' i run as fas' as i kin an' bring de watah an' gib it to him, den he say: 'lizabeth, de yankees am comin' soon, an' i knows yo'se gwin to tell 'em where i hide all my 'longings, guns an' ebberthing.' "'no' i says, 'jes why would i tell whar yo' hide yo' guns an' things?' missy come in den and she say: 'go on an' let lizzie 'lone, bettah be feared dem niggahs you done so mean to gwine tell, dats all you got to be feared of. but you, let lizzie 'lone, she b'long to me.' "marse ellis he go out an' hide some mo' stuff. dat night de sojers burn selma. dat war on sunday. next night we wake up in de middle of de night an' de house what we keep de bes' carriage an' horse was a'burnin'. de pore ho'se done break outten de barn an' was a runnin' roun' all over de place a'screamin' wif her poor back bu'nt tubble. we nebber find out iffen de yankees set de barn fire or not. guess dey did. dey done set marse hyde's house afire an' burn it to de groun' with marse hyde in it. marse hyde he had plantation in new 'leans and when de yankees take de town marse hyde he promise not to leave but when de sojers [hw: know] he 'scape and come to his house on pea ridge, so when de yankees fin' him here dey burn him in de house wif all his 'longings. "on de tuesday mawnin' after dey burn selma i wake up to see marse ellis' plantation all surroun' wif yankee sojers. i war nigh scared to death. i so 'fraid dey hurt me an' missy but dey didden, dey jes march through de house an' when dey see marse ellis dey ask him for he guns an' things dey want. marse ellis show dem whar de things war. 'twarn't no use to do anything else. i take marse frank's 'backer an' hide it in de missus' trunk. den when de sojers git what dey want dey laugh and ma'ch 'way on de hill. "after de surren'er all de niggahs jes lost. nowhar to go, nothin' to do, 'less dey stay wif de massa. nobuddy hab anything but 'federate money and it no good. my pappy had 'bout three hunner dolla's but 'twarn't no good 'tall. "all some of de white fokes think of war killin' de pore niggahs what worked for dem for yeahs. dey jes scour de country and shoot dem, 'specially de young men. one day dey come down de road to'ards my pappy. dey start askin' questions 'bout what he gwine to do now he free. 'what i gwin to do?' says pappy. 'what can i do? i jes stay on de plantation an' help ol' massa iffen i can get an ol' mule an' a piece of an ol' plow.' "one of de boys look at pappy an' say: 'i like take yo' head for a target,' but de ol' man wif dem say no so dey leave my pappy 'lone. dey hab de commissary whar de fokes git food; it b'long to de yankee sojers. food scarce lik' ebberthing. folks say now dey hab hard times; dey don' know nothin' 'bout hard times less day lib in war time and be slave to white fokes. "den dey was de ku klux klan. dey war frightful lookin' critters. my pappy say dey go out in de country an' tie pore niggahs to de tree and beat 'em to death. dey dress all kin's of fashions. most of dem look like ghosts. dey nebber go lik' de paddyrollers, dey jes sneak 'round at night when de poor niggahs in bed. den 'bout twelve 'clock dey tie up all de niggahs dey ketch and atter dey through beatin' dem dey leaves dem wif dey han's tied in de air and de blood astreamin' outten dey backs. "atter freedeom i come heah to live wif my fokes de williams's, dats how i come to be williams. nebber had no chillun of my own. dey calls me 'lizbeth johnson 'fore i went to live with de mixons, den i be one of de mixon niggahs, den later i be a williams; don' guess names matter much no way." n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: penny williams story teller: penny williams editor: daisy bailey waitt penny williams ex-slave story an interview with penny williams , of s. east street, raleigh, n.c. "i wus borned at de hinton place 'bout three miles south of raleigh, an' course we 'longed ter mr. lawrence hinton. "my mammy wus named harriet moore an' my pappy wus named mack moore, dat wus cause dey 'longed fust ter a mr. moore i 'specks. i had ten bruders an' sisters, an' we all done putty good. "de marster owned 'round two hundert slaves an' 'bout four hundert acres o' lan' an' dey had ter wuck peart, dey sez. "we had 'nough ter eat, sich as it wus, but dat ain't braggin', i reckins. an' we wus punished putty bad iffen we complains, sasses or 'fuses ter wuck lak we should. nat whitaker wus de oberseer an' patteroller an' he wus strick, i'se tellin' you. i'se seed him beat slaves till de blood run. "dar wus some nigger mens what 'ud go coutin' spite of de debil, an' as de marster ain't gibin' dem no passes dey goes widout 'em. mr. whitaker, he whups, an' whups, but dat ain't stop 'em. at las' marster lawrence 'cides ter hang cowbells on dere necks so's he can hyar dem if'en dey leabes de place atter night. "i'se tellin' you chile, dem niggers am gwin' anyway. dey ain't got sense nuff ter put dere han's in de bell ter keep de clapper from ringin', but dey does stuff de bell wid leaves an' it doan ring none, 'sides dat dey tears deir shirts, or steals sheets from missus clothes line an' fold dem ter make a scarf. dey ties dese 'roun' deir necks ter hide de bell an' goes on a-courtin'. "dey ain't got no pins ter pin de scarf on, but dey uses thornes from de locust tree or de crabapple; an' dey hol's fine. "dey warn't no spoons, knives, an' forks dem days, but de smart slave cut him some outen hickory an' dey wus jist as good as de other kin'. "dey also ain't go no matches dem days so flint rocks wus rubbed tergether. "i 'members mostly 'bout de rear en' o' de war, 'specially 'bout de yankees comin'. i 'members dat marster an' his fambly done moved ter town, case dey can't git no 'tection dar. dar wusn't a soul on de place but de slaves dar when de yankees comed a-takin' an' a-killin'. "i 'members dat i wus drawin' water at de well, when de yankees comed. i looks up de road an' dar am a gang o' 'em comin'. i draps de bucket back in de well an' i flies in de big house. "well sir, dey kills de chickens, hogs, geese, an' eber' thing as dey comes, eben ter marster's collie, an' when dey gits ter de big house dey swears dat dey'll burn hit down. dey stan's dar fur a minute, an' den one o' 'em sez dat hit am too putty ter burn, another one sez dat hit am too putty ter belong ter a damm reb, but dey doan burn it. i hyars hit all from de winder in de big house, an' i shore is glad dat dey ain't burn hit. "dey tears up all dey wants to, den dey robs de smokehouse; an' dey goes on 'bout dere business. "atter de surrender our white folkses comes back an' we stays on five or six years i reckon, den we moves ter mis' emma greens' place five miles furder in de country. we shore ain't got 'long good atter de war. de yankees what 'ud die ter free us ain't carin' iffen we starves nother." suddenly aunt penny was attracted by a hummingbird flitting around the pomegranate bush near the doorstep. "does you know which am de bes' way ter ketch a hummin' bird chile?" after a negative answer she smiled. "when you sees him 'roun' de flowers den you soaks two er three in whiskey, dey bird will suck till he gits drunk an' can't fly 'way, dat's how you ketch him. "i hates de town sparrers an' de cowbirds what ain't got nuff sense ter leave de floods. you read 'bout hit in de papers i reckon. you knows dey am bout de size of a peckerwood. "yesum, one witch tried ter ride me onct. i wus in de bed, an' she thought dat i wus 'sleep. i feels her when she crawls up on my lef' leg an' stops de circulation. i knows how ter fix her do' so i gits up an' puts a knife under my pillow. "i has slep' wid dat knife dar ever' since dat time an' i ain't had no mo' trouble wid witches ner circulation nother. so i reckons dat i fixed her good an' plenty." n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: aunt plaz source: plaz williams editor: geo. l. andrews aunt plaz an interview with plaz williams of four oaks who says that she is around years of age. "margaret thornton sez dat she has got de world record beat on nussin' but dat's whar she's wrong. she ain't a day over seventy, yit she sez dat she has nussed more dan i has an' me ninety. right now i'se a nussin' of a 'oman what has jist got back from de hospital. yes, mam, a heap of people sez dat dey'd rather have me dan de doctor. "i wus borned in mississippi, so dey tells me, den i wus sold ter mr. moses mordecai of raleigh, atter dat i 'longed ter a mr. henry lane who lived in wake county. dar wus two er three of dem lane's named henry, course dis one wus de youngest. "i worked in de fiel's like a man an' i liked it too. marse moses had oberseers what beat you fer nothin' but marse henry ain't dat sort of a person at all. marse moses an' marse henry both drunk whiskey an' such but dey wus different when dey wus drunk. marse moses 'ud beat you an' cuss you, but marse henry 'ud laugh at you an' play wid you. "i know one time marse moses comed ter see marse henry an' atter dey had drunk awhile marse henry seed me in de yard. hit bein' on sunday he calls me ter come to his library. when i gits in he axes me iffen i'se ever been drunk an' i tells him no. den he pours me a glassful an' sez for me ter drink it. i begs at fust, den i sez dat i won't drink de brandy. marse henry laugh an' would have let me go but dat debil, marse moses, sez, 'le's hol' her an' pour it down her guzzle, henry.' dat's what dey done an' dey pours down seberal drinks. terreckly marse henry axes me ter fetch him some water but when i starts my laigs am too weak to go so i sets down on de floor. marse henry laugh an' laugh but marse moses sez, 'whup de shameless hussy what ain't got no mo' raisin' dan ter git dog drunk.' he would have whupped me too but marse henry won't let him do it. 'stid of beatin' me he sez ter git in de corner an' sleep it off. "i doan know nothin' 'bout de yankees comin' case we wus sent 'way back in de country ter stay. marse henry comes out dar an' tells us dat we is free. marse henry has told jack williams dat he can't have me 'fore dis, so i axes, 'can i marry jack now, marse henry.' he sez yes, so 'fore night i is at jack's cabin. i thought dat dar ain't got ter be no preacher, but a week er two atter dis a preacher comes by an' marries us. "we moved here case hit am better farmin' land. we worked hard ter make anything do', an' fer awhile i thought dat we'd starve ter death. "dar ain't so much ter tell about atter de war. our chilluns died fast as we had 'em. we worked hard an' 'bout twenty years ago jack died. i'se been on de charity some but i hope dat when i gits my pension i won't have ter trouble dem no more." n.c. district: no. worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: melissa williamson story teller: melissa williamson editor: daisy bailey waitt melissa williamson ex-slave story an interview with melissa williamson of bledsoe avenue, raleigh, n.c. "dis june fifteenth sebenty-eight years ago i wuz borned in franklin county near louisburg. "my mammy an' me belonged ter mr. billy mitchell [hw: mitchell (?)] 'fore she died, which wuz one of de fust things dat i 'members, an' den mis' mitchel tuck me in her house an' raise me. dat wuz de fust year of de war, i believes. "de mitchels [hw: mitchells (?)] wuz good ter us in a way, an' dey doan spare de rod when it am needed, nor does dey think dat a picaninny can't go barefooted in de hot summertime. dey believes in a heap of wuck do' an' no play at all, an' very little rations. "de men slaves 'ud wuck in de fiel's an' at dinnertime dey ain't had nothin' 'cept a quart of buttermilk, an' a ash cake. i got a whole heap better dan dey did, but youngin'-like i begged dem fer some of dere dinner. "i neber thought dat mis' mitchel wuz hard till i seed her whup aunt pidea. aunt pidea wuz a good soul an' she wuz good ter we youngins, an' we loved her. she got ter gittin' frantic do', an' she'd put on her dinner on de stove, den she'd go ter de woods an' run an' romp lak a chile. "mis mitchel had loved her too, but atter awhile she got mad an' she wuz mad bad too. she tuck aunt pidea out ter a tree, stripped off her waist, tied her ter de tree an' whup her wid a cowhide till de blood runs down her back. "we wuz told dat de yankees would kill us an' we wuz skeered of dem too, an' i wuz always runnin' fer fear de yankees would git me. when dey did come i wuz out at de well, drawin' water wid de windlass an' i wuz so short dat i had ter jump up ter grap de handle. i looked up de road an' de yankees wuz comin' up de road as thick as fleas on a dog's back. i gives a yell, turns de windlass a loose, an' flies roun' de house ter my missus. hit's a wonder dat windlass ain't turn ober an break my haid in. "i had hyard 'bout my sister what wuz sold 'fore i wuz borned, an' i ain't knowin' whar she is, but atter de war had been ober fer two years she comed ter mis' mitchel's an' got me. she carried me ter louisburg an' sont me ter de yankee school dar. i 'member a song dat de yankees teached us, or at least a part o' one. "'how often we think o' childhood joys and tricks we used to play upon each other while at school to while the time away.'" chorus "'they often wished me with them but they always wished in vain i'd rather be with rosenell a-swinging in the lane.'" "i won't talk ter my chilluns 'bout slavery days, case i doan want 'em ter git stirred up 'bout it. i'se told 'em dat we ain't paid no mo' dan de white folkses fer our freedom, case some of dem sold dereselbes ter git hyar an' dey fought in wars dat de nigger doan know nothin' 'bout. "i know dat mis' mitchel done wrong when she ain't give us enough ter eat, an' when she whup aunt pidea 'bout bein' crazy, but i 'members somethin' else dat make me tender towards her an' other white folkses. "i 'members dat mis' mitchel used ter take me visitin' ter white folkses houses an' some o' dem hates niggers an' won't give me no place ter sleep, 'cept on de floor by missus bed. sometimes i can feel her now, kiverin' me up wid her own clothes durin' de night or feelin' me to see if i'm chilly or too hot." ac n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: alex woods story teller: alex woods editor: daisy bailey waitt alex woods ex-slave story ford alley--end of martin street, raleigh, n.c. "my name is alex woods. i wus born may , . in slavery time, i belonged to jim woods o' orange county. de plantation wus between durham and hillsboro near de edge o' granville county. my missus name wus polly woods. dey treated us tolerable fair, tolerable fair to a fellow. our food wus well cooked. we were fed from de kitchen o' the great house. "we called marster's house de 'great house' in dem times. we called de porch de piazza. we were fed from de kitchen o' his house during de week. we cooked and et at our homes saturday nights and sundays. we wove our clothes; children had only one piece, a long shirt. we went barefooted, an' in our shirt tails; we youngins' did. "we did not have any shoes winter nor summer, but mother and father had shoes with wooden bottoms an' leather tops. dr. tupper, de man who was principal of de shaw school, de man who started de school and de church on blount st., gave me my first pair o' shoes. dis wus the second year after de surrender. i wus nine years ole den. dey were boots wid brass on de toes, solid leather shoes, made in raleigh on fayetteville street in de basement o' tucker's dry goods store, 'bove de masonic temple as you go up. ole man jim jones, a colored shoe maker, worked in dis shop. "i can read, but i cannot write, 'cause i've been run over three times by automobiles. once my buggy wus torn to pieces, an' i wus knocked high in de air. de first time dey run into me dey killed my hoss. de third time dey paralized my arm and busted the linin' o' my stomach. "i learned to read an' write since de surrender by studying in spare time. dey wouldn't let any slaves have books in slavery time. mother had a book she kep' hid. dey would whup a slave if dey caught him wid a book. "dere were between twenty-five and thirty slaves on de plantation but dere wus no church. dey would not allow us to have prayer meetings in our houses, but we would gather late in de night and turn pots upside down inside de door to kill de sound and sing and pray for freedom. no one could hear unless dey eaves-drapped. "the patteroller rode around to see after de slaves and whipped 'em when dey caught' em away from home. i have seen slaves whipped. dey took them into the barn and corn crib and whipped 'em wid a leather strap, called de cat-o'nine tails. dey hit 'em ninety-nine licks sometimes. dey wouldn't allow 'em to call on de lord when dey were whippin' 'em, but dey let 'em say 'oh! pray, oh! pray, marster'. dey would say, 'are you goin' to work? are you goin' visitin' widout a pass? are you goin' to run away?' dese is de things dey would ax him, when dey wus whuppin' him. "my old marster's brother john wus a slave speculator. i 'member seein' him bringin' slaves in chains to de plantation when he wus carryin' 'em to richmond to put 'em on de auction block to be sold. dey were handcuffed wid a small chain to a large chain between 'em, two men side by side; dere wus 'bout thirty in a drove. dere wus 'bout three or four white men on horses. dey wus called slave drivers; some went before, an' some behind. dey carried pistols on dere sides. de distance wus so fur, dey camped out at night. de slaves set by de fire, and slept on dese trips wid de chains on 'em. evertime de mens come to our house i wus afraid my mother and father would be sold away from me. if a woman wus a good breeder she sold high, sometimes bringin' five hundred to a thousand dollars. de man who wus doin' de buyin' would inspect dem. dey would look in dere mouthes, and look 'em over just like buyin' hosses. there were no jails on de plantation. "sometimes we went to the white folkses church. de preacher would tell us to obey our missus and master. dat's what de preacher tole us. dey would take us back home and give us plenty to eat after preachin' was over, and tell us to do what de preacher said. dey tasked us saturday mornings, and if we got it done we could go to de branch on a flat rock and wash our clothes. "dey 'lowed my father to hunt wid a gun. he wus a good hunter an' he brought a lot o' game to de plantation. dey cooked it at de great house and divided it up. my father killed deer and turkey. all had plenty o' rabbits, possums, coons, an' squirrels. "my father's first wife wus sold from him, an' i am de chile o' de second wife. i had five brothers, greene, isom, nupez, den sam woods, who wus no slave, den spencer woods, he wus no slave. i had five sisters: mollie, rasella, who were slaves, an' nancy, catharine, an' fanny who were not slaves. my father wus named major woods, and mother wus named betty woods. "yes sir, i 'member gettin' sick before de surrender, an' dey bled me and gave me blue mass pills. dey wouldn't tell me what wus de matter. missus chewed our food for us, when we wus small. de babies wus fed wid sugar tits, and the food missus chewed. deir suckled mothers suckled dem at dinner, an' den stayed in de field till night. i remember missus chewin' fer me, an' de first whippin' i got. missus whipped me for pushin' my sister in de fire. sister called me a lie and i pushed her in de fire an' burned her hand. missus whipped me. we never did fight nor push one another after dat. "marster used colored overseers when he did not work his men hisself. "i wus very much afraid o' de ku klux. dey wore masks and dey could make you think dey could drink a whole bucket of water and walk widout noise, like a ghost. colored folks wus afraid of 'em. dey wus de fear o' de niggers. "i married addie shaw in first, den in i married agin. i think abraham lincoln wus all right. he caused us to be free. franklin d. roosevelt is all right; he kept a lot of people from perishing to death." bn district: no. worker: mary hicks no. words: subject: a slave story, anna wright person interviewed: anna wright editor: george l. andrews [tr: date stamp: aug ] anna wright an interview with anna wright, years of age, of wendell, north carolina. "i wus borned de year de war ended so i can't tell nothin' dat i seed, only what my mammy tol' me. we lived dar on marse james ellis' plantation till i wus five or six years old, so i 'members de slave cabins an' de big house. "de plantation wus in scotland county an' de big house set on a little knoll. back of de big house set de rows of slave cabins an' back of dem wus de apple orchard an' de bee orchard. hit wus a purty place sho' nuff, an' dey tells me dat dey wus happy 'fore de war, 'case marse james wus good ter dem. "dere must of been 'bout two hundret slaves, 'cordin' ter de number of cabins. de slaves wurked hard in de fiel's but unless de wurk wus pushin' dey had sadday evenin' off ter go a-fishin' er do anything de wanted ter do. two or three times a year marse james let dem have a dance an' invite in all de neighborhood slaves. dey had corn shuckin's ever' fall an' de other slaves 'ud come ter dem. "de candy pullin's wus a big affair wid de niggers. dey'd come from all over de neighborhood ter cook de lasses an' pull de candy. while de candy cooled dey'd play drappin' de handkerchief an' a heap of other games. de courtin' couples liked dese games 'case dey could set out or play an' court all dey pleased. dey often made up dere min's ter ax de marster iffen dey could narry [tr: marry] too, at dese parties. "de weddin's wus somethin' fine, believe me. de niggers dressed lak a white folks weddin' an' de circuit parson married dem in de big house parlour. de marster an' de missus wus dere, an' dey always gived presents ter de bride too. atter de ceremony wus over dar'd be a feas' an' a dance. most likely dar'd be a heap of noise. i've heard mammy tell of seberal big weddin's. "mammy tol' me dat marse james wus a very religious man, an' dat wus why de preacher married de slaves, an' why he made all of de slaves go ter church on sunday an' say de blessin' at meal times. "my pappy wus named tom, an' he wurked in de fiel's fer marse james. hit wus pappy dat haul up de waremelons in de wagin body atter i could 'member, an' dey said dat he haul dem up in slavery times too. marse james raise a plenty melons fer all of de slaves an' he raise plenty of hogs ter eat de rines. de slaves uster have a watermelon slicin' 'bout once a week an' sometimes dey'd invite de neighbors in. "you wants ter know 'bout some ole slavery foods, well i'll tell you what i knows. did you ever hear of kush? kush was cornbread, cooked in de big griddle on de fireplace, mashed up with raw onions an' ham gravy poured over hit. you mought think dat hit ain't good but hit am. "fried chicken wus seasoned, drapped in flour an' den simmered in a big pan of ham gravy wid a lid on hit till hit wus tender, den de lid wus tuck off an' de chicken wus fried a golden brown as quick as possible. "does you know de old southern way of makin' baked chicken dressin'? well, it wus made from soft corn bread wid bacon grease, onions, black pepper an' boiled eggs. some of de folks used cheese too in dis dressin'. "de griddle cakes wus flour an' meal mixed, put on a big ole iron griddle on de fireplace an' flipped over two times. ashe cake wus made of either meal or flour, wrapped in a damp cloth an' cooked in de hot ashes on de h'ath. taters wus cooked in de ashes too an' dey wus good like dat. i'se heard mammy say dat de slave chilluns uster bake onions dat way. "fish, dem days, wus dipped in meal, 'fore dey wus cooked, 'cept cat fish; an' dey wus stewed wid onions. "cornmeal dumplin's wus biled in de turnip greens, collards, cabbages, an' so on, even ter snap beans, an' at supper de pot licker wus eat wid de dumplin's. dat's why de folks wus so healthy. "speakin' 'bout sweets, de blackberry or other kind of pie wus cooked in a big pan wid two crusts. dat made more an' wus better ter boot. cakes wus mostly plain or had jelly fillin', 'cept fer special company. "from the first i could 'member de white folks an' niggers alike ain't had much ter eat. a heap of our rations wus vege'ables, squirrels, rabbits, possums an' coons. we drunk parched meal water fer coffee an' we done widout a heap of things, but atter awhile we got richer, an' marse james got some money for something from de no'th, so dey got 'long all right. "when i wus twelve we moved ter wake county, out near wendell an' when i wus thirteen i married sam wright, an' we got along fine till he dies 'bout ten years ago. we ain't had but three chilluns but we lived through a heap of bad depressions. "what we needs mostly am law an' justice. why hit wus better when de ku kluxes had law, dey tells me. now-a-days de nigger fights on de streets like dogs. back den de bossman seed to hit dat dar wus law an' order in de town an' in de country too fer dat matter, an' dem wus de good ole days." eh n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: , subject: dilly yelladay [tr: or yellady?] story teller: dilly yelladay editor: geo. l. andrews [tr: date stamp: jul ] dilly yellady [tr: or yelladay?] mark street "yes sir, i 'members 'bout what my mammy tole me 'bout abraham lincoln, grant, an' a lot of dem yankees comin' down ere 'fore de surrender. frum what dey tole me sherman knowed de south like a book 'fore he come thro' last time. dat he did. yankees come thro' dressed like tramps an' dey wus always lookin' fur some of dere people. dat wus dere scuse. dey wus at big shindigs de southern white folks had 'fore de war. "mammy an' dad dey said de niggers would git in de slave quarters at night an' pray fer freedom an' laf 'bout what de yankees wus doin' 'bout lincoln an' grant foolin' deir marsters so. "ole jeff davis said he wus goin' to fight de yankees till hell wus so full of 'em dat dere legs wus hangin' over de sides, but when dey got 'im in a close place he dres in 'omans clothes an' tried to git away frum 'em but dey seed his boots when he started to git in dat thing dey rode in den, a carriage. yes dats what it wus a carriage. dey seed his boots an' knowed who it wus. dey jus laffed an' pointed at 'im an' said you hol' on dere we got you, we knows who you is an' den dey took 'im. he wus mighty brave till dey got 'im in a close place den he quit barkin' so loud. mammy an' dad dey said dere wus a lot of de white folks didn't keer much 'bout jeff davis. dey said he wus jus de bragginest man in de worl', always a-blowin'. dat bird flew mighty high but he had to come back to de groun' an' course when he lit de yankees wus waitin' for 'im an' ketched 'im. "i wus born may nd, two years after de surrender. i is years old. my mammy belonged to autsy pool. when he died she fell to his son billy pool. there wus six of the chillun, an' they wus given out to the pool chillun. dey went like lan' does now; dey went to de heirs. ole man autsy loved likker so good he would steal it from hisself. he'd take a drink an' den blow his breath an' keep wife from smellin' it." [hw margin: (following paragraph) to p. ] "my uncle, parker pool, tole me de yankees made a slave of him. his marster wus so good to him he wus as happy as he could be 'fore de yankees come. "i wus born on the harper whitaker place near swift creek. simon yellady wus my father. he wus born in mississippi an' he belonged to dr. yelladay. "my father an' his brothers run away an' went to de yankees. i heard daddy tell 'bout it. he got sick an' dey shipped him back home to north carolina. dey shifted niggers from place to place to keep de yankees frum takin' 'em. when dere got to be too many yankees in a place de slaves wus sent out to keep' em from bein' set free. "mother said onct when she wus carrying the cows to de pasture dey looked down de railroad an' everything wus blue. a nigger girl by the name of susan wus with her. my mother wus named rilla pool. dey said dey jus fell down an' de yankees commenced sayin' 'hello dinah,' 'hello susie.' mother an' susan run. dey just went flyin'. when dey crossed a creek my mother lost her shoe in de mud, but she just kept runnin'. when she got home she tole her missus de yankees were ridin' up de railroad just as thick as flies. den my great-grandmother said, 'well i has been prayin' long enough for 'em now dey is here.' my great-grandmother wus named nancy pool an' she wus not afraid of nothin'. i wus a little teency thing when she died. "my mother tole we all about dem times dey rode de horses up to de smoke house an' got de meat. de yankees went to de clothes line an' got de clothes an' filled de legs an' arms wid corn an' slung it over dere saddles an' rode away. yes, de yankees freed us but dey lef' nuthin' for us to live on. dey give us freedom but dey took mos' everything an' lef' us nuthin' to eat, nuthin' to live on. "we lived in wake county all de time. i did not git only to the third grade in school. sister mary eliza got to de second grade. father could write a little, mother couldn't. couldn't go to school 'cept when it wus too wet to work. work, work, work, thirty acres in cotton an' cawn, cawn plowed till de th of august, plow, plow, plow hard ground, bad ground. nine girls an' one boy workin' from sun to sun. my mother had twenty-three chillun. she wus just as smart as she could be, worked in de field till just awhile before she died. she been dead 'bout twenty years. my father been dead 'bout ten years. he died right here in raleigh with me, at corner mark an' bledsoe street. "i've had a hard time workin' all my life. i ain't able to work now but i does all i can. i have places to work a little every day for my white folks. i am gwine to work long as i kin. my mother an' father said dey had good marsters an' dey were crazy 'bout 'em. sometimes dey sold slaves an' den de patterollers whupped 'em now an' den, but dey had nuthin' to say against dere white folks. "well, i los' my home. i have worked mos' uv my life since i come to raleigh, buyin' a home, but i got ole an' couldn't keep up de payments an' dey come down ere an' took my home. 'twas the wurst thing dats come to me in my whole life. less you tried it yo' can't 'magine how bad it makes you feel to have to give up yer home." ac n.c. district: no. worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: hilliard yellerday (a slave story) reference: hilliard yellerday editor: george l. andrews hilliard yellerday oakwood avenue, raleigh north carolina. "my mother and father told me many interesting stories of slavery and of its joys and sorrows. from what they told me there was two sides to the picture. one was extremely bad and the other was good. "these features of slavery were also dependent on the phases of human attitude and temperment which also was good or bad. if the master was broadminded, with a love in his heart for his fellowman, his slaves were at no disadvantage because of their low social standing and their lack of a voice in the civil affairs of the community, state, and nation. on the other hand if the master was narrowminded, overbearing and cruel the case was reversed and the situation the slaves were placed in caused a condition to exist concerning their general welfare that was bad and the slave was as low socially as the swine or other animals on the plantation. "some owners gave their slaves the same kind of food served on their own tables and allowed the slaves the same privileges enjoyed by their own children. other masters fed their slave children from troughs made very much like those from which the hogs of the plantation were fed. there were many instances where they were given water in which the crumbs and refuse from the masters table had been placed. they gathered around this food with gourds and muscle shells from the fresh-water creeks and ate from this trough. such a condition was very bad indeed." [hw: begin] "my mother was named maggie yellerday, and my father was named sam yellerday. they belonged to dr. jonathan yellerday, who owned a large plantation and over a hundred slaves. his plantation looked like a small town. he had blacksmith shops, shoe shops, looms for weaving cloth, a corn mill, and a liquor distillery. there was a tanyard covering more than a quarter of an acre where he tanned the hides of animals to use in making shoes. there was a large bell they used to wake the slaves, in the morning, and to call them to their meals during the day. he had carriages and horses, stable men and carriage men. the carriage master and his family rode in was called a coach by the slaves on the plantation. his house had eighteen rooms, a large hall, and four large porches. the house set in a large grove about one mile square and the slave quarters were arranged in rows at the back of master's great house. the nearest cabins were about one hundred yards from it. "dr. jonathan yellerday looked after slaves' health and the food was fair, but the slaves were worked by overseers who made it hard for them, as he allowed them to whip a slave at will. he had so many slaves he did not know all their names. his fortune was his slaves. he did not sell slaves and he did not buy many, the last ten years preceding the war. he resorted to raising his own slaves. "when a girl became a woman she was required to go to a man and become a mother. there was generally a form of marriage. the master read a paper to them telling them they were man and wife. some were married by the master laying down a broom and the two slaves, man and woman would jump over it. the master would then tell them they were man and wife and they could go to bed together. master would sometimes go and get a large hale hearty negro man from some other plantation to go to his negro woman. he would ask the other master to let this man come over to his place to go to his slave girls. a slave girl was expected to have children as soon as she became a woman. some of them had children at the age of twelve and thirteen years old. negro men six feet tall went to some of these children. "mother said there were cases where these young girls loved someone else and would have to receive the attentions of men of the master's choice. this was a general custom. this state of affairs tended to loosen the morals of the negro race and they have never fully recovered from its effect. some slave women would have dozens of men during their life. negro women who had had a half dozen mock husbands in slavery time were plentiful. the holy bonds of matrimony did not mean much to a slave. the masters called themselves christians, went to church worship regularly and yet allowed this condition to exist. mother, father, sister and i were sent as refugees from mississippi to n.c. they were afraid the yankees would get us in mississippi. i was only four years old when the war ended as i was born april , so i do not remember the trip. we were sent to warren county to the brownloe's plantation where we stayed until the war ended. "there was a question as to just what mississippi would do and then mother said the doctor feared we would be taken by the yankees there so he sent us to n.c. to the above named county. mother was sent to stay with mrs. green parrish and she took me with her. mr. green parrish was gone to the war. in the last of the war, he was wounded and sent home. while he was recovering i fanned the flies off him. that's the first thing i remember about the war. when he got well he went back and then the war soon ended. after the war ended father and the family moved to halifax county and worked on a farm belonging to mr. sterling johnston. i was in warren county when i first began to remember anything and i do not have any specific remembrance of the yankees. we stayed in halifax county eighteen years, going from one plantation to another, but we made no money. the landlords got all we made except what we ate and wore. they would always tell us we ate ours up. sometimes we would be almost naked, barefooted and hungry when the crop was housed and then the landlord would make us leave. we would go to another with about the same results. "there was a story going that each slave would get forty acres of land and a mule at the end of the war. the yankees started this story but the mule and land was never given and slaves were turned out without anything and with nowhere to go. "we moved to wake county and i farmed until . i had not gotten one hundred dollars ahead in all this time so i got a job with the railroad, s.a.l. shops in raleigh, n.c. and that is the only place i ever made any money. "father died in and mother in . i worked from until with the s.a.l. railroad as flunkey. i worked as box packer and machinist's helper. mother and father died without ever owning a house but i saved my money while working for the railroad company and bought this lot x - / and had this house built on it. the house has five rooms and cost about one thousand dollars. i've been so of late years i could not pay my taxes. i am partially blind and unable to work anymore." eh * * * * * transcriber's notes all footnotes use numbers for consistency, and are reindexed. contractions match original text and are inconsistent due to the variety of narrators and interviewers. page : retained "progro marshells" and "provo marshell" inconsistency. pages - and - : retained inconsistent spellings for "yelladay", "yellady", and "yellerday". handwritten edits to punctuation, nested quotation marks, and the following typos have been corrected: page : changed "wnated" to "wanted" (i wnated ter go wid him). page : changed "ha" to "he" (an' when ha azed dem who dey wus). page : changed "ca olina" to "carolina" (de no'th ca olina line). page : changed "do" to "de" (set fire to do cotton). page : changed "creulty" to "cruelty" (stops creulty on plantation). page : changed "sn'" to "an'" (jake, sn' he 'longed ter a family). page : changed "i d" to "i'd" (i d learn ah half uh chaptuh) and (an i d write stories about christ). images provided by the library of congress, manuscript division [tr: ***] = transcriber note slave narratives a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project, - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress washington volume vi kansas narratives prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of kansas informants holbert, clayton simms, bill williams, belle the american guide topeka, kansas ex slave story ottawa, kansas by: leta gray (interviewer) "my name is clayton holbert, and i am an ex slave. i am eighty-six years old. i was born and raised in linn county, tennessee. my master's name was pleasant "ples" holbert. my master had a fairly large plantation; he had, i imagine, around one hundred slaves." "i was working the fields during the wind-up of the civil war. they always had a man in the field to teach the small boys to work, and i was one of the boys. i was learning to plant corn, etc. my father, brother and uncle went to war on the union side." "we raised corn, barley, and cotton, and produced all of our living on the plantation. there was no such thing as going to town to buy things. all of our clothing was homespun, our socks were knitted, and everything. we had our looms, and made our own suits, we also had reels, and we carved, spun, and knitted. we always wore yarn socks for winter, which we made. it didn't get cold, in the winter in tennessee, just a little frost was all. we fixed all of our cotton and wool ourselves." "for our meat we used to kill fifteen, twenty, or fifty, and sometimes a hundred hogs. we usually had hickory. it was considered the best for smoking meat, when we butchered. our meat we had then was the finest possible. it had a lot more flavor than that which you get now. if a person ran out of meat, he would go over to his neighbor's house, and borrow or buy meat, we didn't think about going to town. when we wanted fresh meat we or some of the neighbors would kill a hog or sheep, and would divide this, and then when we butchered we would give them part of ours. people were more friendly then then they are now. they have almost lost respect for each other. now if you would give your neighbor something they would never think of paying it back. you could also borrow wheat or whatever you wanted, and you could pay it back whenever you thrashed." "we also made our own sorghum, dried our own fruits. we usually dried all of our things as we never heard of such a thing as canning." "we always had brandy, wine, and cider on hand, and nothing was thought of it. we used to give it to the children even. when we had corn husks, log rolling, etc., we would invite all of the neighbors over, and then we would serve refreshments of wine, brandy or cider." "we made our own maple syrup from the maple sugar trees. this is a lot better than the refined sugar people have nowdays, and is good for you too. you can't get this now though, except sometimes and it is awfully high priced. on the plantations the slaves usually had a house of their own for their families. they usually built their houses in a circle, so you didn't have to go out doors hardly to go to the house next to you. if you wanted your house away from the rest of the houses, they could build you a house away from the others and separate." i was never sold, i always had just my one master. when slave owners died, if they had no near relatives to inherit their property, they would 'will' the slaves their freedom, instead of giving them to someone else. my grandmother, and my mother were both freed like this, but what they called 'nigger traders' captured them, and two or three others, and they took them just like they would animals, and sold them, that was how 'ples' holbert got my mother. my grandmother was sent to texas. my mother said she wrote and had one letter from my grandmother after that, but she never saw her again." "my mother used to be a cook, and when she was busy cooking, my mistress would nurse both me and her baby, who was four weeks older than me. if it happened the other way around, my mother would nurse both of us. they didn't think anything about it. when the old people died, and they left small orphan children, the slaves would raise the children. my young master was raised like this, he has written to me several times, since i have been out here in kansas, but the last time i wrote, i have had no reply, so i suppose he was dead." "when anyone died, they used to bury the body at least six feet under the ground. there wasn't such a thing as a cemetery then, they were just buried right on the plantation, usually close to the house. they would put the body in a wagon, and walk to where to bury the person, and they would sing all of the way." "the slaves used to dance or go to the prayer meeting to pass their time. there were also festivals we went to, during the christmas vacation. there was always a big celebration on christmas. we worked until christmas eve and from that time until new year's we had a vacation. we had no such thing as thanksgiving, we had never heard of such a thing." "in august when it was the hottest we always had a vacation after our crops were all laid by. that was the time when we usually had several picnics, barbecues or anything we wanted to do to pass our time away." "after the war was over, and my father, brother and uncle had gone to war, it left my mother alone practically. my mother had always been a cook, and that was all she knew, and after the war she got her freedom, she and me, i was seven or eight years old, and my brother was fourteen, and my sister was about sixteen. my mother didn't know what to do, and i guess we looked kind of pitiful, finally my master said that we could stay and work for him a year, people worked by the year then. we stayed there that year, and then we also stayed there the following year, and he paid us the second year. after that we went to another place, roof macaroy, and then my sister got married while we were there, and then she moved on her husband's master's place, and then we went too. after that i moved on another part and farmed for two or three years, and then we moved to another part of the plantation and lived there three or four years. that was almost the center of things, and we held church there. all of the colored people would gather there. the colored people who had been in the north were better educated than the people in the south. they would come down to the south and help the rest of us. the white people would also try to promote religion among the colored people. our church was a big log cabin. we lived in it, but we moved from one of the large rooms into a small one, so we could have church. i remember one time after we had been down on the creek bank fishing, that was what we always did on sunday, because we didn't know any better, my master called us boys and told us we should go to sunday school instead of going fishing. i remember that to this day, and i have only been fishing one or two times since. then i didn't know what he was talking about, but two or three years later i learned what sunday school was, and i started to go." "i went to a subscription school. we would all pay a man to come to teach us. i used to work for my room and board on saturday's, and go to school five days a week. that would have been all right, if i had kept it up, but i didn't for very long, i learned to read and write pretty good though. there were no government school then that were free." "we didn't have a name. the slaves were always known by the master's last name, and after we were freed we just took the last name of our masters and used it. after we had got our freedom papers, they had our ages and all on them, they were lost so we guess at our ages." "most of the slave owners were good to their slaves although some of them were brutish of course." "in a lot of people began coming out here to kansas, and in there were several, but in there were an awful lot of colored people immigrating. we came in to kansas city, october . we landed about midnight. we came by train. then there was nothing but little huts in the bottoms. the santa fe depot didn't amount to anything. the armours' packing house was even smaller than that. there was a swinging bridge over the river. the kaw valley was considered good-for-nothing, but to raise hemp. there was an awful lot of it grown there though, and there were also beavers in the kaw river, and they used to cut down trees to build their dams. i worked several years and in i came to franklin county." "we raised a lot of corn, and castor beans. that was the money crop. corn at that time wasn't hard to raise. people never plowed their corn more than three times, and they got from forty to fifty bushels per acre. there were no weeds and it was virgin soil. one year i got seventy-two bushel of corn per acre, and i just plowed it once. that may sound 'fishy' but it is true." "there used to be a castor bean mill here, and i have seen the wagons of castor beans lined from logan street to first street, waiting to unload. they had to number the wagons to avoid trouble and they made them keep their places. there also used to be a water mill here, but it burned." "there were lots of indians here in the chippewas. they were harmless though. they were great to come in town, and shoot for pennies. they were good shots, and it kept you going to keep them supplied with pennies, for them to shoot with their bows and arrows, as they almost always hit them. they were always dressed in their red blankets." "i have never used ones for work. they were used quite a bit, although i have never used them. they were considered to be good after they were broken." "i was about twenty-two years old when i married, and i have raised six children. they live over by appanoose. i ruined my health hauling wood. i was always a big fellow, i used to weigh over two hundred eighty-five pounds, but i worked too hard, working both summer and winter." "my father's mother lived 'till she was around ninety or a hundred years old. she got so bent at the last she was practically bent double. she lived about two years after she was set free." "i used to live up around appanoose, but i came to franklin county and i have stayed here ever since." the american guide topeka, kansas ex slave story ottawa, kansas interviewer: leta gray told by bill simms, ex slave, age years, ottawa, kansas. [tr: information moved from bottom of last page.] "my name is bill simms." "i was born in osceola, missouri, march , ." "i lived on the farm with my mother, and my master, whose name was simms. i had an older sister, about two years older than i was. my master needed some money so he sold her, and i have never seen her since except just a time or two." "on the plantation we raised cows, sheep, cotton, tobacco, corn, which were our principal crops. there was plenty of wild hogs, turkey, ant deer and other game. the deer used to come up and feed with the cattle in the feed yards, and we could get all the wild hogs we wanted by simply shooting them in the timber." "a man who owned ten slaves was considered wealthy, and if he got hard up for money, he would advertise and sell some slaves, like my oldest sister was sold on the block with her children. she sold for eleven hundred dollars, a baby in her arms sold for three hundred dollars. another sold for six hundred dollars and the other for a little less than that. my master was offered fifteen hundred dollars for me several times, but he refused to sell me, because i was considered a good husky, slave. my family is all dead, and i am the only one living. "the slaves usually lived in a two-room house made of native lumber. the houses were all small. a four or five room house was considered a mansion. we made our own clothes, had spinning wheels and raised and combed our own cotton, clipped the wool from our sheep's backs, combed and spun it into cotton and wool clothes. we never knew what boughten clothes were. i learned to make shoes when i was just a boy and i made the shoes for the whole family. i used to chop wood and make rails and do all kinds of farm work." "i had a good master, most of the masters were good to their slaves. when a slave got too old to work they would give him a small cabin on the plantation and have the other slaves to wait on him. they would furnish him with victuals, and clothes until he died." "slaves were never allowed to talk to white people other than their masters or someone their master knew, as they were afraid the white man might have the slave run away. the masters aimed to keep their slaves in ignorance and the ignorant slaves were all in favor of the rebel army, only the more intelligent were in favor of the union army." "when the war started, my master sent me to work for the confederate army. i worked most of the time for three years off and on, hauling canons, driving mules, hauling ammunition, and provisions. the union army pressed in on us and the rebel army moved back. i was sent home. when the union army came close enough i ran away from home and joined the union army. there i drove six-mule team and worked at wagon work, driving ammunition and all kinds of provisions until the war ended. then i returned home to my old master, who had stayed there with my mother. my master owned about four hundred acres of good land, and had had ten slaves. most of the slaves stayed at home. my master hired me to work for him. he gave my mother forty acres of land with a cabin on it and sold me a forty acres, for twenty dollars, when i could pay him. this was timbered land and had lots of good trees for lumber, especially walnut. one tree on this ground was worth one hundred dollars, if i could only get it cut and marketed, i could pay for my land. my master's wife had been dead for several years and they had no children. the nearest relative being a nephew. they wanted my master's land and was afraid he would give it all away to us slaves, so they killed him, and would have killed us if we had stayed at home. i took my mother and ran into the adjoining, claire county. we settled there and stayed for sometime, but i wanted to see kansas, the state i had heard so much about." "i couldn't get nobody to go with me, so i started out afoot across the prairies for kansas. after i got some distance from home it was all prairie. i had to walk all day long following buffalo trail. at night i would go off a little ways from the trail and lay down and sleep. in the morning i'd wake up and could see nothing but the sun and prairie. not a house, not a tree, no living thing, not even could i hear a bird. i had little to eat, i had a little bread in my pocket. i didn't even have a pocket knife, no weapon of any kind. i was not afraid, but i wouldn't start out that way again. the only shade i could find in the daytime was the rosin weed on the prairie. i would lay down so it would throw the shade in my face and rest, then get up and go again. it was in the spring of the year in june. i came to lawrence, kansas, where i stayed two years working on the farm. in i went to work for a man by the month at $ a month and i made more money than the owner did, because the grasshoppers ate up the crops. i was hired to cut up the corn for him, but the grasshoppers ate it up first. he could not pay me for sometime. grasshoppers were so thick you couldn't step on the ground without stepping on about a dozen at each step. i got my money and came to ottawa in december , about christmas time." "my master's name was simms and i was known as simms bill, just like horses. when i came out here i just changed my name from simms bill, to bill simms." "ottawa was very small at the time i came here, and there were several indians close by that used to come to town. the indians held their war dance on what is now the courthouse grounds. i planted the trees that are now standing on the courthouse grounds. i still planted trees until three or four years ago. there were few farms fenced and what were, were on the streams. the prairie land was all open. this is what north ottawa was, nothing but prairie north of logan street, and a few houses between logan street and the river. ottawa didn't have many business houses. there was also an oil mill where they bought castor beans, and made castor oil on the north side of the marais des cygnes river one block west of main street. there was one hotel, which was called leafton house and it stood on what is now the southwest corner of main and second streets." "i knew peter kaiser, when i came here, and a.p. elder was just a boy then." "the people lived pretty primitive. we didn't have kerosene. our only lights were tallow candles, mostly grease lamps, they were just a pan with grease in it, and one end of the rag dragging out over the side which we would light. there were no sewers at that time." "i had no chance to go to school when a boy, but after i came to kansas i was too old to go to school, and i had to work, but i attended night school, and learned to read and write and figure." "the farm land was nearly all broke up by ox teams, using about six oxen on a plow. in missouri we lived near the santa fe trail, and the settlers traveling on the trail used oxen, and some of them used cows. the cows seem to stand the road better than the oxen and also gave some milk. the travelers usually aimed to reach the prairie states in the spring, so they could have grass for their oxen and horses during the summer." "i have lived here ever since i came here. i was married when i was about thirty years old. i married a slave girl from georgia. back in missouri, if a slave wanted to marry a woman on another plantation he had to ask the master, and if both masters agreed they were married. the man stayed at his owners, and the wife at her owners. he could go to see her on saturday night and sunday. sometimes only every two weeks. if a man was a big strong man, neighboring plantation owners would ask him to come over and see his gals, hoping that he might want to marry one of them, but if a negro was a small man he was not cared for as a husband, as they valued their slaves as only for what they could do, just like they would horses. when they were married and if they had children they belonged to the man who owned the woman. osceola is where the saying originated, 'i'm from missouri, show me.' after the war the smart guys came through and talked the people into voting bonds, but there was no railroad built and most counties paid their bonds, but the county in which osceola stands refused to pay for their bonds because there was no railroad built, and they told the collectors to 'show me the railroad and we will pay,' and that is where 'show me' originated." "my wife died when we had three children. she had had to work hard all her life and she said she didn't want her children to have to work as hard as she had, and i promised her on her death bed, that i would educate our girls. so i worked and sent the girls to school. my two girls both graduated from ottawa university, the oldest one being the first colored girl to ever graduate from that school. after graduation she went to teach school in oklahoma, but only got twenty-five dollars a month, and i had to work and send her money to pay her expenses. the younger girl also graduated and went to teach school, but she did not teach school long, until she married a well-to-do farmer in oklahoma. the older girl got her wages raised until she got one hundred and twenty-five dollars per month. i have worked at farm work and tree husbandry all my life. my oldest daughter bought me my first suit of clothes i ever had." "i have been living alone about twenty-five years. i don't know hew old i was, but my oldest daughter had written my mother before she died, and got our family record, which my mother kept in her old bible. each year she writes me and tells me on my birthday how old i am." the american guide topeka, kansas ex slave story hutchinson, kansas interviewer: e. jean foote belle williams was born in slavery about the year or . her mother's name was elizabeth hulsie, being the slave of sid hulsie, her last name being the name of her master. the hulsie plantation was located in carroll county, arkansas. belle williams, better known as "auntie belle" is most interesting. she lives in her own little home in the one hundred block on harvey street, hutchinson, kansas. she is too old and crippled to do hard work, so spends most of her time smoking her pipe and rocking in her old armchair on the little porch of her home. she is jolly, and most interesting. "yes, i was a slave," she said. "i was born a slave on a plantation in carroll county, arkansas and lived there 'till after the war. law sakes, honey, i can see them 'feds' yet, just as plain as if it was yesterday. we had a long lane--you know what a lane is--well, here they come! i run for mah mammy, and i'll never forget how she grabbed me and let out a yell, "it's them feds, them blue coats." "you see my massa was a good massa. he didn't believe in whipping niggers and he didn't believe in selling niggers, and so my mammy and me, we didn't want to leave our mistress and massa. we called them 'mother hulsie' and 'massa sid.' one officer told my mammy that she could take along with her, anything out of the cabin that she wanted. mammy looked around and said, "i don't want to take nothin' but my chillun," so we all told mother hulsie 'goodbye,' and when my mammy told her goodbye, why mother hulsie cried and cried, and said, 'i just can't let you go, elizabeth, but go on peacefully, and maybe some day you can come back and see me.'" as the story came word after word, big tears dropped on the thin black hands, and she reached for her tobacco can and pipe. the can was missing, so i offered to get it for her, for i was anxious for one peep into "auntie's" little house, but i couldn't find the can, so after moans and sighs, she got to her feet and found her favorite granger twist. after settling; again in her chair, and when her pipe was at its best, "auntie" continued, "oh, honey, it was awful! you see i never been nowhere and i was scairt so i hung onto my mammy. the soldiers took us to camp that night, and after staying there several days, we went on to springfield, missouri, and it was right at fifty-two years ago that i came here. i was married to fuller, my first husband and had seven chilluns. he helped me raise them that lived and, after he died, i married williams and had two chilluns, but he didn't help me raise my chilluns. why, honey, i raised my chilluns and my chilluns' chilluns, and even one great-grandchild now. why, i always been a slave. i worked for all the early white families in this here town that needed help." i asked "auntie" if she were ever sold on the block, and she answered, "law sakes, honey, i must tell you. no, i never was sold, but nuthin' but the dear blessed lawd saved me. you see massa sid had gone away for a few days, and his boys was takin' care of things, when some nigger traders came and wanted to buy some niggers, and they picked on my grandmammy and me. how old was i? well, i reckon i was about fourteen. you see, honey, i never could read or write, but i can count, and i can remember--lawdy! how i can remember. well, there i was on the block, just scairt and shivering--i was just cold all over--and them there nigger traders was jest a talkin', when down that long lane came massa sid, and i'm tellin' you, it was the dear lawd that sent him. he was a ridin' on his hoss, and he stopped right in front of me, standing there on the block. he looked at his boys, then he turned to them nigger traders and yelled out, "what you all doin' here?" the boys told him there was just so many niggers on the place, and they wanted some money and when the nigger traders come along they thought they would sell a few niggers. honey, i'm tellin' you, massa sid turned to them nigger traders and said, "you nigger traders get out of here. these are my niggers and i don't sell niggers. i can feed them all, i don't want any help." he grabbed me right off of the block and put me on the hoss in front of him and set me down in front of my cabin. sceered, oh lawdy i was sceered! no, suh, massa sid never sold no niggers." "i must tell you about what happened one night while we were all there in the camp. one of the massa's boys that loved my uncle, came crawling on all fours, just like a pig, into camp. he passed the pickets, and when he found my uncle he laid there on the ground in my uncle's arms and cried like a baby. my uncle was old but he cried too and after a while he told the boy that he must go back--he was 'fraid that the pickets would see him and he would be shot, so he went with him, crawling on all fours just like a pig, till he got him past the pickets, and our young master never saw my uncle any more. oh, honey, them was heart-breakin' times. the first night we was in camp, my mammy got to thinking about mother hulsie and how she was left all alone with all the work, and not a soul to help her. the blue coats had gone through the house and upset everything, so in the morning she asked the captain if she could ask just one thing of him, and that was that she and my uncle go back to mother hulsie just for the day, and help put everything away and do the washing. the captain said they could go, but they must be back by five o'clock, and not one nigger child could go along, so they went back for the day and mammy did all the washing, every rag that she could find, and my uncle chopped and stacked outside the house, all the wood that he could chop that day, and then they came back to camp. my mammy said she'd never forget mother hulsie wringing her hands and crying, 'oh lawd, what will i do?' as they went down the land." proofreading team from images provided by the library of congress, manuscript division. [tr: ***] = transcriber note [hw: ***] = handwritten note slave narratives a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress illustrated with photographs washington volume ii arkansas narratives part prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of arkansas informants cannon, frank cauley, zenie chambers, liney charleston, jr., willie buck chase, lewis clay, katherine clemments, maria sutton [tr: also reported as maria sutton clements] clemons, fannie clinton, joe coleman, betty cotton, lucy cotton, t.w. cragin, ellen crane, sallie crawford, isaac crosby, mary crump, richard culp, zenia cumins, albert [tr: in header and text of interview, cummins] curlett, betty curry, j.h. dandridge, lyttleton daniels, ella darrow, mary allen davis, alice davis, charlie davis, d. davis, james davis, jim davis, jeff davis, jeff davis, jordan davis, mary jane drucilla davis, minerva davis, rosetta davis, virginia (jennie) davis, winnie day, leroy dell, hammett dickey, james diggs, benjamin dillon, katie dixon, alice dixon, luke d. dixon, martha ann dockery, railroad donalson, callie dortch, charles green dorum, fannie dothrum, silas douglas, sarah douglas, tom douglas, sarah and tom douglas, sebert doyl, henry doyld, willie dudley, wade duke, isabella dukes, wash dunn, lizzie dunne, nellie dunwoody, william l. edwards, lucius elliott, john evans, millie farmer, robert fergusson, lou ferrell, jennie fikes, frank filer, j.e. finger, orleans [tr: in text of interview, orleana] finley, molly finney, fanny fisher, gate-eye fitzgerald, ellen fitzhugh, henry flagg, mary flowers, doc fluker, frances fluker, ida may ford, wash fortenberry, judia foster, emma foster, ira franklin, leonard frazier, eliza frazier, mary frazier, tyler freeman, mittie fritz, mattie illustrations sarah and sam douglas [tr: the library of congress photo archive notes "'tom' written in pencil above 'sam' in title."] millie evans [tr: some interviews were date-stamped; these dates have been added to interview headers in brackets. where part of date could not be determined -- has been substituted. these dates do not appear to represent actual interview dates, rather dates completed interviews were received or perhaps transcription dates.] interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: frank cannon r.f.d., two miles, palestine, arkansas age: "i was born three miles west of starkville, mississippi on a pretty tolerable large farm. my folks was bought from a speculator drove come by. they come from sanders in south ca'lina. master charlie cannon bought a whole drove of us, both my grandparents on both sides. he had five farms, big size farms. saturday was ration day. "our master built us a church in our quarters and sont his preacher to preach to us. he was a white preacher. said he wanted his slaves to be christians. "i never went to school in my life. i was taught by the fireside to be obedient and not steal. "we et outer trays hewed out of logs. three of us would eat together. we had wooden spoons the boys made whittling about in cold rainy weather. we all had gourds to drink outer. when we had milk we'd get on our knees and turn up the tray, same way wid pot-liquor. they give the grown up the meat and us pot-liquor. "pa was a blacksmith. he got a little work from other plantations. the third year of the surrender he bought us a cow. the master was dead. he never went to war. he went in the black jack thickets. his sons wasn't old enough to go to war. pa seemed to like ole master. the overseer was white looking like the master but i don't know if he was white man or nigger. ole master wouldn't let him whoop much as he pleased. master held him off on whooping. "when the master come to the quarters us children line up and sit and look at him. when he'd go on off we'd hike out and play. he didn't care if we look at him. "my pa was light about my color. ma was dark. i heard them say she was part creek (indian). "folks was modester before the children than they are now. the children was sent to play or git a bucket cool water from the spring. everything we said wasn't smart like what children say now. we was seen and not heard. not seen too much or somebody be stepping 'side to pick up a brush to nettle our legs. then we'd run and holler both. "now and then a book come about and it was hid. better not be caught looking at books. "times wasn't bad 'ceptin' them speculator droves and way they got worked too hard and frailed. some folks was treated very good, some killed. "folks getting mean now. they living in hopes and lazing about. they work some." interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: zenie cauley louisiana pine bluff, ark. age: [-- ] "i member when they freed the people. "i was born in bedie kellog's yard and i know she said, 'zenie, i hate to give you up, i'd like to keep you.' but my mother said, 'no, ma'am, i can't give zenie up.' "we still stayed there on the place and i was settled and growed up when i left there. "i'm old. i feels my age too. i may not look old but i feels it. "yes ma'am, i member when they carried us to church under bresh arbors. old folks had rags on their hair. yes'm, i been here. "my father was a missionary baptist preacher and he _was_ a preacher. didn't know 'a' from 'b' but he was a preacher. everbody knowed jake alsbrooks. he preached all over that country of north carolina. they'd be as many white folks as colored. they'd give him _money_ and he never called for a collection in his life. why one sunday they give him sixty-five dollars to help buy a horse. "fore i left the old county, i member the boss man, henry grady, come by and tell my mother, 'i'm gwine to town now, have my dinner ready when i come back--kill a chicken.' she was one of the cooks. used to have us chillun pick dewberries and blackberries and bring em to the house. "yes, i done left there thirty-six years--will be this august. "when we was small, my daddy would make horse collars, cotton baskets and mattresses at night and work in the field in the daytime and preach on sunday. he fell down in bedie kellog's lot throwin' up shucks in the barn. he was standin' on the wagon and i guess he lost his balance. they sent and got the best doctor in the country and he said he broke his nabel string. they preached his funeral ever year for five years. seemed like they just couldn't give him up. "white folks told my mother if she wouldn't marry again and mess up uncle jake's chillun, they'd help her, but she married that man and he beat us so i don't know how i can remember anything. he wouldn't let us go to school. had to work and just live like pigs. "oh, i used to be a tiger bout work, but i fell on the ice in 'twenty-nine and i ain't never got over it. i said i just had a death shock. "i never went to school but three months in my life. didn't go long enough to learn anything. "i was bout a mile from where i was born when i professed religion. my daddy had taught us the right way. i tell you, in them days you couldn't join the church unless you had been changed. "i come here when they was emigratin' the folks here to arkansas." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: liney chambers, brinkley, arkansas age: [tr: some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. letters surrounded by [] represent long vowels.] "i was born in tennessee close to memphis. i remember seein' the yankees. i was most too little to be very scared of them. they had their guns but they didn't bother us. i was born a slave. my mother cooked for jane and silas wory. my mother's name was caroline. my father's name was john. an old bachelor named jim bledsoe owned him. when the war was over i don't remember what happened. my mother moved away. she and my father didn't live together. i had one brother, proctor. i expect he is dead. he lived in california last i heard of him. "they just expected freedom all i ever heard. i know they didn't expect the white folks to give them no land cause the man what owned the land bought it hisself foe he bought the hands whut he put on it. they thought they was ruined bad enouf when the hands left them. they kept the land and that is about all there was left. whut the yankees didn't take they wasted and set fire to it. they set fire to the rail fences so the stock would get out all they didn't kill and take off. both sides was mean. but it seemed like cause they was fightin' down here on the souths ground it was the wurst here. now that's just the way i sees it. they done one more thing too. they put any colored man in the front where he would get killed first and they stayed sorter behind in the back lines. when they come along they try to get the colored men to go with them and that's the way they got treated. i didn't know where anybody was made to stay on after the war. they was lucky if they had a place to stay at. there wasn't anything to do with if they stayed. times was awful unsettled for a long time. people whut went to the cities died. i don't know they caught diseases and changing the ways of eatin' and livin' i guess whut done it. they died mighty fast for awhile. i knowed some of them and i heard 'em talking. "that period after the war was a hard time. it sho was harder than the depression. it lasted a long time. folks got a lots now besides what they put up with then. seemed like they thought if they be free they never have no work to do and jess have plenty to eat and wear. they found it different and when it was cold they had no wood like they been used to. i don't believe in the colored race being slaves cause of the color but the war didn't make times much better for a long time. some of them had a worse time. so many soon got sick and died. they died of consumption and fevers and nearly froze. some near 'bout starved. the colored folks just scattered 'bout huntin' work after the war. "i heard of the ku klux but i never seen one. "i never voted. i don't believe in it. "i never heard of any uprisings. i don't know nobody in that rebellion (nat turner). "i used to sing to my children and in the field. "i lived on the farm till i come to my daughters to live. i like it better then in town. we homesteaded a place at grunfield (zint) and my sister bought it. we barely made a living and never had money to lay up. "i don't know what they'll (young generation) do. things going so fast. i'm glad i lived when i did. i think it's been the best time for p[o]r folks. some now got too much and some not got nothin'. that what i believe make times seem so hard." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: willie buck charleston, jr., biscoe, arkansas age: "i was born up here on the biscoe place before mr. biscoe was heard of in this country. i'm for the world like my daddy. he was light as i is. i'm jus' his size and make. there was three of us boys. dan was the oldest; he was my own brother, and ed was my half-brother. my daddy was a fellar of few words and long betwix' 'em. he was in the old war (civil war). he was shot in his right ankle and never would let it be took out. mother had been a cook. she and my grandmother was sold in south carolina and brought out here. mother's name was sallie harry. judging by them being harrys that might been who owned them before they was sold. she was about as light as me. mother died when i was a litter bit er of a fellar. then me and dan lived from house to house. grandma harry and my aunt mat and jesse dove raised us. my daddy married right er way ag'in. "i recollect mighty little about the war. we lived back in the woods and swamps. i was afraid of the soldiers. i seen them pass by. i was so little i can barely recollect seeing them and hiding from them. "when we lived over about forrest city i seen the ku klux whoop joe saw and bill reed. it was at night. they was tied to trees and whooped with a leather snake whoop. i couldn't say how it come up but they sure poured it on them. there was a crowd come up during the acting. i was scared to death then. after then i had mighty little use for dressed-up folks what go around at night (ku klux). i can tell you no sich thing ever took place as i heard of at biscoe. we had our own two officers and white officers and we get along all the time tollerably well together." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lewis chase; des arc, arkansas age: ? [tr: some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. letters surrounded by [] represent long vowels.] "i answer all your questions i knows lady. "when de civil war goin on i heard lots folks talking. i don't know what all they did say. it was a war mong de white folks. niggers had no say in it. heap ob them went to wait on their masters what went to fight. niggers didn't know what the fight war bout. yankey troops come take everything we had made, take it to the bluff (devalls bluff), waste it and eat it. he claim to be friend to the black man an do him jes dater way. de niggers what had any sense tall stuck to the white folks. niggers what i knowed didn't spec nothin an they sho didn't get nothin but freedom. "i was sold. yes mam i sho was. jes put up on a platform and auctioned off. sold right here in des arc. nom taint right. my old mistress [mrs. snibley] whoop me till i run off and they took me back when they found out where i lef from. i stayed way bout two weeks. "one man i sho was glad didn't get me cause he whoop me. n[o]'[o]m he didn't get me. i heard him puttin up the prices and i sho hope he didn't get me. "i don't know whar i come from. old missus snibley kept my hat pulled down over my face so i couldn't see de way to go back. i didn't want to come and i say i go right back. whar i set, right between old missus and master on de front seat ob de wagon and my ma set between missus snibley's two girls right behind us. i recken it was a covered wagon. the girls name was florence and emma. old master snibley never whip me but old missus sho did pile it on me. noom i didn't lack her. i run away. he died f[o] the war was over. i did leave her when de war was over. "i saw a heap ob bushwhackers and carpet bagger but i nebber seed no ku klux. i heard battles of the bushwhackers out at the wattensaw bridge [iron bridge]. i was scared might near all de time for four years. noom i didn't want no soldiers to get me. "i recken i wo long britches when de war started cause when i pulled off dresses i woe long britches. never wo no short ones. nigger boys and white boys too wore loose dresses till they was four, five or six years old in them times. they put on britches when they big nough to help at the field. "i worked at the house and de field. i'se farmed all my life. "i vote [hw: many] a time. i don't know what i vote. noom i don't! i recken i votes democrat, i don't know. it don't do no good. noom i ain't voted in a long time. i don't know nothin bout votin. i never did. "noom i never owned no land, noom no home neither. i didn't need no home. the man i worked for give me a house on his place. i work for another man and he give me a house on his land. i owned a horse one time. i rode her. "i don't know nuthin bout the young generation. i takes care bout myself. dats all i'm able to do now. some ob dem work. nom they don't work hard as i did. i works now hard as they do. they ought to work. i don't know what going to become ob them. i can't help what they do. "the times is hard fo old folks cause they ain't able to work and heap ob time they ain't no work fo em to do. "noom i lived at bells, arkansas for i come to hickory plains and des arc. i don't know no kin but my mother. she died durin the war. noom not all de white folks good to the niggers. some mean. they whoop em. some white folks good. jes lak de niggers, deres some ob em mighty good and some ob em mean. "i works when i can get a little to do and de relief gives me a little. "i _am_ er hundred years old! cause i knows i is. white folks all tell you i am." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: katherine clay, forrest city, arkansas age: "i was born in west point, mississippi. my folks' owners was master harris and liddie harris. my parent's name was sely sikes. she was mother of seven children. papa was name owen sikes. he never was whooped. they had different owners. both my grandparents was dead on both sides. i never seen them. "mama said her owners wasn't good. her riding boss put a scar on her back she took to her grave. it was deep and a foot long. he wanted to whoop her naked. he had the colored men hold her and he whooped her. she run off and when her owner come home she come to him at his house and told him all about it. she had been in the woods about a week she reckon. she had a baby she had left. the old mistress done had it brought to her. she was nursing it. she had a sicking baby of her own. she kept that baby. mama said her breast was way out and the doctor had to come wait on her; it nearly ruined. "mama said her master was so mad he cursed the overseer, paid him, and give him ten minutes to leave his place. he left in a hurry. that was her very first baby. she was raising a family, so they put her a nurse at the house. she had been ploughing. she had big fine children. they was proud of them. she raised a big family. she took care of all her and miss liddie's babies and washed their hippins. never no soap went on them she said reason she had that to do. another woman cooked and another woman washed. "mama said she was sold once, away from her mother but they let her have her four children. she grieved for her old mama, 'fraid she would have a hard time. she sold for one thousand dollars. she said that was half price but freedom was coming on. she never laid eyes on her mama ag'in. "after freedom they had gone to another place and the man owned the place run the ku klux off. they come there and he told them to go on away, if he need them he would call them back out there. they never came back, she said. they was scared to death of the ku klux. at the place where they was freed all the farm bells rung slow for freedom. that was for miles about. their master told them up at his house. he said it was sad thing, no time for happiness, they hadn't 'sperienced it. but for them to come back he would divide long as what he had lasted. they didn't go off right at first. they was several years getting broke up. some went, some stayed, some actually moved back. like bees trying to find a setting place. seem like they couldn't get to be satisfied even being free. "i had eleven children my own self. i let the plough fly back and hit me once and now i got a tumor there. i love to plough. i got two children living. she comes to see me. she lives across over here. i don't hear from my boy. i reckon he living. i gets help from the relief on account i can't work much with this tumor." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: maria sutton clemments, devalls bluff, ark. age: between and years [tr: also reported as maria sutton clements] i don't know jes how old i is. yes mum i show do member the war jes lack as if it was yesterday. i was born in lincoln county, georgia. my old mistress was named frances sutton. she was a real old lady. her husband was dead. she had two sons abraham and george. one of them tried to get old missus to sell my ma jes before the war broke out. he wanter sell her cause she too old to bear children. sell her and buy young woman raise mo children to sell. put em in the nigger drove and speculate on em. young nigger, not stunted, strong made, they look at their wristes and ankles and chestes, bout grown bring the owner fifteen hundred dollars. yea mam every cent of it. two weeks after baby born see the mother carrin it cross the field fur de old woman what kept all the children and she be going right on wid de hoe all day. when de sun come up the niggers all in the field and workin when de ridin boss come wid de dogs playin long after him. if they didn't chop dat cotton jes right he have em tied up to a stake or a big saplin and beat him till de blood run out the gashes. they come right back and take up whar they lef off work. two chaps make a hand soon as dey get big nuf to chop out a row. had plenty to eat; meat, corncake and molasses, peas and garden stuff. they didn't set out no variety fo the niggers. they had pewter bowls to eat outer and spoons. eat out in the yard, at the cabins, in the kitchen. eat different places owin to what you be workin at when the bell rung. big bell on a high post. my ma's name was sina sutton. she come from virginia in a nigger traders drove when she was sixteen years old and miss frances husband bought er. she had nine childen whut lived. i am de youngest. she died jes before de war broke out. till that time i had been trained a house girl. my ma was a field hand. then when the men all went to the army i plowed. i plowed four years i recken, till de surrender. howd i know it was freedom? a strange woman--i never seed fore, came runnin down where we was all at work. she say loud as she could "hay freedom. you is free." everything toe out fer de house and soldiers was lined up. dats whut they come by fer. course dey was yankee soldiers settin the colored folks all free. everybody was gettin up his clothes and leaving. they didn't know whar des goin. jes scatterin round. i say give 'em somethin. they was so mad cause they was free and leavin and nobody to work the land. the hogs and stock was mostly all done gone then. white folks sho had been rich but all they had was the land. the smoke houses had been stripped and stripped. the cows all been took off cept the scrubs. folks plowed ox and glad to plow one. sometime we had a good time. i danced till i joined the church. we didn't have no nigger churches that i knowed till after freedom. go to the white folks church. we danced square dance jess like the white folks long time ago. the niggers baptized after the white folks down at the pond. they joined the white folks church sometimes. the same woman on the place sewed for de niggers, made some things for miss frances. i recollects that. she knitted and seed about things. she showed the nigger women how to sew. all the women on the place could card and spin. they sat around and do that when too bad weather to be on the ground. they show didn't teach them to read. they whoop you if they see you have a book. if they see you gang round talkin, they say they talkin bout freedom or equalization. they scatter you bout. when they sell you, they take you off. see drove pass the house. men be ridin wid long whips of cow hide wove together and the dogs. the slaves be walkin, some cryin cause they left their folks. they make em stand in a row sometimes and sometimes they put em up on a high place and auction em. the pore white folks whut not able to buy hands had to work their own land. there shore was a heap of white folks what had no slaves. some ob dem say theys glad the niggers got turned loose, maybe they could get them to work for them sometimes and pay em. when you go to be sold you have to say what they tell you to say. when a man be unruly they sell him to get rid of him heap of times. they call it sellin nigger meat. no use tryin run off they catch you an bring you back. i don't know that there was ever a thought made bout freedom till they was fightin. said that was what it was about. that was a white mans war cept they stuck a few niggers in front ob the yankee lines. and some ob the men carried off some man or boy to wait on him. he so used to bein waited on. i ain't takin sides wid neither one of dem i tell you. if der was anything to be knowed the white folks knowed it. the niggers get passes and visit round on saturday evening or on sunday jes mongst theirselves and mongst folks they knowed at the other farms round. when dat war was done georgia was jes like being at the bad place. you couldn't stay in the houses fear some ku klux come shoot under yo door and bust in wid hatchets. folks hide out in de woods mostly. if dey hear you talkin they say you talkin bout equalization. they whoop you. you couldn't be settin or standing talkin. they come and ask you what he been tell you. that ku klux killed white men too. they say they put em up to hold offices over them. it was heap worse in georgia after freedom than it was fore. i think the poor nigger have to suffer fo what de white man put on him. we's had a hard time. some of em down there in georgia what didn't get into the cities where they could get victuals and a few rags fo cold weather got so pore out in the woods they nearly starved and died out. i heard em talk bout how they died in piles. niggers have to have meat to eat or he get weak. white folks didn't have no meat, no flour. the folks was after some people and i run off and kept goin till i took up with some people. the white folks brought them to tennessee--covington--i come too. they come in wagons. my father, he got shot and i never seed him no mo. he lived on another farm fo de war. i lived wid them white folks till bout nine years and i married. my old man wanted to come to dis new country. heard so much talk how fine it was. then i had run across my brother. he followed me. one brother was killed in the war somehow. my brother liked memphis an he stayed there. we come on the train. i never did like no city. we farmed bout, cleared land. never got much fo the hard work we done. the white man done learned how to figure the black folks out of what was made cept a bare living. i could read a little and write. he could too. we went to school a little in tennessee. when we got so we not able to work hard he come to town and carpentered, right here, and i cooked fo mr. hopkins seven years and fo mr. gus thweatt and fo mr. nick thweatt. we got a little ahead then by the hardest. i carried my money right here [bag on a string tied around her waist]. we bought a house and five acres of land. no mum i don't own it now. we got in hard luck and give a mortgage. they closed us out. mr. sanders. they say i can live there long as i lives. but they owns it. my garden fence is down and won't nobody fix it up fo me. they promises to come put the posts in but they won't do it and i ain't able no mo. i had a garden this year. spoke fo a pig but the man said they all died wid the kolerg [cholera]. so i ain't got no meat to eat dis year. i ain't never had a chile. i ain't got nobody kin to me livin dat i knows bout. when i gets sick a neighbor woman comes over and looks after me. i thinks if de present generation don't get killed they die cause they too lazy to work. no mum dey don't know nuthin bout work. they ain't got no religion. they so smart they don't pay no tention to what you advise em. i never tries to find out what folks doin and the young generation is killin time. i sho never did vote. i don't believe in it. the women runnin the world now. the old folks ain't got no money an the young ones wastes theirs. theys able to make it. they don't give the old folks nuthin. the times changes so much i don't know what goiner come next. i jes stop and looks and listens to see if my eyes is foolin me. i can't see, fo de cataracts gettin bad, nohow. things is heap better now fo de young folks now if they would help derselves. i'm too wo out. i can't do much like i could when i was young. the white folks don't cheat the niggers outen what they make now bad as they did when i farmed. i never knowed about uprisings till the ku klux sprung up. i never heard bout the nat turner rebellion. i tell you bout the onliest man i knowed come from virginia. a fellow come in the country bout everybody called solomon. dis long fo the war. he was a free man he said. he would go bout mong his color and teach em fo little what they could slip him along. he teached some to read. when freedom he went to augusta. my brother seed him and said "solomon, what you doin here?" and he said "i am er teaching school to my own color." then he said they run him out of virginia cause he was learnin his color and he kept going. some white folks up north learned him to read and cipher. he used a black slate and he had a book he carried around to teach folks with. he was what they called a ginger cake color. they would whoop you if they seed you with books learnin. mighty few books to get holt of fo the war. we mark on the ground. the passes bout all the paper i ever seed fo i come to tennessee. then i got to go to school a little. whah would the niggers get guns and shoot to start a uprisin? never had none cept if a white man give it to him. when you a slave you don't have nothin cept a big fireplace and plenty land to work. they cook on the fireplace. niggers didn't have no guns fo the war an nuthin to shoot in one if he had one whut he picked up somewhere after the war. the ku klux done the uprisin. they say they won't let the nigger enjoy freedom. they killed a lot of black folks in georgia and a few white folks whut they said was in wid em. we darkies had nuthin to do wid freedom. two or three set down on you, take leaves and build a fire and burn their feet nearly off. that the way the white folks treat the darky. i never knowed nobody to hold office. them whut didn't want to starve got someplace whut he could hold a plow handle. you don't know whut hard times is. dem was hard times. they used to hide in big cane brakes, nearly wild and nearly starved. scared to come out. i ain't wanted to go back to georgia. the folks i lived wid fo i come to tennessee, he tanned hides down at the branch and made shoes and he made cloth hats, wool hats. he sold them. we farmed but i watched them up at the house minu a time. one thing i recollect mighty well. fo de war a big bellied great monster man come in an folks made a big to do over him. he eat round and laughed round havin a big time. his name was mr. wimbeish (?). he wo white britches wid red stripes down the sides and a white shad tail coat all trimmed round de edges wid red and a tall beaver hat. he blowed a bugle and marched all the men every friday ebening. he come to miss frances. they fed him on pies and cakes and me brushin the flies off im and my mouth fairly waterin for a chunk ob de cake. when de first shot of war went off no more could be heard ob old mr. wimbeish. he lef an never was heard tell ob no mo. _he said never was a yankee had a hart he didn't understand_! i never did know whut he was. he jess said that right smart. i gets the old age pension and meets the wagon and gets a little commodities. i works my garden and raises a few chickens round my house. i trusts in de lord and try to do right, honey, dat way i lives. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: maria sutton clements, de valls bluff, ark. age: between and [tr: also reported as maria sutton clemments] "miss, i don't know a whole heap bout mr. wimbeish. i don't know no other name that what they all call him. some i heard say it like wimbush. he was a great big man, big in here [chest], big in here [stomach]. he have hair bout color youn [light]. he have big blue eyes jes' sparklin' round over the victuals on the table. he was a lively man. he had a heap to tell and a heap to talk bout. he had fair skin and rosy jaws--full round face. he laughed out loud pretty often. he looked fine when he laughed too. they all was foolish bout him. he was a newcommer in there. i don't know whah he stay. he come down the road regular as friday come, going to practice em marchin'. looked like bout fifty fellows. i never seed mr. wimbeish on a horse all time he passed long that road. he miter jes' et round mong the people while he stayed there. he wore red 'appletts' on his shoulders. i never seed him outer that fresh starched white suit. it was fishtail coat and had red bands stitched all round the edge and white breetches [britches] [tr: 'britches' is marked out by hand] with red bands down the side. he sure was a young man. they had him bout different places eatin'. old mistress said, 'fix up a good dinner today we gwiner have company.' that table was piled full. it was fine eatin'. he say so much i couldn't forgit. never was a yankee what have a heart he couldn't understand. i don't know what he was. he was so different. he muster been a southerner 'cause white folks would not treated him near that good. it was fo de war. they say when the first bugle blowed fo war he was done gone an' nebber been heard of till dis day. i heard some say last they seed him, he was rollin' over an' over on the ground and the men run off to find em nother captain. i don't know if they was tellin' like it took place. i know i never seed him no more. slave times "the servants take up what they eat in bowls and pans--little wooden bowls--and eat wid their fingers and wid spoons and they had cups. some had tables fixed up out under the trees. way they make em--split a big tree half in two and bore holes up in it and trim out legs to fit. they cooked on the fireplaces an' hearth and outerdoors. they cooked sompin to eat. they had plenty to eat. but they didn't have pies and cake less they be goiner have company. they have so much milk they fatten the pigs on it. "the animals eat up the gardens and crops. the man kill coon and possum if they didn't get nough meat up at the house. i say it sure is good. it is good as pork. the men prowl all night in the winter huntin'. if you be workin' at the field yo dinner is fetched down thar to you in a bucket that high [ ft.], that big er round [ - / feet wide]. the hands all come an' did they eat. that be mostly fried meat and bread and baked taters, so they could work. "old mistress say she first married mr. abraham chenol. then she married mr. joel sutton and they both died. she had two sons. she had a nephew what come there from way off. she said he was her sister's boy. couse they had doctors and good ones. iffen a doctor come say one thing the matter he better stick to it and cure one he come thar to see. old mistress had three boys till one died. i was brushin' flies offen him. she come and cry and go way cryin'. he callin' her all time. he quit callin' her then he was dead. made a sorter gurglin' sound. that the first person i seed die. when they say he dead i got out and off i was gone. i was usin' a turkey wing to brush flies offen him. i don't know what was the matter wid em. they buried him on her place whah the grave yard was made. both her husbands buried down there. she had a fine marble put over his grave. it had things wrote on it. she sent way off an' got it. they hauled it to here in a wagon. the masons burled him. it was the prettiest sight i ever seed. "her son john had some peafowls. she had geese--a big drove--turkeys, guineas, ducks, and geese. "she had feather beds and wheat straw mattresses, clean whoopee! they used cotton baggin' and straw and some of the servants had a feather bed. old mistress get up an' go in set till they call her to breakfast. they had a marble top table and a big square piano. that was the parlor furniture. they made rugs outen sheep an' goat skins. "when she want the cook go wid her she dress her up in some her fine dresses--big white cap like missus slep in an' a white apron tied round her waist. we wore ¢ calico and gingham dresses for best. she'd buy three and four bolts at augusta [georgia] and have it made up to work in. we didn't spin and weave till the war come on. some old men come round making spinnin' wheels. they was very plain too nearly bout rough. rich folks had fine silk dresses--jes' rattle when they walked--to wear to preachin'. they sho did have preachin' an' fastin' too durin' the war but folks didn't have fine clothes when it ended like when the war started. ku klux klan "it started outener the bushwhackers. some say they didn't get what was promised em at shiloh battle. they didn't get their rights. i don't know what they meant by it. the bushwhackers ketch the men in day goiner work--ketch em this way [by the shoulders or collar]. such hollerin' and scramblin' then you never heard. they hide behind big pine trees till he come up then step out behind and grab him. they first come an' call fer water. plenty water in the well or down at the spring. they knowed it too. then they waste all you had brought up and say--'ah! first drink i had since i come from hell.' they all knowed ain't nobody come from hell. they had hatchets an' they burst in your house. jes' to scare you. they shoot under your house. they wore their wives big wide nightgowns and caps and ugliest faces you eber seed. they looked like a gang from hell--ugliest things you ebber _did_ see. it was cold--ground spewed up wid ice and men folks so scared they run out in woods, stay all night. old mistress died at the close of de war an' her son what was a preacher, he put on a long preacher coat and breeches (britches) [tr: 'britches' is marked out by hand] all black. he put a navy six in his belt and carried carbeen [carbine] on his shoulder. it was a long gun shoot sixteen times. he was a dangerous man. he made the ku klux let his folks alone. he walk all night bout his place. he say, 'forward march!' then they pass by. he was a dangerous man. so much takin' place all time i was scared nearly to death all time." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: maria sutton clements de valls bluff, arkansas age: [dec ] [tr: also reported as maria sutton clemments] "missus, i thought if i'd see you agin i'd tell you this song: 'jeff davis is president abe lincoln is a fool come here, see jeff ride the gray horse and abe lincoln the mule.' "they sang all sich songs durin' of the war. "five wagons come by. they said it was jeff davise's wagons. they was loaded wid silver money--all five--in lincoln county, georgia. somehow the folks got a whiz of it and got the money outen one the wagons. abraham, my old mistress' son had old-fashion saddle bag full. sho it was white folks all but two or three slaves. hogs tore up sacks money, find em hid in the woods. they thought it was corn. they found a leather trunk full er money--silver money--down in the creek. money buried all round. the way it all started one colored man throwed down a bright dime to a yankee fo sompin he wanter buy. that started it all. they tied their thumbs this way (thumbs crossed) behind em, then strung em up in trees by their wrists behind em. it put heep of em in bed an' some most died never did get over it. the yankee soldiers come down that [hw: then?] and got all the money nearly. they say the war last four years, five months. seemed like twenty years." interviewer: pernella anderson person interviewed: fannie clemons n. washington el dorado, ark. age: "i was born down in farmerville, louisiana in the year of . now my ma lived with some white people, but now the name of the people i do not know. you see, child, i am old and i can't recollect so good. i didn't know my pa cause my ma quit him when i was little. my ma said she worked hard in the field like a black stepchild. my ma had nine chilluns and i was the oldest of the nine. she said her old miss wouldn't let her come to the house to nurse me, so she would slip up under the house and crawl through a hole in the floor. she took and pulled a plank up so she could slip through. "i would drink any kind of water that i saw if i wanted a drink. if the white folks poured out wash water and i wanted a drink that would do me. it just made me fat and healthy. most we played was tussling, and couldn't no boy throw me. nobody tried to whip me cause they couldn't. "we always cooked on fireplaces and our cake was always molasses cakes. at christmas time we got candy and apples, but these oranges and bananas and stuff like that wasn't out then. bananas and oranges just been out a few years. and sugar--we did not know about that. we always used sugar from molasses. i don't think sugar been in session long. if it had i did not get it. "i got married when i was pretty old, i lived with my husband eight years and he died. i had some children, but i stole them. the biggest work i ever done was farm and we sure worked." interviewer: watt mckinney person interviewed: joe clinton, route , marvell, arkansas age: "uncle joe" clinton, on ex-mississippi slave, lives on a small farm that he owns a few miles north of marvell, arkansas. his wife has been dead for a number of years and he has only one living child, if indeed his boy, joe, who left home fifteen years ago for chicago and from whom no word has been received since, is still alive. due to the infirmities of age "uncle joe" is unable to work and obtains his support from the income received off the small acreage he rents each year to the negro family with whom he lives. seated in an old cane-bottomed chair "uncle joe" was dozing in the warm sunshine of on afternoon in early october as i passed through the gate leading into the small yard enclosing his cabin. arousing himself on my approach, the old negro offered me a chair. i explained the purpose of my visit and this old man told me the following story: "i'se now past eighty-six year ole an' was borned in panola county, mississippi 'bout three miles from sardis. my ole mars was mark childress, en he sure owned er heap of peoples, womens an' mens bofe, en jus' gangs of chillun. i was real small when us lived in panola county; how-some-ever i riccolect it well when us all lef' dar and ole mars sold out his land and took us all to de delta where he had bought a big plantation 'bout two or three miles wide in coahoma county not far from friar point. de very place dat my mars bought and dat us moved to is what dey call now, de 'clover hill plantation'. de fust year dat us lived in de delta, us stayed on de place what dey called de 'swan lake place'. dat place is over dere close to jonestown and de very place dat mr. billy jones and his son john bought, en dats zackly how come dat town git its name. it was named for mr. john jones. "my mars, mark childress, he never was married. he was a bachelor, en i'se tellin' you dis, boss, he was a good, fair man and no fault was to be found wid him. but dem overseers dat he had, dey was real mean. dey was cruel, least one of them was 'bout de cruelest white man dat i is ever seen. dat was harvey brown. mars had a nephew what lived with him named mark sillers. he was mars' sister's son and was named for my mars. mr. mark sillers, he helped with de runnin' of the place en sich times dat mars 'way from home mr. mark, he the real boss den. "mr. harvey brown, the overseer, he mean sure 'nough i tell you, and de onliest thing that keep him from beatin' de niggers up all de time would be old mars or mr. mark sillers. bofe of dem was good and kind most all de time. one time dat i remembers, ole mars, he gone back to panola county for somepin', en mr. mark sillers, he attendin' de camp meeting. that was de day dat mr. harvey brown come mighty nigh killin' henry. i'll tell you how dat was, boss. it was on monday morning that it happened. de friday before dat monday morning, all of de hands had been pickin' cotton and mr. harvey brown didn't think dat henry had picked enough cotton dat day en so he give henry er lashin' out in de field. dat night henry, he git mad and burn up his sack and runned off and hid in de canebrake 'long de bayou all of de nex' day. mr. harvey, he missed henry from de field en sent jeff an' randall to find him and bring him in. dey found henry real soon en tell him iffen he don't come on back to de field dat mr. harvey gwine to set de hounds on him. so henry, he comed on back den 'cause de niggers was skeered of dem wild bloodhounds what they would set on 'em when dey try to run off. "when henry git back mr. harvey say, 'henry, where your sack? and how come you ain't pickin' cotton stid runnin' off like dat?' henry say he done burnt he sack up. wid dat mr. harvey lit in to him like a bear, lashin' him right and left. henry broke en run den to de cook house where he mammy, 'aunt mary', was, en mr. harvey right after him wid a heavy stick of wood dat he picked up offen de yard. mr. harvey got henry cornered in de house and near 'bout beat dat nigger to death. in fact, mr. harvey, he really think too dat he done kilt henry 'cause he called 'uncle nat' en said, 'nat, go git some boards en make er coffin for dis nigger what i done kilt.' "but henry wasn't daid though he was beat up terrible en they put him in de sick house. for days en days 'uncle warner' had to 'tend to him, en wash he wounds, en pick de maggots outen his sores. dat was jus' de way dat mr. harvey brown treated de niggers every time he git a chanct. he would even lash en beat de wimmens. "ole mars had a right good size house in dar 'mongst de quarters where dey kept all de babies en right young chillun whilst dey mammies workin' in de fields pickin' en hoein' time. old 'aunt hannah', an old granny woman, she 'tend to all dem chillun. de chillun's mammies, dey would come in from de fields about three times er day to let de babies suck. dere was er young nigger woman name jessie what had a young baby. one day when jessie come to de house to let dat baby suck, mr. harvey think she gone little too long. he give her a hard lashin'. "ole mars had a big cook house on de plantation right back in behind he own house en twix his house en de nigger's quarters. dat was where all de cookin' done for all de niggers on de entire place. aunt mary, she de head cook for de mars en all of de niggers too. all of de field hands durin' crop time et dey breakfast en dey dinners in de field. i waited on de table for mars en sort er flunkyed 'round da house en de quarters en de barns, en too i was one of de young darkies what toted de buckets of grub to de field hands. "ole mars had a house on de place too dat was called de 'sick house'. dat was where dem was put dat was sick. it was a place where dey was doctored on en cared for till dey either git well er die. it was er sort er hospital like. 'uncle warner', he had charge of de sick house, en he could sure tell iffen you sick er not, or iffen you jus' tryin' to play off from work. "my pappy, he was named bill clinton en my mammy was named mildred. de reason how come i not named childress for my mars is 'cause my pappy, he named clinton when mars git him from de clintons up in tennessee somewhere. my mars, he was a good man jus' like i'm tellin' you. mars had a young nigger woman named malinda what got married to charlie voluntine dat belonged to mr. nat voluntine dat had a place 'bout six miles from our place. in dem days iffen one darky married somebody offen de place where dey lived en what belonged to some other mars, dey didn't git to see one annudder very often, not more'n once a month anyway. so malinda, she got atter mars to buy charlie. sure 'nough he done that very thing so's dem darkies could live togedder. dat was good in our mars. "when any marryin' was done 'mongst de darkies on de place in dem days, dey would first hab to ask de mars iffen dey could marry, en iffen he say dat dey could git married den dey would git ole 'uncle peyton' to marry 'em. 'course dere wasn't no sich thing as er license for niggers to marry en i don't riccolect what it was dat 'uncle peyton' would say when he done de marryin'. but i 'members well dat 'uncle peyton', he de one dat do all of de marryin' 'mongst de darkies. "my mars, he didn't go to de war but he sure sent er lot er corn en he sent erbout three hundred head er big, fat hogs one time dat i 'members. den too, he sent somepin like twenty er thirty niggers to de confedrites in georgia. i 'members it well de time dat he sent dem niggers. they was all young uns, 'bout grown, en dey was skeered to death to be leavin' en goin' to de war. dey didn't know en cose but what dey gwine make 'em fight. but mars tole 'em dat dey jus' gwine to work diggin' trenches en sich; but dey didn't want to go nohow en jeff an' randall, they runned off en come back home all de way from georgia en mars let 'em stay. "boss, you has heered me tellin' dat my mars was er good, kine man en dat his overseer, mr. harvey brown, was terrible cruel, en mean, en would beat de niggers up every chance he git, en you ask me how come it was dat de mars would have sich a mean man er working for him. now i'se gwine to tell you de reason. you know de truth is de light, boss, an' dis is de truth what i'se gwine to say. mars, he in love with mr. harvey brown's wife, miss mary, and miss mary's young daughter, she was mars' chile. yas suh, she was dat. she wasn't no kin er tall to mr. harvey brown. her name was miss markis, dats what it was. mars had done willed dat chile er big part of his property and a whole gang of niggers. he was gwine give her tolliver, beckey, aunt mary, austin, an' savannah en er heap more 'sides dat. but de war, it come on en broke mars up, en all de darkies sot free, en atter dat, so i heered mr. harvey brown en miss mary, and de young lady miss markis, dey moved up north some place en i ain't never heered no more from dem. "mr. clarke and mrs. clarke what de town of clarksdale is named for, dey lived not far from our place. i knowed dem well. albert, one of mars' darkies, married cindy, one of mr. clarke's women. general forrest, i know you is heered of him. i speck he 'bout de bes' general in de war. he sure was a fine looking man en he wore a beard on he face. de general, he had a big plantation down dere in coahoma county where he would come ever so offen. a lot of times he would come to our place en take dinner wid ole mars, en i would be er waitin' on de table er takin' dem de toddies on de front gallery where dey talkin' 'bout day bizness. "boss, you axed me if dey was any sich thing in slavery times as de white men molestin' of de darky wimmen. dere was a heap of dat went on all de time an' 'course de wimmens, dey couldn't help deyselves and jus' had to put up wid it. da trouble wasn't from de mars of de wimmens i'se ever knowed of but from de overseers en de outside white folks. of course all dat couldn't have been goin' on like it did without de mars knowin' it. dey jus' bound to know dat it went on, but i'se never heered 'bout 'em doin' nothin' to stop it. it jus' was dat way, en dey 'lowed it without tryin' to stop all sich stuff as dat. you know dat niggers is bad 'bout talkin' 'mongst demselves 'bout sich en sich er goin' on, and some of mars' darkies, dey say dat sam and dick, what was two real light colored boys, dat us had was mars' chillun. dat was all talk. i nebber did believe it 'cause dey nebber even looked like mars en he nebber cared no more for dem dan any of the rest of de hands." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: betty coleman - / indiana street, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: cotton picker [dec ] "my father belonged to mr. ben martin and my mother and me belonged to the slaughters. i was small then and didn't know what the war was about, but i remember seein' the yankees and the ku klux. "old master had about fifteen or twenty hands but mr. martin had a plenty--he had bout a hundred head. "i member when the war was goin' on we was livin' in bradley county. we was goin' to texas to keep the yankees from gettin' us. i member mr. gil martin was just a young lad of a boy. we got as far as union county and i know we stopped there and stayed long enough to make two crops and then peace was declared so we cane back to warren. "while the war was goin' on, i member when my mother took a note to some soldiers in warren and asked em to come and play for miss mary. i know they stood under a sycamore and two catawba trees and played. there was a perty big bunch of em. us chillun was glad to hear it. i member just as well as if 'twas yesterday. "i member when the yankees come and took all of miss mary's silver--took every piece of it. and another time they got three or four of the colored men and made em get a horse apiece and ride away with em bareback. yankees was all ridin' iron gray horses, and lookin' just as mad. oh lord, yes, they rid right up to the gate. all the horses was just alike--iron gray. sho was perty horses. them yankees took everything miss mary had. "after the war ended we stayed on the place one year and made a crop and then my father bought fifty acres of mr. ben martin. he paid some on it every year and when it was paid for mr. ben give him a deed to it. "i'm the only child my mother had. she never had but me, one. i went to school after the war and i member at night i'd be studyin' my lesson and rootin' potatoes and papa would tell us stories about the war. i used to love to hear him on long winter evenings. "i stayed right there till i married. my father had cows and he'd kill hogs and had a peach orchard, so we got along fine. our white folks was always good to us." interviewer: thomas elmore lucy person interviewed: lucy cotton russellville, arkansas age: [jan ] "lucy cotton's my name, and i was born on the tenth day of june, , jist two months after the surrender. no suh, i ain't no kin to the other cottons around here, so far as i knows. my mother was jane hays, and she was owned by a master named wilson. "i've belonged to the holiness church six years. (they call us 'holiness,' but the real name is pentecostal.) "yes suh, there's a heap of difference in folks now 'an when i was a girl--especially among the young people. i think no woman, white or black, has got any business wastin' time around the votin' polls. their place is at home raisin' a family. i hear em sometimes slinging out their 'damns' and it sure don't soun' right to me. "good day, mistah. i wish you well--but the gov'ment ain't gonna do nothing. it never has yit." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: t.w. cotton, helena, arkansas age: [may ] "i was born close to indian bay. i belong to ed cotton. mother was sold from john mason between petersburg and richmond, virginia. three sisters was sold and they give grandma and my sister in the trade. grandma was so old she wasn't much account fer field work. mother left a son she never seen ag'in. aunt adeline's boy come too. they was put on a block but i can't recollect where it was. if mother had a husband she never said nothing 'bout him. he muster been dead. "now my papa come from la grange, tennessee. master bowers sold him to ed cotton. he was sold three times. he had one scar on his shoulder. the patrollers hit him as he went over the fence down at indian bay. he was a guinea man. he was heavy set, not very tall. generally he carried the lead row in the field. he was a good worker. they had to be quiet wid him to get him to work. he would run to the woods. he was a fast runner. he lived to be about a hundred years old. i took keer of him the last five years of his life. mother was seventy-one years old when she died. she was the mother of twenty-one children. "sure, i do remember freedom. after the civil war ended, ed cotton walked out and told papa: 'rob, you are free.' we worked on till and we moved to joe lambert's place. he had a brother named tom lambert. father never got no land at freedom. he got to own acres, a house on it, and some stock. we all worked and helped him to make it. he was a hard worker and a fast hand. "i farmed all my life till fifteen years ago i started trucking here in helena. i gets six dollars assistance from the sociable welfare and some little helpouts as i calls it--rice and potatoes and apples. i got one boy fifty-five years old if he be living. i haven't seen him since . he left and went to chicago. i got a girl in st. louis. i got a girl here in helena. i jus' been up to see her. i had nine children. i been married twice. i lived with my first wife thirteen years and seven months. she died. i lived with my second wife forty years and some over--several weeks. she died. "i was a small boy when the civil war broke out. once i got a awful scare. i was perched up on a post. the yankees come up back of the house and to my back. i seen them. i yelled out, 'yonder come yankees.' they come on cussing me. aunt ruthie got me under my arms and took me to miss fannie cotton. we lived in part of their house. walter (white) and me slept together. mother cooked. aunt ruthie was a field hand. aunt adeline must have been a field hand too. she hung herself on a black jack tree on the other side of the pool. it was a pool for ducks and stock. "she hung herself to keep from getting a whooping. mother raised (reared) her boy. she told mother she would kill herself before she would be whooped. i never heard what she was to be whooped for. she thought she would be whooped. she took a rope and tied it to a limb and to her neck and then jumped. her toes barely touched the ground. they buried her in the cemetery on the old ed cotton place. i never seen her buried. aunt ruthie's grave was the first open grave i ever seen. aunt mary was papa's sister. she was the oldest. "i would say anything to the yankees and hang and hide in miss fannie's dress. she wore long big skirts. i hung about her. grandma raised me on a bottle so mother could nurse walter (white). there was something wrong wid miss fannie. we colored children et out of trays. they hewed them out of small logs. seven or eight et together. we had our little cups. grandma had a cup for my water. we et with spoons. it would hold a peck of something to eat. i nursed my mother four weeks and then mama raised walter and grandma raised me. walter et out of our tray many and many a time. mother had good teeth and she chewed for us both. henry was younger than walter. they was the only two children miss fannie had. grandma washed out our tray soon as ever we quit eating. she'd put the bread in, then pour the meat and vegetables over it. it was good. "did you ever hear of walter cotton, a cancer doctor? that was him. he may be dead now. me and him caused aunt sue to get a whooping. they had a little pear tree down twix the house and the spring. walter knocked one of the sugar pears off and cut it in halves. we et it. mr. ed asked 'bout it. walter told her aunt sue pulled it. she didn't come by the tree. he whooped her her declaring all the time she never pulled it nor never seen it. i was scared then to tell on walter. i hope eat it. aunt sue had grown children. "the ku klux come through the first and second gates to papa's house and he opened the door. they grunted around. they told papa to come out. he didn't go and he was ready to hurt them when they come in. he told them when he finished that crop they could have his room. he left that year. they come in on me once before i married. i was at my girl's house. they wanted to be sure we married. the principal thing they was to see was that you didn't live in the house wid a woman till you be married. i wasn't married but i soon did marry her. they scared us up some. "i don't know if times is so much better for some or not. some folks won't work. some do work awful hard. young folks i'm speaking 'bout. times is mighty fast now. seems like they get faster and faster every way. i'll be eighty years old this may. i was born in ." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: ellen cragin - / arch street, little rock, arkansas age: around or more [may ] [hw: escapes on cow] "i was born on the tenth of march in some year, i don't know what one. i don't know whether it was in the civil war or before the civil war. i forget it. i think that i was born in vicksburg, mississippi; i'm not sure, but i think it was. "my mother was a great shouter. one night before i was born, she was at a meeting, and she said, 'well, i'll have to go in, i feel something.' she said i was walkin' about in there. and when she went in, i was born that same night. "my mother was a great christian woman. she raised us right. we had to be in at sundown. if you didn't bring it in at sundown, she'd whip you,--whip you within an inch of your life. "she didn't work in the field. she worked at a loom. she worked so long and so often that once she went to sleep at the loom. her master's boy saw her and told his mother. his mother told him to take a whip and wear her out. he took a stick and went out to beat her awake. he beat my mother till she woke up. when she woke up, she took a pole out of the loom and beat him nearly to death with it. he hollered, 'don't beat me no more, and i won't let 'em whip you.' "she said, 'i'm goin' to kill you. these black titties sucked you, and then you come out here to beat me.' and when she left him, he wasn't able to walk. "and that was the last i seen of her until after freedom. she went out and got on an old cow that she used to milk--dolly, she called it. she rode away from the plantation, because she knew they would kill her if she stayed. "my mother was named luvenia polk. she got plumb away and stayed away. on account of that, i was raised by my mother. she went to atchison, kansas--rode all through them woods on that cow. tore her clothes all off on those bushes. "once a man stopped her and she said, 'my folks gone to kansas and i don't know how to find 'em.' he told her just how to go. "my father was an indian. 'way back in the dark days, his mother ran away, and when she came up, that's what she come with--a little indian boy. they called him 'waw-_hoo_'che.' his master's name was tom polk. tom polk was my mother's master too. it was tom polk's boy that my mother beat up. "my father wouldn't let nobody beat him either. one time when somethin' he had did didn't suit tom polk--i don't know what it was--they cut sores on him that he died with. cut him with a raw-hide whip, you know. and then they took salt and rubbed it into the sores. "he told his master, 'you have took me down and beat me for nothin', and when you do it again, i'm goin' to put you in the ground.' papa never slept in the house again after that. they got scared and he was scared of them. he used to sleep in the woods. "they used to call me 'waw-hoo'che' and 'red-headed indian brat.' i got in a fight once with my mistress' daughter,--on account of that. "the children used to say to me, 'they beat your papa yesterday.' "and i would say to them, 'they better not beat my papa,' and they would go up to the house and tell it, and i would beat 'em for tellin' it. "there was an old white man used to come out and teach papa how to read the bible. "papa said, 'ain't you 'fraid they'll kill you if they see you?' "the old man said, 'no; they don't know what i'm doing, and don't you tell 'em. if you do, they will kill me.' signs of the war "one night my father called me outside and told me that he saw the elements opened up and soldiers fighting in the heavens. "'don't you see them, honey?' he said; but i couldn't see them. and he said there was going to be a war. "i went out and told it. the white people said they ought to take him out and beat him and make him hush his mouth. because if they got such talk going 'round among the colored people, they wouldn't be able to do nothin' with them. dr. polk's wife's father, old man woods, used to say that the niggers weren't goin' to be free. he said that god had showed that to him. mean masters "dr. polk and his son, the one my mother beat up and left lying on the ground, were two mean men. when the slaves didn't pick enough cotton for them, they would take them down the field, and turn up their clothes, till they was naked, and beat them nearly to death. "mother was a breeder. while she did that weaving, she had children fast. one day, tom polk hit my mother. that was before she ran away. he hit her because she didn't pick the required amount of cotton. when there was nothin' to do at the loom, mother had to go in the field, you know. i forget how much cotton they had to pick. i don't know how many times he hit her. i was small. i heard some one say, 'they got clarisay down, down there!' i went to see. and they had her down. she was stout, and they had dug a hole in the ground to put her belly in. i never did get over that. i'm an old woman, but tom polk better not come 'round me now even. "i have heard women scream and holler, 'do pray, massa, do pray.' and i was sure glad when she beat up young tom and got away. i didn't have no use for neither one of 'em, and ain't yet. "it wasn't her work to be in the field. he made her breed and then made her work at the loom. that wasn't nothin'. he would have children by a nigger woman and then have them by her daughter. "i went out one day and got a gun. i don't know whose gun it was. i said to myself, 'if you whip my mother today, i am goin' to shoot you.' i didn't know where the gun belonged. my oldest sister told me to take it and set it by the door, and i did it. how freedom came "dr. polk had a fine horse. he came riding through the field and said, 'all you all niggers are free now. you can stay here and work for me or you can go to the next field and work.' "i had an old aunt that they used to make set on a log. she jumped off that log and ran down the field to the quarters shouting and hollering. "the people all said, 'nancy's free; they ain't no ants biting her today.' she'd been setting on that log one year. she wouldn't do no kind of work and they make her set there all day and let the ants bite her. "big niggers" "they used to call my folks 'big niggers.' papa used to get things off a steamboat. one day he brought a big demi-john home and ordered all the people not to touch it. one day when he went out, i went in it. i had to see what it was. i drunk some of it and when he came home he said to me, 'you've been in that demi-john.' i said, 'no, i haven't.' but he said, 'yes, you have; i can tell by the way you look.' and then i told him the truth. "he would get shoes, calico goods, coffee, sugar, and a whole lot of other things. anything he wanted, he would get. that he didn't, he would ask him to bring the next trip. "it was a union gunboat, and ran under the water. you could see the smoke. the white people said, 'that boat's goin' to carry some of these niggers away from here one of these days.' "and sure enough, it did carry one away. buried treasure and a runaway "i went to the big gate one morning and there was a nigger named charles there. "i said, 'what you doing out here so early this morning?' "he said to me, 'you hush yo' mouth and get on back up to the house.' "i went back to the house and told my mother, 'i saw charles out there.' that was before my mother ran away. "my mother said, 'he's fixing to run away. and he's got a barrel of money. and it belongs to the doctor. 'cause he and the dr. went out to bury it to keep the yankees from getting it.' "he ran away, and he took the money with him, too. he went out to kansas city and bought a home. we didn't think much of it, because we knew it was wrong to do it. but old master tom had done a heap of wrong too. he was the first one spotted the boat that morning--charles was. and he went away on it. plenty to eat "my father would kill a hog and keep the meat in a pit under the house. i know what it is now. i didn't know then. he would clean the hog and everything before he would bring him to the house. you had to come down outside the house and go into the pit when you wanted to get meat to eat. if my father didn't have a hog, he would steal one from his master's pen and cut its throat and bring it to the pit. "my folks liked hog guts. we didn't try to keep them long. we'd jus' clean 'em and scrape 'em and throw 'em in the pot. i didn't like to clean 'em but i sure loved to eat 'em. father had a great big pot they called the wash pot and we would cook the chit'lins in it. you could smell 'em all over the country. i didn't have no sense. whenever we had a big hog killin', i would say to the other kids, 'we got plenty of meat at our house.' "they would say back, 'where you got it?' "i would tell 'em. and they would say, 'give us some.' "and i would say to them, 'no, that's for us.' "so they called us 'big niggers.' marriages since freedom "my first baby was born to my husband. i didn't throw myself away. i married mr. cragin in . he lived with me about fifteen years before he died. he got kicked. he was a baker. during the war, he was the cook in a camp. he went to get some flour one morning. he snatched the tray too hard and it kicked him in his bowels. he never did get over it. the tray was full of flour and it was big and heavy. it was a sliding tray. it rolled out easy and fast and you had to pull it careful. i don't know why they called it a kick. "i married a second husband--if you can call it that--a nigger named jones. he had a spoonful of sense. we didn't live together three months. he came in one day and i didn't have dinner ready. he slapped me. i had never been slapped by a man before. i went to the drawer and got my pistol out and started to kill him. but i didn't. i told him to leave there fast. he had promised to do a lot of things and didn't do them, and then he used to use bad language too. occupation "i've always sewed for a living. see that sign up there?" the sign read: all kinds of buttons sewed on mending too "i can't cut out no dress and make it, but i can use a needle on patching and quilting. can't nobody beat me doin' that. i can knit, too. i can make stockings, gloves, and all such things. "i belong to bib bethel church, and i get most of my support from the lord. i get help from the government. i'm trying to get moved, and i'm just sittin' here waiting for the man to come and move me. i ain't got no money, but he promised to move me." interviewer's comment there it was--the appeal to the slush fund. i have contributed to lunch, tobacco, and cold drinks, but not before to moving expenses. i had only six cents which i had reserved for car fare. but after you have talked with people who are too old to work, too feeble to help themselves in any effective fashion, hemmed up in a single room and unable to pay rent on that, odds and ends of broken and dilapidated furniture, ragged clothes, and not even plenty of water on hand for bathing, barely hanging on to the thread of life without a thrill or a passion, then it is a great thing to have six cents to give away and to be able to walk any distance you want to. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: sallie crane see first paragraph in interviewer's comment for residences age: , or more [hw: whipped from sunup to sundown] "i was born in hempstead county, between nashville and greenville, in arkansas, on the military road. never been outside the state in my life. i was born ninety years ago. i been here in pulaski county nearly fifty-seven years. "i was born in a old double log house chinked and dobbed. nary a window and one door. i had a bedstead made with saw and ax. chairs were made with saw, ax, and draw knife. my brother orange made the furniture. we kept the food in boxes. "my mother's name was mandy bishop, and my father's name was jerry bishop. i don't know who my grand folks were. they was all virginia folks--that is all i know. they come from virginia, so they told me. my old master was harmon bishop and when they divided the property i fell to miss evelyn bishop. age "the first man that came through here writing us up for the red cross, i give him my age as near as i could. and they kept that. you know peace was declared in . they told me i was free. i got scared and thought that the speculators were going to put me in them big droves and sell me down in louisiana. my old mistress said, 'you fool, you are free. we are going to take you to your mammy.' i cried because i thought they was carrying me to see my mother before they would send me to be sold in louisiana. my old mistress said she would whip me. but she didn't. when we got to my mother's, i said, 'how old is i?' she said, 'you are sixteen.' she didn't say months, she didn't say years, she didn't say weeks, she didn't say days; she just said, 'you are sixteen.' and my case worker told me that made me ninety years old. "i was in hempstead county on harmon bishop's plantation. it was miss polly, harmon's wife, that told me i was free, and give me my age. "i know freedom come before , because my brothers would tell me to come home from nashville where i would be sent to do nursing by my old mistress and master too to nurse for my young mistress. "when my old master's property was divided, i don't know why--he wasn't dead nor nothin'--i fell to miss evelyn, but i stayed in nashville working for miss jennie nelson, one of harmon's daughters. miss jennie was my young mistress. my brothers were already free. i don't know how miss polly came to tell me i was free. but my brothers would see me and tell me to run away and come on home and they would protect me, but i was afraid to try it. finally miss polly found that she couldn't keep me any longer and she come and told me i was free. but i thought that she was fooling me and just wanted to sell me to the speculators. family "my mother was the mother of twenty children and i am the mother of eighteen. my youngest is forty-five. i don't know whether any of my mother's children is living now or not. i left them that didn't join the militia in hempstead county fifty-seven years ago. them that joined the militia went off. i don't know nothin' about them. i have two girls living that i know about. i had two boys went to france and i never heard nothin' 'bout what happened to them. nothing--not a word. red cross has hunted 'em. police mitchell hunted 'em--police mitchell in little rock. but i ain't heard nothin' 'bout 'em. work "the first work i did was nursing and after that i was water toter. i reckon i was about seven or eight years old when i first began to nurse. i could barely lift the baby. i would have to drag them 'round. then i toted water to the field. then when i was put to plowing, and chopping cotton, i don't know exactly how old i was. but i know i was a young girl and it was a good while before the war. i had to do anything that come up--thrashing wheat, sawing logs, with a wristband on, lifting logs, splitting rails. women in them days wasn't tender like they is now. they would call on you to work like men and you better work too. my mother and father were both field hands. soldiers "oo-oo-oo-ee-ee-ee!! man, the soldiers would pass our house at daylight, two deep or four deep, and be passing it at sundown still marching making it to the next stockade. those were yankees. they didn't set no slaves free. when i knowed anything about freedom, it was the bureaus. we didn't know nothing like young folks do now. "we hardly knowed our names. we was cussed for so many bitches and sons of bitches and bloody bitches, and blood of bitches. we never heard our names scarcely at all. first young man i went with wanted to know my initials! what did i know 'bout initials? you ask 'em ten years old now, and they'll tell you. that was after the war. initials!!! slave sales "have i seen slaves sold! good god, man! i have seed them sold in droves. i have worn a buck and gag in my mouth for three days for trying to run away. i couldn't eat nor drink--couldn't even catch the slobber that fell from my mouth and run down my chest till the flies settled on it and blowed it. 'scuse me but jus' look at these places. (she pulled open her waist and showed scars where the maggots had eaten in--ed.) whippings "i been whipped from sunup till sundown. off and on, you know. they whip me till they got tired and then they go and res' and come out and start again. they kept a bowl filled with vinegar and salt and pepper settin' nearby, and when they had whipped me till the blood come, they would take the mop and sponge the cuts with this stuff so that they would hurt more. they would whip me with the cowhide part of the time and with birch sprouts the other part. there were splinters long as my finger left in my back. a girl named betty jones come over and soaped the splinters so that they would be softer and pulled them out. they didn't whip me with a bull whip; they whipped me with a cowhide. they jus' whipped me 'cause they could--'cause they had the privilege. it wasn't nothin' i done; they just whipped me. my married young master, joe, and his wife, jennie, they was the ones that did the whipping. but i belonged to miss evelyn. "they had so many babies 'round there i couldn't keep up with all of them. i was jus' a young girl and i couldn't keep track of all them chilen. while i was turned to one, the other would get off. when i looked for that one, another would be gone. then they would whip me all day for it. they would whip you for anything and wouldn't give you a bite of meat to eat to save your life, but they'd grease your mouth when company come. food "we et out of a trough with a wooden spoon. mush and milk. cedar trough and long-handled cedar spoons. didn't know what meat was. never got a taste of egg. oo-ee! weren't allowed to look at a biscuit. they used to make citrons. they were good too. when the little white chilen would be comin' home from school, we'd run to meet them. they would say, 'whose nigger are you?' and we would say, 'yor'n!' and they would say, 'no, you ain't.' they would open those lunch baskets and show us all that good stuff they'd brought back. hold it out and snatch it back! finally, they'd give it to us, after they got tired of playing. health "they're burying old brother jim mullen over here today. he was an old man. they buried one here last sunday--eighty some odd. brother mullen had been sick for thirty years. died settin' up--settin' up in a chair. the old folks is dyin' fas'. brother smith, the husband of the old lady that brought you down here, he's in feeble health too. ain't been well for a long time. "look at that place on my head. (there was a knot as big as a hen egg--smooth and shiny--ed.) when it first appeared, it was no bigger then a pea, i scratched it and then the hair commenced to fall out. i went to three doctors, and been to the clinic too. one doctor said it was a busted vein. another said it was a tumor. another said it was a wen. i know one thing. it don't hurt me. i can scratch it; i can rub it. (she scratched and rubbed it while i flinched and my flesh crawled--ed.) but it's got me so i can't see and hear good. dr. junkins, the best doctor in the community told me not to let anybody cut on it. dr. hicks wanted to take it off for fifty dollars. i told him he'd let it stay on for nothin'. i never was sick in my life till a year ago. i used to weigh two hundred ten pounds; now i weigh one hundred forty. i can lap up enough skin on my legs to go 'round 'em twice. "since i was sick a year ago. i haven't been able to get 'round any. i never been well since. the first sunday in january this year, i got worse settin' in the church. i can't hardly get 'round enough to wait on myself. but with what i do and the neighbors' help, i gets along somehow. present condition "if it weren't for the mercy of the people through here. i would suffer for a drink of water. somebody ran in on old lady chairs and killed her for her money. but they didn't get it, and we know who it was too. somebody born and raised right here 'mongst us. since then i have been 'fraid to stay at home even. "i had a fine five-room house and while i was down sick, my daughter sold it and i didn't get but twenty-nine dollars out of it. she got the money, but i never seed it. i jus' lives here in these rags and this dirt and these old broken-down pieces of furniture. i've got fine furniture that she keeps in her house. "i get some help from the welfare. they give me eight dollars. they give me commodities too. they give me six at first, and they increased it. my case worker said she would try to git me some more. god knows i need it. i have to pay for everything i get. have to pay a boy to go get water for me. there's people that gits more 'n they need and have plenty time to go fishin' but don't have no time to work. you see those boys there goin' fishin'; but that's not their fault. one of the merchants in town had them cut off from work because they didn't trade with him. "you gets 'round lots, son, don't you? well; if you see anybody that has some old shoes they don't want, git 'em to give 'em to me. i don't care whether they are men's shoes or women's shoes. men's shoes are more comfortable. i wear number sevens. i don't know what last. can't you tell? (i suppose that her shoes would be seven e--ed.) i can't live off eight dollar. i have to eat, git help with my washing, pay a child to go for my water, 'n everything. i got these dresses give to me. they too small, and i got 'em laid out to be let out. "you just come in any time; i can't talk to you like i would a woman; but i guess you can understand me." interviewer's comment sallie crane lives near the highway between sweet home and wrightsville. wrightsville post office, lucinda hays' box. mclain birch, wolfe street, little rock, knows the way to her house. her age is not less than ninety, because she hoed cotton and plowed before the war. if anything, it is more than the ninety which she claims. those who know her well say she must be at least ninety-five. she has a good memory although she complains of her health. she seems to be pretty well dependent on herself and the welfare and is asking for old clothes and shoes as you will note by the story. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: isaac crawford brinkley, ark. age: "i was born the first year of the civil war. i was born and raised and married in holmes county, mississippi. my parents was named harriett and james crawford. they belong to a widow woman, miss sallie crawford. she had a girl named bettie and three sons named sam, mack, gus. mack and gus was heavy drinkers. moster sam would drink but he wasn't so bad. they wasn't mean to the negroes on the place. they had eight or nine families scattered around over their land. "i farmed till i was eighteen then they made me foreman over the hands on the place i stayed till after i married. "i know sam was in the war and come home cripple. he was in the war five years. he couldn't get home from the war. i drove his hack and toted him to it. i toted him in the house. he said he never rode in the war; he always had to walk and tote his baggage. his feet got frost bit and raw. they never got well. he lived. they lived close to goodman, mississippi. "i heard my mother say she was mixed with creole indian. she was some french. my father was pure african. now what am i? "ole mistress wasn't mean to none of us. she wrung my ears and talked to me. i minded her pretty good. "the children set on the steps to eat and about under the trees. some folks kept their children looking good. some let em go. they fed em--set a big pot and dip em out greens. give em a cup of milk. we all had plenty coarse victuals. we all had to work. it done you no good to be fraid er sweat in them days. "i didn't know bout freedom and i didn't care bout it. they didn't give no land nor no mules away as i ever know'd of. "the ku klux never come on our place. i heard about em all the time. i seen em in the road. they look like hants. "i been farming all my life. i come here to farm. better land and no fence law. "i come to 'ply to the p.w.a. today. that is the very reason you caught me in town today." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mary crosby oak street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "good morning. i don't know anybody 'round here that was born in slavery times 'cept me. i don't know exactly when i was born in georgia but i can remember my mama said her old master, mat fields, sent my father and all the other men folks to arkansas the second year of the war. after the war, i remember there was a colored man named mose come from mississippi to georgia and told the colored folks they could shake money off the trees in mississippi. of course they was just ignorant as cattle and they believed him. i know i thought what a good time i would have. i can remember seeing old master crying cause his colored folks all leaving, but mose emigrated all of us to mississippi. "he kept emigrating folks over there till he like to got killed. the white people give him a stayaway and told him not to come back, but he sure did get some colored folks out of georgia. "i 'member they said the war was to free the niggers. they called it the civil war. i never did know why they called it that. i can't 'member things like i used to. "my mother's old master's granddaughter, miss anne, had a baby that was six months old when i was born and mama said old master come in and tell miss ann, 'i've got a new little nigger for mary lou.' he said he was goin' to give her ten and that i was her first little nigger. when we was both grown mary lou used to write to me once a year and say 'i claim you yet, mary.' "i 'member when garfield was shot. that was the first time i ever heard of gangrene. "yes'm i have worked hard all my life. when i was in mississippi i used to make as much as ten dollars a week washin' and ironin'. but i'm not able to work now. the welfare helps me some." [hw: (copy)] el dorado division folklore subjects (ex-slave) mrs. mildred thompson federal writers' project union county, arkansas [tr: hand dated nov. , ] [tr: ellen crowley] ellen crowley an old negress of jefferson county, known as "old aunt ellen" to both white and colored people. she was quite a character; a slave during civil war and lived in mississippi. she later married and moved to arkansas. aunt ellen was much feared and also respected by the colored race owing to the fact that she could foretell the future and cast a spell on those she didn't like. this unusual talent "come about" while on a white plantation as a nurse. she foretold of a great sorrow that would fall on her white folks and in the year two children passed away. one day soon after she was being teased by a small negro boy to whom she promptly put the 'curse' on and in later years he was subject to "fits." she said she was "purty nigh" when asked her age, always slept in the nude, and on arising she would say: "i didn't sleep well last night, the debil sit at my feet and worried my soul" or vice versa "i had a good rest the lord sit at my head and brought me peace." she was immaculate about her person and clothes and always wore a red bandana around her head. her mania was to clean the yard. when asked about her marriage she would say: "i been married seven times" but jones, brown and crowley were the only husbands she could remember by name. she said the other "four no count negroes wasn't worth remembering." she was ever faithful to those she worked for, and was known to walk ten and twelve miles to see her white folks with whom she had work. would come in and say: "howdy, i'se come to stay awhile. i'll clean the yard for my victuals and i can sleep on the floor." she would go on her way in a few days leaving behind a clean yard and pleasant memories of a faithful servant. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: richard crump gaines street, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: father takes a "deadening"] "i was born right here in aberdeen, mississippi about five miles from the town on the east side of the tom bigbee river in monroe county, mississippi. "my father's name was richard crump. my mother was named emily crump. my grandmother on my father's side was named susan crump. my mother came from middleton, tennessee. but i don't know nothing about any of her people. my father said he come from south carolina when he was a boy eight or ten years old. that was way before i was born. they brought him to mississippi from south carolina. "my father's master was old man johnnie crump. my mistress was named nina crump. that was johnnie crump's wife. my mars had four boys to my remembrance. one was named wess, one was named rufe, one was named joe, and one was named johnnie. he had a girl named annie and one named lulu. "my mother was the mother of thirteen children. i am the onliest one living, that i know of. the way they gwine with us now, i ain't goin' a be here long. just got four dollars to pay rent and bills and git somethin' to eat for a month. you don't git nothin' much when you git the commodities--no grease to cook with. "we never had no trouble much when i was coming along. my mars was a pretty good old man. he didn't allow no overseer to whip his slaves. the overseer couldn't whip my old mother anyhow because she was a kind of bully and she would git back in a corner with a hoe and dare him in. and he wouldn't go in neither. "my grandmother had three or four sons. one was name nels crump, another was named miles and another was named henry and another jim. she had two or three more but i can't think of them. they died before i was old enough to know anything. then she had two or three daughters. one was named lottie. she had another one but i can't think of her name. i was so little. all of them are dead now. all of my people are dead but me. they are trying to find a sister of mine, but i ain't found her yet. she oughter be down here by forrest city somewheres. but there ain't nobody here that i know about but me. and the way they're carryin' them now i ain't goin' to be here long. all of them people you hear me talk about, they're supposed to be dead. "i was born in . at least the old man told me that. i mean my father of course. the first thing i knowed anything about was picking cotton. i was a little bitty old fellow with a little sack hangin' at my side. i was pickin' beside my mother. they would grab us sometimes when we didn't pick right. shake us and pull our ears. "i didn't know anything about sellin' and buying. i never was sold. "the next thing i remember was being told i was free. my daddy said old mars told them they were free. i didn't hear him tell it myself. they come 'round on a monday morning and told papa and the rest that they were free as he was and that they could go if they wanted to or they could stay, 'cause they were free as he was and didn't have no master no more, didn't have no one to domineer over them no more. "right after freedom, my folks worked on old man jim burdyne's farm. that is the first place i remember after freedom. father taken a little deadening. you don't know what a deadening is? that's a lease. he cleaned up some land. we boys were just gettin' so we could pick up brush and tops of trees--and burn it, and one thing and another. two years after the war was over, i got big enough to plow. i was plowing when i was nine years old. we had three boys and four girls older than me. the balance of them was born after freedom. we made crops on shares for three years after freedom, and then we commenced to rent. shares were one-third of the cotton and one-fourth of the corn. they didn't pay everything they promised. they taken a lot of it away from us. they said figures didn't lie. you know how that was. you dassent dispute a man's word then. sometimes a man would get mad and beat up his overseer and run him away. but my daddy wouldn't do it. he said, 'well, if i owe anything i'll pay it. i got a large family to take care of.' "i never got a chance to go to school any. there was too much work to do. i married when i was twenty-one. i would go off and stay a month or two and come back. never left home permanent for a long while. stayed 'round home till i was forty years old. i come to arkansas in . i made a living by farming at first. "i didn't shoot no craps. i belong to the church. i have belonged to the church about forty years or more. i did play cords and shoot craps and things like that for years before i got religion. "i come to little rock in and been here ever since. i worked 'round here in town first one thing and then another. worked at the railroad and on like that. "we used to vote right smart in mississippi. had a little trouble sometimes but it would soon die down. i haven't voted since i been here. do no good nohow. can't vote in none of these primary elections. vote for the president. and that won't do no good. they can throw your ballot out if they want to. "i believe in the right thing. i wouldn't believe in anything else. i try to be loyal to the state and the city. but colored folks don't have much show. work for a man four or five years and go back to him and he don't know nothin' about you. they soon forget you and a white man's word goes far. "i was able to work as late as , but i ain't been no 'count since to do much work. i get a pension for old age from the welfare and commodities and i depend on that for a living. whatever they want to give me, i'll take it and make out with it. if there's any chance for me to git a slave's pension, i wish they would send it to me. for i need it awful bad. they done cut me way down now. i got heart trouble and high blood pressure but i don't give up. "my mother sure used to make good ash cake. when she made it for my daddy, she would put a piece of paper on it on top and another on the bottom. that would keep it clean. she made it extra good. when he would git through, she would give us the rest. sometimes, she wouldn't put the paper on it because she would be mad. he would ask, 'no paper today?' she would say, 'no.' and he wouldn't say nothin' more. "there is some of the meanest white people in the united states in mississippi up there on the yellow dog river. that's where the devil makes meanness. "there's some pretty mean colored folks too. there is some of them right here in little rock. them boys from dunbar give me a lot of trouble. they ride by on their bicycles and holler at us. if we say anything to them, they say, 'shut up, old gray head.' sometimes they say worse. i used to live by brother love. christmas the boys threw at the house and gave me sass when i spoke to them. so i got out of that settlement. here it is quiet because it is among the white folks." interviewer: mrs. carol graham, el dorado division person interviewed: zenia culp age: over [jan ] "yas'm, my name is zenia, zenia culp 'tis now since i married. my old master's name was billy newton. him and three more brothers come here and settled in this county years ago and master billy settled this farm. i was born and raised here and ain't never lived nowheres else. i used to be nurse girl and lived up at the big house. you know up there where mr. john dunbar's widow lives now. and the family burying groun' is jus' a little south of the house where you sees them trees and tomb stones out in the middle of the field. "master billy's folks was so good to me and i sure thought a heap of young master billy. believe i told you i was the nurse girl. well, young master billy was my special care. and he was a live one too. i sure had a time keepin' up wid that young rascal. i would get him ready for bed every night. in summer time he went barefoot like all little chaps does and course i would wash his foots before i put him to bed. that little fellow would be so sleepy sometime that he would say: 'don't wash em, zenia, jes' wet em.' oh, he was a sight, young master billy was. "does you know miss pearl? she live there in el dorado. she is young master's widow. miss pearl comes out to see me sometime and we talks lots bout young master billy. "yas'm, i'se always lived here where i was born. never moved way from de old plantation. course things is changed lots since the days when old master billy was livin'. when he went off to the war he took most of the men black folks and the womens stayed home to take care of mistress and the chillun. "my husban' been dead a long, long time and i live here wid my son. his wife is gone from home dis evenin'. so i thought i'd come out and pick off some peanuts jes' to git out in the sunshine awhile. that's my son out there makin' sorghum. my daughter-in-law is so good to me. she treats me like i was a baby. "you asks me to tell you something bout slave days, and how we done our work then. well, as i tell you, my job was nurse girl and all i had to do was to keep up wid young master billy and that wasn't no work tall, that was just fun. but while i'd be followin' roun' after him i'd see how the others would be doin' things. "when they gathered sweet potatoes they would dig a pit and line it with straw and put the tatoes in it then cover them with straw and build a coop over it. this would keep the potatoes from rotting. the irish potatoes they would spread out in the sand under the house and the onions they would hand up in the fence to keep them from rotting. "in old master newton's day they didn' have ice boxes and they would put the milk and butter and eggs in buckets and let em down in the well to keep em cool. "master's niggers lived in log houses down at de quarters but they was fed out of the big house. i members they had a long table to eat off and kept hit scoured so nice and clean with sand and ashes and they scoured the floors like that too and it made em so purty and white. they made their mops cut of shucks. i always eat in the nursery with young master billy. "they had big old fireplaces in master's house and i never seen a stove till after the war. "i member bein' down at the quarters one time and one of the women had the sideache and they put poultices on her made out of shucks and hot ashes and that sho'ly did ease the pain. "the pickaninnies had a time playin'. seein' these peanuts minds me that they used to bust the ends and put them on their ears for ear rings. course master billy had to try it too, then let out a howl cause they pinched. "lan', but them was good old days when master billy was alive." texarkana district folklore subjects name of interviewer: mrs. w.m. ball subject: anecdotes story: information given by: albert cummins place of residence: laurel st., texarkana, ark. occupation: none (ex-slave) age: [tr: personal information moved from bottom of second page.] an humble cottage, sheltered by four magnificent oak trees, houses an interesting old negro, albert cummins. texarkana people, old and young, reverence this character, and obtain from him much valuable information concerning the early life of this country. this ex-slave was freed when he was fifteen years old, but continued to live in the same family until he was a man. he says: "all de training an' advice i evah had come frum mah mistress. she wuz a beautiful christian; if i am anybody, i owe it to her. i nevah went to school a day in mah life; whut i know i absorbed frum de white folks! mah religion is de golden rule. it will take any man to heaben who follows its teachings. "mah mahster wuz kilt in de battle fought at poison springs, near camden. we got separated in de skirmish an' i nevah did see him again. libin' at that time wuz hard because dere wuz no way to communicate, only to sen' messages by horseback riders. it wuz months befo' i really knew dat mah mahster had been kilt, and where. "mr. autrey bought mah mother when i wuz an infant, and gave us de protection an' care dat all good slave owners bestowed on their slaves. i worshipped dis man, dere has nevah been anudder like him. i sees him often in mah dreams now, an' he allus appears without food an' raiment, jus' as de south wuz left after de war." "i came heah when texarkana wuz only three years old, jus' a little kindly village, where we all knew each udder. due to de location an' de comin' ob railroads, de town advanced rapidly. not until it wuz too late did de citizens realize whut a drawback it is to be on de line between two states. dis being texarkana's fate, she has had a hard struggle overcoming dis handicap for sixty-three years. still dat state line divides de two cities like de "mason and dixon line" divides the north an' south. "living on the arkansas side of this city, albert cummins is naturally very partial to his side. "the arkansas side is more civilized", according to his version. "too easy fo' de texas folks to commit a crime an' step across to arkansas to escape arrest an' nevah be heard ob again." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: betty curlett, hazen, arkansas age: [-- -- ] "i can tell you all about my kin folks. my mama's owners was mars john moore and miss molly moore. they come from virginia and brought grandma mahaley and grandpa tom. "mr. daniel johnson went to north carolina and bought alice and john and their family. when he brought them to mississippi, they come in a hack. it was snowing and cold. it took em so long to came they take turns walkin'. grandma was walking long wid the hack and somewhere she cut through and climbed over a railin' fence. she lost her baby outer her quilts and went on a mile fore she knowed bout it. she say, 'lawd, master daniel, if i ain't lost my baby.' they stopped the hack and she went back to see where her baby could be. she knowed where she got out the hack and she knowed she had the baby then. fore she got to the fence she clum over, she seed her baby on the snow. she said the sun was warm and he was well wrop up. that all what saved em. she shuck him round till she woke him up. she was so scared he be froze. when he let out cryin' she knowed he be all right. she put him in the foot of the hack mong jugs of hot water what they had to keep em warm. she say he never had a cold from it. well, that was john, my papa, what she lost in de snow. grandma used to set and tell us that and way i can member it was my own papa she be talkin' bout. "papa was raised up by the johnson family and mama by the moore family. den alice moore had em marry her and john johnson. their plantations joined, and joined judge reid's (or reed's) place. we all had a big time on them three farms. they was good to their niggers but mr. ---- they said whooped his niggers awful heep. "ed amick was mars daniel johnson's overseer. he told him he wanted his slaves treated mighty good and they was good. yes ma'am, they was good to em!! we had a plenty to eat. every saturday they killed a lamb, a goat or a yearlin' and divided up mong his folks and the niggers. us childen would kill a peafowl and they let us eat em. white folks didn't eat em. they was tender seem like round the head. "miss evaline was mars daniel's sister. she was a old maid. miss evaline, aunt selie old nigger woman and brittain old nigger man done nuthin' but raise chickens, geese, guineas, ducks, pigeons. they had a few turkeys and peafowls all the time. when they stewed chicken it was stewed in a big black pot they kept to cook fowls in. they fry chicken in a pot er grease then turn drap sweet biscuit bread in. they put eggs in it, too. they call it marble cakes. then they pour sweet milk in the bottom grease and make good gravy. when they rendered up lard they always made marble cakes. they cut marble cakes all kind er shapes and twisted em round like knots and rings. they take em up in big pans big as dish pans. "we had plenty to eat and plenty flannel and cotton check dresses. regular women done our quiltin' and made our dresses. she made our dresses plain waist, full gathered skirt and buttons down the backs on our waist. "i was named for miss betty johnson. mars daniel bought me books. i slip and tear abc's outen every book he buy for me. miss betty say a-b-c-d; i say after her. she say, 'betty, you ain't lookin' on the book.' i say, 'miss betty, i hear miss cornelia's baby woke up. agin miss betty--she was my young mistress--abc's me sayin' em long wid her. i say, 'miss betty, i smell ginger bread, can't i go git a piece?' she say, 'betty--i'm so sorry i name you fer me. i wish i named mary.' i say, 'then you name mary betty an' give me nother name.' miss betty git me down agin to sayin' the abc's, i be lookin' off. she say, 'betty, you goin' to be a idiot.' i say, 'that what i wanter be--zactly what i wanter be.' i didn't know what a idiot was then. "i took up crocheting. miss cornelia cut me some quilt pieces. she say 'betty that's her talent' bout me. miss betty say, 'if she goin' to be mine i want her to be smart.' miss mary lernt my sister mary fast. "when i was bout fifteen i was goiner to the nigger school. i wanted to go to the white school wid miss mag. miss betty say, 'betty, that white woman would whoop you every day.' i take my dinner in a bucket and go on wid mary. i'd leave fore the teacher have time to have my lesson and git in late. the teacher said, 'betty, miss cornelia and miss betty say they want you to be smart and you up an' run off and come in late, and do all sorts er ways. ain't you shamed?' "they had a big entertainment. miss betty learned me a piece to say--poetry. i could lern it from sayin' it over wid miss betty. they bought me and mary our fust calico dresses. i lack to walked myself to death. i was so proud. it had two ruffles on the bottom of the skirt and a shash tied at the waist behind. we had red hats wid streamers hanging down the back. the dresses was red and black small checks. mary lernt her piece at school. we had singing and speeches and a big dinner at the school closin'. "mr. john moore went to war and was killed at the beginnin' of the first battle soon as he got there. they had a sayin, 'you won't last as long as john moore when he went to war.' "mr. criss moore was kickin' a nigger boy. old miss say, 'criss, quit kickin' him, you hurt him.' he say, 'i ain't hurtin' him, i'm playin' wid him!' white boys played wid nigger boys when they come round the house. glad to meet up to get to play. "mr. criss moore, jr. (john moore's grandson) is a doctor way up north and so is mr. daniel johnson, jr. one of em in washington i think. i could ask miss betty carter when i go back to mississippi. "when i left mississippi mr. criss hated to see me go. mr. johnson say, 'i wanted all our niggers buried on our place.' he say to jim, my husband, 'now when she die you let me know and i'll help bring her back and bury her in the old graveyard.' when my papa died mr. johnson had the hearse come out and get him and take him in it to the graveyard. he was buried by mama and nearly all the johnson, moore, and reed (or reid) niggers buried there. my husband is buried here (hazen, arkansas) but he was a curlett. "papa set out apple trees on the old johnson place, still bearin' apples. the old farm place is forty-eight miles from tupelo and three miles from houlka, mississippi. "my mother had eighteen children and i had sixteen but all mine dead now but three. mama's ma and grandpapa haley had twenty-two children. yes ma'am, they sho did have plenty to eat. mars daniel say to his wife, 'cornelia, feed my niggers.' that bout last he said when he went off to war. mars green, daniel, and jimmie three brothers. three johnson brothers buried their gold money in stone jars and iron cookin' pots fore they left and went to war. "when the fightin' stopped, people was so glad they rung and rung the farm bells and blowed horns--big old cow horns. when mars daniel come home he went to my papa's house and says, 'john, you free.' he says, 'i been free as i wanter be whah i is.' he went on to my grandpa's house and says, 'toby, you are free!' he raised up and says, 'you brought me here frum africa and north carolina and i goiner stay wid you long as ever i get sompin to eat. you gotter look after me!' mars daniel say, 'well, i ain't runnin' nobody off my place long as they behave.' purtnigh every nigger sot tight till he died of the old sets. mars daniel say to grandpa, 'toby, you ain't my nigger.' grandpa raise up an' say, 'i is, too.' "they had to work but they had plenty that made em content. we had good times. on moonlight nights somebody ask mars daniel if they could have a cotton pile, then they go tell mars moore and judge reid (or reed). they come, when the moon peep up they start pickin'. pick out four or five bales. then mars daniel say you come to the house. ring the bell. then we have a big supper--pot of chicken, stew and sweet potatoes roasted. have a wash pot full of molasses candy to pull and all the goobers we could eat. "then we had three banjos. the musicians was william word, uncle dan porter, and miles porter. did we dance? square dance. then if somebody been wantin' to marry they step over the broom and it be nounced they married. you can't get nobody--colored folks i mean--to step over a broom; they say it bad luck. if it fall and they step over they step back. they say if somebody sweep under your feet you won't marry that year. folks didn't visit round much. they had some place to go they went but they had to work. they work together and done mighty little--idle vistin'. folks took the knitting long visting lest it be sunday. "white women wouldn't nurse their own babies cause it would make their breast fall. they would bring a healthy woman and a clean woman up to the house. they had a house close by. she would nurse her baby and the white baby, too. they would feed her everything she wanted. she didn't have to work cause the milk would be hot to give the babies. dannie and my brother bradford, and mary my sister and miss maggie nursed my mama. rich women didn't nurse their babies, never did, cause it would cause their breast to be flat. "my papa was the last slave to die. mama died twelve months fore he died. i was born after freedom but times changed mighty little mama and papa said. grandma learned me to cut doll dresses and miss cornelia learned me to sew and learned aunt joe (a ex-slave negro here in town) to play miss betty's piano. she was their house girl. yes ma'am, when i was small girl she was bout grown. aunt joe is a fine cook. miss cornelia learnt her how. i could learned to played too but i didn't want to. i wanted to knit and crochet and sew. miss cornelia said that was my talent. i made wrist warmers and lace. sister mary would spin. she spun yarn and cotton thread. they made feather beds. picked the geese and sheared the sheep. i got my big feather bed now. "when i married, miss betty made my weddin' dress. we had a preacher marry us at my home. my mama give me to miss betty and they raised me. i was the weaslingest one of her children. she give me to miss betty. now she wants me to come back. i think i go back christmas and stay. miss betty is old and feeble now. i got three children living here in hazen now. all i got left. "the men folks did all go off, white and black, and vote. i don't know how they voted. now, honey, you know i don't know nothing bout voting. "times is so changed. conditions so changed that i don't know if the young generation is improved much. they learn better but it don't do em no more good. it seems like it is the management that counts. that is the reason my grandpa didn't want to leave mars daniel johnson's. he was a good manager and miss betty is a good manager. we don't know how to manage and ain't got much to manage wid. that the way it looks to me. some folks is luckier than others." little rock district folklore subjects name of interviewer: irene robertson [hw: yankees stole food] subject: history--slavery days subject: musical instrument story:--information [tr: additional topic moved from subsequent page.] [tr: hand dated - - ] this information given by: betty curlett place of residence: hazen, arkansas occupation: washwoman age: [tr: personal information moved from bottom of first page.] "my mother said during the war and in slavery times they ate out of wooden spoons and bowls they made." they cooked a washpot full of peas for a meal or two and roasted potatoes around the pot in the ashes. they always cooked hams and greens of all kinds in the big iron pots for there were so many of them to eat and in slavery times the cook, cooked for her family in with what she cooked for the master. they made banks of dirt, sand, leaves and plank and never washed the sweet potatoes till they went to cook them. they had rows of banks in the garden or out behind some of the houses, and had potatoes like that all winter and in the spring to bed. they saved the ashes and put them in a barrel and poured water over them and saved the drip--lye--and made soap or corn hominy--made big pots of soap and cooked pots full of lye hominy. they carried corn to the mill and had it ground into meal and flour made like that too. the women spun, wove, and knitted. the men would hunt between crop times. if the slaves were caught stealing, the patty row would catch him and his master whip him. my grandpas and grandmas and mamma's master was john moore. mr. john said before his daughter and wife should go to the washtub he would wade blood saddle-skirt deep. he set out to war. went to vicksburg and was killed. his wifes name was mrs. elisabeth and his daughters name was miss inez. they say thats where the saying "he won't last longer than john moore did when he went to war" sprang up but i don't know about that part of it for sure. grandma becky said when the yankees came to mrs. moores house and to judge rieds place they demanded money but they told them they didn't have none. they stole and wasted all the food clothes, beds. just tore up what they didn't carry with them and burned it in a pile. they took two legs of the chickens and tore them apart and threw them down on the ground, leaving piles of them to waste. song her mother and grandmother sang: old cow died in the fork of the branch baby, ba, ba. dock held the light, kimbo skinned it. ba, ba, ba. old cow lived no more on the ranch and frank no more from branch, kinba a pair of shoes, he sewed from the old cows hide he had tanned. baby, ba, ba. musical instrument "the only musical instrument we had was a banjo. some made their banjos. take a bucket or pan a long strip of wood. horse hairs twisted made the base string. horsehairs twisted made the second string. horse hair twisted made the fourth and the fifth string was the fine one, it was not twisted at all but drawn tight. they were all bees waxed." circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] . name and address of informant--j.h. curry, washington, arkansas . date and time of interview-- . place of interview--washington, arkansas . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant-- . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you-- . description of room, house, surroundings, etc. personal history of informant . ancestry--father, washington curry; mother, eliza douglass; grandmother; malinda evans; grandfather, mike evans. . place and date of birth--born in haywood county, tennessee in . . family-- . places lived in, with dates--tennessee until . from until now, in arkansas. . education, with dates--he took a four-years' course at haywood after the war. . occupations and accomplishments, with dates--minister . special skills and interest--church work. . community and religious activities--preacher . description of informant-- . other points gained in interview--his father was a slave and he tells lots of slavery. [hw: master educates slave] text of interview (unedited) "i was born in , september first. i got that off the bible. my father, he belonged to a doctor and the doctor, he was a kind of a wait man to him. and the doctor learnt him how to read and write. right after the war, he was a teacher. he was ready to be a teacher before most other people because he learnt to read and write in slavery. there were so many folks that came to see the doctor and wanted to leave numbers and addresses that he had to have some one to 'tend to that and he taught my father to read and write so that he could do it. "i was born in tennessee, in haywood county. my father was born in north carolina, so they tell me. he was brought to tennessee. he was a slave and my mother was a slave. his name was washington curry and my mother's name was eliza douglass before she married. her master was named john douglass and my father's master was named t.a. curry, tom curry some folks called him. "i don't know just how many slaves tom curry owned. lemme see. there was my daddy, his four brothers, his five sisters. my father's father had ten children, and my father had the same number--five boys and six girls. ten of us lived for forty years. my mother had ten living children when she died in . since ' , three girls died. my father died in . "my father's master had around a hundred slaves. douglass was a richer man than my father's master. i suspect he had two hundred slaves. he was my mother's father as well as her master. i know him. he used to come to our house and he would give mama anything she wanted. he liked her. she was his daughter. "my father's father--i can't remember what his name was. i know his mother was candace. i never did see his father but i saw my grandma. he was dead before i was born. my mother's mother was named malinda evans. only one thing i remember that was remarkable about her. her husband was a free man named mike evans. he come from up north and married her in slave time and he bought her. he was a fine carpenter. they used to hire him out to build houses. he was a contractor in slave time. i remember him well. "after the war, he used to have white men getting training for the carpenter's training under him. he was grandma evans' husband. he wasn't my father's father. my father was born before grandma evans was freed. all the rest of them were born afterward. they sold her to him but the children all belonged to the douglasses. he probably paid for her on time and they kept the children that was born. "the doctor was good to my father. way after freedom, he was our family doctor. he was at my father's bedside when father died. he's dead now. "my father was a carpenter and a wait man (waiter). he was a finished carpenter. he used to make everything 'round the house. sometimes he went off and worked and would bring the money back to his master, and his master would give him some for himself. "my mother worked 'round the house. she was a servant. i don't know that she ever did the work in the field. my daddy just come home every saturday night. my father and mother always belonged to different masters in slavery time. the douglasses and the currys were five or six miles apart. my father would walk that distance on saturday night and stay there all day sunday and git up before day in the morning monday so that he would be back home monday morning in time for his work. i remember myself when we moved away. that's when my memory first starts. "i could see that old white woman come out begging and saying, 'uncle washington, please don't carry aunt lize away.' but we went on away. when we got where we was going, my mother made a pallet on the floor that night, and the three children slept on the pallet on the floor. nothing to eat--not a bite. i went to bed hungry, and you know how it is when you go to bed hungry, you can't sleep. i jerk a little nod, and then i'd be awake again with the gnawing in my stomach. one time i woke up, and there was a big light in the house, and father was working at the table, and mama reached over and said, 'stick your head back under the cover again, you little rascal you.' i won't say what i saw. but i'll say this much. we had the finest breakfast the next morning that i ever ate in all my life. "i used to hear my people talk about pateroles but i don't reckon i can recall now what they said. there is a man in washington named bob sanders. he knows everything about slavery, and politics too. he used to be a regular politician. he is about ninety years old. they came there and got him about two year ago and paid him ten dollars a day and his fare. man came up and got him and carried him to the capitol in his car. they were writing up something about arkansas history. "i have been married fifty-seven years. i married in . my wife was a lemons. i married on february tenth in tennessee at stanton. nancy lemons. "i went to public school a little after the war. my wife and i both went to haywood after we were married. after we married and had children, we went. i took a four-years' course there when it was a fine institution. it's gone down now. "i was the oldest boy. we had two mules. we farmed on the halves. we made fifteen bales of cotton a year. never did make less than ten or twelve. "i have been in the ministry fifty-three years. i was transferred to arkansas in in the conference which met at humboldt. my first work here was in searcy in . "i think the question of negro suffrage will work itself out. as we get further away from the civil war and the reconstruction, it will be less and less opposition to the negro's voting. you can see a lot of signs of that now. "i don't know about the young people. they are gone wild. i don't know what to say about them. "i think where men are able to work i think it is best to give them work. a man that is able to work ought to be given work by the government if he can't get it any other way." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: lyttleton dandridge w. tenth street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was told i was born in ' in east carroll parish, louisiana. "oh, i can remember before the war broke out. yes ma'am, i had good owners. old master and mistress was named james railey and matilda railey. i called her mistress. "i remember one time my father carried me to natchez on christmas to spend with his people. his parents were servants on a plantation near natchez. "i remember two shows i saw. they was the daniel rice shows. they was animal shows but they had em on a boat, kind of a flatboat. we didn't have trains and things like that--traveled on the big waters. "i remember when we refugeed to texas in ' . they raised tobacco there. "we got free in ' and the governor or somebody ordered all the owners to take all the folks back that wanted to go. "all the young folks, they had them in tyler, texas makin' bullets. my father had the care of about fifty youngsters makin' bullets. "old master had two plantations in louisiana and three in mississippi. he was a large slaveholder. "when we got back to louisiana from texas, ever'thing was the same except where the levees had been cut and overflowed the land. "old master died before the war broke out and my mistress died in ' . "my father died in texas. that left my mother a widow. she spent about two weeks at the old home place in louisiana. she pulled up then and went to natchez to my father's people. she made two crops with my young master. his name was otie railey. help her? well, i was comin'. i had one brother and one sister. "in ' she worked with a colored man on the shares. "i started to school in ' . a colored man come in there and established a private school. i went in ' , ' , and ' and then i didn't go any more till ' and ' . i got along pretty well in it. i know mine from the other fellows. i can write and any common business i can take care of. "we had two or three men run off and joined the yankees. one got drowned fore he got there and the other two come back after freedom. "my mother worked for wages after freedom. she got three bales of cotton for her services and mine and she boarded herself. "in ' she rented. i still stayed with her. she lived with me all her life and died with me. "i come over to arkansas the twenty-third day of december in . worked for long-bell lumber company till they went down. then i just jobbed around. i can still work a little but not like i used to. "i used to vote republican when i was interested in politics but i have no interest in it now. "the younger generation is faster now than they was in my time. they was more constrictions on the young people. when i was young i had a certain hour to come in at night. eight o'clock was my hour--not later than that. i think the fault must be in the times but if the parents started in time they could control them. "i remember one time a cow got after my father and he ran, but she caught up with him. he fell down and she booed him in the back. my grandfather come up with a axe and hit her in the head. she just shook her head and went off. "outside of my people, the best friend i ever met up with was a white man." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: ella daniels w. eleventh street, little rock, arkansas age: , or over [hw: food rationed] "i was born in north carolina, in halifax county, in the country near scotland neck. my mother's name was nellie doggett. her name was hale before she married. my father's name was tom doggett. i never did see any of my grand people. "my mother's master was named lewis hale. he was a farmer. he was fairly good himself but the overseers wasn't. they have mistreated my mother. all i know is what i heard, of course; i wasn't old enough to see for myself. my mother was a field hand. she worked on the farm. my father did the same thing. "my father and mother belonged to different masters. i forgot now who my father said he belonged to. my father didn't live on the same plantation with my mother. he just came and visited her from time to time. food "sometimes they didn't have any food to eat. the old missis sometimes saw that my mother's children were fed. my mother's master was pretty good to her and her children, but my father's master was not. food was issued every week. they give molasses, meal, a little flour, a little rice and along like that. house "my mother and father lived in old weatherboard houses. i don't know whether all of the slaves lived in weatherboarded houses or not. but i nursed the children and had to go from one house to the other and i know several of them lived in weatherboarded houses. most of the houses had two rooms. the food that was kept by the slaves, that is the rations given them, was kept in the kitchen part of the house. breeding "i don't know of any cases where slaves were compelled to breed but i have heard of them. i don't know the names of the people. just remember hearing talk about them. freedom comes "my mother and father never found out they were free till april . some of them were freed before then. i don't know how they found it out, but i heard them talking about it. right after freedom "right after freedom, my father and mother worked right on in the same place just like they always did. i reckon they paid them, i don't know. they did what they wanted to. patrollers, ku klux, and reconstruction "i remember the ku klux. they used to come and whip the niggers that didn't have a pass. i think them was pateroles though. there was some people too who used to steal slaves if they found them away from home, and then they would sell them. i don't know what they called them. i just remember the ku klux and the pateroles. "the ku klux were the ones that whipped the niggers that they caught out without a pass. i don't remember any ku klux whipping niggers after the war because they were in politics. voters and officeholders "i have heard of negroes voting and holding office after the war. i wasn't acquainted with any of them except a man named kane gibbs and another named cicero barnes. i heard the old people talking about them. i don't know what offices they held. they lived in another county somewhere. life since emancipation "i went from north carolina to louisiana, and from louisiana here. they had it that you could shake trees out in louisiana and the money would fall off. they had some good land out there too. one acre would make all you wanted--corn or anything else. that was a rich land. but i don't know--i don't care what you had or what you owned when you left there, you had to leave it there. never would give you no direct settlement or pay you anything; that is, pay you anything definite. just gave you something from time to time. whatever you had you had to leave it there. occupational experiences "i used to work in the field when i was able. that was when i was in the country. when i came to the city i usually did washing and ironing. now i can't do anything. all the people i used to work for is dead. there was one woman in particular. she was a good woman, too. i don't have any help at all now, except my son. he has a family of his own--wife and seven children. right now, he is cut off and ain't making nothing for himself nor nobody else. but i thank god for what i have because things could be much worse." interviewer's comment here again, there is a confusion of patrollers with ku klux. it seems to point to a use of the word ku klux before the war. of course, it is clear that the ku klux klan operated after the war. ella daniels' age is given as seventy-four on her insurance policy, and i have placed that age on the first page of this story in the heading. but three children were born after her and before the close of the war. she says they were born two years apart. allowing that the youngest was born, in , the one next to her would have been born in , and she would have been born in . this seems likely too because she speaks of nursing the children and going from house to house (page two) and must have been quite a child to have been able to do that. born in , she would have been seven years old in and would have been able to have been doing such nursing as would have been required of her for two years probably. so it appears to me that her age is eighty, but i have recorded in the heading the same age decided upon for insurance. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mary allen darrow, forrest city, arkansas age: "i was born at monticello, arkansas at the last of the cibil (civil) war. my parents' names was richard and ann allen. they had thirteen children. mother was a house girl and papa a blacksmith and farmer. "my great-grandma and grandpa was killed in indian nation (alabama) by sam and will allen. they was coming west long 'fo'e the war from one of the carolinas. i disremembers which they told me. great-grandpa was a chief. they was shot and all the children run but they caught my grandma evaline and put her in the wagon and brought her to monticello, arkansas. they fixed her so she couldn't get loose from them. she was a little full-blood indian girl then. they got her fer my great-grandpa a wife. he seen her and thought she was so pretty. "she was wild. she wouldn't eat much else but meat and raw at that. she had a child 'fo'e ever she'd eat bread. they tamed her. grandpa's pa that wanted the indian wife was full-blood african. mama was little lighter than 'gingercake' color. "my indian grandma was mean. i was feard of 'er. she run us down and ketch us and whoop us. she was tall slender woman. she was mean as she could be. she'd cut a cat's head off fer no cause er tall. grandpa was kind. he'd bring me candy back if he went off. i cried after him. i played with his girl. we was about the same size. her name was annie mathis. he was a mathis. he was a blacksmith too at monticello and later he bought a farm three and one-half miles out. i was raised on a farm. papa died there. i washed and done field work all my life. grandma married bob mathis. "our owner was sam and lizzie allen. william allen was his brother. i think sam had eight children. there was a claude allen in monticello and some grandchildren, eva allen and lent allen. eva married robert lawson. i lived at round pond seventeen or eighteen years, then come to forrest city. i been away from them allen's and mathis' and gill's so long and 'bout forgot 'em. they wasn't none too good to nobody--selfish. they'd make trouble, then crap out of it. pack it on anybody. they wasn't none too good to do nothing. some of 'em lazy as ever was white men and women. some of 'em i know wasn't rich--poor as 'jobe's stucky.' i don't know nothing 'bout 'em now. they wasn't good. "i was a baby at freedom and i don't know about that nor the ku klux. grandpa started a blacksmith shop at monticello after freedom. "my pa was a white man. richard allen was mama's husband. "me and my husband gats ten dollars from the old age pension. he is ninety-six years old. he do a little about. i had a stroke and ain't been no 'count since. he can tell you about the cibil war." interviewer's comment i missed her husband twice. it was a long ways out there but i will see him another time. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: alice davis vaugine street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in mississippi. my mistress was jane davis. she raised me. she owned my mother too. "when miss jane's husband died, he willed the niggers to his childun and mandy paine owned me then. when i was one month old they said i was so white mandy paine thought her brother was my father, so she got me and carried me to the meat block and was goin' to cut my head off. when the childun heard, they run and cried, 'mama's goin' to kill harriet's baby.' old mistress, jane davis, heard about it and she come and paid miss jane forty dollars for me and carried me to her home, and i slep right in the bed with her till the war ceasted." "her childun was grown and they used to come by and say, 'ma, why don't you take that nigger out of your bed?' and she'd reach over and pat me and say, 'this the only nigger i got.' "i stayed there two or three years after freedom. i didn't know what free meant. big childun all laugh and say, 'all niggers free, all niggers free.' and i'd say, 'what is free?' i was lookin' for a man to come. "i worked in the house and in the field. i had plenty chances to go to school but i didn't have no sense. "my mother was sold to nigger traders and i never did see her again. i always say i never had no mother, and i never did know who my father was. "i've worked hard since i got to be a women. i never been the mother of but three childun. me and my boy stay together. "i had a happy time when i lived with miss jane, but i been workin' ever since." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: charlie davis north plum, pine bluff, arkansas age: "they said i was born in , the second day of march, in little rock. "i 'member the war. i 'member the bluecoats. i knowed they was fightin' but i didn't know what about. "my old master was killed in the war. i don't know his name, i just heered 'em call him old master. "i know old missis kept lookin' for him all durin' the war and looked for him afterward. as long as i could understand anything she was still lookin'. "far as i know, my parents stayed with old missis after the war. "i 'member my father hired me out when i was a little boy. they treated, me good. "never have done anything 'cept farm work. i'm failin' now. hate to say so but i found out i am. "i never did want to go away from here. i could a went, but i think a fellow can do better where he is raised. i have watched the dumb beasts go off with others and see how they was treated, so i never did crave to go off from home. i have knowed people have went away and they'd bring 'em back dead, and i'd say to myself, 'i wonder how he died?' i've studied it over and i've just made myself satisfied. "i went to school some but i was the biggest help the old folks had and they kept me workin'." interviewer: watt mckinney person interviewed: d. davis r.f.d., six miles north of marvell, arkansas age: uncle d. davis, an ex-slave, years of age lives some miles north of marvell, arkansas with a widowed daughter on a small farm the daughter owns. uncle d himself also owns a nice little farm some distance further up the road and which he rents out each year since he is no longer able to tend the land. this old negro, now old and bent from years of work and crippled from the effects of rheumatism hobbles about with the assistance of a crutch and a cane. his mind however is very clear and his recollection keen. as i sat with him on the porch of his daughter's home he told me the following story: "yes sir, mr. mckinney, i has been in phillips county fer pas forty-five years and i is now pas eighty-five. i wuz a grown en settled man when i fust cum here en hed chillun nigh bout growd. dats how cum me ter com here on er count of one of my boys. dis boy he cum befo i did en hed done made one crop en dat boy fooled me ober here from mississippi. yo know how dese young bucks is, allus driftin er roun en he hed done drifted rite down dere below marvell on de cypress bayou, en war wukin fer mr. fred mayo when he writ me de letter ter cum ober here. i guess dat yo has heard of mr. fred mayo dat owned de big plantation dere close ter turner. well dat is de man whut ay boy wuz wid and atter i cum i jined up wid mr. mayo en stayed wid him fer two years en i wud er ben wid him fer good i rekkin iffen i hadn't wanter buy me er place of my own, kase mr. fred mayo he wuz a nathal good man en treted all he hands fair. "when i cided ter git me er little place of my own, i went en got quainted wid mr. marve carruth kase he hed er great name wid de niggers, en all de niggers in dem days dey went ter mr. carruth fer ter git de advice, en mr. carruth he hoped me ter git de place up de road whut is mine yit. dere neber wuz no white man whut wuz no better dan mr. marve carruth. no sir dat is a fac. "yo see, capn, i wuz borned en raised in de hills of mississippi, in oktibbawa county not so fer frum starkville, en dat wuz a ole country time i hed got grown en de lan hit wuz gittin powful thin, en when i cumed ter dis state en seen how much cotton de folks mekin on de groun, en how rish de lan, i jist went crazy ober dis country en stayed rite here en mobed my fambly rite off. folkses hed cotton piled up all er round dey houses en i cided rite off dat dis war gwine ter be my home den. "my ole marster wuz tom davis en capn dere warnt never no finer man whut ever libed dan marse tom. marse tom wuz lubed by ebery nigger dat he hed, en marse tom sho hed a passel of em. he had bettern two-hundred head en de las one dey crazy bout marse tom davis. he war rather old frum my fust riccolection of im, en he neber libed meny years atter de war. marse tom he owned a grete heap er lan. his lan hit stretch out fer god knows how fer en den too he hed de big mill whut runned wid de water wheel whar dey saw de lumber en grine de meal en de flour. dey neber bought no flour en dem days kase dey raised de wheat on de place, en all de meat en nigh bout ebery thing whut dey hed er need of. marse tom he tuk de best kine er care of his slabe people en he neber blebe in buyin er sellin no niggers. dat he didn't. he neber wud sell er one, en he neber did buy but three. dat is er fac, capn, en one of dem three whut he bought wuz "henry" whut wuz my own pappy, en he buyed henry frum mr. spence kase henry hed done got married ter malindy, whut wuz my mammy. dat is whut my mammy en pappy dey bofe tole me. "marse tom he neber jine de army kase he too old when de war brek out, but marse phil he jined up. marse phil dat war marse tom's son, en de onliest boy dat ole marster en ole mis hed, en dey jist hed one mo chile en dat wuz de girl, miss rachel, en atter de war ober miss rachel she married capn dan travis whut cum from alabama. ole marster he neber laked capn dan er bit, en he jes bucked en rared er bout miss rachel gwine ter git married ter dat capn, but hit neber done him no good ter cut up kase ole mis she sided wid miss rachel, en den too miss rachel she hab er head of her own en she know her pa aint gwine ter stop her. marse tom he didn't lak capn dan kase de capn he er big sport, en mighty wild, en lub he whiskey too well, en den he a gamblin man besides dat, do he sho war a fine lookin gentman. "whilst marse tom he too old ter jine up wid de army, he hired him er man ter fite fer him in his place jes de same, en him en ole mis dey neber want marse phil ter jine up, en sey dey gwine ter hire er man fer ter tek marse phil's place so he won't hatter go, but marse phil he sey he gwine ter do he own fitin, en eben do he ma en pa dey cut up right smart bout marse phil goin ter de war, he up en jine jes de same. marse phil he neber wuz sich a stout, healthy pussen, en he always sorter sikly, en it warnt long fore he tuk down in de camp wid sum kine er bad spell er sikness en died. dat wuz sho tuf on marse tom en de ole mis fer dem ter lose marse phil, kase dey put er heap er sto by dat boy, him bein de onliest son dat dey got, en day so tached ter im. hit mighty nigh broke dem ole peoples up. "no sir, capn, i betcha dat dere warnt airy uther er slabe-owning white man ter be foun dat wuz er finer man, er dat was mo good ter he niggers dan marse tom davis. now jes tek dis, dere wuz "uncle joe" whut wuz my grand-pappy, en he wuz jes bout de same age as marse tom, en dey growed up ter gedder, en dey tole hit dat marse tom's pappy git "uncle joe" when he war jes a boy frum de speckle-lady (speculator) fer er red hankerchief, dats how cheap he git im en, dat rite off he gib im ter marse tom, en atter marse tom git up en growd ter be er man, en he pappy died en lef him all de lan en slabes, en den atter er lot mo years pas, en uncle joe done raise marse tom seben chillun, den marse tom he up en sot uncle joe free, en gib him er home en forty acres, en sum stock kase uncle joe done been good en fathful all dem years, en raise marse tom all dem seben chillun, en one of dem seben wuz my own mammy. "capn, aint yo eber heard tell of de speckle-ladies? (speculators) well, i gwine ter tell yo who dey wuz. dey wuz dem folkses whut dealed in de niggers. dat is whut bought em, en sole em, en dey wud be gwine round thru de country all de time wid a grete gang er peoples bofe men en womens, er tradin, en er buyin, en er sellin. hit wuz jes lak you mite sey dat dey wud do wid er gang er mules. jist befo dese here speckle-ladies wud git ter er town er plantation whar dey gwine ter try ter do sum bizness lak tradin er sich matter, dey stop de crowd long side er creek er pond er water en mek em wash up en clean up good lak, en comb em up rite nice, en mek de wimmens wrap up dey heads wid some nice red cloth so dey all look in good shape ter de man whut dey gwine try ter do de bizness wid. dats zackly de way dey do capn, jes lak curryin en fixin up mules fer ter sell, so dey look bettern dey actually is. "whilst marse tom davis hed oberseers hired ter look atter de farmin of de lan, he hed his own way er doin de bizness, kase he know dat all he niggers is good wukkers, en dat he kin pend on em, so de fust of ebery week he gib each en ebery single man er fambly er task fer ter do dat week, en atter dat task is done den dey fru wuk fer dat week en kin den ten de patches whut he wud gib dem fer ter raise whut dey want on, en whut de slabes raise on dese patches dat he gib em wud be deres whut-sum-eber hit wud be, cotton er taters er what, hit wub be, dey own, en dey cud sell hit en hab de money fer demselves ter buy whut dey want. "marse tom he wud ride out ober de place at least once a week en always on er sattidy mornin, en ginerally he wud pass de word out mongst de folkses fer em all ter cum ter de big house er sattidy atter noon fer er frolic. ebery pussen on de place frum de littlest chile ter de oldest man er woman wud clean dey selves up en put on dey best clo's for ter "go befo de king", dats whut us called it. all wud gather in bak of de big house under de big oak trees en marse tom he wud cum out wid he fiddle under he arm, yo kno marse tom he war a grete fiddler, en sot hisself down in de chere whut uncle joe done fotched fer im, en den he tell uncle joe fer ter go git de barrel er whiskey en he wud gib em all er gill er two so's dey cud all feel rite good, en den marse tom he start dat fiddle playin rite lively en all dem niggers wid dance en hab de bes kin er frolic, en marse tom he git jes es much fun outen de party as de niggers demselves. dats de kine er man whut marse tom wuz. "i tell yo, capn, my marster he sho treated his slabes fair. dey all draw er plenty rations once ebery week en iffen dey run out tween times dey cud always git mo, en marse tom tell em ter git all de meal en flour at de mill eny time dat dey need hit. dats rite, capn, en i sho tells dis fer de truf, en dat is i say dat iffen all de slabe owning white folks lak marse tom davis, den dere wudn't ben no use er freedom fer de darkies, kase marse tom's slabes dey long ways better off wid him in dey bondage dan dey wuz wid out im when dey sot free en him dead en gone. "at chrismus time on marse tom's place dey wud hab de fun fer er week er mo, wid no wuk gwine on at all. de candy pullin, en de dances wid be gwine on nigh bout constant, en ebery one gits er present frum de marster. "all endurin of de war times, marse tom he neber raised no cotton er tall but instid he raised de wheat, en de corn en hogs fer de confedrits, en de baggage waggins wud cum from time ter time fer de loads of flour, en meal en meat dat he wud sen ter de army. de yankees sumhow dey missed us place en neber did fin hit, en do de damage er bruning [tr: burning?] en sich dat i is heard dat dey done in places in other parts of de state. we all heard one time dat de yankees wuz close er roun en wuz on de way ter burn marse tom's mill but dey got on de wrong road en day neber did git ter our place, en us sho wuz proud er dat too. yit en still attar de war ober, marse tom, he had bout four hundred bales er cotton on han at de barn en de yankee govment dey sho tuk dat en didn't pay him er bit fer dat cotton. i knows dat ter be er fac. "i members de war rail well, kase ye see, i wuz bout twelve year old when hit ober. en de last two er three years of de trubble i wuz big enuf ter be doin sum wuk, so dey tuk me in de big house fer ter be er waitin boy round de house, en i slept in dar too on er pallit on de floor, en er lot er times de calvary sojers wud stop at marse tom's en spen de nite, en i wud be layin on de pallit but wudn't be sleep, en i cud hear dem talkin ter marse tom, en marster he wud ax dem how de fite cumin on, en iffen dey whippin de yankees, en de calvary sojers dey say dat dey whippin de yankees ebery day en killin em out, en marse tom he sey "yo is jes er big lie, how cum yo runnin er way iffen yo whippin dem yankees? dem yankees is atter yo, en yo is runnin frum em dats whut yo doin. yo know yo aint whippin no yankees kase if yo wuz yo wud be atter dem rite now stid dem atter yo". no sir, dem calvary sojers cudn't fool marse tom. "yes sir, i tell yo, capn, de slabes dey fared well wid marse tom davis, en dere wudn't neber ben no war ober de slabery question iffen every body ben lak marse tom. all his peoples wuz satisfied en dey didn't eben know what de yankees en de southern white folks wuz fitin er bout, kase dey wuzn't worried bout no freedom, yit en still atter de freedom cum dey wuz glad ter git hit, but atter dey git hit dey don't know whut ter do wid hit. en atter de bondage lifted, marse tom he called em all up en tell em dat dey free es he is, en dey kin lebe if dey want to, but dere wuzn't nairy nigger lef de place. dey ebery one stayed, en i spect dat er lot of dem davis niggers is rite dere till yit on dat same lan wid whoever hit belongs to. "when er slabe man en woman got married in dose days dere wuzn't no sich thing as er license fer dem. all dey hed ter do wuz ter git de permit frum de marster en den ter start in ter libbin wid each udder. atter de freedom do, all er dem whut wuz married en libbin wid one er nudder wuz giben er slip ter sho dat dey married, en ter mek dey marriage legal. "atter freedom cum ter de darkies, en de trubble all ober in de fitin, en atter de surrender, marse tom he hed his whole place lined out by de surveyor en marked off in plots er groun, en he sell er plot er forty acres ter ebery fambly dat he hed, on de credik too, en sell em de stock wid de place so dey kin all hab er home, en dey all set in ter buy de lan frum marse tom, but hit warnt long atter dat till marse tom en ole mis bofe died, en dat wuz when capn dan travis, miss rachel's husband, he taken charge of de bizness en broke all de contracts dat de darkies hed made wid marse tom, an dat wuz de las of de lan buyin on dat place, en dat wuz de startin of de niggers er leavin de davis place, wid capn dan travis in charge, en marse tom gone. but capn dan he en miss rachel didn't keep dey place long atter her pa dead, kase de capn he too wild, en he soon fooled all de money en lan off wid he drinkin en gamblin. "capn, did yo eber hear of de "chapel hill" fight dat de colored folks en de white folks hed in mississippi? i will tell yo bout dat fight en de leadin up ter de trubble. "atter de war dey hed de carpet-baggers en de klu klux bofe, en de white folks dey didn't lak de carpet-baggers tolerable well, dat dey didn't. i don't know who de carpet-baggers wuz but dey wuz powful mean, so de white folks say. you know sum way er udder de yankees er de carpet-baggers er sum ob de crowd, dey put de niggers in de office at de cote house, en er makein de laws at de statehouse in jackson. dat wuz de craziest bizness dat dey eber cud er done, er puttin dem ignorant niggers whut cudn't read er write in dem places. i tell yo, capn, dem whut put dose niggers in de office dey mus not had es much since es de niggers, kase dey mought know dat hit wudn't wuk, en hit sho didn't wuk long. dey hed de niggers messed up in sum kind er clubs whut dey swaded dem to jine, en gib em all er drum ter beat, en dey all go marchin er roun er beatin de drums en goin ter de club meetins. dem ignorant niggers wud sell out fer er seegar er a stick er candy. hit wasn't long do till de trubble hit broke out en de fite tuk place. de klu klux dey wuz er ridin de country continual, en de niggers dey skeered plum sick by dem tall white lookin hants wid dey hosses all white wid de sheets, en sum sey dey jes cum outen dey grabe en er lookin fer er niggers ter tek bak wid em when de day light cum. all de time de niggers habin dey club meetins in er ole loose house dere at chapel hill, en de klux er gittin more numerous all de time, en de feelin mongst de white en de black wuz er gittin wus en wus, en one night when de niggers habin er grete big meetin, en er beatin dey drums en er carryin on, here cum de klu klux er sumpin er shootin right en lef en er pourin de shots in ter dat ole house en at ebery niggers dey see, en de niggers dey start er shootin bak but not fer long, kase mos of em done lit out fer de woods, dats is mos all whut ain't kilt, en dat wuz de bery las of de club meetins en de bery las of de niggers er holdin de office in de cote house. i heard bout de fight de nex morn in kase chapel hill hit warn't fer frum whar i libed at dat time. i seed dr. marris gray on de rode on he hoss, en he hoss wuz kivered wid mud frum he tall ter he head. dr. marris gray he pulled up en sed, "good mornin "d" is ye heard bout de fite whut wuz had last nite at chapel hill" en i sey "no sir doctor, whut fite wuz dat en whut dey fitin er bout?", en de doctor sey he didn't know whut dey fightin bout lessin dey jes tryin ter brake up de club meetin, en he went on ter say dat er heap er niggers wuz kilt en also sum white folks too, en sum mo wuz shot whut ain't dead yit, en dat he been tendin ter dem whut is shot en still ain't dead. en den i sey "doctor morris wuz yo dere when de fightin goin on"?, en de doctor he say "en cose i warn't dere yo don't think i gwine be roun what no shootin tekin place, does yo"?, en i say "naw suh" en de doctor he rid on down de rode den, but i knowed in my own mine dat doctor morris wuz in dat fightin, kass he hoss so spattered up wid mud, en i seed er long pistol barrel stickin out frum under he coat, en den sides dat i iz knowed de doctor eber since i wuz a chile when marse tom uster hab him ter gib de darkies de medicine when dey sik, en i seed him one night er ridin wid de klu klux en heard him er talkin when i wuz hid in de bushes lon side de rode when i cumin home frum catchin me er possum in de thicket, en den doctor morris he wid general forrest all throo de war en he know whut fightin is, an he sho wudn't neber go outen his way to miss no shootin." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: james davis indiana st. (owner), pine bluff, ark. age: occupation: cotton farmer "this is what's left of me. how old? me? now listen and let me tell you how 'twas. old mistress put all our ages in the family bible, and i was born on christmas morning in in raleigh, north carolina. "my old master was peter davis and he was old jeff davis' brother. there was eight of them brothers and every one of em was as rich as cream. "old master was good to us. he said he wanted us singin' and shoutin' and workin' in the field from morning to night. he fed us well and we had plenty good clothes to wear--heavy woolen clothes and good shoes in the winter time. when i was a young man i wore good clothes. "i served slavery about twenty-four years before peace was declared. we didn't have a thing in god's world to worry bout. every darky old master had, he put woolen goods and good heavy shoes every winter. oh, he was rich--had bout five or six thousand slaves. oh, he had darkies aplenty. he run a hundred plows. "i went to work when i was seven pullin' worms off tobacco, and i been workin' ever since. but when i was comin' up i had good times. i had better times than i ever had in my life. i used to be one of the best banjo pickers. i was good. played for white folks and called figgers for em. in them days they said 'promenade', 'sashay', 'swing corners', 'change partners'. they don't know how to dance now. we had parties and corn shuckin's, oh lord, yes. "i'll sing you a song 'oh lousy nigger oh grandmammy knock me down with the old fence rider, ask that pretty gal let me court her young gal, come blow the coal.' "when i was twenty-one i was sold to the speculator and sent to texas. they started me at a thousand and run me up to a thousand nine hunnerd and fifty and knocked me off. he paid for me in old jeff davis' shin plasters. "i runned away and i was in mississippi makin' my way back home to north carolina. i was hidin' in a hollow log when twenty-five of sherman's rough riders come along. when they got close to me the horses jumped sudden and they said, 'come out of there, we know you're in there!' and when i come out, all twenty-five of them guns was pointin' at that hole. they said they thought i was a revel and 'serted the army. that was on new years day of the year the war ended. the yankees said, 'we's freed you all this mornin', do you want to go with us?' i said, 'if you goin' north, i'll go.' so i stayed with em till i got back to north carolina. "after surrender, people went here and yonder and that's how come i'm here. i emigrated here. i left raleigh, north carolina christmas eve . i've seen ninety-six christmases. "i member the folks said the war was to keep us under bondage. the south wants us under bondage right now or they wouldn't do us like they do. "when i come to this country of arkansas i brought twelve chillun and left four in north carolina. i've had six wives and had twenty-nine chillun by the six wives. "i've seen them ku klux in slavery times and i've cut a many a grapevine. we'd be in the place dancin' and playin' the banjo and the grape vine strung across the road and the ku klux come ridin' along and run right into it and throw the horses down. "cose i believe in hants. they're in the air. can't everybody see em. some come in the shape of a cat or a dog--you know, old folks spirits. i ain't afeared of em--ain't afeared of anything cept a panter. cose i got a gun--got three or four of em. you can't kill a spirit cept with silver. "i was in the road one time at night next to a cemetery and i see somethin' white come right up side of me. i didn't run then. you know you can git so scared you can't run, but when i got so i could, i like to killed myself runnin'. "i'm not able to work now, but i just go anyhow. i got a willin' mind to work and a strong constitution but i ain't got nothin' to back it. i never was sick but twice in my life. "since i been in pine bluff i worked sixteen years at night firing up and watchin' engines, makin' steam, and never lost but one night. i worked for the cotton belt forty-eight years. i worked up until the fust day of this last past may, five years ago, when they laid me off. "i'm disabled wif dis rheumatism now but i works every day anyway. "i'll show you i haven't been asleep atall. i worked for the railroad company forty-eight years and i been tryin' to get that railroad pension but there's so much red cross (tape) to these things they said it'd be three months before they could do anything." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: jim davis indiana street pine bluff, arkansas age: "well, i've broke completely down. i ain't worth nothing. got rheumatism all over me. "i never seen inside a schoolhouse--allus looked on the outside. "the general run of this younger generation ain't no good. what i'm speakin' of is the greatest mass of 'em. they ain't healthy either. why, when i was comin' along people was healthy and portly lookin'. why, look at me. i ain't never had but two spells of sickness and i ain't never had the headache. the only thing--i broke these three fingers. hit a mule in the head. killed him too. "yes'm, that was in slavery times. why, they passed a law in raleigh, north carolina for me never to hit a man with my fist. that was when i was sold at one thousand nine hundred dollars. "ever' time they'd make me mad i'd run off in the woods. "but they sure was good to their darkies. plenty to eat and plenty good clothes. sam davis was my owner. and he wouldn't have no rough overseer." folklore subjects name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: slavery time songs subject: superstitions story:--information [tr: additional topic moved from subsequent page.] this information given by: jim davis place of residence: indiana street, pine bluff, arkansas occupation: none age: [tr: personal information moved from bottom of first page.] [tr: some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. letters surrounded by [] represent long vowels.] "i used to be a banjo picker in civil war times. i could pick a church song just as good as i could a reel. "some of 'em i used to pick was 'amazing grace', 'old dan tucker,' used to pick one went like this 'farewell, farewell, sweet mary; i'm ruined forever by lovin' of you; your parents don't like me, that i do know i am not worthy to enter your d[o].' i used to pick 'dark was the night cold was the ground on which the lord might lay.' i could pick anything. 'amazing grace how sweet it sounds to save a wretch like me.' 'go preach my gospel says the lord, bid this whole earth my grace receive; oh trust my word ye shall be saved.' i used to talk that on my banjo just like i talked it there." superstitions "oh, yes ma'am, i believe in all the old signs. "you can take a rabbit foot and a black cat's bone from the left fore shoulder, and you take your mouth and scrape all the meat offin that bone, and you take that bone and sew it up in a red flannel--i know what i'm talkin' 'bout now--and you tote that in your pocket night and day--sleep with it--and it brings you good luck. but the last one i had got burnt up when my house burnt down and i been goin' back ever since. "and these here frizzly chicken are good luck. if you have a black frizzly chicken and anybody put any poison or anything down in your yard, they'll scratch it up." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: jeff davis texas street, pine bluff, arkansas age: [may ] "what's my name? i got a good name. name's jeff davis. miss mary vinson was some of my white folks. "oh lord yes, i was here in slavery times--runnin' around like you are--ten years old. i'm eighty-five even. "soldiers used to give me dimes and quarters. blue coats was what they called 'em. and the rebs was gray. "yankees had a gun as long as from here to there. had cannon-balls weighed a hundred and forty-four pounds. "i'm a musician--played the fife. played it to a t. had two kinds of drums. had different kinds of brass horns too. i 'member one time they was a fellow thought he could beat the drum till i took it. "had plenty to eat. old master fed us plenty. "oh, i used to do a heap of work in a day. "i was 'bout ten when freedom come. yes ma'am." interviewer: watt mckinney person interviewed: jeff davis r.f.d. five miles south, marvell, arkansas age: "i'se now seventy-eight year old an' gwine on seventy-nine. i was borned in de tennessee valley not far from huntsville, alabama. right soon atter i was borned my white folks, de welborns, dey left alabama an' come right here to phillips county, arkansas, an' brung all the darkies with 'em, an' that's how come me here till dis very day. i is been here all de time since then an' been makin' crops er cotton an' corn every since i been old enough. i is seen good times an' hard times, boss, all endurin' of those years followin' de war, but de worst times i is ever seen hab been de last several years since de panic struck. "how-some-ever i is got 'long first rate i reckon 'cause you know i owns my own place here of erbout eighty acres an' has my own meat an' all such like. i really ain't suffered any for nothin'. still they has been times when i ain't had nary a cent an' couldn't get my hands on a dime, but i is made it out somehow. us old darkies what come up with de country, an' was de fust one here, us cleared up de land when there wasn't nothin' here much, an' built de log houses, an' had to git 'long on just what us could raise on de land an' so on. couldn't mind a panic bad as de young folks what is growed up in de last ginnyration. "you see, i was borned just three years before de darkies was sot free. an' course i can't riccolect nothin' 'bout de slavery days myself but my mammy, she used to tell us chillun 'bout dem times. "like i first said, us belonged to de welborns an' dey was powerful loyal to de souf an' er heap of de young ones fit in de army, an' dey sont corn an' cows an' hogs an' all sich like supplies to de army in tennessee an' georgia. dat's what my mammy tole me an' i know dey done dem things, an' dey crazy 'bout mr. jefferson davis, de fust an' only president of de confedracy, an' dat's how come me got dis name i got. yas suh, dat is how come me named 'jeff davis.' an' i always has been proud of my name, 'cause dat was a sure great one what i is named after. "my pappy was a white man, dat's what my mammy allus told me. i knows he bound to been 'cause i is too bright to not have no white blood in me. my mammy, she named 'mary welborn'. she say dat my pappy was a white man name 'bill ward' what lived back in alabama. dat's all my mammy ever told me about my pappy. she never say iffen he work for de welborns er no, er iffen he was an overseer er what. i don't know nothin' 'bout him scusin' dat he er white man an' he named 'bill ward'. my steppappy, he was name john sanders, an' he married my mammy when i 'bout four year old, an' dat was atter de slaves taken outen dey bondage. "my steppappy, he was a fine carpenter an' could do most anything dat he want to do with an axe or any kind of a tool dat you work in wood with. i riccolect dat he made a heap of de culberts for de railroad what was built through marvell from helena to clarendon. he made dem culberts outen logs what would be split half in two. then he would hew out de two halves what he done split open like dey used to make a dug-out boat. dey would put dem two halves together like a big pipe under de tracks for de water to run through. "there was several white mens dat i knowed in dis part of de county what raised nigger famblys, but there wasn't so many at dat. i will say this for them mens though. whilst it wasn't right for dem to do like dat, dem what did have 'em a nigger woman what dey had chillun by sure took care of de whole gang. i riccolect one white man in particular, an' i knows you is heered of him too. how-some-ever, i won't call no names. he lived down on de ribber on de island. dis white man, he was a overseer for a widder woman what lived in helena an' what owned de big place dat dis man oberseer was on. dis white man, he hab him dis nigger woman for de longest. she have five chillun by him, three boys an' two gals. "after a while dis man, he got him a place up close to marvell where he moved to. he brought his nigger fambly with him. he built dem a good house on his farm where he kept them. he give dat woman an' dem chillun dey livin' till de chillun done grown an' de woman she dead. then he married him a nice white woman after he moved close to marvell. he built him a house in town where his white wife live an' she de mammy of a heap of chillun too by dis same man. so dis man, he had a white fambly an' a half nigger fambly before. de most of de chillun of dis man is livin' in this county right now. "yas suh, boss, i is sure 'nough growed up with dis here county. in my young days most all de west end of this county was in de woods. there wasn't no ditches or no improvements at all. de houses an' barns was most all made of logs, but i is gwine to tell you one thing, de niggers an' de white folks, dey get erlong more better together then dan dey does at dis time. de white folks then an' de darkies, dey just had more confidence in each other seems like in dem days. i don't know how 'twas in de other states after de war, but right here in phillips county de white folks, dey encouraged de darkies to buy 'em a home. dey helped dem to git it. dey sure done dat. mr. marve carruth, dat was really a good white man. he helped me to get dis very place here dat i is owned for fifty years. an' then i tell you dis too, boss, when i was coming up, de folks, dey just worked harder dan dey do these days. a good hand then naturally did just about three er four times as much work in a day as dey do now. seems like dis young bunch awful no 'count er bustin' up and down de road day and night in de cars, er burnin' de gasoline when dey orter be studyin' 'bout makin' er livin' an' gettin' demselves er home. "yas suh, i riccolect all 'bout de time dat de niggers holdin' de jobs in de courthouse in helena, but i is never took no part in that votin' business an' i allus kept out of dem arguments. i left it up to de white folks to 'tend to de 'lectin' of officers. "de darkies what was in de courthouse dat i riccolect was: bill gray, he was one of de clerks; hense robinson, dave ellison, an' some more dat i don't remember. bill gray, he was a eddycated man, but de res', dey was just plain old ex-slave darkies an' didn't know nothing. bill gray, he used to be de slave of a captain on a steamboat on de ribber. he was sorter servant to he mars on de boat where he stayed all the time. the captain used to let him git some eddycation. darkies, dey never last long in de courthouse. dey soon git 'em out. "i gwine tell you somepin else dat is done changed er lot since i was comin' up. dat is, de signs what de folks used to believe in dey don't believe in no more. yet de same signs is still here, an' i sure does believe in 'em 'cause i done seen 'em work for all dese years. de lawd give de peoples a sign for all things. de moon an' de stars, dey is a sign for all them what can read 'em an' tells you when to plant de cotton an' de taters an' all your crops. de screech owls, dey give er warnin' dat some one gwine to die. about de best sign dat some person gwine die 'round close is for a cow to git to lowin' an' a lowin' constant in de middle of de night. dat is a sign i hardly is ever seen fail an' i seen it work out just a few weeks ago when old aunt dinah died up de road. i heered dat cow a lowin' an' a lowin' an' a walkin' back an' forth down de road for 'bout four nights in a row, right past aunt dinah's cabin. i say to my old woman dat somepin is sure gwine to take place, an' dat some pusson gwine die soon cause dat cow, she givin' de sign just right. dere wasn't nobody 'round sick a tall an' aunt dinah, she plumb well at de time. about er week from then aunt dinah, she took down an' start to sinkin' right off an' in less than a week she died. i knowed some pusson gwine die all right, yet an' still i didn't know who it was to be. i tell you, boss, i is gittin' uneasy an' troubled de last day or two, 'cause i is done heered another cow a lowin' an' a lowin' in de middle of de night. she keeps a walkin' back an' forth past my house out there in de road. i is really troubled 'cause me an' de old woman both is gittin' old. we is both way up in years an' whilst both of us is in real good health, aunt dinah was too. dat cow a lowin' like she do is a bad sign dat i done noticed mighty nigh allus comes true." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: jordan davis cypress street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was a boy in the house when the war started and i heard the mistress say the abolitionists was about to take the south. yes ma'm. that was in natchez, mississippi. i was about nine or ten. "mistress' name was eliza a. hart and master's name was dave a. hart. "i guess they _was_ good to me. i lived right there in the house with then. mistress used to send me to sunday school and she'd say 'now, jordan, you come right on back to the house, don't you go playin' with them nigger chillun on the streets.' "my daddy belonged to a man named davis way down the river in the country and after the war he came and got me. sure did. carried me to davis bend. i was a good-sized boy about twelve or fifteen. he took me to mrs. leas hamer and you know i was a good-sized boy when she put me in the kitchen and taught me how to cook. yes'm, i sure can cook. she kept me right in the house with her children. i did her cooking and cleaned up the house. i never got any money for it, or if i did i done forgot all about it. she kept me in clothes, she sure did. i didn't need any money. i stayed five or six years with her, sure did. i thought a lot of her and her children--she was so kind to me. "yes ma'm, i went to school one or two years in mississippi. "when i come here to arkansas on the steamboat and got off right here in pine bluff, there was a white man standin' there named burks. he kept lookin' at me and directly he said 'can you cook?' i was married then and had all my household goods with me, so he got a dray and carried me out to his house. his wife kept a first-class boarding house. just first-class white folks stayed there. after the madam found out i had a good idea 'bout cookin' she put me in the dining room and turned things over to me. "miss, it's been so long, i don't study 'bout that votin' business. i have never bothered 'bout no republican or votin' business--i never cared about it. i know one thing, the white people are the only ones ever did me any good. "mrs. j.b. talbot has been very good to me. my wife used to work for her and so did i. she sure has been a friend to me. mrs. j.b. talbot has certainly stuck to me. "oh i think the colored folks ought to be free but i know some of 'em had a mighty tight time of it after the war and now too. "ain't nothin' to this here younger generation. i see 'em goin' down the street singin' and dancin' and half naked--ain't nothin' to 'em. "my wife's been dead five or six years and i live here alone. yes ma'm! i don't want nobody here with me." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mary jane drucilla davis w. barraque, pine bluff, arkansas age: "'little baby's gone to heaven to try on his robe oh, lord, i'm most done toiling here little baby, m-m-m-m-m-m.' "oh, it was so mournful. and let me tell you what they'd do. they'd all march one behind the other and somebody would carry the baby's casket on their shoulder and sing that song. that's the first song i remember. i was three years old and now i'm seventy-three and crippled up with rheumatism. "my mother had a garden and they went 'round that way to the graveyard and i thought they was buryin' it in the garden. that was in georgia. "in the old days when people died they used to sit up and pray all night, but they don't do that now. "i was married young. i don't love to tell how old but i was fifteen and when i was seventeen i was a widow. i tried and tried to get another husband as good as my first one but i couldn't. i didn't marry then till i was thirty some. "my parents brought me from georgia when i was five years old and now i ain't got no blood kin in pine bluff. "do i believe in signs? well, let me tell you what i do know. before my house burned in , i was sittin' on my porch, and my mother and sister come up to my house. they come a distance to the steps and went around the house. they was both dead but i could see 'em just as plain. and do you know in about two or three weeks my house burned. i think that vision was a sign of bad luck. "and another time when i was havin' water put in my house, i dreamed that my sister who was dead told a friend of mine to tell me not to sign a contract and i didn't know there was a contract. and that next day a man come out for me to sign a contract and i said, 'no.' he wanted to know why and finally i told him, and he said, 'you're just like my mother.' it was two days 'fore i'd sign. the men had quit work waitin' for me to sign. but let me tell you when they put the water in and when they'd flush the pipes my tub overflowed. the ground was too low and i never could use the commode. now don't you think that dream was a warning? "just before i had this spell of sickness i dreamed my baby--he's dead--come and knocked and said. 'mama.' and i said, 'yes, darlin', god bless your heart, you done been here three times and this time mama's comin'. i really thought i was goin' to die. i got up and looked in the glass. you know you can see death in the eyes, but i didn't see any sign of death and i haven't gone yet. "last saturday i was prayin' to god not to let me get out of the heart of the people. you see, i have no kin people and i wanted people to come to my rescue. the next day was sunday and more people come to see me and brought me more things. "i been in the church fifty-seven years. i'm the oldest member in st. john's. i joined in may . "i went to school some. i went as far as the fourth grade." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: minerva davis, biscoe, arkansas age: "my father was sold in richmond, virginia when he was eighteen years old to the nigger traders. they had nigger traders and cloth peddlers and horse traders all over the country coming by every few weeks. papa said he traveled to tennessee. his job was to wash their faces and hands and fix their hair--comb and cut and braid their hair and dress them to be auctioned off. they sold a lot of children from virginia all along the way and he was put up in tennessee and auctioned off. he was sold to the highest bidder. bill thomas at brownsville, tennessee was the one bought him. papa was a large strong man. "he run off and went to war. he had learned to cook and he was one-eyed and couldn't fight. all the endurin' time he cooked at the camps. then he run off from war when he got a chance before he was mustered out and he never got a pension because of that. he said he come home pretty often and mama was expecting a baby. he thought he was needed at home worse. he was so tired of war. he didn't know it would be valuable to him in his old days. he was sorry he didn't stay till they got him mustered out. he said it was harder in the war than in slavery. they was putting up tents and moving all the time and he be scared purt nigh to death all the time. never did know when they would be shot and killed. "mama said the way they bought grandma was at a well. a drove of folks come by. it was the nigger traders. she had pulled up her two or three buckets. she carried one bucket on her head and one in each hand. they said, 'draw me up some water to drink.' she was so smart they bragged on her. they said, 'she such a smart little thing.' they went to see her owner and bought her on the spot. they took her away from her people and she never heard tell of none of them no more. she said there was a big family of them. they brought her to brownsville, tennessee and johnny williams bought her. that was my grandma. "mother was born there on johnny williams' place and she was heired by his daughter. his daughter married bill thomas, the one what done bought my papa. her young mistress was named sallie ann thomas. mama got married when she was about grown. she said after she married she'd have a baby about the same time her young mistress had one. mama had twelve children and raised eleven to be grown. four of us are living yet. my sister was married when i was born. white folks married young and encouraged their slaves to so they have time to raise big families. mama died when i was a year old but papa lived on with johnny williams where he was when she died. i lived with my married sister. i was the baby and she took me and raised me with her children. "the ku klux wanted to whoop my papa. they all called him dan. they said he was mean. his white folks protected him. they said he worked well. they wouldn't let him be whooped by them ku kluxes. "miss sallie ann was visiting and she had mama along to see after the children and to help the cook where she visited. they was there a right smart while from the way papa said. the pattyrollers whooped somebody on that farm while she was over there. they wasn't many slaves on her place and they was good to them. that whooping was right smart a curiosity to mama the way papa told us about it. "when mama and papa married, johnny williams had a white preacher to read out of a book to them. they didn't jump over no broom he said. "they was the biggest kind of methodist folks and when mama was five years old johnny williams had all his slaves baptized into that church by his own white preacher. papa said some of them didn't believe niggers had no soul but johnny williams said they did. (the negroes must have been christened--ed.) "papa said folks coming through the country would tell them about freedom. mama was working for miss sallie ann and done something wrong. miss sallie ann says, 'i'm a good mind to whoop you. you ain't paying 'tention to a thing you is doing the last week.' mama says, 'miss sallie ann, we is free; you ain't never got no right to whoop me no more care what i do.' when bill come home he say, 'how come you to sass my wife? she so good to you.' mama say, 'master bill, them soldiers say i'm free.' he slapped her. that the first time he laid hands on her in his life. in a few days he said, 'we going to town and see is you free. you leave the baby with sallie ann.' it was the courthouse. they questioned her and him both. seemed like he couldn't understand how freedom was to be and mama didn't neither. then papa took mama on johnny williams' place. he come out to arkansas and picked cotton after freedom and then he moved his children all out here. "uncle albert and grandpa take nights about going out. uncle albert was courting. "they put potatoes on fire to cook when next morning they would be warm ready to eat. the fire popped out on mama. she was in a light blaze. not a bit of water in the house. her sisters and brothers peed (urinated) on her to put out the fire. her stomach was burned and scarred. they was all disappointed because they thought she would be a good breeder. miss sallie ann took her and cured her and when miss sallie ann was going to marry, her folks didn't want to give her minerva. she tended (contended) out and got her and agnes both. agnes died at about emancipation. "i'm named for my mother. i'm her youngest child. "i recollect my grandmother and what she told, and papa's mind went back to olden times the older he got to be. when folks would run down slavery he would say it wasn't so bad with them--him and mama. he never seen times bad as times is got to be now. then he sure would wanted slavery back some more. he was a strong hard laboring man. he was a provider for his family till he got so no 'count. "times is changing up fast. folks is worse about cutting up and carousing than they was thirty years ago to my own knowledge. i ain't old so speaking." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: rosetta davis, marianna, arkansas age: "i was born in phillips county, arkansas. my folks' master was named dr. jack spivy. grandma belong to him. she was a field woman. i don't know if he was a good master er not. they didn't know it was freedom till three or four months. they was at work and some man come along and said he was going home, the war was over. some of the hands asked him who win and he told them the yankees and told them they was free fer as he knowed. they got to inquiring and found out they done been free. they made that crap i know and i don't recollect nothing else. "i farmed at foreman, arkansas for taylor price, steve pierce, john huey. i made a crap here with will dale. i come to arkansas twenty-nine years ago. i come to my son. he had a cleaning and pressing shop here (marianna). he died. i hired to the city to work on the streets. i never been in jail. i owned a house here in town till me and my wife separated. she caused me to lose it. i was married once. "i get ten dollars a month from the gover'ment. "the present time is queer. i guess i could git work if i was able to do it. i believe in saving some of what you make along. i saved some along and things come up so i had to spend it. i made so little. "education has brought about a heap of unrest somehow. education is good fer some folks and not good fer some. some folks git spoilt and lazy. i think it helped to do it to the people of today." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: virginia (jennie) davis scott street, forrest city, arkansas age: or "this is what my father, isaac johnson, always told us: 'i was born in raleigh, north carolina. mama died and left three of us children and my papa. he was a blacksmith.' i don't recollect grandpa's name now. 'a man come to buy me. i was a twin. my sisters cried and cried but i didn't cry. i wanted to ride in the surrey. i was sold and taken to montgomery, alabama.' "angeline was his oldest sister and emmaline was his twin sister. he never seen any of his people again. he forgot their names. his old master that bought him died soon after he come back from north carolina. "his young master didn't even know his age. he tried to get in the army and he did get in the navy. they said he was younger than he told his age. he enlisted for three years. he was in a scrimmage with the indians once and got wounded. he got twenty dollars then fifty dollars for his services till he died. "he wasn't old enough to be in the civil war. he said he remembered his mistress crying and they said lincoln was to sign a freedom treaty. his young master told him he was free. the colored folks was having a jubilee. he had nowheres to go. he went back to the big house and sot around. they called him to eat, and he went on sleeping where he been sleeping. he had nowheres to go. he stayed there till he joined the navy. then he come to mississippi and married sallie bratcher and he went back to alabama and taught school. he went to school at night after the civil war till he went to the navy. he was a light-brown skin. "grandma, jane cash, was one brought from huntingdon, tennessee in a gang and sold at auction in memphis, tennessee. she said her mother, father, the baby, her brother and two sisters and herself was sold, divided out and separated. grandma said one of her sisters had a suckling baby. she couldn't keep it from crying. they stopped and made her give it away. "then grandma fell in the hands of the walls at holly springs, mississippi. she was a good breeder, so she didn't have to work so hard. they wouldn't let her work when she was pregnant. "mrs. walls buried her silver in the front yard. she had an old trusty colored man to dig a hole and bury it. no one ever found it. the soldiers took their meat and let the molasses run out on the ground. they ransacked her house. mr. walls wasn't there. "my auntie, eliza williamson, was half white. she was one of her master's son's children. her first master put her and her husband together. she lives near conway, arkansas now and is very old. "grandma was living at menifee, arkansas, and a man from de valls bluff, arkansas come to her house. she saw a scar on his arm. he was marked by gingerbread. she asked him some questions. epps was his name and he was older than herself. he told her about the sale in memphis. he remembered some things she didn't. he knowd where they all went. her sister was mary wright at milan, tennessee. grandma was twelve years old when that sale come off. she shouted and they cried. she couldn't eat for a week. "she said old man walls was good to them. when my mama was a little girl she was short and fat and light color. old man walls would call them in his parlor, all dress up and show them to his company. he was proud of them. he'd give them big dances ever so often. in the evening they had their own preaching in white folks' church. grandma was good with the needle. she sewed for the mistress and her own family too. she had twelve children i think they said. they said her mistress had a large family too. "grandpa belong to mike cash. he give her husband what he made on saturday evening. i think grandpa was sold from the walls to mike cash. he took the cash name and my mother was a cash and she married isaac johnson. she was raised in arkansas. papa was married twice. i was raised around holly grove, arkansas. that is where my folks lived in the last of slavery--that is mama's folks. papa come to arkansas at a later time. "i think times is queer. i work and makes the best of 'em. (ten dollars a month house rent.) i work all the time washing and ironing. (she has washed for the same families years and years. she is a light mulatto--ed.) "young folks is lost respect for the truth. not dependable. that is their very worst fault, i think. "no-oom, i wouldn't vote no quicker 'en i'd smoke a cigarette. but i haben never smoked narry one." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: ex-slaves story:--information this information given by: winnie davis (c) place of residence: e. twenty-first street pine bluff, arkansas occupation: none age: [tr: personal information moved from bottom of first page.] "katie butler was my old missis 'fore i married my husband. his name david davis. i cooked for jeff davis and took care of his daughter, winnie. i stayed with old missis, jeff davis' wife, till she died. she made me promise i'd stay with her. that was in virginia." (i have made three trips trying to get information and pictures of winnie davis. her granddaughter said that a good many years ago when winnie's mind was good, she was down town shopping and that when she gave her name, the clerk said, "were you named after jeff davis' daughter?" and that winnie replied, "she must have been named after me 'cause i cooked for jeff davis 'fore she was born." her mind is not very good at times, but the day i took her picture, i asked who she used to cook for and she said, "jeff davis." she is rather deaf, nearly blind and toothless, but can get around the house quite well. the neighbors say that she has been a hard worker and of a very high-strung temperament. the granddaughter, mattie sneed, says her grandmother said she was sold in virginia when she was eight years old.) interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: leroy day (c) age: home: n. walnut street, pine bluff, ark. "good lord yes, lady, i was here in slavery days. i remember my old marster had an overseer that whipped the people pretty rapid. "i remember when the soldiers--the yankees--come through, some said they was takin' things. "old marster, his name was joe day, he was good to us. he seemed to be a christian man and he was a judge. they generally called him judge day. i never seen him whip nobody and never seen him have no dispute. i tell you if he wasn't a christian, he looked like one. "i was born in georgia and i can remember the first governor we had after freedom. his name was governor bullock. i heard it said the people raised a lot of sand because they said he was takin' the public money. that was when milledgeville was the capital of georgia. "i used to vote after freedom. i voted republican. i went to school a little after the war and then emigrated to louisiana and arkansas. "things has got so now everything is in politics. some votes cause they want their friends in office and some don't take no interest. "some of the younger generation is prospering very well and some are goin' kinda slow. some is goin' take another growth. the schoolin' they is gittin' is helpin' to build 'em up. "yes mam, i use to be strong and i have done a heap of work in my life. cotton and corn was the business, the white man had the land and the money and we had to work to get some of that money. "i remember when the ku klux was right bad in louisiana. i never did see any--i didn't _try_ to see 'em. i know i heard that they went to a school house and broke up a negro convention. they called for a colored man named peck and when he come out they killed him and one white man got killed. they had a right smart little scrummage, and i know the colored people ran off and went to kansas. "the fust man i ever seed killed was one time a colored man's dog got in another colored man's field and ate his roasting ears, it made him so mad he shot the dog and then the man what owned the dog killed the other man. i never did know what the punishment was. "since i have become afflicted (i'm ruptured) i can't do no work any more. i can't remember anything else. if i had time to study i might think of something else." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: hammett dell, brasfield, arkansas age: [-- -- ] [tr: some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. letters surrounded by [] represent long vowels.] "i was born in tennessee, miles from murfreesboro. they call it now releford. i was born october , . i stayed wid old master till he died. i was bout thirty-five years old. he lernt me a good trade, brick layin'. he give me everything i needed and more. after the war he took me by the old brass lamp wid twisted wick--it was made round--and lernt me outer the blue back speller and rithmetic. the spelling book had readin' in it. lady ain't you seed one yit? then i lernt outer rays rithmetic and mcguffeys reader. old master say it ginst the law to teach slaves foe the war. dat what he said, it was ginst the law to educate a nigger slave. the white folks schools was pay foe the war. "my old master had a small farm. his wife died. he never married no more. i caint member her name. she died when i was a little bitter of a boy. they had a putty large family. there was marion, william, fletcher, john, miss nancy, miss claricy, miss betsy. i think that all. the older childern raised up the little ones. my master named mars pleasant white. long as i stayed wid him i had a plenty to eat an' wear an' a dollar to spend. i had no sense to save a cent for a old day. mars white was a good man if ever one lived. he was a good man. four old darkies all mars white had. they was my mama, grandma, papa, auntie. my name i would lack it better white but that is where the dell part come in; papa b'long to the dells and b'fo the war he talked to me bout it. he took his old master's name. they call him louis dell white. he didn't have no brothers but my mama had two sisters. her name was mary white. them was happy days b'fo the war. the happiest days in all my life. bout at the beginnin' of the war mama took cole at the loom and died. we all waited on her, white folks too. she didn't lack for waitin' on. something white folks et, we et. we had plenty good grub all time long as mars white live. "how'd i know bout to git in war? i heard white folks talkin' bout it. one time i heard mars white talkin' to my folks bout takin' us away. we was happy an' doin' well an' i didn't lack the talk but i didn't know what "war" was. no mam that was two years foe they got to fightin' down at murfreesboro. mars white was a ruptured man. he never left our place. i never heard bout none of my folks bein' sold. mars white aired (heired) all us. my papa left and never come back. i d[o]n[o] how he got through the lines in the army. i guess he did fight wid the yankees. "papa didn't speak plain. grandma couldn't speak plain. they lisp. they talk fast. sound so funny. mama and auntie speak well. plain as i do now. they was up wid mars white's childern more. mars white sent his childern to pay school. it was a log house and they had a lady teacher. they had a accordion. mars marion's neighbor had one too. all of em could play. "white women would plat shucks an' make foot mats, rugs and horse collars. the white women lernt the darkie women. there was no leather horse collars as ever i seed. i lernt to twist shucks and weave chair bottoms. then i lernt how to make white oak split chair bottoms. i made all kinds baskets. we had all sizes and kinds of baskets. when they git old they turn dark. shuck bottom chairs last longer but they kinner ruff an' not so fancy. "well when they started off fightin' at murfreesboro, it was a continual roar. the tin pans in the cubbord (cupboard) rattle all time. it was distressful. the house shakin' all time. all our houses jar. the earth quivered. it sound like the judgment. nobody felt good. both sides foragin' one bad as the other, hungry, gittin' everything you put way to live on. that's "war". i found out all bout what it was. lady it ain't nuthin' but hell on dis erth. "i tole you i was ten miles from the war and how it roared and bout how the cannons shook the earth. there couldn't be a chicken nor a goose nor a year of corn to be found bout our place. it was sich hard times. it was both sides come git what you had. whole heap of yankees come in their blue suits and caps on horses up the lane. they was huntin' horses. they done got every horse and colt on the place cepin one old mare, mother of all the stock they had on the place. young mistress had a furs bout her and led her up the steps and put her in the house. "then when they started to leave, one old yankee set the corner of the house on fire. we all got busy then, white folks and darkies both carry in' water ter put it out. we got it out but while we doin' that, mind out, they went down the lane to the road by the duck pond we had dug out. one old soldier spied a goose settin' in the grass. she been so scared she never come to the house no more. nobody knowed there was one on our place. he took his javelin and stuck it through her back. she started hollowin' and flutterin' till the horses, nearly all of em, started runnin' and some of em buckin'. we got the fire bout out. we couldn't help laughin' it look so funny. i been bustin' i was so mad cause they tried take old beck. three of em horses throwd em. they struck out cross the jimpson weeds and down through the corn patch tryin' to head off their horses. them horses throwd em sprawlin'. that was the funniest sight i ever seed. "we got our water out of a cave. it was good cold limestone water. we had a long pole and a rope with a bucket on the end. we swing the pole round let it down then pull it back and tie it. they go to the other end and git the bucket of water. i toted bout all the water to both places what they used. one day i goin' to the cave after water. i had a habit of throwin' till i got to be prutty exact bout hittin'. i spied a hornets nest in a tree long the lane. i knowd them soldiers be long back fer sompin else, pillagin' bout. it wasn't long show nuff they come back and went up to the house. "i got a pile of rocks in my hands. i hid down in the hazel nut bushes. when they come by gallopin' i throwd an' hit that big old hornets nest. the way they piled out on them soldiers. you could see em fightin' far as you could see em wid their blue caps. the horses runnin' and buckin'. i let out to the house to see what else they carried off. "i tole mars white bout how i hit that hornets nest wid the first rock i throwd. he scolded me, for he said if they had seen me they would killed me. it scared him. he said don't do no more capers like that. that old hornets nest soon come down. it was big as a water bucket. mars white call me son boy. i tole him what terrible language they used, and bout some of the horses goin' over the lane fence. it was made outer rails piled up. mars white sho was glad they didn't see me. he kept on sayin' son boy they would killed you right on the spot. don't do nuthin' to em to aggravate em. "it look lack we couldn't make a scratch on the ground nowhere the soldiers couldn't find it. we had a ash hopper settin' all time. we made our soap and lye hominy. they took all our salt. we couldn't buy none. we put the dirt in the hopper and simmered the water down to salt. we hid that. no they didn't find it. our smoke house was logs dobbed wid mud and straw. it was good size bout as big as our cabins. it had somepin in it too. all the time i tell you. "you ever eat dried beef? it is fine. "i say i been to corn shuckins. they do that at night. we hurry and git through then we have a dance in front of mars white's house. we had a good time. mars white pass round ginger bread and hard cider. we wore a thing on our hands keep shucks from hurtin' our hands. one darkie sit up on the pile and lead the singin'. old dan tucker was one song we lernt. i made some music instruments. we had music. folks danced then more they do now. most darkies blowed quills and jew's harps. i took cane cut four or six made whistles then i tuned em together and knit em together in a row like a mouth harp you see. [tr: there is a drawing of the whistles, something like this: _ - | | - | | | | _ | | | | | | - | | | | | | | | - | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | - - - - - - [hw: blow] two lines across all the whistles may indicate strings.] another way get a big long cane cut out holes long down to the joint, hold your fingers over different holes and blow. i never had a better time since freedom. i never had a doctor till since i been years old neither. "later on i made me a bow of cedar, put one end in my mouth and pick the string wid my fingers while i hold the other end wid this hand. (left hand. it was very peculiar shaped in the palm.) see my hand that what caused it. i have been a musician in my time. i lernt to handle the banjo, the fiddle and the mandolin. i played fer many a set, all over the country mostly back home (in tennessee). "we had a heap of log rollins back home in slavery times. they have big suppers spread under the trees. we sho know we have a good supper after a log rollin'. "we most always worked at night in winter. mama worked at the loom and weaved. grandma and old mistress carded. they used hand cards. auntie spun thread. i reeled the thread. i like to hear it cluck off the hanks. papa he had to feed the stock and look after it. he'd fool round after that. he went off to the war at the first of it and never come home. "the war broke us up and ruined us all but me. grandma married old man soon after freedom. he whooped and beat her up till she died. he was a mean old scoundel. they said he was a nigger driver. his name was wesley donald. she died soon after the war. mama was dead. auntie married and went on off. i was years old. when freedom come on mars white says you all set free. you can leave or stay on here. i stayed there. mars white didn't give us nuthin'. he was broke. all he had was land. "come a talk bout lincoln givin' em homes. some racketed bout what they outer git. that was after freedom. most of em never got nuthin'. they up and left. some kept on workin'. they got to stealin' right smart. some the men got so lazy they woulder starved out their families and white folks too. white folks made em go to work. the darky men sorter quit work and made the women folks do the work. they do thater way now. some worse den others bout it. "me and mars white went to work. we see droves darkies just rovin' round. said they huntin' work and homes. some ask for victuals. yes they give em something to eat. when they come in droves they couldn't give em much. some of em oughter left. some of the masters was mean. some of em mighty good. "me and mars white and his boys rigged up a high wheel that run a band to a lay (lathe). one man run the wheel wid his hands and one man at the lay (lathe) all time. we made pipes outer maple and chairs. we chiseled out table legs and bed post. we made all sort of things. anything to sell. we sold a heap of things. we made money. if i'd had sense to keep part of it. mars white always give me a share. we had a good livin' soon as we got over the war. "i farmed. i was a brick layer. mars white lernt me that. when he died i followed that trade. i worked at new orleans, van buren, jackson, meridian. i worked at lake villiage with mr. lasley, and mr. ivy. they was fine brick layers. i worked for dr. stubbs. mr. scroggin never went huntin' without me but once over here on cache river. he give me land to build my cabins. i got lumber up at the mills here. folks come to my cabins from states. j. dall long at st. louis sent me a block wid my picture. i didn't know what it was. mr. moss told me it was a bomb like they used in the world war. i had some cards made in memphis, some little rock. i sent em out by the telephone books tellin' em it was good fishin' now. "j. dall long said when i go back home i send you somethin' nice. that what he sent in the mail. "it was ugliest picture of me in a boat an' a big fish holt my britches leg pullin' me over out the boat. he had me named "hambones" under it. i still got my block. i got nuther thing--old aunties bonnet she wore in slavery. "i quit keepin' club house. i kept it years. i rented the cabins, sold minnows and bates. they give me the land but i couldn't sell it. old woman everybody call "nig" cook fer me. i wanter live like nig and go up yonder. i ainter goner be in this world long but i want to go to heben. nig was not my wife. she was a fine cook. she cooked an' stayed at my cabins. this little chile--orphan chile--i got wid me was nig's grandchild. when nig died i took him. i been goin with him to pick cotton. i want er lern him to work. egercation ain't no good much to darkies. i been tryin' to see what he could do bettern farm. they ain't nuthin'. i set down on the ground and pick some so he will pick. he is six years old. when it rain i caint pick and set on the wet ground. ku klux "the onlies sperience i had myself wid the ku klux was one night fo grandma and auntie left. somebody wrap on our cabin door. they opened it. we gat scared when we seed em. they had the horses wrapped up. they had on white long dresses and caps. every one of em had a horse whoop (whip). they called me out. grandma and auntie so scared they hid. they tole me to git em water. they poured it some whah it did not spill on the ground. kept me totin' water. then they say, "you bin a good boy?" they still drinkin'. one say, "just from hell pretty dry." then they tole me to stand on my head. i turned summer sets a few times. they tickled me round wid the ends of the whoops. i had on a long shirt. they laugh when i stand on my head. old mars white laughed. i knowed his laugh. then i got over my scare. they say, "who live next down the road?" i tole em nells christian. they say, "what he do?" i said, "works in the field." they all grunt, m-m-m-m. then they say, "show us the way." i nearly run to death cross the field to keep outer the way of the white horses. the moon shining bright as day. they say nells come out here. he say "holy moses." he come out. they say "nells what you do?" "i farms." they say "what you raise?" he say "cotton and corn." they say "take us to see yo cotton we jess from hell. we ain't got no cotton there." he took em out there where it was clean. they got down and felt it. then they say "what is dat?", feelin' the grass. nells say "that is grass." they say, "you raise grass too?" he said, "no. it come up." they say "let us see yo corn." he showed em the corn. they felt it. they say "what this?" nells say, "it grass." they say, "you raise grass here?" they all grunt m-m-m-m everything nells say. they give him one bad whoopin' an' tell him they be back soon see if he raisin' grass. they said "you raise cotton and corn but not grass on this farm." they they moan, "m-m-m-m." i herd em say his whole family and him too was out by day light wid their hoes cuttin' the grass out their crop. i was sho glad to git back to our cabin. they didn't come back to nells no more that i herd bout. the man nells worked for muster been one in that crowd. he lived way over yonder. no i think the ku klux was a good thing at that time. the darkies got sassy (saucy), trifling, lazy. they was notorious. they got mean. the men wouldn't work. their families have to work an' let them roam round over the country. some of em mean to their families. they woulder starved the white out and their selves too. i seed the ku klux heap a times but they didn't bother me no more. i herd a heap they done along after that. they say some places the ku klux go they make em git down an' eat at the grass wid their mouths then they whoop em. sometimes they make em pull off their clothes and whoop em. i sho did feel for em but they knowd they had no business strollin' round, vistin'. the ku klux call that whoopin' helpin' em git rid of the grass. nells moster lived at what they called caneville over cross the field. "the way that patty rollers was. the mosters paid somebody. always somebody round wantin' a job like that. mars white was his own overseer. all round there was good livers. they worked long wid the slaves. some of the slaves would race. papa would race. he wanted to race all time. grandma cooked for all of us. they had a stone chimney in the kitchen. big old hearth way out in front. made outer stone too. we all et the same victuals long as mars white lived. then i left." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: james dickey, marianna, arkansas age: [may ] "i don't know much to tell about my folks. my parents died when i was young. mother died when i was twelve and father when i was seven years old. great-grandma was an indian squaw. my father's pa was his young master. his old master was named george dickey. the young master was john dickey. i reckon to start with my mother had a husband. she had twelve children but the last seven was by my pa. he was lighter than i am and paler. this red is indian in me. i know how he looked and how she looked too. the young master never married. he had some brothers. my father lived with us and his pa was there too some. i don't know what become of john dickey but my pa was buried at mt. tursey cemetery. it was a sorter mixed burying grown (ground) but at a white church. mother come here and was buried at cat island in a colored church cemetery. "i farmed in mississippi, then i come to miller lumber company and i worked with them forty-two years. i worked at marked tree, then they sent me here (marianna). "i voted in caruthersville, missouri last i voted. it don't do much good to vote. i am too old to vote. i never voted in arkansas. i voted some in mississippi but not regular. "times is hard. so many white women do their own cooking and washing till it don't leave no work fer the colored folks. the lumber work is gone fer good. "the present generation is going back'ards. for awhile it looked like they was rising--i'm speaking morally. they going back down in a hurry. drinking and doing all kinds of devilment. the race is going back'ard now. seems like everybody could see that when whiskey come back in. "i got high blood pressure. i do a little work. i watch on sunday at the mills. i don't get no help from the gover'ment." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: benjamin diggs n. cypress, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in in north carolina. oh, sure, i remember when the yankees come through. they said they done right smart of damage. i remember goin' by a place where they had burned it down. they didn't do nothin' to my white folks 'cept took the stock. "the lyles was my white folks. they called her polly lyles. oh, they was good to us. my mother and her sister and another colored woman and we children all belonged to one set of people--miss polly lyles; and my father belonged to the diggs. "after freedom we moved off but they was good to us just the same, and we was glad to pay 'em a visit and they was glad to have us. "i've heard my mother say she'd ignore the idea of a cold biscuit but my father said he was glad to get one. he said he didn't get 'em but once a week. "oh, indeed there was a lot of difference in the way the colored folks was treated. some of 'em was very good, just like they is now. "well, all those old people is dead and gone now 'cause they was old then. "i come here to arkansas in ' . that was when they was emigratin' the folks. i was grown and married then. i was twenty-six when i married in ' . "i went to school a little. i can sorta scribble a little and read a little, but my eyes is failin' now. i started wearin' glasses 'fore i really needed 'em. i got to projectin' with my mother's glasses looked like they read so good. "farmin' is all i know how to do. never done anything else. i owned some land and farmed for myself. "sure, i used to vote--republican. i never had any trouble. i always tried to conduct my life to avoid trouble. i believe in that policy. "i joined the church when i was very young, very young. i go by the golden rule and by the bible. "i first lived in pope county. "i learned since i come here to pine bluff there's enough churches here to save the world, but there's some mean people here." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: katie dillon hazel street, pine bluff, arkansas age: [dec ] "i hope i was here in slavery days--don't i look like it? i was a good big girl after surrender. "i was born in rodney, mississippi in . "i had a good old master--doctor williams. didn't have no mistress. he never married till after surrender. "we lived right in town--right on the mississippi river where the gun boats went by. they shelled the town one day. remember it just as well as if 'twas now. i hope it was exciting. everybody moved out. some run and left their stores. they run to alcorn university, five miles from there. some of em come back next day and some never come back till after surrender. "the old doctor bought my mother when she was twelve years old. when she got big enough she was the cook. made a fine one too. i worked around the house and toted in wood and water. "after surrender, dr. williams wanted my mother to give me and my brother to him and he would give her a home, but she wouldn't. i wish she had but you know i wasn't old enough to know what was best. she hired out and took us with her. i hired out too. i reckon i was paid but i never did see it. i reckon my mother collected it. i know she clothed me. i had better clothes than i got now. we stayed there till we come to arkansas. i was married then. i married when i was seventeen. i was fast wasn't i? i got a good husband. didn't have to work, only do my own work. just clean up the house and garden and tend to the chickens. my husband was a picture man. yes'm, i've lived in town all my life--born and raised up in town. "after surrender i went to the first free school ever was in rodney, mississippi. i went about two sessions. i ought to've learned more'n i did but i didn't see how it would benefit me. "in slavery days we used to go right to the table and eat after the white folks was through. we didn't eat out of no pots and pans. whatever was on the table you et it until you got enough. "when i was comin' up and they was goin' to have a private ball, they sent out invitations and i went, but when they had that kind where everybody could go i wouldn't a gone to one of them for nothin'. "the way things is goin' now i don't think the end can be very far off. "i remember when peace was declared i saw the soldiers across the street and they had their guns all stacked. i was lookin' and wonderin' what it was. you know children didn't ask questions in them days. i heard some of the older ones talkin' and i heard em say the war was over. "i never had but two children and only one livin' now. yes'm, i own my home and my son helps me what he can. i'm thankful i got as much as i have." el dorado district folklore subjects [hw: customs] name of interviewer: pernella anderson subject: customs--slavery days [nov ] this information given by: alice dixon place of residence: rock island quarters occupation: none age: (approx) [tr: personal information moved from last page of interview.] well honey ah can't tell jes when ah wuz born. de white fokes have mah age. ah blong tuh de newtons. as near as ah can get at mah age ahm bout now but ah wuz big nough to member the soldiers comin aroun atter surrender. mah mutha had ten chillun but ah can't member but two uv mah sisters and one uv mah bruthes. we staid wid de newtons till we wuz set free and i nuss fuh de newtons aftuh we wuz set free. de newtons wuz awful good ter me and dey wuz good tuh mah ma too. ah slept up in de big house wid de newtons. ah nevah went ter school. ah didn' have a chance. ah went ter church jes sometimes. we didn have churches. we jes had meetin in our house we lived in. we cooked on fire places. we cooked our bread in what we called oven bout so high. we had chickens and eggs, peas, tatoes, meat and bread but ah didn know there was no sich thing as cake an pie till ah got to be an oman. ah can't recollect jes how ole ah wuz in slave time but ah shore can recollect dem yankees riding dem hosses and ah ask may ma what dey was doin and she said gatherin up cotton dey made in slave time an ah kin recollect an oman a gin. yo know we had steps made of blocks saved from trees and she wuz a goin ovah em steps er shoutin and singin "ah am free, at last, ah am free at last, ah'm free at last, thank gawd a mighty ah'm free at last." she wuz so glad ter be free. my ma in huh time would make cloth. she had a loom. hit wuz a high thing and th thread would go ovah th top and come down jes so in what we call shickle. she'd have a bench so high. the loom was high as dis door and my ma would set on the bench and her foots wuz on somethin like a bicycle and when she put her foots on de pedal dat shickle would come open and make a blum blum an that would make a yard of cloth, an she'd mash the pedal agin and another yard of cloth. jes so we'd make eight and ten yards of cloth in one day. an when hit wuz made we would carry hit to de white fokes. dey would make us clo'es outn dat cloth. ifn dey wanted colored cloth dey would dye de thread. dey had what we called a loom dat would make, le' me see now, card would card the cotton, and de looms would make de thread and de shickle would make de cloth, as well as ah can recollect we would make little roll uv cotton on de cards an put it on de loom and make thread. de looms was jes so long. ever time the wheel would say o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o we had a spool uv thread. ah don' know whar dey got the spools, made em tho ah guess. ah jes caint tell you how hit wuz hits so much. de newton's nevah did whup me. she started to whup me tho one day. ah kin recollect bout de dogs. there wuz one dog whut wuz called dinah. but yo know dey had ten uv em. one day ole uncle henry jones done somethin and run off and climbed a tree and de newton's miss him so dey called de dogs and dey went on to de tree. dat very tree wha he wuz and stopped. uncle henry had been gone all dat mornin and dem dogs track him right dere, to de spot and wouldn let him down till de newtons come. an chile dem newtons whip de skin off uncle herny's [tr: henry's] back. dem dogs would git yo. mrs. newton nevah got outn de bed no time. ah would lift her from one bed to de utha to make de beds and when she got ready to get dressed ah would bath her and dress huh all de times. ah'll tell yo nother funny joke bout henry johnson. he had ter clean up mos uv de time. so mrs. newton's dress wuz hangin in de room up on de wall and when he come out he said to ole uncle jerry, he said: "jerry guess whut ah done" and jerry said: "whut?" and uncle henry said: "ah put mah han undah ole mistess dress." uncle jerry said: "whut did she say?" uncle henry say: "she didn' say nothin." so uncle jerry cided he'd try hit. so he went draggin on in de house. set down on de floor by ole mistess. ater while he run his han' up under huh dress and old marster jumped up and jumped on jerry and like to beat him ter death. jerry went out cryin and got out and called henry. he said: "henry ah though yo said yo put yo hand undah ole mistess's dress and she didn' say nothin." uncle henry said: "ah did and she didn' say nuthin." jerry said: "ah put mah han' undah huh dress and ole marster like tuh beat me ter death." uncle henry said: "yo crazy thing huh dress wuz hangin up on de wall when ah put mah han up undah hit." we didn' eat eggs only on sunday mornin. me and mah sis et together in de same plate. we didn know whut knives and forkes wuz den. we et wid our fingahs. ah had a good ole pa too. he died a long time ago. ah member one night he started tuh whoop mah brudder and mah pa and mah brudder had hit. so mah brudder runned off, an de marster called ole dinah, dinah wuz a dog yo know but dinah was a big dog ovah the other dogs yo know and dem dogs went and got me brudder and dem newtons sho did beat him. but twasnt long befo mah pa taken sick and died aftuh dat. an when we wuz goin ter bury mah pa lamme tell yo what happened: two turtle doves flew roun the wagon three times, den dey flew right on top uv mah pa's coffin box an hollered three times; and yo know mah sistuh died bout three days aftuh dat. ah didn' bleave in signs till den. ah know mah pa always bleaved in signs cause ah know when hit would start lightnin and thunderin round dat place of ourn mah pa would always make us stop. he say twas bad luck. an ah know when evah a dove would holler at night he'd tell us jes tuh tie a knot in th' south cornuh uv de sheet and he would hush. an we would do hit an he would hush. yo kno hits bad luck fuh dem tuh holler roun yo place. oh we use ter have lots o sheep, at least ole mistess did. we made all of our wool clothes from dem sheeps wool and let me tell yo somethin else, ah think ah got some sheep wool in mah trunk now ah had hit fifty years. hits good fer sores if yo has er cut on yo han' or feet or if blood poison set up jes take a little piece of dat wool an put a piece of fire on hit and [hw: put] some [hw: on] the sore parts and chile, honey, hit will git well right now. chile ah had use ter ruther go ter dances than ter eat. ah'd go ter dances an git early dare and heah dem fiddles. uh, my! ah jus couldn make mah foots act right. we use ter dance sixteen sets. we'd be er dancing and hit would sound so good. someone would say swing de one yo love bes but ah wouldn swing de one ah love best cause ah didn want anyone tah know him. on sunday mornin dats when we play. ole marster would put a rope cross fer us ter jump and we'd line up. the rope wuz bout five feet high and chile if we didn' jump it we'd catch hit. o-o-o-o-oooo. we had ter run. he line up two at a time an he say one fuh de money, two fuh de show, three tuh make ready and fo' tuh go. an yo talk bout runnin. we had ter run. he would make us box and de one dat git whooped is de one dat would haft ter box till he got whooped and we had ter whoop three times befo' stoppin. oh chile, ah had a time when ah miz a chile. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: luke d. dixon devalls bluff, ark. age: "my father's owner was jim dixon in elmo county, virginia. that is where i was born. i am years old. jim dixon had several boys--baldwin and joe. joe took some of the slaves, his pa give him, and went to new mexico to shun the war. uncle and pa went in the war as waiters. they went in at the ending up. we lived on the big road that run to the atlantic ocean. not far from richmond. ma lived three or four miles from pa. she lived across big creek--now they call it farrohs run. ma belong to harper williams. pa's folks was very good but ma's folks was unpleasant. "ma lived to be years old. pa died in and was years old. i used to set on grandma's lap and she told me about how they used to catch people in africa. they herded them up like cattle and put them in stalls and brought them on the ship and sold them. she said some they captured they left bound till they come back and sometimes they never went back to get them. they died. they had room in the stalls on the boat to set down or lie down. they put several together. put the men to themselves and the women to themselves. when they sold grandma and grandpa at a fishing dock called new port, va., they had their feet bound down and their hands bound crossed, up on a platform. they sold grandma's daughter to somebody in texas. she cried and begged to let them be together. they didn't pay no 'tenshion to her. she couldn't talk but she made them know she didn't want to be parted. six years after slavery they got together. when a boat was to come in people come and wait to buy slaves. they had several days of selling. i never seen this but that is the way it was told to me. "the white folks had an iron clip that fastened the thumbs together and they would swing the man or woman up in a tree and whoop them. i seen that done in virginia across from where i lived. i don't know what the folks had done. they pulled the man up with block and tackle. "another thing i seen done was put three or four chinquapin switches together green, twist them and dry them. they would cry like a leather whip. they whooped the slaves with them. "grandpa was named sam abraham and phillis abraham was his mate. they was sold twice. once she was sold away from her husband to a speculator. well, it was hard on the africans to be treated like cattle. i never heard of the nat turner rebellion. i have heard of slaves buying their own freedom. i don't know how it was done. i have heard of folks being helped to run off. grandma on mother's side had a brother run off from dalton, mississippi to the north. after the war he come to virginia. "when freedom was declared we left and went to wilmington and wilson, north carolina. dixon never told us we was free but at the end of the year he gave my father a gray mule he had ploughed for a long time and part of the crop. my mother jes picked us up and left her folks now. she was cooking then i recollect. folks jes went wild when they got turned loose. "my parents was first married under a twenty-five cents license law in virginia. after freedom they was remarried under a new law and the license cost more but i forgot how much. they had fourteen children to my knowing. after the war you could register under any name you give yourself. my father went by the name of right dixon and mother jilly dixon. "the ku klux was bad. they was a band of land owners what took the law in hand. i was a boy. i scared to be caught out. they took the place of pattyrollers before freedom. "i never went to public school but two days in my life. i went to night school and paid mr. j.c. price and mr. s.h. vick to teach me. my father got his leg shot off and i had to work. it kept me out of meanness. work and that woman has kept me right. i come to arkansas, brought my wife and one child, april , . we come from wilson, north carolina. her people come from north carolina and moultrie, georgia. "i do vote. i sell eggs or a little something and keep my taxes paid up. it look like i'm the kind of folks the government would help--them that works and tries hard to have something--but seems like they don't get no help. they wouldn't help me if i was bout to starve. i vote a republican ticket." note: on the wall in the dining room, used as a sitting room, was a framed picture of booker t. washington and teddy roosevelt sitting at a round-shaped hotel dining table ready to be served. underneath the picture in large print was "equality." i didn't appear to ever see the picture. this negro is well-fixed for living at home. he is large and very black, but his wife is a light mulatto with curly, nearly-straightened hair. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: martha ann dixon (mulatto) devalls bluff, arkansas age: "i am eighty-one years old. i was born close to saratoga, north carolina. my mother died before i can recollect and my grandmother raised me. they said my father was a white man. they said jim beckton. i don't recollect him. my mother was named mariah tyson. "i recollect how things was. my grandmother was miss nancy tyson's cook. she had one son named mr. seth tyson. he run her farm. they et in the dining room, we et in the kitchen. clothes and something to eat was scarce. i worked at whatever i was told to do. grandma told me things to do and miss nancy told me what to do. i went to the field when i was pretty little. once my uncle left the mule standing out in the field and went off to do something else. it come up a hard shower. i crawled under the mule. if i had been still it would been all right but my hair stood up and tickled the mule's stomach. the mule jumped and the plough hit me in my hip here at the side. it is a wonder i didn't get killed. "after the civil war was times like now. money scarce and prices high, and you had to start all over new. pigs was hard to start, mules and horses was mighty scarce. seed was scarce. everything had to be started from the stump. something to eat was mighty plain and scarce and one or two dresses a year had to do. folks didn't study about going so much. "i had to rake up leaves and fetch em to the barn to make beds for the little pigs in cold weather. the rake was made out of wood. it had hickory wood teeth and about a foot long. it was heavy. i put my leaves in a basket bout so high [three or four feet high]. i couldn't tote it--i drug it. i had to get leaves in to do a long time and wait till the snow got off before i could get more. it seem like it snowed a lot. the pigs rooted the leaves all about in day and back up in the corners at night. it was ditched all around. it didn't get very muddy. rattle snakes was bad in the mountains. i used to tote water--one bucketful on my head and one bucketful in each hand. we used wooden buckets. it was lot of fun to hunt guinea nests and turkey nests. when other little children come visiting that is what we would do. we didn't set around and listen at the grown folks. we toted up rocks and then they made rock rows [terraces] and rock fences about the yard and garden. they looked so pretty. some of them would be white, some gray, sometimes it would be mixed. they walled wells with rocks too. all we done or knowed was work. when we got tired there was places to set and rest. the men made plough stocks and hoe handles and worked at the blacksmith shop in snowy weather. i used to pick up literd [hw: lightwood] knots and pile them in piles along the road so they could take them to the house to burn. they made a good light and kindling wood. "they didn't whoop grandma but she whooped me a plenty. "after the war some white folks would tell grandma one thing and some others tell her something else. she kept me and cooked right on. i didn't know what freedom was. seemed like most of them i knowed didn't know what to do. most of the slaves left the white folks where i was raised. it took a long time to ever get fixed. some of them died, some went to the cities, some up north, some come to new country. i married and come to fredonia, arkansas in . i had been married since i was a young girl. but as i was saying the slaves was still hunting a better place and more freedom. the young folks is still hunting a better place and more freedom. grandma learnt me to set down and be content. we have done better out here than we could done in north carolina but i don't believe in so much rambling. "we come on the passenger train and paid our own way to arkansas. it was a wild and sickly country and has changed. not like living in the same country. i try to live like the white folks and grandma raised me. i do like they done. i think is the reason we have saved and have good a living as we got. we do on as little as we can and save a little for the rainy day." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: railroad dockery short th, pine bluff, arkansas age: "railroad dockery, that's my name. i belonged to john dockery and we lived at lamertine, arkansas where i was born. my mother's name was martha and i am one of quadruplets, three girls and one boy, that's me. red river, ouachita, mississippi and railroad were our names. (mrs. mary browning, who is now ninety-eight years of age, told me that her father, john dockery, was the president of the mississippi, red river, ouachita railroad, the first one to be surveyed in arkansas, and that when the directors heard of the quadruplets' birth, they wanted to name them after the railroad, which was done--ed.) "yes ma'm, red river and ouachita died when they were tots and mississippi and railroad were raised. now that's what my mother said. mississippi died five or six years ago and i'm the onliest one left. "i remember mighty little about the war. i never thought anything about the war. all i did then was a crowd of us little chaps would go to the woods and tote in the wood every day for the cook woman. that's what i followed. never did nothing else but play till after the war. "after surrender i went with my father and mother to work for general tom dockery. he was john dockery's brother. i was big enough to plow then. i followed the plow all the time. my father and mother were paid for their work. we stayed there about five years and then moved to falcon, arkansas. father died there. "in the time of the war i heard the folks talkin' about freedom, and i heard my father talk about the ku klux but that was all i knowed, just what he said about it. "i remember the presidents and i voted for some of them but oh lord, i haven't voted in several years. "i got along after freedom just as well as i ever did. i never had no trouble--never been in no trouble. "about the world now--it looks like to me these days things are pretty tight. i could hardly tell you what i think of the younger generation. i think one thing--if the old heads would die all at once they would be out, because it's all you can do to keep em straight now. "i went to school only three months in my life. i learned to read and write very well. i don't need glasses and i read principally the bible. to my mind it is the best book in the world. biggest part of the preachers now won't preach unless they are paid three-fourths more than they are worth. "the biggest part of my work was farming. i never did delight in cooking. now i can do any kind of housework, but don't put me to cooking. "i just can't sing to do no good. never could sing. seems like when i try to sing something gets tangled in my throat. "oh lord, i remember one old song they used to sing 'a charge to keep i have a god to glorify.' "i don't remember anything else but now if mississippi was here, she could tell you lots of things." interviewer: irene robertson subject: ex-slave information given by: callie donalson, biscoe, arkansas story i wasn't born in slavery but i was born in the white folks kitchen. bob walker was ma mother's master and james austin ma father's master. they said he wasn't good to none of dem, he was mighty tight. now ma mothers white folks was sho good to her. when de war was all over me family jined and worked fer people not berry far from ma mother's masters. there was two brothers and a sister older than me. she thought her white folks do better by her than anybody so she went back to em during her pregnancy and thats how come i was born in der kitchen a white mid-wife tended on er. i never will forget her. she was named mrs. coffee. there wasn't many doctors in the whole country then. i was born in haywood county tennessee in . no'm i tell you when you first come i wasn't born in slavery. my white mistress named me, the young mistress, she named me callie. bob walkers girl married ben geeter. i was right in ben geeters kitchen when miss sallie named me. they seemed proud of the little black babies. ma mother was a field hand and she washed and ironed. she was a good spinner. she carded and wove and spun all. she knitted too. she knitted mostly by nite. all the stockings and gloves had to be knit. she sewed and i learned from her. we had to sew with our fingers. when i was a little girl i just set around, brought in wood. yes maam we did play and i had some dolls, i was proud of my dolls, just rag dolls. we use to drive the calves up. if they didn't come up they sent the dog fur de cows. one of dem wore a bell. they had shepherd dogs, long haired, gentle dogs, to fetch the cows when they didn't come. ma folks farmed in tennessee till i married and den we farmed. agents jess kept comin after us to get us to come to this rich country. they say: hogs jess walking round with knife and forks stickin in der backs beggin somebody to eat em over in arkansas. no'm i aint seed none lack dat, i seed em down in the swamps what you could saw a good size saplin down wid der backbones. i says i mean i seed plenty raysor back hogs, and long noses and long straight ears. i show have since i come here. the land was so poor in tennessee and this was uncleared land so we come to a new country. it show is rich land. they use guano back in tennessee now or they couldn't raise nuthin. abe miller an old slave owner what we worked wid come out here. he was broke and he paid our way. we come on the josie harry boat. der was several families sides us come wid him. he done fine out here--we got off the boat at augusta and i worked up there in woodruff county till ma husbands brother's wife died and he had a farm his own. we raised his boys and our family till dey was ob age. i left em. they went in big business here in biscoe and lost de farm and everything. ma husband died i lives with ma girl. i got one boy married lives in chicago, and a girl up there too. no'm dey aint rich. dem his children come home wid ma daughters on a visit--little yankees ain't got no manners. i voted one time in ma life, in , for hoover. i don't know nothing about voting. i can read. i reads ma bible. ma young mistress learnt me to read. i never got to go to school much. whut my young mistress learnt me was ma a b c's and how to call words. yes maam i can write ma name but i forgot how to write, been so long since i wrote a letter. all the songs i ever sung was "in dixie" "little brown jug" an mostly religious songs, lawd i forgot em now. i never knowd about no slave uprisings--white folks alway good to us. we misses em now. times not lack dey use to be. dese young generations don't take no interest in nothin no mo. its kinder kritical. no use trying to tell em nuthin. dey's getting an education i don't know whut thell do with it. if dey had somebody to manage fur them seem like they kaint kandle no business without getting broke. they work hard and make some seems lack they jes kaint keep nuthin. no'om i don't think they are so bad. in me and ma husband worked on our own place till we come down here we sold it and went on his brothers place. i owns ma house thats all. ma daughters help me and we get a little provisions and clothes along from the relief. if i could work i wouldn't ax nobody for no help. i jess past working much. i jess don't know what is going to become of the present generation. the conditions are better than they use to be, heap better. they have no education and don't have to work as hard as we use to. they seems so restless and don't take no interest in nothin. they are all right. it is jess the times an the bible full filling fast as it can. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: charles green dortch victory street, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: father a pet] "i was born june , . the reason i don't show my age is because i got scotch-irish, indian, and negro mixed up in me. i was born in princeton--that is, near princeton--in dallas county. princeton is near fordyce. i was born on hays' farm. hays was my second master--archie hays. dortch was my first master. he brought my parents from richmond, virginia, and he settled right in princeton. "my father's name was reuben rainey dortch. he was an octoroon i guess. he looked more like a cuban than a negro. he had beautiful wavy hair, naturally wavy. he was tall, way over six feet, closer to seven. his father was dortch. some say rainey. but he must have been a dortch; he called himself dortch, and we go in the name of dortch. rainey was a white man employed on dortch's plantation. rainey's name was wilson rainey. my name has always been dortch. "my mother was named martha dortch. i am trying to think what her maiden name was. my sister can tell you all the details of it. she is five years older than i am. she can tell you all the old man's folks and my mother's too more easily than i can. "my father had, as nearly as i can remember--lemme see--cordelia, adrianna, mary, jennie, emma, and dortch. emma and dortch were children by a first wife. cordelia was his stepdaughter. my brothers were alec and gabe. there is probably some i have overlooked. "the indian blood in me came through my mother's father. he was a full-blooded red indian. i can't think of his name now. her mother was a dark woman. "my father was a carpenter, chair maker, and a farmer too. all the work he did after peace was declared was carpentry and chair and basket making. he made coffins too just after peace was declared. they didn't have no undertakers then. he made the bottoms to chairs too. he could put a roof on a house beautifully and better than any one i know. nobody could beat him putting shingles on a house. "my mother was reared to work in the house. she was cook, housekeeper. she was a weaver too. she worked the loom and the spinning wheel. she gardened a little. but her work was mostly in the house as cook and weaver. she never went out in the field as a hand. my father didn't either. kind masters "my father seemed to have been more of a pet than a slave. he was a kind of boss more than anything else. he had his way. nobody was allowed to mistreat him in any way. my mother was the same way. i don't think she was ever mistreated in any way by the white folks--not that i ever saw. attitude of slaves toward father "there wasn't any unfriendliness of the other slaves toward my father. my oldest sister can tell you with clearness, but i don't think he ever had any trouble with the other slaves any more than he had with the white folks. he was well liked, and then too he was able to take care of himself. then again, he had a good master. hays was a good man. we made a trip down there just a short while ago. we hadn't been there since the civil war. they made it so pleasant for us! we all set down to the same table and ate together. frank was down there. he was my young master. thirty acres--not forty "they gave us thirty acres of land when we came out of slavery. they didn't give it to us right then, but they did later. i am going down there again sometime. my young master is the postmaster down there now. he thinks the world and all of me and my oldest sister. "i don't mind telling people anything about myself. i was born in june. they ain't nothing slipping up on me. i understand when to talk. there are two of us, adrianna kern--that's her married name. she and i are the ones mr. frank gave the thirty acres to. i have a younger sister. slave work "i don't know how much cotton a slave was expected to pick in a day. the least i ever heard of was one hundred fifty pounds. some would pick as high as three and four hundred pounds. "my father was not a field hand. he was what they called the first man 'round there. he was a regular leader on the plantation--boss of the tool room. he was next to the master of them, you might say. he was a kind of boss. "i never heard of his working for other men besides his master. i believe he drove the stage for a time from arkadelphia to camden or princeton. i don't know just how that come about. my sister though has a more exact remembrance than i have, and she can probably tell you the details of it. boyhood experiences "my father used to take me to the mill with him when i was a kid. that was in slavery time. he went in a wagon and took me with him. "the biggest thing i did was to play with the other kids. they had me do such work as pick berries, hunt up the stock, drive the sheep home from the pasture. and as near as i can remember it seems like they had me more picking berries or gathering peaches or something like that. food, houses, clothes "corn bread, buttermilk and bacon and all such as that and game--that was the principal food. the people on our place were fed pretty well. we lived off of ash cakes and biscuits. "the slaves lived in old log houses. i can almost see them now. let's see--they usually had just one window. the slaves slept on pallets mostly and wore long cotton shirts. patrollers "i have heard a great deal of talk about the pateroles--how they tied ropes across the road and trapped them. sometimes they would be knocked off their horses and crippled up so that they had to be carried off from there. of course, that was sometimes. they was always halting the slaves and questioning them and whipping them if they didn't have passes. how freedom came "the way i understand it there came a rumor all at once that the negroes were free. it seems that they throwed up their hands. they had a great fight at pine bluff and helena and de valls bluff. then came peace. the rumor came from helena. meade and thomas winded the thing up some way. sherman made his march somewhere. the colored soldiers and the white soldiers came pouring in from little rock. they come in a rush and said, 'tell them niggers they're free.' they run into the masters' and notified them they were going to take all the negroes to little rock. it wasn't no time afterwards before here come the teams and the wagons to take us to little rock. "when they brought us here, they put us in soldiers' camps in a row of houses up just west of where the arch street graveyard is now. they put us all there in the soldiers' buildings. they called them camps. they seemed to be getting us ready for freedom. it wasn't long before they had us in school and in church. the freedmen's bureau visited us and gave us rations just like the government has been doing these last years. they gave us food and clothes and books and put us in school. that was all done right here in little rock. schooling "my first teacher was miss sarah henley. i could show you the home she used to live in. it's right up the street. it's on third street between izard and state right in the middle of the block--next to the building on the corner of izard on the south side of third street. there is a brick building there on the corner and her house is a very pretty one right next to it. she was a white woman and was my first teacher. she taught me, as near as i can remember, one session. my next teacher was mrs. hunt. she was from ohio. my first teacher was from ohio too. mrs. hunt taught me about two sessions. lemme see, mrs. clapp came after her. she was from pennsylvania. mrs. clapp taught me one session. i am trying to think of that other teacher. we went over to union school then. charlotte andrews taught us there for a while. that was her maiden name. her married name is stephens. she was the first colored teacher in the city. mrs. hubbard teached us a while, too. mrs. scull taught us right here on gaines and seventh streets where this church is now. they moved us a long time ago down to the mess house at the rock island for a while but we didn't stay there long. we came back to the methodist church--the one on eighth and broadway, not the bethel church on ninth and broadway. there was a colored church on eighth and broadway then. they kept sweeping us 'round because the schools were all crowded. woods, a colored man, was one of the teachers at capitol hill public school. we were there when it first opened. that was the last school i went to. i finished eight grades. me and scipio jones went to school together and were in the same class. i left him in school and went to work to take care of my folks. occupational experiences "right after the civil war, i went to school. i did no work except to sell papers and black boots on the corner of main and markham on sunday. after i stopped school i went to work as assistant porter in the railroad office at the union station for the st. louis, iron mountain, southern railway and cairo and fulton. that was one road or system. i stayed with them from till in the office as office porter. from that i went train porter out of the office in . i stayed as train porter till . then right back from i went in the general superintendent's private car. then from there i went to the shop here in north little rock--the missouri pacific shops--as a straw boss of the storeroom gang. that was in . i stayed in the shop until . then i was transferred back on this side as coach cleaner. that was in . i stayed as coach cleaner till . from that i went to the state capitol and stayed there as janitor of the supreme court for three years. in , i went back to the coach cleaning department. that was during the war. i stayed there till . i come out on the strike and have been out ever since. since then i have done house cleaning all over the city. that brings me up to about two years ago. now i pick up something here and something there. i have been knocking around sick most of the time and supported by the relief and the welfare principally. ku klux klan "i don't remember much about the ku klux klan. they never bothered me, and never bothered any one connected with me. powell clayton "i have stood at the bar and drank with powell clayton. he had been 'round here ever since we had. he was a very particular friend of my boss'--the bosses of my work after the war and freedom. they were all yankees together. they would all meet at the office. that was while i was working my way through school and afterwards too. he was strictly a 'negroes' friend'. he was a straight out and out yankee. a broken thumb in a political fight "i got this thumb broken beating a white man up. no, i'll tell the truth. he was beating me up and i thought he was going to kill me. it was when benjamin harrison had been elected president. i was in sol joe's saloon and i said, 'hurrah for harrison.' a white man standing at the bar there said to me, 'what do you mean, nigger, insulting the guests here?' and before i knew what he was going to do--bop!--he knocked me up on the side of the head and put me flat on the floor. he started to stamp me. my head was roaring, but i grabbed his legs and held them tight against me and then we was both on the floor fighting it out. i butted him in the face with my head and beat him in the face with my fists until he yelled for some one to come and stop me. there was plenty of white people 'round but none of them interfered. a great commotion set up and i slipped out the back door and went home during the excitement. "when i went back to the saloon again after about a week or so, the fellow had left two dollars for me to drink up. sol joe told me that he showed the man he was wrong, that i was one of his best customers. to make sol and me feel better, he left the two dollars. when i got there and found the money waiting for me, i just called everybody in the house up to the bar and treated it out. "they claimed i had hit him with brass knucks, but when i showed them my hand--it was swollen double--and then showed them how the thumb was broken, they agreed on what caused the damage. that thumb never did set properly. you see, it's out of shape right now. domestic life "i met my wife going home. i was a train porter between here and memphis. she was put in my care to see that she took her train all right out of memphis, tennessee, going on farther. i fell in love with her and commenced courting her right from there. she was so white in color that you couldn't tell she was colored by looking at her. after i married her, i was bringing her home, and three white men from another town got on the train and followed us, thinking she was white. every once in a while they would come back and peep in the negro coach. sometimes they would come in and sit down and smoke and watch us. my sister notice it and called my attention to it. i went to the conductor and complained. he called their hand. "it seems that they were just buying mileage from time to time and staying on the train to be able to get off where i got off. the conductor told them that if they went into little rock with the train there would be a delegation of white people there to meet them and that the reception wouldn't be a pleasant one, that i worked on the road, and that all the officials knew me and knew my wife, and that if i just sent a wire ahead they'd find themselves in deep. they got off the train at the next stop, but they gave me plenty of eye, and it looked like they didn't believe what had been told them. "we were married only three and a half years when she died. her name was lillie love douglass before she married me. she was a perfect angel. white folks tried to say that she was white. we had two children. both of them are dead. one died while giving birth to a child and the other died at the age of thirty-three. "i married the second time. i met my second wife the same way i met the first. i was working on the railroad and she was traveling. i was a coach cleaner. we lived together three years and were separated over foolishness. she had long beautiful hair and an old friend of hers stopped by once and said that he ought to have a lock of her hair to braid into a watch chain. she said, 'i'll give you a lock.' i said, 'you and your hair both belong to me; how are you going to give it away without asking me.' she might have been joking, and i was not altogether serious. but it went on from there in to a deep quarrel. one day, i had been drinking heavily, and we had an argument over the matter. i don't remember what it was all about. anyway, she called me a liar and i slapped her before i thought. "for two or three weeks after that we stayed together just as though nothing had happened, except that she never had anything more to say to me. she would lie beside me at night but wouldn't say a word. one day i gave her a hundred dollars to buy some supplies for the store. she was a wonderful hat maker, and we had put up a store which she operated while i was out on the road working. when i came back that evening, the store was wide open and she was gone. she had slipped off and gone home from the station across the river. i didn't find that out till the next day. she hid during part of the night at the home of one of my friends. and another of my friends carried her across the river and put her on the train. i was out with a shotgun watching. i am glad i did not meet them. she is living in chicago now, married to the man she wanted to give the lock of hair to and doing well the last i heard from her. she was a good woman, just marked with a high temper. there was no reason why we should not have lived together and gotten along well. we loved each other and were making money hand over fist when we separated. opinions "the young people are too much for me. women are awful now. the young ones are too wild for me. the old ones allow them too much freedom. they are not given proper instruction and training by their elders." interviewer's comment dortch's grandfather on the father's side was a white man and either his master or someone closely connected with his master--his first master. his last master was the father of his half-sister, cordelia, born before any of the other members of his family. these facts account largely for the good treatment accorded his mother and father in slave time and for the friendly attitude toward them subsequent to slavery. dortch's whole sister, adrianna, is living next door to him, and is eighty-five years old going on eighty-six. she has a clearer memory than dortch, and has also a clear vigorous mentality. she never went to school but uses excellent english and thinks straight. i have not made dortch's interview any longer because i am spending the rest of this period on his sister's, and there was no need of taking some material which would be common to both and more clearly stated by her. i have already finished ten pages of her story. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: fannie dorum w. twenty-fourth street north little rock, arkansas age: [tr: some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. letters surrounded by [] represent long vowels, and by () short vowels.] [hw: church holds old age contest] "i was here in slavery time. know the years i plowed. ginned cotton in slavery time. my daddy was the ginner. his name was hamp high. stayed down in lonoke county. "i was here in slavery time. the third year of the surrender ( ), i married--married burton dorum. "i was born in franklin, north carolina. my old master's name was jack green, franklin county. he had five boys--henry, john, james, robert, and william henry. and he had a daughter named mary. my old mistress' name was jennie green. they all came from north carolina and i think they are still there. work "a slave better pick a hundred pounds of cotton in a day. you better pick a hundred. i couldn't pick a hundred. i never was much on picking cotton. "i weeded corn, planted corn and cotton, cut up wheat, pulled fodder, and did all such work. i plowed before the war about two years. i used to have to take the horses and go hide when the soldiers would go through. i was about nineteen years old when lee surrendered. that would make me somewheres about ninety-four years old. the boys figgered it all out when they had the old age contest 'round here. they added up the times i worked and put everything together. family "i raised eight children. have five living. and i reckon about forty children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great-grandchildren. you see i have been here right smart time. schooling "colored folks didn't get no learning then. i never learned to read or write. before i married, i learned to spell my name, but i had so much to do i have forgot how to do that. how freedom came "the yankees were coming through the place. a great crowd of soldiers. the day the corps of yankees were to go out, they all went up to the pike and it looked like a dark cloud. there were great big wagons loaded down with everything to eat. they took all the meat, all the whiskey, all the flour. that they didn't take, they give to the slaves or poured on the ground. they took the corn out of the crib. "the next day, old master called us up to the stand around him. he told us we were all free and that if we would stay with him, he would pay us. whipping "my old master never whipped me but once and never hit me much then. i said, 'master, if you don't hit me no more, i'll tell you who's been stealing all your eggs.' he said, 'will, you tell me, sure 'nough.' i said, 'yes.' but i never done it. patrollers "i heard about the pateroles catching the colored folks. they would catch them on the road as they were going places and whip them. the pateroles was white folks that was supposed to catch colored folks when they were out without a pass. sometimes the colored folks would stretch ropes across the road and trip them up. you would hear them laughing about it when they got amongst themselves the next day. house, etc. "i was born in a old log house--two rooms. one for the kitchen and one to sleep in. we had homemade furniture. mighty few of them had bought furniture. most of then made it themselves. if you had bought furniture, that was called fine. there was no rollers to any bed. food was kept in the house. wheat was kept under the bed because they had nowhere else to keep it. planks were put around it. we children used to jump up and down in it. rations "when the white folks got ready to give us milk, they poured it out in a tub and said, 'come and git it.' "they would kill hogs and the colored folks' meat would be put back of the white folks' meat in the smokehouse. they put the white folks' meat in the front and the colored folks' meat in the back. when you wanted something, you would go up to old master and say, 'my meat is out,' and they would give you some more out of the smokehouse. "brandy was kept in the storehouse too; but they didn't give that to the colored [tr: corrected from 'cullud'] folks--they didn't give any of it to them. my daddy used to make it and buy it from the white folks and slip and sell it to the colored folks. he didn't tell the white folks who he was gettin' it for. "you didn't have a regular time to git rations. you didn't on my place. you got things any time you needed them. my master was a good man. my dad got anything he wanted because he was the ginner. when he was working and it came mealtime, he would go right by the white folks' house and git anything he wanted and eat it--brandy, meat, anything. slave wages "my daddy not only did the ginning on my place; he did the ginning for other folks. he did the ginning for an old rich man named jack green, who lived in franklin county. jack green paid wages for my father's, hampton high's, work and the money was turned over to his mistress. i don't know whether they paid him and he turned it over to his mistress, or whether they told him about it and paid his mistress. they trusted him and i know he did work for pay. on account of the money my father earned he was considered a valuable slave. that's why he could go and eat and drink anything he wanted to. life since slavery "my husband married me in may. he went to his uncle and worked an shares for two or three years. then my husband took a crop to himself. he bought a cow and hog and stayed there twenty-one years. raised a great big orchard. all my children were born right there. white people owned the farm. priestley mangham and his wife were the white people. when we left that place, my children were all big enough to work. that was in north carolina. the nearest town was college. "when the white folks tried to take advantage of us and take our crops, then we left and came here. my husband is dead and has been dead over twenty years. "my daughters do the best they can to help me along, but they're on relief themselves and can't do much for me. opinions "the young people of today are in no good at all, except to eat. they are there on mealtime, but that is about all." interviewer's comment about three years ago, there was an old age contest in one of the colored churches of north little rock. sister hatchett was considered the oldest, fannie dorum next. sarah jane patterson was among those considered in the nineties also. it is very probable that all of these three are ninety or more. stories of dorum and patterson are already in, and interview with hatchett will be completed soon. this paper fails to record fannie dorum's accent with any approach to accuracy. she speaks fairly accurately and clearly and with a good deal of attention to grammaticalness. but she pronounces all "er" ending as "uh"; e.g., nigguh, cullud, fathuh, mothuh, m(o)stuh, daughtuhs. there are a number of variations from correct pronunciation which i do not record because they do not constitute a variation from the normal pronunciation; e.g., "wuz" for "was", "(e)r" for "[e]r". the slave pronunciation of "m(o)ster" is more nearly correct than the normal pronunciation of "m(a)ster." frequent pronunciations are marse, marsa, m(o)ssa, m(o)stuh, and m(a)ssa. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: silas dothrum pulaski street, little rock, arkansas age: or occupation: field hand, general work [may ] [hw: don't know nothin'] "the white people that owned me are all dead. i am in this world by myself. do you know anything that a man can put on his leg to keep the flies off it when it has sores on it? i had the city doctor here, but he didn't do me no good. i have to tie these rags around my foot to keep the flies off the sores. "i worked with a white man nineteen years--put all that concrete down out there. he is still living. he helps me a little sometimes. if it weren't for him i couldn't live. the government allows me and my wife together eight dollars a month. i asked for more, but i couldn't get it. i get commodities too. they amount to about a dollar and a half a month. they don't give any flour or meat. last month they gave some eggs and those were nice. what they give is a help to a man in my condition. "i don't know where i was born and i don't know when. i know i am eighty-two or eighty-three years old. the white folks that raised me told me how old i was. i never saw my father and my mother in my life. i don't know nothin'. i'm just on old green man. i don't know none of my kin people--father, mother, uncles, cousins, nothin'. when i found myself the white people had me. "that was right down here in arkansas here on old dick fletcher's farm. there was a big family of them fletchers. they took me to harriet lindsay to raise. she is dead. she had a husband and he is dead. she had two or three daughters and they are dead. slave houses "i can remember what they used to live in. the slaves lived in old wooden houses. they ain't living in no houses now--one-half of them. they were log houses--two rooms. i have forgot what kind of floors--dirt, i guess. food was kept in a smokehouse. relatives "the whole family of fletchers is dead. i think that there is a jef fletcher living in this town. i don't know just where but i met him sometime ago. he doesn't do nothing for me. nobody gives me anything for myself but the man i used to work for--the concrete man. he's a man. how freedom came "all i remember is that they boxed us all up in covered wagons and carried us to texas and kept us there till freedom came. then they told us we were free and could go where wanted. but they kept me in bondage and a girl that used to be with them. we were bound to them that we would have to stay with them. they kept me just the same as under bondage. i wasn't allowed no kind of say-so. "after dick fletcher died, his wife and his two children fetched us back--fetched us back in a covered wagon. "i am a arkansas man. was raised here. i am very well known here, too. some years after that she turned us loose. i can't remember just how many years it was, but it was a good many. right after the war "after mrs. fletcher turned us loose, we worked with some families. i was working by the year. if i broke anything they took it out of my wages. if i broke a plow they would charge me for it. i was working for niggers. i can't remember how much they paid, but it wasn't anything when they got through taking out. i'm dogged if i know how much they were supposed to pay; it has been so long. but i know that if i broke anything--a tool or something--they charged me for it. i didn't have much at the end of the year. it would take me a lifetime to make anything if i had to do that. patrollers "i have been out in the bushes when the pateroles would come up and gone into log houses and get niggers and whip their asses. they would surround all the niggers and make them go into the house where they could whip them as much as they wanted to. all that is been years and years ago. i never seen any niggers get away from them. i have heared of them getting away, but if they did i never knowed it. ku klux klan "i heared of the ku klux, but they never bothered me. i never saw them do anything to anybody. recollections relating to parents "i don't know who my parents were, but it seems like i heard them say my father was a white man, and i seen to remember that they said my mother was a dark woman. opinions "the young people today ain't worth a shit. these young people going to school don't mean good to nobody. they dance all the night and all the time, and do everything else. that man across the street runs a whiskey house where they dance and do everything they're big enough to do. they ain't worth nothing." interviewer: pernella m. anderson person interviewed: sarah douglas route , box -a, el dorado, arkansas age: ? [illustration: sarah and sam douglas] [tr: the library of congress photo archive notes "'tom' written in pencil above 'sam' in title."] "i was born in alabama. i don't know when though. i did not find out when i was born because old miss never told me. my ma died when i was real small and my old miss raised me. i had a hard time of my life. i slept on the floor just like a cat--anywhere i laid down i slept. in winter i slept on rags. if i got sick old miss would give me plenty of medicine because she wanted me to stay well in order to work. my old master was name john buffett and old misses name was eddie buffett. she would fix my bread and licker in a tin lid and shove it to me on the floor. i never ate at the table until i was twelve and that was after freedom. "to whip me she put my head between the two fence rails and she taken the cow hide whip and beat me until i couldn't sit down for a week. sometimes she tied our hands around a tree and tie our neck to the tree with our face to the tree and they would get behind us with that cow hide whip with a piece of lead tied to the end and lord have mercy! child, i shouted when i wasn't happy. all i could say was, 'oh pray, mistress, pray.' that was our way to say lord have mercy. the last whipping old miss give me she tied me to a tree and oh my lord! old miss whipped me that day. that was the worse whipping i ever got in my life. i cried and bucked and hollered until i couldn't. i give up for dead and she wouldn't stop. i stop crying and said to her, 'old miss, if i were you and you were me i wouldn't beat you this way.' that struck old miss's heart and she let me go and she did not have the heart to beat me any more. "i did every kind of work when i was a little slave; split rails, sprouted, ditched, plowed, chopped, and picked and planted. "i remember young master going to war and i remember hearing the first gun shoot but i did not see it. i saw the smoke though. "i never went to school a day in my life. the white folks said we did not need to learn, if we needed to learn anything they could learn us with that cow hide whip. "we went to the white folks' church, so we sit in the back on the floor. they allowed us to join their church whenever one got ready to join or felt that the lord had forgiven them of their sins. we told our determination; this is what we said: 'i feel that the lord have forgiven me for my sins. i have prayed and i feel that i am a better girl. i belong to master so and so and i am so old.' the white preacher would then ask our miss and master what they thought about it and if they could see any change. they would get up and say: 'i notice she don't steal and i notice she don't lie as much and i notice she works better.' then they let us join. we served our mistress and master in slavery-time and not god. "i recollect miss died just after the war. old miss was very strict on us and after she died we was so glad we had a big dance in miss's kitchen and old miss came back and slapped one of the slaves and left the print of her hand on her face. that white hand never did go away and that place was forever haunted after that. "now i don't know how to tell you to get after my age but i was twelve years old two years after surrender." interviewer: carol graham subject: ex-slaves information given by: sarah douglas, el dorado, arkansas mornin' honey. i thought you wuz comin' back tuh see me ergin las' summer an' i looked fuh you the longes' time. i'se plum proud tuh see you ergin. dis other lady ain't de one that wuz wid you las' summer is she? now jes lis'en tuh that will yuh, she wants aunt sarah tuh tell huh some more 'bout slave'y times. john bufford wuz mah marster's name. i wuz bo'n in alabama an' brought to louisiana by my marster's fambly. aftuh de wah he freed us an' some of 'em mixed up in politics an' the white folks from the north fooled 'em into makin speeches fuh 'em, but dey soon learnt bettuh. i ain't been well lately. the doctuh said i had slamatory rheumatis. i'm ol' now end don' have nobody tuh do nothin fuh me. my mistress wuz mammy in de ol' days. aftuh i got up fum mah rheumatism i went down tuh that church you sees, i give de lan' fuh hit, me and tom did and i jes felt good and wanted tuh praise the lord. i wuz so glad the sperit come once more, i got happy and i got up and went down tuh de fron' and said; "i want to shake hand wid ever' body in dis house. i wanna stroke yo hand." an' i stood down there at the front so happy an' duh yuh know one little chile and two women come down an' shook hands wid me, i jes didn't know whut tuh think. yoh know when i wuz young and a body got happy evuh body did an' dey made a noise but not so now. an' tuh think dey couldn't turn praises. you say yo' wants tuh talk tuh tom? well he's out dar in de back yard but he aint well and i specks he won't talk tuh but if you mus' come on. tom here is a lady wants tuh talk tuh you. i'll go back an talk tuh de lady whuts waitin' in de car. (the above written just as sarah douglas expressed it). (taken down word for word.) (august , .) interviewer: pernella m. anderson person interviewed: tom douglas route , box -a, el dorado, arkansas age: "i was born in marion, louisiana september , at o'clock in the morning. i was eighteen years of age at surrender. my master and missus was b.b. thomas and miss susan thomas. old master had a gang of slaves and we all worked like we were putting out fire. lord child, wasn't near like it is now. we went to bed early and got up early. there was a gang of plow hands, hoe hands, hands to clear new ground, a bunch of cooks, a washwoman. we worked too and didn't mind it. if we acted like we didn't want to work, our hands was crossed and tied and we was tied to a tree or bush and whipped until we bled. they had a whipping post that they tied us to to whip us. "we was sold just like hogs and cows and stock is sold today. they built nigger pens like you see cow pens and hog pens. they drove niggers in there by the hundred and auctioned them off to the highest bidder. the white folks kept up with our age so when they got ready to sell us they could tell how old we were. they had a 'penetenture' for the white folks when they did wrong. when we done wrong we was tied to that whipping post and our hide busted open with that cow hide. "we stayed out in the field in a log house and old master would allowance our week's rations out to us and sunday morning we got one biscuit each. if our week's allowance give out before the week we did not get any more. "cooked on fireplaces, wasn't no stoves. we did not have to worry about our clothes. old missus looked after everything. we wore brogan shoes and homespun clothes. there was a bunch of women that did the spinning and weaving just like these sewing room women are now. i was a shoe maker. i made all the shoes during the time we wasn't farming. we had to go nice and clean. if old missus caught us dirty our hide was busted. i got slavery time scars on my back now. you ought to see my back. scars been on my back for seventy-five years. "i never went to school a day in my life. i learned my abc's after i was nineteen years old. i went to night school, then to a teacher by the name of nelse otom. i was the first nigger to join the church on this side of the mason and dixie line. during slavery we all joined the white folk's church set in the back. after slavery in they met in conference and motioned to turn all of the black sheep out then. there was four or five they turned out here and four or five there, so we called our preacher and i was the first one to join. old master asked our preacher what we paid him to preach to us. we told him old shoes and clothes. old master says, 'well, that's damn poor pay.' our preacher says, 'and they got a damn poor preacher.' "i did not know anything about war. only i know it began in , closed in , and i know they fought at vicksburg. that was two or three hundred miles from us but we could not keep our dishes upon the table whenever they shot a bomb. those bombs would jar the house so hard and we could see the smoke that far. "we was allowed to visit saturday night and sunday. if you had a wife you could go to see her wednesday night and saturday night and stay with her until monday morning and if you were caught away any other time the patrollers would catch you. that is where the song come from, 'run nigger run, don't the patarolls will catch you.' sometimes a nigger would run off and the nigger dogs would track them. in slavery white folks put you together. just tell you to go on and go to bed with her or him. you had to stay with them whether you wanted them or not. "after freedom old master called all us slaves and told us we was free, opened a big gate and drove us all out. we didn't know what to do--not a penny, nowhere to go--so we went out there and set down. in about thirty minutes master came back and told us if we wanted to finish the crop for food and clothes we could, so we all went back and finished the crop and the next year they gave us half. so ever' since then we people been working for half. "here is one of my boy songs: 'sadday night and sunday too, a pretty girl on my mind as soon as monday morning come the white folks get me gwi-ng.'" [hw: regrets end of slavery] old slave stories [tr: sarah and tom douglas] [tr: aunt sarah douglas]--ah wuz baptized de second year of surrender. wuz twelve years ole at de time an my mistress spoke fuh me when ah j'ined de church. in them days when chillun j'ined de church some grown person had ter speak fuh em an tell if they thought they wuz converted or not. now when chillun j'in de church if they is big enough ter talk they take em in widout grown fokes speaking fuh em a tall. slavery times wuz sho good times. we wuz fed an clothed an had nothin to worry about. now poar ole niggers go hungry. sho we wuz whipped in slavery times. mah ole man has stripes on his back now wha he wuz whipped an ah wuz whipped too but hit hoped me up till now. coase hit did. hit keeps me fum goin aroun here tellin lies an stealin yo chickens. me an mah ole man is been married sixty-six years an have nevah had no chillun. yo know little chillun is de sweetest thing in the worl'. now if we had chillun we would have someone tuh take care of us in our ole days. mah ole man, tom, is an i'se . poar ole man. ah does all ah kin fuh him but i'se ole too. these young niggers is gettin so uppity. they think they is better than we is. a darkey jes don' love one another an stick t'gether like white fokes does. but ah is goin ter stick ter my ole man. he needs me. he is jes like a little helpless chile widout me ter look after him. ah used to be mighty frisky an mighty proud when ah wuz young but ah wazn' as good then as ah is now. ah likes ter go ter church. see that little white church over de hill? that is douglas chapel, a baptist church. me an mah ole man give de lan' fuh that church. we had plenty them days when douglas was laid out (meaning douglas addition). but now poar ole niggers don' have enough ter eat all de time. none of them church members is missionary enough ter bring us somethin' ter eat. white fokes have good hearts but niggers is grudgeful. de bigges thing among white fokes is they do lie sometime an when they do they kin best a nigger all to pieces. niggers don' have as much 'ligion as they use ter. ah went to a missionary meeting at one sister's house an she said ter me: "sister douglas, start us off wid a song" an ah started off with "amazing grace." sang bout half of de first verse an noticed none of them j'ined in but ah kep' right on singin' an wuz gettin full of de sperit when that sister spoke up an said: "sister douglas, don' yo know that is done gone out of style?" an selected "fly away" an den all of them sisters j'ined in an sung "fly away, fly away" an hit sounded jes like a dance chune. yas'm, that is our ole buggy standin aroun de corner of de house. we use ter ride in hit till hit got so rickety. an that ole horse is our fambly horse. dolly jane ah calls her. we've had her forty years an she gits sick sometime jes like ah does an ah thinks sho she is gone this time but she gits ovah hit jes like ah does when ah has a spell. we has lived in this house since but we is goin ovah on de utha side of de tracks soon wid the res of de niggers. nobody lef on this side but white fokes now ceptin us. when de railroad come through down there ah had a cotton patch growin there an ah cried cause hit went through mah cotton patch an ruint part of hit. all we got out'n hit wuz damages. no'm, mah ole man caint talk ter yo all terday; he is sick. mebby ifn yo all come back he kin talk ter yo then. (in the meantime we investigated tom and sarah douglas and found that he has a bank account and at one time owned all the land that is now douglas addition. in a few days we went back and found tom sitting on the porch.) uncle tom douglas--yas'm, ah members de wah. ah wuz fo'teen when de wah began an eighteen when hit closed. mah marster wuz b.b. thomas, union parish, louisiana, near marion, louisiana. ah saw de fust soldiers go an saw young marster go. when young marster come back at de close of de wah he brought back a big piece of mule meat ter show us niggers what he done have ter eat while he wuz in de army. ah nevah wuz sold but lots of marster's slaves wuz sold. they wuz sold jes like stock. ah members one fambly. de man wuz a blacksmith, de woman a cook, an one of their chillun wuz waitin boy. they wuz put on de block an sold an a diffunt man bought each one an they went ter diffunt part of de country ter live on nevah did see one nother no moah. they wuz sole jes like cows an horses. no'm, ah didn't like slavery days. ah'd rather be free an hungry. (tom is the only ex-slave who has told us that he had rather be free and we believe that is because he has a bank account and is independent.) yo say tell yo about hants. there is such a thing. yes mam. some fokes calls it fogyness but hit sho is true fuh me an sarah has seed em haint we sarah. here young missy, what is yo doin wid that pencil? (after we had put up our notebooks and pencils and assured them that we would not repeat it, they told us the following): when me an sarah lived out at de moore place about three miles east on the main street road we seed plenty of haints. de graveyard wuz in sight of our house an we could see them sperits come up out de groun an they would go past de house down in a grove an we could see them there campin. we could see they campfires. we could hear their dishes rattling an their tincups an knives an forks. an hear em talkin. den again they would be diggin with shovels. sometimes in de graveyard we could see de sperits doin de things they did befo they died. some would be plowing, some blacksmithing an each one doin what he had done while he wuz livin. when day wuz breakin they would go runnin crost our yard an git back in de graves. yes'm, we seed em as long as we lived there. after we moved from ther somebody dug up some gold that wuz buried at de corner of de chimney. an hit is said that from that day hants have not been seen there. yes'm, there is no doubt erbout hit. they is such thin's as hants. me an sarah has both seed em but we aint seed any in a long time. interviewer: mrs. carol graham person interviewed: tom & sarah douglas resident: el dorado, arkansas age: and . note: this is a second interview with uncle tom and aunt sarah douglas. the first was sent to your office in september from interview by mrs. mildred thompson, el dorado, arkansas. mrs. thompson is not now with the project. mrs. carol graham made the second interview. _tom douglas--ex-slave_. i was a slave boy till i was eighteen. was born in , 'mancipated in ' . no, my master did not give me forty acres of land and a mule. when we was 'mancipated my master came took us outside the gate across the road and told us we was freed. "you are free to work for anybody you want to." we set there a while then we went whare ol' master was and he tol' us if we wanted to stay wid him and finish the crop he would provide our victuals and clothes. the next year we worked for him on the halves, and continued to do so for four or five years. 'f we didn' eat an' wear it up he would give us the balance in money an we of'en had as much as fifty dollars when the year was over. my ol' master was s.b. [tr: in two previous interviews, b.b. thomas] thomas. the young master was emmett thomas. mr. emmett was his son. dey was near marion, louisiana, then i worked fuh his brother-in-law 'lias george. his wife was susan george. i tell you the fact, these times is much bettuh than slave times. if i'm hungry an' naked, i'm free. i'm crazy 'bout liberty. i've heard of the ku klux klan but never did see none of 'em. have seen where they is been but nevuh did see 'em. we voted several years. was considered citizens--voted an' all that sort of thing. i think if we pay taxes we ought to vote for payin' taxes makes us citizens don' it? i used to be a big politics man--lost all i had house, forty acres, a good well an' stock an' ever'thing. i was tol' one day that the ku kluxes was comin' to my house that night an' i got on my horse at sundown an left an aint nevuh been back. i was a big politics man then--lost all i had and quit politics. i'm ninety years old and fifteenth of next september. looks like the old might get pensions if old has anything to do with it i ought to get a pension but us ol' folks that is gettin' long an has a place to stay an' somethin' to eat they say don' get none. i come to el dorado january , . this place was in the woods then. i bought acres from mr. dave armstrong at five dollars per acre and in nine years i had it all paid for. it was after i got tired of workin' on the halves that i bought me a place. worked at a sawmill four years beginnin in or . than i jobbed aroun' town three years doin' this an' that an' the other. carried $ with me when i moved to town and brought $ back with me. cleared $ a year an' got tired of that. am livin' off my land. have sol' some an' am sellin some now but times is hard and folks can't pay. i takes in from $ to $ per month. the young folks is gone to destruction. aint nothin' but destruction. you is young your self but you can tell times aint the same as they was ten years back. young folks is goin' to destruction. me, i'm goin' home. goin' back years an comin' up to day i is seen a mighty big change. me, i'm goin' home. don't know what you young folks going to see eighty years from now. everybody is trying to get something for nothing. we use to sing "gimme this old time religion, it's good enough for me". an' we sung "i'm a soldier of the cross" an lots of others. we don' live right now, don' serve god. pride, formality an love of money keeps folks from worshipping an' away from the ol' time religion. you know that ol' sayin: "preacher in the pulpit preachin' mighty bold; all for your money an' none for your soul." seems like its true now days. you ask does i have stripes on my back from bein beat in slave'y times? no maam. i was always a good boy and smart boy raised in the same yard with the little white chillun. you says sarah told you that las' year? missy you mus' be mistaken. i was whipped once or twice but i needed it then or ol' master wouldn't a whipped me an he never did leave no stripes on me. my old master was good to all his niggers and i'm tellin you i was raised up with his chullun an him and old mistress was good to me. all we little black chillun et out of the boilin' pot an every sunday mornin' we had hot biscuit and butter for breakfact. no maam my old master was always good to his niggers. (above is as exactly told by tom douglas with the exception that he used the word marster, for master; wuz for was, tuh for to; ah for i and other quaint expressions--these were omitted because of instruction in bulletin received august th, .) taken down word for word. august , . interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: sebert douglas catalpa street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in lebanon, kentucky. gover hood was my old master. his wife's name was ann hood. "i 'member morgan's raid. i don't 'member what year it was but i 'member a right smart about it. cumberland gap was where they met. "the rebs and yankees both come and took things from old master. i 'member three horses they taken well. yankees had tents in the yard. they was right in the yard right in front of the methodist church. "my mother was mrs. hood's slave, and when she married she took my mother along and i was born on her place. "i was the carriage boy in slave times. my father did the driving and i was the waitin' boy. i opened the gates. "i 'member billy chandler and lewis rodman run off and j'ined the yankees but they come back after the war was over. "paddyrollers was about the same as the ku klux. the ku klux would take the roof off the colored folks' houses and take their bedding and make 'em go back where they come from. "we stayed right there with old master for two or three years, then we went to the country and farmed for ourselves. "i went to school just long enough to read and write. i never seed no use for figgers till i married and went to farmin'. "since i been in pine bluff i done mill work. i was a sash and door man. "i used to vote every election till hoover, but i never held any office. "the younger generation is bad medicine. can't tell what's gwine come of 'em!" interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: henry doyl, brinkley, arkansas age: will be feb. , "i was born in hardeman county near bolivar, tennessee. my mother's moster was bryant cox and his wife was miss neely cox. my mother was dilly cox. two things i remembers tinctly that took place in my childhood: that was when my mother married george doyl. i was raised by a stepfather. miss neely told my mother she was going to sell me and put me in her pocket. she told her that more'n one time. i recollect that. "my oldest brother, one older en me, burned to death. my mother was a field hand. she was at work in the field. when she come to the house, the cabin burned up and the baby burned up too. that grieved her mighty bad and when miss neely tell her soon as i got big nough she was goner sell me mighty near break her heart. "the first year after the surrender my father, buck rogers, left my mother in her bad condition. she said she followed him crying and begging him not to leave her to montgomery bridge, in alabama. the last she seen him he was on montgomery bridge. "they just expected freedom. my mother left her mistress and moved to the doyl place. she didn't get nothing but her few clothes. i was born at the doyl place. she worked for moster bob doyl, a young man. they share cropped. we had a plenty i reckon of what we raised and a little money. "i worked on colonel nuckles place when i got up grown. i worked on the lunatic asylum at bolivar and loaded tires and ditched for the i.c. railroad a long time. "i don't recollect that the ku klux ever bothered us. "my stepfather voted republican ticket. i haven't voted for a good many years--not since garfield or mckinley was our president. "i come to arkansas in . i married in arkansas. i heard that arkansas was a rich country. my mother was dead. my stepfather had been out here. i come on the train, paid my own way. come to palestine the first night then on to brinkley. i been close to brinkley ever since. "the old man died what learned me how to walk rice levies. i still work on the place. everybody don't know how to walk levies. it will kill an old man. your feet stay wet and cold all time. i do wear hip boots but my feet stay cold and damp. i got down with the rheumatism and jes' now got so i can walk. "i got a wife and three living children. they all married and gone. "times is hard for old folks and changed so much. children used to get jobs and take care of the granny folks and the old parents. they can't take care of themselves no more it look like. i don't know how to take the young generation. they are drifting along with the fast times. "i applied but don't get no pension." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: willie doyld (male), brinkley, arkansas age: [-- -- ] "i was born in grenada, mississippi. my parents belong to the same family of white folks. my moster was jim doyld. his wife was mistress karoline doyld. well as i recollect they had four childen. my parent's name was hannah and william doyld. i'm named for em. they was three of us childen. they belong to same family of white folks for a fact. i heard em say moster jim bought em offen the block at the same time. he got em at galveston, texas. he kept five families of slaves on his place well as i recollect. "my pa was moster jim's ox driver. he drove five or six yokes at a time. he walk long side of em, wagons loaded up. he toted a long cowhide whoop. he toted it over his shoulder. when he'd crack it you could hear his whoop half a mile. knowed he was comin' on up to the house. them oxen would step long, peartin up when he crack his whoop over em. he'd be haulin' logs, wood, cotton, corn, taters, sorghum cane and stuff. he nearly always walked long side of em; sometimes he'd crawl upon the front wagon an' ride a piece. "he was a very good moster i recken far as i knows. they go up there, get sompin' to eat. he give em a midlin' meat. he give us clothes. folks wore heep of clothes then. they got whoopin's if they not do lack they tole em to do--plenty whoopin's! he kept ten dogs, they call bear dogs. they hunt fox, wolves, deer, bear, birds. them dogs died wid black tongue. every one of em died. "we et at home mostly. we was lounced wid the rations but had a big plenty. we got the rations every saturday mornin'. one fellow cut and weighed out the meat, sacked out the meal in pans what they take to git it in. sometimes we et up at the house. mama bring a big bucket milk and set it down, give us a tin cup. we eat it up lack pigs lappin' up slop. mama cooked for old mistress. she bring us 'nough cooked up grub to last us two or three days at er time. papa could cook when he be round the house too. i recollect all four my grandmas and grandpas. they come from georgia. moster jim muster bought them too but i don't know if he got em all at the same time down at galveston, texas. "moster jim show did drink liquor--whiskey. i recken he would. when he got drunk old missus have him on the bed an' she set by him till he sober up. miss karoline good as ever drawed a breath to colored and white. "my grandma, mother's ma, was a light sorter woman. the balance of my kin was pure nigger. "i kin for a fact recollect a right smart about the war. papa went off to war wid jack hoskins. he was goin' to be his waitin' man. he stayed a good while fore he got home. jack hoskins got kilt fore he et breakfast one mornin'. that all i heard him say. i recken he helped bury him but i never heard em say. "the plainest thing i recollect was a big drove of the yankee soldiers--some ridin', some walkin'--come up to the moster's house. he was sorter old man. he was settin' in the gallery. he lived in a big log house. he was readin' the paper. he throwed back his head and was dead. jes' scared to death. they said that was what the matter. in spite of that they come down there and ordered us up to the house. all the niggers scared to death not to go. there lay old moster jim stretched dead in his chair. they was backed up to the smoke house door and the horses makin' splinters of the door. it was three planks thick, crossed one another and bradded together wid iron nails. they throwed the stuff out an' say, 'come an' git it. take it to your houses.' they took it. it was ours and we didn't want it wasted. soon as they gone they got mighty busy bringing it back. they built nother door an' put it up. old miss karoline bout somewheres, scared purty near to death. they buried moster jim at water valley, mississippi. miss karoline broke up and went back to virginia. my grandma got her feather bed and died on it. bout two years after that the yankees sot fire to the house and burned it down. we all had good log houses down close together. they didn't bother us. "i don't recollect the ku klux. "our folks never knowed when freedom come on. some didn't believe they was free at all. they went on farmin' wid what left. what they made they got it. my folks purty nigh all died right there. "i lives alone. i got two childern in lulu, mississippi. i had three childern. my wife come here wid me. she dead. "i had forty acres land, two mules, wagon. it went for debts. white folks got it. i ain't made nuthin' since. "i ain't no hand at votin' much. i railly never understood nuthin' bout the run of politics. "i hates to say it but the young generation won't work if they can get by widout it. they take it, if they can, outen the old folks. i used to didn't ask folks no diffrunce. i worked right long. "i gets commodities wid this old woman. i come here to build her fires and see after er. i don't git no check." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: wade dudley, moro, ark. age: "bill kidd and miss nancy kidd owned my parents. i was born close to okalona, chickasha county, mississippi, about the last year of the civil war. mr. bill was miss nancy's boy. he was a nigger trader. they said the overseers treated em pretty rough. they made em work in nearly a run. when miss nancy was living they was rich but after she died he got down pretty low. he married. course i knowd em. i been through his house. he had a fine house. my mother said she was born in virginia. she belong to addison and duley. her mother come wid her. they sold them but didn't sell her father so she never seed him no more. she walked or come in a ox wagon part of the way. she was with a _drove_. my father come from north carolina. his father was free. my father weighed out rations. he was bright color. he worked round the house and then durin' the war he run a refugee wagon. the yankees got men, mules, meat from mr. bill kidd. my father he was hiding em and hiding the provisions from one place to another to keep the yankees from starving em all to death. my mother had nine boys. they all belong to mr. miller. he died, his widow married mr. owen then mr. owen sold them to mrs. kidd. that was where they was freed. my parents stayed about mrs. kidd's till she died. they worked for a third some of the time, i don't know how long. when i was a boy size of that yonder biggest boy my folks was still thinking the government was going to give em something. i was ten years old when they left mrs. kidd's. they thought the government was going to give em acres and a mule or some kind of a start. i don't know where they got the notion. my father voted down in mississippi. i vote. i was working in the car shops in st. louis in . me and my wife both voted then. i worked there two years. i come back to arkansas where i could farm. the land was better here than in mississippi. i walked part of the way and rode part of the way when i come here from mississippi. i vote a republican ticket. bout all i owns is two little pigs and a few chickens. i did have a spring garden. we work in the field and make a little to eat and wear. "i find the present times is hard for old folks. some young folks is doing well i guess. they look like it. i made application twice for help but i ain't never got on. i don't know what to think bout the young folks. if they can get a living they have a good time. they don't worry bout the future. a little money don't buy nothin' much now. it seem like everything is to buy. money is hard to get." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: isabella duke little rock, arkansas (towards benton) visiting in hazen age: [hw: father wore a bonnet] "my own dear mother was born at faithville, alabama. she belong to sam norse. his wife was mistress mai jane. they moved to little rock years after my mother had come there. after seberal months they got trace of one another. i seed two of the norse girls and a boy. master norse was a farmer in alabama. mother said he had plenty hands in slavery. she was a field hand. she had a tough time during slavery. "pa said he had a good time. 'bout all he ever done was put on old mistress' shoes and pull her chair about for her to sit in. he built and chunked up the fires. old mistress raised him and he had to wear a bonnet. he was real light. he said the worse whoopings he ever got was when he would be out riding stick horses with his bonnet on. the hands on the place would catch him and whoop him and say, 'old mis' thinks he's white sure as de worl'.' the hands on the place sent him to the big house squalling many a time. "after he got grown he could be took for a white man easy. he was part french. he talked frenchy and acted frenchy. every one who knowd him in little rock called him pa frazier and called my mother ma frazier, but she was dark. pa said he et out his mistress' plate more times than he didn't. she raised him about like her own boy. "mother had a hard time. alex norse bought my mother and a small brother from some people leaving her own dear mother when she was fifteen years old. her mother kept the baby and the little boy took sick and died. but there had been an older boy sold to some folks near norse's place before she was sold. the brother that was two years old died. there were other older children sold. my mother never saw her mother after she was sold. she heard from her mother in . she was then one hundred and one years old and could thread her needles to piece quilts. her baby boy six months old when mother was sold come to visit us. mother wanted to go back to see her but never was able to get the money ready. mother had good sight when she died in . she was eighty-seven years old and didn't have to wear glasses to see. mother's father was on another place. he was said to be part or all indian. "mother said once a cloth peddler come through the country. her older brother john lived on a place close to the norse place. john told the peddler that ma took the piece of goods he missed. but john was the one got the goods mind out. the peddler reported it to master norse. he give my mother a terrible beating. after that it come out on john. he had stole the piece of cloth. john then took sick, lay sick a long time. master norse wouldn't let her go nigh john. she knowd when he died and the day he was to be buried. master norse wouldn't let her go nigh there, not even look like she wanted to cry. "mother married before freedom, jumped the broom she said. then after freedom she married my father. my parents named clara and george frazier. she had twelve children. pa was a cripple man. he was a soldier. he said he never was shot and never shot no one. he was on a horse and going this way (reeling from side to side dodging the shooting) all time. a horse throwed him and hurt his hip in the army. after that he limped. he drew a pension. i limps but i'm better as i got grown. i'm marked after him. one of my children i named after him what died was cripple like him. my little george died when he was ten. he was marked at birth after his grandpa. i had ten, jus' got five living children. "my husband's father's father was in the civil war. he didn't want to go out on battle-field, so in the camps he cut his eyeball with his fingernail so he could get to go to the horsepital. his eye went out. he hurt it too near the sight. he said he was sorry the rest of his life he done that. he got a pension too. he was blind and always was sorry for his disobedience. he said he was scared so bad he 'bout leave die then as go into the battlefield. "in some ways times is better. people are no better. children jus' growing up wild. their education is of the head and not their heart and hands. "i was raised around little rock is about right. i gets a pension. i'm sixty-two years old but i was down sick with nerve trouble several years. i'm better now. i've been gradually coming on up for over a year now. "mr. ernest harper of little rock takes out truckloads of black folks to work on his place in the country every day. they can get work that way if they can work." interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: "wash" dukes e. barraque pine bluff, ark. age: "yes'm, wash dukes is my name. my mother liked washington so well, she named me general washington dukes, but i said my name was wash dukes. i'm the oldest one and i'm still here. me? i was born in the state of georgia, howson county. perry, georgia was my closest place. i was born and raised on the riggins place. i was born in , you understand. the first day of march is my birthday. we had it on the bible, four boys and four girls, and i was the oldest. house caught fire and burned up the bible, but i always say i'm as old as a hoss. "i can't see as good as i used to--gettin' too old, i reckon. "old master and mistis was good to us. "my mother plowed just like a man. had a little black mule named mollie and wore these big old leggins come up to her knee. "old master was a long tall man with black hair. "you know i was here cause i remember when lincoln was elected president. he run against george washington. "i seen the yankees but i never talked to em. i was scared of em. had them muskets with a spear on the end. they give my uncle a hoss. when it thundered and lightninged that old hoss started to dance--thought twas a battle. and when he come to a fence, just jump right over with me on him. i say, 'where you get that hoss?' and uncle say, 'yankees give him to me.' "i know one time they was a fellow come by there walkin'. i guess they shot his hoss. he had plenty money. i tried to get him to give me some but he wouldn't give me a bit. "at oglethorpe they had a place where they kep the prisoners. they was a little stream run through it and the rebels pizened it and killed a lot of em. "i was so crazy when i was young. i know one time mama sent me to town to get a dress pattern--ten yards. she say, 'now, wash, when you go across that bottom, you'll hear somethin' sounds like somebody dyin', but you just go on, it won't hurt you.' but i say, 'i won't hear it.' i went through there so fast and come back, mama say, 'you done been to town already?' i said, 'yes, here's your dress pattern.' i went through there ninety to nothin'. i went so fast my heart hurt me. "in slave times i remember if you wanted to go to another plantation you had to have a pass. paddyrollers nearly got me one night. i was on a hoss. they was shootin' at me. i know the hoss was just stretched out and i was layin' right down on his neck. "i stayed in georgia till ' . i heared em say the cotton grow so big here in arkansas you could sit on a limb and eat dinner. i know when i got here they was havin' that brooks-baxter war in little rock. i say, 'press me into the war.' man say, 'i ain't goin' press no boys.' i say, 'give me a gun, i can kill em.' i wanted to fight. "i tell you where i voted--colored folks don't vote now--it was when i was on the davis place. i voted once or twice since i been up here. i called myself votin' republican. i member since i been up here you know they had a colored man in the courthouse. when they had a grand jury they had em mixed, some colored and some white. i say now they ain't got no privilege. if they don't want em to vote ought not make em pay taxes. "up north they all sits together in the deppo but here in the south they got a 'tition between em. "when i first went to farmin' i rented the land and the cotton was all mine, but now you work on the shares and don't have nothin'. "if i keep a livin', i'm goin' away from here. i'm goin' up north. i won't go fore it gets warm though. i seen the snow knee deep in cleveland, ohio. "i was workin' up north once. i had a pretty good job in detroit doin' piece work, and doin' well, but i come back here cause my wife's mother was too old to move. if i had stayed i might have done well. "i own this property but i'm bout to lose it on account o' taxes. "i got grown boys and they ain't no more help to me than the spit out o' my mouth. none of em has ever give me a dime in their life. this younger generation is goin' to nothin'. they got a good education. i got a boy can write six different kinds a hands. write enough to get in the pen. i got him pardoned and he's in philadelphia now. never sends me a dime. "i never went to any school but night school a little. i was the oldest and it kep me knockin' around to help take care of the little ones. "i preach sometimes. i'm not ordained--i'm a floor preacher, just stands in front of the altar." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lizzie dunn, clarendon, arkansas age: "i was born close to hernando, mississippi. my parents was cassie gillahm and ely gillahm. my master was john gillahm. i fell to john gillahm and tim bought me from him so i could be with my mother. i was a young baby. bill gillahm was our old master. he might had a big farm but i was raised on a small farm. white folks raised me. they put me to sewing young. i sewed with my fingers. i could sew mighty nice. my mistress had a machine she screwed on a table. "all the gillahms went to louisiana in war time and left the women with youngest white master. they was trying to keep their slaves from scattering. they were so sure that the war would be lost. "the yankees camped close to us but didn't bother my white folks to hurt them. they et them out time and ag'in. i seen the yankees every day. i seen the cannons and cavalry a mile long. the sound was like eternity had turned loose. everything shook like earthquakes day and night. the light was bright and red and smoke terrible. "mother cooked and we et from our master's table. "we was all scared when the war was on and glad it was over. mama died at the close. me and my sister sharecropped and made seven bales of cotton in one year. "when freedom come on, our master and mistress told us. we all cried. miss mollie was next to our own mother. she raised us. we kept on their place. "i cooked for joe campbell at forrest city. he had one boy i help to raise. they think well of me." interviewer's comment very light mulatto. bed fast and had two rolls and a cup of coffee. had been alone all day except when home aid girls bathed and cleaned her bed. she is paralyzed. she said she was hungry. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: nellie dunne w. sixth avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes ma'am, i was slavery born but free raised. i was half as big as i is now. (she is not much over four feet tall--ed.) born in silver creek, mississippi. yes ma'am. they give ever'body on the place their ages but mama said it wasn't no 'count and tore it up, so i don't know what year i was born. "cy magby--mama was under his control. he would carry us over to the white folks' house every morning to see miss becky. when old master come after us, he'd say, 'what you gwine say?' and we'd say, 'one-two-three.' then we'd go over to old mis' and courtesy and say, 'good morning, miss becky; good morning, mars albert; good morning, mars wardly.' they was just little old kids but we had to call 'em mars. "what i know i'm gwine tell you, but you ain't gwine ketch me in no tale. "i 'member they was gwine put us to carryin' water for the hands next year, and that year we got free. my mother shouted, 'now i ain't lyin' 'bout dat.' i sure 'member when they sot the people free. they was just ready to blow the folks out to the field. i 'member old mose would blow the bugle and he could _blow_ that bugle. if you wasn't in, you better get in. yes ma'am! the day freedom come, i know mose was just ready to blow the bugle when the yankees begun to beat the drum down the road. they knowed it was all over then. that ain't no joke. "i was a full grown woman then i come to arkansas; i wasn't no baby. "i went to school one month in my life. that was in mississippi. "my joe" (her husband) "just lack one year bein' a graduate. he went up here to that branch normal. that boy had good learnin'. he could a learnt me but he was too high tempered. if i missed a word he would be so crabb'y. so one night i throwed the book across the room and said, 'you don't need try to learn me no more.'" interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: william l. dunwoody w. th street, little rock, arkansas age: about [hw: remembers jeff davis] "i was born in charleston, south carolina, in the year . "my father was killed in the civil war when they taken south carolina. his name was charles dunwoody. my mother's name was mary dunwoody. my father was a free man and my mother was a slave. when he courted and married her he took the name of dunwoody. houses "ain't you seen a house built in the country when they were clearing up and wanted to put up somethin' for the men to live in while they were working? they'd cut down a tree. then they'd line it--fasten a piece of twine to each end and whiten it and pull it up and let it fly down and mark the log. then they'd score it with axes. then the hewers would come along and hew the log. sometimes they could hew it so straight you couldn't put a line on it and find any difference. where they didn't take time with the logs, it would be where they were just putting up a little shack for the men to sleep in. "just like you box timber in the sawmill, the men would straighten out a log. "to make the log house, you would saw your blocks, set em up, then you put the sills on the blocks, then you put the sleepers. when you get them in, lay the planks to walk on. then they put on the first log. you notch it. to make the roof, you would keep on cutting the logs in half first one way and then the other until you got the blocks small enough for shingles. then you would saw the shingles off. they had plenty of time. food "the slaves ate just what the master ate. they ate the same on my master's place. all people didn't farm alike. some just raised cotton and corn. some raised peas, oats, rye, and a lot of different things. my old master raised corn, potatoes--irish and sweet--, goober peas (peanuts), rye, and wheat, and i can't remember what else. that's in the eating line. he had hogs, goats, sheep, cows, chickens, turkeys, geese, ducks. that is all i can remember in the eating line. my old master's slaves et anything he raised. "he would send three or four wagons down to the mill at a time. one of them would carry sacks; all the rest would carry wheat. you know flour seconds, shorts and brand come from the wheat. you get all that from the wheat. buckwheat flour comes from a large grained wheat. the wagons came back loaded with flour, seconds, shorts and brand. the old man had six wheat barns to keep the wheat in. "all the slaves ate together. they had a cook special for them. this cook would cook in a long house more than thirty feet long. two or three women would work there and a man, just like the cooks would in a hotel now. all the working hands ate there and got whatever the cook gave them. it was one thing one time and another another. the cook gave the hands anything that was raised on the place. there was one woman in there cooking that was called 'mammy' and she seed to all the chilen. feeding the children "after the old folks among the slaves had had their breakfast, the cook would blow a horn. that would be about nine o'clock or eight. all the children that were big enough would come to the cook shack. some of them would bring small children that had been weaned but couldn't look after themselves. the cook would serve them whatever the old folks had for breakfast. they ate out of the same kind of dishes as the old folks. "between ten and eleven o'clock, the cook would blow the horn again and the children would come in from play. there would be a large bowl and a large spoon for each group of larger children. there would be enough children in each group to get around the bowl comfortably. one would take a spoon of what was in the bowl and then pass the spoon to his neighbor. his neighbor would take a spoonful and then pass the spoon on, and so on until everyone would have a spoonful. then they would begin again, and so on until the bowl was empty. if they did not have enough then, the cook would put some more in the bowl. most of the time, bread and milk was in the bowl; sometimes mush and milk. "there was a small spoon and a small bowl for the smaller children in the group that the big children would use for them and pass around just like they passed around the big spoon. "about two or three o'clock, the cook would blow the horn again. time the children all got in there and et, it would be four or five o'clock. the old mammy would cut up greens real fine and cut up meat into little pieces and boil it with corn-meal dumplings. they'd call it pepper pot. then she'd put some of the pepper pot into the bowls and we'd eat it. and it was good. "after the large children had et, they would go back to see after the babies. if they were awake, the large children would put on their clothes and clean them up. then where there was a woman who had two or three small children and didn't have one large enough to do this, they'd give her a large one from some other family to look after her children. if she had any relatives, they would use their children for her. if she didn't then they would use anybody's children. "about eleven o'clock all the women who had little children that had not been weaned would come in to see after them and let them suck. when a woman had nursing children, she would nurse them before she went to work, again at around eleven o'clock and again when she came from work in the evening. she would come in long before sundown. in between times, the old mammy and the other children would look after them. war memories "i saw jeff davis once. he was one-eyed. he had a glass eye. my old mistiss had three girls. they got into the buggy and went to see jeff davis when he come through auburn, alabama. we were living in auburn then. i drove them. jeff davis came through first, and then the confederate army, and then the yankees. they didn't come on the same day but some days apart. "the way i happened to see the yanks was like this. i went to carry some clothes to my young master. he was a doctor, and was out where they were drilling the men. i laid down on the carpet in his tent and i heard music playing 'in dixie land i'll take my stand and live and die in dixie.' i got up and come out and looked up ever which way but i couldn't see nothing. i went back again and laid down again in the tent, and i heard it again. i run out and looked all up and around again, and i still couldn't see nothin'. that time i looked and saw my young master talking to another officer--i can't remember his name. my young master said, 'what you looking for?' "i said, 'i'm looking for them angels i hear playing. don't you hear em playing dixie?' the other officer said, 'celas, you ought to whip that nigger.' i went back into the tent. my young master said, 'whip him for what?' and he said, 'for telling that lie.' my young master said to him like this, 'he don't tell lies. he heard something somewhere.' "then they got through talking and he come on in and i seed him and beckoned to him. he came to me and i said, 'lie down there.' he laid down and i laid down with him, and he heard it. then he said, 'look out there and tell him to come in.' "i called the other officer and he come in. the doctor (that was my young master) said, 'lie down there.' when he laid down by my young master, he heard it too. then the doctor said to him, 'you said william was telling a damn lie.' he said, 'i beg your pardon, doctor.' "my young master got up and said, 'where is my spy glasses? le'me have a look.' he went out and there was a mountain called the blue ridge mountain. he looked but he didn't see nothin'. i went out and looked too. i said, 'look down the line beside those two big trees,' and i handed the glasses back to him. he looked and then he hollered, 'my god, look yonder' and handed the spy glasses to the other officer. he looked too. then the doctor said, 'what are we going to do?' he said, 'i am goin' to put pickets way out.' he told me to get to my mule. i got. he put one of his spurs on my foot and told me to go home and tell 'ma' the yanks were coming. you know what 'ma' he was talking about? that was his wife's mother. we all called her 'mother.' "i carried the note. when i got to mrs. dobbins' house, i yelled, 'the yanks are coming--yankees, yankees, yankees!' she had two boys. they runned out and said, 'what did you say?' "i said, 'yankees, yankees!' "they said, 'hell, what could he see?' "i come on then and got against miss yancy's. she had a son, a man named henry yancy. he had a sore leg. he asked me what i said. i told him that the yanks were coming. he called for henry, a boy that stayed with him, and had him saddle his horse. then he got on it and rode up town. when he got up there, he was questioned bout how did he know it. did he see them. he said he didn't see them, that celas neal saw them and the doctor's mother's boy brought the message. then he taken off. "jeff davis went on. the confederates went on. they all went on. then the yanks passed through. "the first fight they had there, they cleaned up the sixty-ninth alabama troops. my young master had been helping drill them. he went on and overtook the others. right after the war "i am not sure just what we did immediately after freedom. i don't know whether it was a year or whether it was a year and a half. i can just go by my mother. after freedom, we came from auburn, alabama to opelika, alabama, and she went to cooking at a hotel until she got money enough for what she wanted to do. when she got fixed, she moved then to columbus, georgia. she rented a place from ned burns, a policeman. when that place gave out, she went to washing and ironing. sterling love rented a house from the same man. he had four children and they were going to school and they took me too. schooling "i fixed up and went to school with them. i didn't get no learning at all in slavery times. how freedom came "i don't know whether all the whites did it or not; but i know this--when they quit fighting, i know the white children called we little children and all the grown people who worked around the house and said, 'you all is jus' as free as we is. you ain't got no master and no mistiss,' and i don't know what they told them at the plantation. occupation "right after the war, my mother worked--washed--for an old white man. he took an interest in me and taught me. i did little things for him. when he died, i took up the teaching which he had been doing. "at first i taught in columbus, georgia. by and by, a white man came along looking for laborers for this part of the country. he said money grew on bushes out here. he cleaned out the place. all the children and all the grown folks followed him. two of my boys came to me and told me they were coming. we hoboed on freights and walked to chattanooga, tennessee. we stayed there awhile. then a white man came along getting laborers. i never kept the year nor nothin'. he brought us to lonoke county, and i got work on the bood bar plantation. squirrels, wild things, cotton and corn, plenty of it. so you see, the man told the truth when he said money grew on bushes. "i taught and farmed all my life. farming is the greatest occupation. it supports the teacher, the preacher, the lawyer, the doctor. none of them can live without it. "i can't do much now since that lady knocked me down with her automobile and made me a cripple. i'd a been all right if so many of them young doctors hadn't experimented on me. then i can't see good out of one eye. i can't do much now. i don't know why they won't give me a pension." interviewer's comment william dunwoody had some of his dates and occurrences mixed up as would be natural for a man ninety-eight years old. but there was one respect in which he was sharper than anyone else interviewed. at the close of the first day's interview when i arose to go he said to me, "now you got what you want?" i told him yes and that i would be back for more the next day. then he said, "well, if you got what you want, there's one thing i want you to do for me before you go." "certainly, brother dunwoody," i said, "i'll be glad to do anything you want me to do. just what can i do for you?" "well," he said, "i want you to read me what you been writin' there." and i read it. a little grandchild about four years old kept us company while he dictated to me. i furnished pennies for the child's candy and a nickel for the old man's tobacco. the old man got a kick out of the dictation. after the first day, he became very cautious. he would say, "now don't write this," and he wouldn't let me take it down the way he said it. instead, he would make a long statement and then we would work out the gist of it together. he is not highly schooled, and he is not especially prepossessing in appearance; but he is a long way from decrepit--mentally. he walks with a crutch and has a defect in the sight of one eye. he has good hearing and talks in a pleasant voice. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lucius edwards age: interviewer's comment i went to see lucius edwards, age seventy-two, twice. he has colitis. he wouldn't tell me anything. he said he was born in shreveport, louisiana and his father took him away so young he knew no mother; his aunt raised him. the first day he said he remembered all that about his parents' owners. the next day the nurse had him cleaned up and nice meals were sent in and still he wouldn't tell us anything. he told the nurse he had farmed and worked on the railroad all his life. he was up but wouldn't tell us anything. he told me, "i don't think i ever voted." we decided he might be afraid he'd twist his tales and we'd catch him some way. interviewer: mary d. hudgins person interviewed: john elliott age: home: south border (property of brother's estate) as told by: john elliott "no, ma'am. i ain't got no folks. they've all died out. my son, he may be alive. when i last heard from him, he was in pine bluff. but i wrote down lots of times and nobody can't find him. brother said, that was before he died, that i could stay on in the place as long as i lived. his wife come to see me some years back and she said it was that way. the comodity gives me milk, and a little beside. i'm expectin' to hear if i get the pension, tuesday. no ma'am, i ain't worked in three years. yes, ma'am, i was a slave. i was about years old when they mustered 'em out the last time. my daddy went along to take care of his young master. he died, and my daddy brought his horse and all his belongings home. you see it was this way. my mother was a run-away slave. she was from, what's that big state off there--virginia--yes, ma'am, that's it. there was a pretty good flock of them. they came into north carolina--wayne county was where john elliott found them. they was in a pretty bad way. they didn't have no place to go and they didn't have nothing to eat. they didn't have nobody to own 'em. they didn't know what to do. my mother was about . by some means or other they met up with a man named john elliott. he was a teacher. he struck a bargain with them. he pitched in and he bought acres of land. he built a big house for miss polly and bunk and margaret. miss polly was his sister. and he built cabins for the black folks. and he says 'you stay here, and you take care of miss polly and the children. now mind, you raise lots to eat. you take care of the place too. and if anybody bothers you you tell miss polly.' my uncle mose, he was the oldest. he was a blacksmith. jacob was the carpenter. 'now look here, mose,' says mister john, 'you raise plenty of hogs. mind you give all the folks plenty of meat. then you take the rest to miss polly and let her lock it in the smokehouse.' miss polly carried the key, but mose was head man and had dominion over the smokehouse. they didn't get money to any extreme. but whatever they wanted, miss polly would go along with them and they would buy it. they went to goldsboro. that was the biggest town near us. the patrollers never bothered any of us. once or twice they tried it. but miss polly wrote to mr. john. he'd write it all down like it ought to be. then they didn't bother us any more. there was no speculation wid 'em like there was with other negro people. they never had to go to the hiring ground. mr. john built a church for my mother and the other women who was running mates with her. and he built a school for the children. some other colored children tried to come to the school too. they was welcome. but sometimes the white folks would tear up the books of the colored children from outside that tried to come. our folks stayed on and on. mr. john was off teaching school most of the time. we stayed on and on. pretty soon there was about - , of us. some of them was carpenters and some of them was this and some was that. mr. john even put in a mill. a groundhog saw mill, it was. some white men put it in. but it was the colored folks who run it. they all stayed right on on the farm. there wasn't any white folks about at all, except miss polly and bunk and margaret. no, ma'am, after the war it didn't make much difference. we all stayed on. we worked the place. and when we got a chance, mr. john let us hire out and keep the money. and if the folks wouldn't pay us, mr. john would write the federal and the federal would see that we got our money for what we had worked. mr. john was a mighty good man to us. no ma'am. nobody got discontented for a long time. then some men come in and messed them up. told us that we could make more money other places. and it was true too--if they had let us get the money. by that time mr. john, had died. bunk had died too, miss margaret had grown up and married. her husband was managing the farm. he was good, but he wasn't like mr. john. so lots of us moved away. but about not making money. take me. i raised - bales of cotton. the man who owned the land, i worked on halvers, sold it on the liverpool market. but he wouldn't pay me but about / of what he collected on my half. and i says to him, 'you gets full price for your half, why can't i get full price for mine?' and he says, 'it's against the rules.' and i says, 'it ain't fair! and he says, 'it's the rules.' so after about six years i quit farming. you can't make no money that way. yes--you make it, but you can't get it. i went to town at pine bluff. there i got to mixing concrete. i made pretty good at it, too. i stayed on for some years. then i came to hot springs. my brother was along with me. we both worked and after work we built a house. it took us four years. but it was a good house. it has six rooms in it. it makes a good home. my brother had the deed. but his widow says i can stay on. the folks what lives in the rest of the house are good to me. when i got to hot springs i worked mixing concrete. there was lots of sidewalks being made along about that time. then i scatter dirt all around where the court house is now. then i worked at both of the very biggest hotels. i washed. i washed cream pitchers--the little ones with corners that were hard to clean. no, i ain't worked in three years. it hard to try to get along. some states, they pays good pensions. i can't be here long--don't look like i can be here long. seems as if they could take care of me for the few days i'm going to be on this earth. seems like they could. interviewer: mrs. carol graham person interviewed: millie evans age: [illustration: millie evans] yo' say yo' is in'rested in the lives of the slaves? well, miss, i is one of 'em. was born in but i don' know jus' when. my birthday comes in fodder pullin' time cause my ma said she was pullin up till bout a hour 'fore i was born. was born in north carolina and was a young lady at the time of surrender. i don' 'member ol' master's name; all i 'member is that we call 'em ol' master an ol' mistress. they had bout a hundred niggers and they was rich. master always tended the men and mistress tended to us. ev'y mornin' bout fo' 'clock ol' master would ring de bell for us to git up by an yo could hear dat bell ringin all over de plantation. i can hear hit now. hit would go ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling and i can see 'em now stirrin in carolina. i git so lonesome when i thinks bout times we used to have. twas better livin back yonder than now. i stayed with my ma every night but my mistress raised me. my ma had to work hard so ev'y time ol' mistress thought we little black chilluns was hungry 'tween meals she would call us up to the house to eat. sometime she would give us johnny cake an plenty of buttermilk to drink wid it. they had a long trough fo' us dat day would keep so clean. they would fill dis trough wid buttermilk and all us chillun would git roun' th' trough an drink wid our mouths an hol' our johnny cake wid our han's. i can jus' see myself drinkin' now. hit was so good. there was so many black fo'ks to cook fuh that the cookin was done outdoors. greens was cooked in a big black washpot jus' like yo' boils clothes in now. an' sometime they would crumble bread in the potlicker an give us spoons an we would stan' roun' the pot an' eat. when we et our regular meals the table was set under a chinaberry tree wid a oil cloth table cloth on when dey called us to th' table they would ring the bell. but we didn' eat out'n plates. we et out of gourds an had ho'made wood spoons. an' we had plenty t'eat. whooo-eee! jus' plenty t'eat. ol' master's folks raised plenty o' meat an dey raise dey sugar, rice, peas, chickens, eggs, cows an' jus' ev'ything good t'eat. ev'y ev'nin' at three 'clock ol' mistress would call all us litsy bitsy chillun in an we would lay down on pallets an have to go to sleep. i can hear her now singin' to us piccaninnies: "hush-a-bye, bye-yo'-bye, mammy's piccaninnies way beneath the silver shining moon hush-a-bye, bye-yo'-bye, mammy's piccaninnies daddy's little carolina coons now go to sleep yo' little piccaninnies." when i got big 'nough i nursed my mistress's baby. when de baby go to sleep in de evenin' i woul' put hit in de cradle an' lay down by de cradle an go to sleep. i played a heap when i was little. we played susannah gal, jump rope, callin' cows, runnin', jumpin', skippin', an jus' ev'ythin' we could think of. when i got big 'nough to cook, i cooked den. the kitchen of the big house was built way off f'om the house and we cooked on a great big ol' fi' place. we had swing pots an would swing 'em over the fire an cook an had a big ol' skillet wi' legs on hit. we call hit a ubben an cooked bread an cakes in it. we had the bes' mistress an master in the worl' and they was christian fo'ks an they taught us to be christianlike too. ev'y sunday mornin' ol' master would have all us niggers to the house while he would sing an pray an read de bible to us all. ol' master taught us not to be bad; he taught us to be good; he tol' us to never steal nor to tell false tales an not to do anythin' that was bad. he said: yo' will reap what yo' sow, that you sow it single an' reap double. i learnt that when i was a little chile an i ain't fo'got it yet. when i got grown i went de baptist way. god called my pa to preach an ol' master let him preach in de kitchen an in the back yard under th' trees. on preachin' day ol' master took his whole family an all th' slaves to church wid him. we had log school houses in them days an fo'ks learnt more than they does in the bricks t'day. down in the quarters ev'y black family had a one or two room log cabin. we didn' have no floors in them cabins. nice dirt floors was de style then an we used sage brooms. took a string an tied the sage together an had a nice broom out'n that. we would gather broom sage fo' our winter brooms jus' like we gathered our other winter stuff. we kep' our dirt floors swep' as clean an' white. an our bed was big an tall an had little beds to push under there. they was all little er nough to go under de other an in th' daytime we would push 'em all under the big one an make heaps of room. our beds was stuffed wid hay an straw an shucks an b'lieve me chile they sho' slep' good. when the boys would start to the quarters from th' fiel' they would get a turn of lider knots. i specks yo' knows 'em as pine knots. that was what we use' fo' light. when our fire went out we had no fire. didn' know nothin' bout no matches. to start a fire we would take a skillet lid an a piece of cotton an a flint rock. lay de cotton on th' skillet lid an' take a piece of iron an beat the flint rock till the fire would come. sometime we would beat fo' thirty minutes before the fire would come an start the cotton then we woul' light our pine. up at th' big house we didn' use lider knots but used tallow candles for lights. we made the candles f'om tallow that we took f'om cows. we had moulds and would put string in there an leave the en' stickin' out to light an melt the tallow an pour it down aroun' th' string in the mould. we use to play at night by moonlight and i can recollec' singin wid the fiddle. oh, lord, dat fiddle could almos' talk an i can hear it ringin now. sometime we would dance in the moonlight too. ol' master raised lots of cotton and the women fo'ks carded an spun an wove cloth, then they dyed hit an made clothes. an we knit all the stockin's we wo'. they made their dye too, f'om diffe'nt kin's of bark an leaves an things. dey would take the bark an boil it an strain it up an let it stan' a day then wet the 'terial in col' water an shake hit out an drop in the boilin' dye an let it set bout twenty minutes then take it out an hang it up an let it dry right out of that dye. then rinse it in col' water an let it dry then it woul' be ready to make. i'll tell yo' how to dye. a little beech bark dyes slate color set with copperas. hickory bark and bay leaves dye yellow set with chamber lye; bamboo dyes turkey red, set color wid copperas. pine straw dyes purple, set color with chamber lye. to dye cloth brown we would take de cloth an put it in the water where leather had been tanned an let it soak then set the color with apple vinegar. an we dyed blue wid indigo an set the color wid alum. we wo' draws made out of termestic that come down longer than our dresses an we wo' seven petticoats in the winter wid sleeves in dem petticoats in the winter an the boys wo' big ol' long shirts. they didn' know nothin bout no britches till they was great big, jus' wen' roun' in dey shirttails. an we all wo' shoes cause my pa made shoes. master taught pa to make shoes an the way he done, they killed a cow an took the hide an tanned it. the way they tanned it was to take red oak bark and put in vats made somethin' like troughs that held water. firs' he would put in a layer of leather an a layer of oak ashes an a layer of leather an a layer of oak ashes till he got it all in an cover with water. after that he let it soak till the hair come off the hide. then he would take the hide out an it was ready for tannin'. then the hide was put to soak in with the red oak bark. it stayed in the water till the hide turned tan then pa took the hide out of the red oak dye an it was a purty tan. it didn' have to soak long. then he would get his pattern an cut an make tan shoes out'n the tanned hides. we called 'em brogans. they planted indigo an it growed jus' like wheat. when it got ripe they gathered it an we would put it in a barrel an let it soak bout a week then we woul' take the indigo stems out an squeeze all the juice out of 'em an put the juice back in the barrel an let it stan' bout nother week, then we jus' stirred an stirred one whole day. we let it set three or four days then drained the water off an left the settlings and the settlings was blueing jus' like we have these days. we cut ours in little blocks an we dyed clothes wid it too. we made vinegar out of apples. took over ripe apples an ground 'em up an put 'em in a sack an let drip. didn' add no water an when it got through drippin we let it sour an strained an let it stan for six months an had some of the bes vinegar ever made. we had homemade tubs and didn' have no wash boa'ds. we had a block an battlin' stick. we put our clo'es in soak then took 'em out of soak an lay them on the block an take the battling stick an battle the dirt out of 'em. we mos'ly used rattan vines for clotheslines an they made the bes clo'es lines they was. ol' master raised big patches of tobaccy an when dey gather it they let it dry an then put it in lasses. after the lasses dripped off then they roll hit up an twisted it an let it dry in the sun or days. it sho' was ready for some and chewin an hit was sweet an stuck together so yo' could chew an spit an 'joy hit. the way we got our perfume we took rose leaves, cape jasmines an sweet bazil an laid dem wid our clo'es an let 'em stay three or fo' days then we had good smellin' clo'es that would las' too. when there was distressful news master would ring the bell. when the niggers in the fiel' would hear the bell everyone would lis'en an wonder what the trouble was. you'd see 'em stirrin' too. they would always ring the bell at twelve 'clock. sometime then they would think it was some thin' serious an they would stan up straight but if they could see they shadow right under 'em they would know it was time for dinner. the reason so many white folks was rich was they made money an didn' have nothin' to do but save it. they made money an raised ev'ything they used, an jus' didn' have no use fo' money. didn' have no banks in them days an master buried his money. the floo's in the big house was so pretty an white. we always kep' them scoured good. we didn' know what it was to use soap. we jus' took oak ashes out of the fi'place and sprinkled them on the floo' and scoured with a corn shuck mop. then we would sweep the ashes off an rinse two times an let it dry. when it dried it was the cleanes' floo' they was. to make it white, clean sand was sprinkled on the floo' an we let it stay a couple of days then the floo' would be too clean to walk on. the way we dried the floo' was with a sack an a rag. we would get down on our knees an dry it so dry. i 'member one night one of ol' master's girls was goin' to get married. that was after i was big 'nough to cook an we was sho' doin' some cookin. some of the niggers on the place jus' natchally would steal so we cook a big cake of co'n-bread an iced it all pretty an put it out to cool an some of 'em stole it. this way old master found out who was doin the stealin cause it was such a joke on 'em they had to tell. all ol' master's niggers was married by the white preacher but he had a neighbor who would marry his niggers hisself. he would say to the man: "do yo' want this woman?" and to the girl, "do yo' want this boy?" then he would call the ol' mistress to fetch the broom an ol' master would hold one end an ol' mistress the other an tell the boy and girl to jump dis broom and he would say: "dat's yo' wife." dey called marryin' like that jumpin the broom. now chile i can't 'member everything i done in them days but we didn' have ter worry bout nothin. ol' mistress was the one to worry. twasn't then like it is now, no twasn't. we had such a good time an ev'ybody cried when the yankees cried out: "free." tother niggers say dey had a hard time 'fo' dey was free but twas then like tis now. if you had a hard time we don it ourselves. ol' master didn' want to part with his niggers an the niggers didn' wan' to part with ol' master so they thought by comin to arkansas they would have a chance to keep 'em. so they got on their way. we loaded up our wagons an put up our wagon sheet an we had plenty to eat an plenty of horse feed. we traveled bout or miles a day an would stop an camp at night. we would cook enough in the morning to las' all day. the cows was drove t'gether. some was gentle an some was not an did dey have a time. i mean, dey _had_ a time. while we was on our way ol' master died an three of the slaves died too. we buried the slaves there but we camped while ol' master was carried back to north carolina. when ol' mistress come back we started on to arkansas an reached here safe but when we got here we foun' freedom here too. ol' mistress begged us to stay wid her an we stayed till she died then they took her back to carolina. there wasn' nobody lef' but miss nancy an she soon married an lef' an i los' track of her an mr. tom. el dorado district folklore subjects name of interviewer: pernella anderson subjects: customs related to slavery time [hw: ex slave story] subject: food--particular foods typical and characteristic of certain localities and certain people (negroes) [nov ] [tr: additional topic moved from subsequent page.] this information given by: millie evans (negroes pronounce it irvins) place of residence: by missouri pacific track near mop shops occupation: none age: [tr: personal information moved from bottom of interview.] i wuz a young lady in the time of surrender. i am a slave chile. i am one of them. i had a gran' time in slavery time. i wuz born wid de white foks. i stayed wid mah muthah at night but mah mistress raised me. i nussed mah mutha's gran'chile. i churned and sot de table. when de baby go to sleep in de evenin' i put hit in de cradle. an' i'd lay down by the cradle and go to sleep. every evenin' i'd go git _lida knots_. i played a lots. i wuz born . we played susanna gals, and we just played jump rope. jes' we gals did. we played calling' cows. dey'd come to us and we run from um. my [tr: 'i' corrected to 'my'] mistess wuz a millionaire. i went to school a while. i can count only lit bit. one uz de girl made fun uz me. she kotch me nodding and we fit dare in de school house. old log school house. dey had two big rooms. ah went to de ole fokes' church. young un too. we'd cry if we didn't git ter go ter church wid ma and pa. our table was sot under a china berry tree and ooo-eee chile i can see hit now. we et on a loal (oil) table cloth. when dey called us to de table dey would ring a bell. we didn' eat out uz plates. we et outn gourds. we all et outn gourds. when i got big nuff ter cook i cooked den. we had plenty to eat. we raised who-eee plenty meat. we raised our sugar, rice, peas, chikens, eggs, cows. who-eee chile we had plenty to eat. our mistess had ovah a hunert ( ) niggers. ole moster nevah did whip none uv us niggers. he tended de men and mistess always tended to us. i wudden (wasn't) quite grown when i wuz married. we cooked out in de yard an' on fireplaces too in dose big ubbens (ovens). we cooked greens in a wash pot jes like you boil clothes, dats de way we cook greens. we cooked ash cakes too an we cooked persimmon braid (bread). an evah thing we had wuz good too. we made our churns in dem days. made dem outn cypress. evahbody cried when dem yankees cried out: "free." we cried too; we hated hit so bad. we had such a good time. i is gittin so ole i can't member so ever' thin' i done. now chile ah cain't member evah' thin' i done but in dem days we didn' have ter worry 'bout nothin'. ole mistress wuz de one ter worry. twasn't den like hit is now. no twasn't. tother niggers say dey had er hard time foe dem yankee cried "free" but it waz den jes like hit is now if you had a hard time we done hit ourselves. [hw: negro food] _persimmon pie_ make a crust like you would any other pie crust and take your persimmons and wash them. let them be good and ripe. get the seed out of them. don't cook them. mash them and put cinnamon and spice in and butter. sugar to taste. then roll your dough and put in custard pan, and then add the filling, then put a top crust on it, sprinkle a little sugar on top and bake. _persimmon cornbread_ sift meal and add your ingredients then your persimmons that have been washed and the seeds taken out and mash them and put in and stir well together. grease pan well and pour in and bake. eat with fresh meat. _persimmon beer_ gather your persimmons, wash and put in a keg, cover well with water and add about two cups of meal to it and let sour about three days. that makes a nice drink. boil persimmons just as you do prunes now day and they will answer for the same purpose. _ash cake_ two cups of meal and one teaspoon of salt and just enough hot water to make it stick together. roll out in pones and wrap in a corn shuck or collard leaves or paper. lay on hot ashes and cover with hot ashes and let cook about ten minutes. _cornbread johnny cake_ two cups of meal, one half cup of flour about a teaspoon of soda, one cup of syrup, one-half teaspoon salt, beat well. add teaspoon of lard. pour in greased pan and bake. [hw: _water_ or _milk_ added?] (old mistress wud give us this corn bread johnny cake about four o'clock in de evening and give us plenty of buttermilk to drink wid it. dey had a long trough. dey kep' hit so clean fur us. ev'ry evening about four dey would fill de trough full uv milk and wus abut of us chilluns. we'd all get round de trough and drink wid our mouth and hold our johnny cake in our han's. i can jes see mahself drinkin now. it wus so good.) _beef dumplins_ take the brough (meaning broth) from boiled beef and season with salt, peper and add you dumplins jus as you would chicken dumplins. pick and wash beet tops just as you would turnip greens and cook with meat to season. season to suit taste. this makes the best vegetable dish. _potato biscuit_ two cups flour. two teaspoons of baking powder, pinch of soda, teaspoon of salt, tablespoon of lard, two cups of cooked, well mashed sweet potatoes and milk to make a nice dough. _irish potato pie_ boil potatoes, set off and let cool, then mash well and add one cup sugar, two eggs, butter size of an egg, milk, spice to suit taste, bake in pie crust. irish potatoes make a better pie than sweet potatoes. interviewer: mary d. hudgins person interviewed: mose evans home: walnut aged: radios from half a dozen houses blared out on the afternoon air. ben[tr:?] winslow was popular but ran a poor second to jazz bands in which moaning trombones predominated. at one or two houses a knock or jangling bell had roused nobody. "they's all off at work," a neighbor usually volunteered. but in this block of comfortable cottages fronting on the paved section of walnut evidently there were a goodly number of stay-at-homes. a mild prosperity seemed to pervade everything. the walnut section is in the "old part of town". some of the houses had evidently been built during the s; but they were well kept up and painted. there was evidence here and there of former dependence on wells for water. one or two had been simply boarded over. one, a front yard affair had been ingeniously converted into a huge flower pot. the well had been filled in, its circular brick walls covered with a thick layer of cement. into this, while still damp, had been pressed crystals. even in january the vessel bore evidence of summer blooming. "_prepare to meet your god_" admonished the electrified box sign attatched to the front porch of one dwelling. its border was of black wood. the sign itself was of white frosted glass. letters of the slogan were in scarlet. next doer was another religious reminder. it was a modest pasteboard window card and announced bible study at : p.m. daily. three blocks up walnut the pavement ends. beyond that sidewalks too, listlessly peter out. a young, but enthusiastically growing ditch is beginning to separate path from street. houses begin to take on a more dilapidated appearance. they lean uncertainly. a colored woman stops to stare at the white one, plants herself directly in the stranger's path and demands, "is you the investigator? no? well who is you looking for? oh, mose, he's at his son's. good thing i stopped you. cause you would have gone too far. he's at his son's. his grandson just done had his tonsils out. he's over there." the interviewer climbed the ladder-like steps leading to "his son's house". no mose wasn't there. he had just left. maybe he'd gone home. the de-tonsiled child proved to be a bright eyed, saddle-colored youngster of three, enormously interested in the stranger. he wore whip-cord jodphurs--protruding widely on either side of his plump thighs--and knee high leather riding boots. plump and smiling, he looked for all the world like a kewpie provided with a kink ey crown and blistered to a rich chocolate by a friendly sun. the child eyed the interviewer's pencil. since, she was carrying a "spare" she offered it to him. he smiled and accepted with alacrity. later when the interviewer had found mose and brought him back to the house to be questioned, the grandson brought forth his long new pencil and showed it with heartfelt pride. on up the street went the interviewer. arrived at she approached the house through a yard strewn, with wood chips and piled with cordwood. nobody answered her knock. two blocks back toward town she was stopped by the same woman who had accosted her before. "did you find him?" "no," replied the interviewer. "well he's somewhere on the street. he's a'carrying a cane. you just stop any man you see with a cane and ask him if he ain't mose evans." the advice was sound/ the first elderly man coming north was carrying a cane. he was mose evans. "so you-all got together?" called the officious neighbor. "mose, you ought of asked her--when you see her coming up the street if she wasn't looking for you." "maybe," said mose, "but then i didn't know, and i don't want to butt into other folks business" "huh," snorted the woman, "spose i hadn't butted in. where'd you be. you wouldn't have found her and she wouldn't have found you!" both mose and the interviewer wore forced to admit that she was right--but from mose's disapproving expression he, like the interviewer, was sorry of it. "no, ma'am. i ain't been here long. just about two weeks. you want to talk to me. let's go on up to my son's house. we'll stop there. i's tired. seems like i get tired awful quick. had to go down to the store to get some coal." (he was carrying a paper sack of about two gallon capacity. "coal" was probably charcoal--much favored among wash women for use in a small bucket-furnace for heating "flat-irons".) my wife has to work awful hard to earn enough, to buy enough coal and wood. did i say i'd been here two weeks? i meant i has been here two years. i's lived all over. came here from woodruff county. yes, ma'am. i can't work no more. my wife she gets - days washing a week. then she gets some bundles to bring home and do. she got sick, same as me and her brothers come on down to bring her up here to look after. they provided for me too. they took good care of us. then one of 'em got sick himself, and the other he lost out in a money way. so she's a washing. can't remember very much about the war. i was just a little thing when it was a'going on. was hardly any size at all. i does remember standing in the door of my mother's house and watching the soldiers go by. men dressed in blue they was. wasn't afraid of them--didn't have sense enough to be, i guess. looked sort of pretty to me, dressed all in blue that way. and they was riding fine horses. made a big noise they did. they was a'riding by in a sort of sweeping gallop. i won't never forgot it. guess confederates passed too. i was too small to know about them. they was all soldiers to me. folks told me they was on their way to vicksburg. i heard tell that there was lots of fighting down around vicksburg. i was born on a place which belonged to a man named thad shackleford. don't remember him very well. they took me away from his place when i was little. but i never did hear my mother say anything against him. awful fine man, she said, awful fine man. i had lots of half sisters-- of 'em and half brothers. there was just one full sister. farm? not until i was . just stayed around the house and nursed the children. nursed lots of children. took care of them and amused them. played with them. but for four, five, maybe six years i helped my mother farm. went out into the fields and worked. then i went to myself. yes, ma'am, i share cropped. share cropped up until about . by that time i had got together a pretty good lot and bought stock and tools. then i rented--rented thirds and fourths. i liked that way lots best. it's best if a body can get himself stocked up. but let me tell you, ma'am. it's a lot easier to get behind than it is to catch up. falling behind is easy. catching up ain't so simple. i sort of lost my health and then i had to sell my stock. after that it was share-crop again. i share cropped right up until . that's when we come here. yes, ma'am we moved around a lot. longest what i worked for any man was years. he was j.w. hill, the best man i ever did see. once i rented from a colored man, but he died. was with him years before another man came into possession. rented from cockerill years and doss years, and doyle years. but now i's like an old shoe. i's worn out. been a good, faithful servant, but i's wore out." interviewer: s.s. taylor person interviewed: rachel fairley brown st. little rock, ark. age: occupation: general housework [jan ] [hw: mother stole to get food] "my mother said she had a hard time getting through. had to steal half the time; had to put her head under the pot and pray for freedom. it was a large pot which she used to cook in on the yard. she would set it aside when she got through and put it down and put her head under it to pray. "my father, when nine years old, was put on the speculator's block and sold at charlottesville, north carolina. my mother was sold on the same day. they sold her to a man named paul barringer, and refugeed her to a place near sardis, mississippi, to the cotton country. before he was sold, my father belonged to the greers in charlottesville. i don't know who owned my mother. i never did hear her say how old she was when she was sold. they was auctioned off just like you would sell goods. one would holler one price and another would holler another, and the highest bid would get the slave. "mother did not go clear to sardis but to a plantation ten miles from sardis. this was before freedom. we stayed there till two years after freedom. "i remember when my mother moved. i had never seen a wagon before. i was so uplifted, i had to walk a while and ride a while. we'd never seen a wagon nor a train neither. mckeever was the place where she moved from when she moved to sardis. "the first year she got free, she started sharecropping on the place. the next year she moved. that was the year she moved to sardis itself. there she made sharecrops. that was the third year after freedom. that is what my father and mother called it, sharecropping. i don't know what their share was. but i guess it was half to them and half to him. "i do general housework. i been doing that for eleven years. i never have any trouble. whenever i want to i get off. "the slaves used to live in one room log huts. they cooked out in the yard. i have seen them huts many a time. they had to cook out in the yard in the summertime. if they didn't, they'd burn up. "my mother seen her master take off a big pot of money to bury. he didn't know he'd been seen. she didn't know where he went, but she seen the direction he took. her master was paul barringer. that was on mckeever creek near sardis. it was near the end of the war. i never heard my mother say what became of the money, but i guess he got it back after everything was over. "they had to work all the time. when they went to church on sunday, they would tell them not to steal their master's things. how could they help but steal when they didn't have nothin'? you didn't eat if you didn't steal. "my mother never would have been sold but the first bunch of slaves barringer bought ran away from him and went back to the places where they come from. lots of the old people wouldn't stay anywheres only at their homes. they would go back if they were sold away. it took a long time because they walked. when my mother and father were sold they had to walk. it took them six weeks,--from charlottesville, north carolina to sardis, mississippi. "in sardis my father was made the coachman, and mother was sent to the field. master was mean and hard. whipped them lots. mother had to pick cotton all day every day and sunday. when i first seen my father to remember him, he had on a big old coat which was given to him for special days. we called it a ham-beater. it had pieces that would make it set on you like a basque. he wore a high beaver hat too. that was his uniform. whenever he drove, he had to dress up in it. "my mother tickled me. she said she went out one day and kill a billygoat, but when she went to get it it was walking around just like the rest of them. my mother couldn't eat hogshead after freedom because they dried them and give them to them in slave time. you had to eat what you could git then. "my mother said you jumped over a broomstick when you married. "my father and mother were not exactly sold to mississippi. my father was but my mother wasn't. when paul barringer lost all of his niggers, what he first had, his sister give him my mother and a whole lot more of them. i don't know how many he had, but he had a great many. my father went alone, but all my mother's people were taken--four sisters, and three brothers. they were all grown when i first seen them. i never seen my mother's father at all. "there was a world of yellow people then. my mother said her sister had two yellow children; they were her master's. i know of plenty of light people who were living at that time. "my mother had two light children that belonged to her sister. they were taken from her after freedom, and were made to cook and work for their sister and brother (white). all the orphans were taken and given back to the people what owned them when freedom came. my mother's sister was refugeed back to charlottesville, north carolina before the end of the war so that she wouldn't get free. after the war they were set free out there and never came back. the children were with my mother and they had to stay with their master until they were twenty years old. then they would be free. they wouldn't give them any schooling at all. they were as white as the white children nearly but their mother was a colored woman. that made the difference. "my mother said that the ku klux used to come through ridin' horses. i don't remember her saying what they wore. "when the yanks came through, they took everything. made the niggers all leave. my mother said they just came in droves, riding horses, killing everything, even the babies. "i was born in sardis, mississippi, panolun (?) county, april , ." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: pauline fakes, brinkley, arkansas age: "my mama come from virginia. her owner was moses crawford. he had a bachelor son prior crawford. my papa's owner was step crawford. they was in arkansas during the civil war i know because i was born close to cotton plant. papa's folks had lived in tennessee but grandma and grandpa was raised in indian nation; they called it alabama afterwards. she was a full blooded creek and he was part cherokee. "mama had twelve sisters and they was all sold. they took them to texas. she never seen one of them again. mama had scrofula and her owners let a woman take her north. she cured her. she wanted to keep her but they didn't let her. they kept her till freedom. "the owners told them they was free. stayed on a while. we never have got very fur off from where i was born. i had thirteen children of my own. three living now. "i know times was mighty hard when i was a child. biscuits was big rarity as cake is now. i don't have much cake. little cornbread and meat, molasses and proud to get that. we didn't have much clothes but we had plenty wood. we had wood to keep up the fire in the fireplace all night. they saw the back sticks in the woods and roll em up. in the coldest part of the winter they throw on a back log of green wood and pull the seats, had benches, didn't have chairs, way back in the middle of the room. it be snow and ice all over the ground. i got wood many a day. yes, i plowed many a day. i done all kinds of field work, cook and wash and iron. mid-wife is my talent. i been big and strong and work was the least of my worries. "i can barely recollect seeing soldiers. they must have just got home from the war. the shiny buttons is about all i can recollect. "i recollect the ku klux. they rode at night, some dressed in dark and some white clothes. they come through our house one time. i got under the cover. i was scared nearly to death. "near cotton plant there was a log cabin (methodist?) church--negro church two and one-half miles northeast direction. they had a negro preacher. when they went to church they whooped and hollowed along the road. white people lived close to the road. the ku klux planned to break it up. they went down there and went in during their preaching, broke up and scattered their seats. one was killed. he may have acted 'smarty' or saucy or he may have been the leader." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mattie fannen, forrest city, arkansas age: "my mother was named silla davis. she had four children. her owners was jep davis and tempy davis. she died and he married her niece, sally davis. he had fifteen children by his first wife and five more by his second wife. wasn't that a plenty children doe? mama was a field hand. she ploughed in slavery right along. my father was named bob lee (lea?). i never knowed much about him. his folks moved and took him off. mother was sold but not on a stand. she belong to bill davis. he was jep's brother. they said bill davis drunk up mother and all her children. he sold aunt serina to a man in elberton, georgia and all he had left then was grandma. he couldn't sell her. she was too old and aunt kizziah and aunt martha lived with her. mother was born in georgia. when a child was sold it nearly grieved the mothers and brothers and sisters to death. it was bad as deaths in the families. jep davis had forty or fifty niggers. he had six boys. they all had to go to war. they was in the confederate army. billy davis was his daddy's young overseer. he had been raised up with some of the nigger boys then come over them. they wouldn't mind his orders. he tried to whoop them. they'd fight him back, choke him, throw him on the ground. then the old man would whoop them. we all wanted 'em all to come home but billy. billy davis got killed at war and never come home. his sisters was afraid some of the nigger boys raised up with him on the place would kill him and wanted jep to make him stay at the house. jep davis was a good master and he was bad enough. "i seen mama whooped. they tied some of them to trees and some they just whooped across their backs. it was 'cordin' to what they had done. some of them would run off to the woods and stay a week or a month. the other niggers would feed them at night to keep them from starving. "jep davis made a will after his first wife died and give out all his young niggers to his first set of children. his young wife cried till he destroyed it. she said, 'you kept the old ones here and me and my children won't have nothing.' i was willed to miss lizzie. they was fixing the wagon for me to go in. i wanted to go to jefferson on the train. i told them so. i wanted to ride on the train. i never did get off. his young wife started crying. miss lizzie lived with her brother. they didn't want this young woman to have their father and he did. they kept a fuss up with her and all left. then he divided the land. "i nursed for his second wife, miss sally. i was five years or little older when i started nursing for his first wife. i nursed for a long time. i don't like children yet on that account. i got so many whoopings on their blame. i'd drap 'em, leave 'em, pinch 'em, quit walking 'em and rocking 'em. i got tired of 'em all the time. "me and zack (white) was raised up together. he was one of the old set of children. the baby in that set. i'd set on the log across a branch and wait till zack would break open a biscuit and sop it in ham gravy and bring it to me after he eat his breakfast. one morning the sun was so bright; he run down there crying, said his mama was dead. he never brought me no biscuit. he had just got up. i was five years old. i said i was glad. emily was the cook and she come down there and kicked me off the log and made my nose bleed. i cried and run home. my mother picked me up in her arms, took me in her lap and asked me about it. i told her i was glad 'cause she kept that little cowhide and whooped me with it. they took me to the grave. she wanted to be buried in a pretty grave at the side of the house off a piece. she was buried there first. there was a big crowd. i kept running up towards the grave and they would pull me back by my dress tail. she was buried in a metal coffin. susan was the oldest girl. she fainted. they took her to a carriage standing close. the whole family was buried there. took back from places they lived to be buried in that graveyard. that was close to nuna, georgia. "when the old man jep davis married again, miss sally must have me sleep in her room on a pallet so i could tend to the baby. the older girls would pick me and i would tell them what they talked about after they went to bed. "when the war come on, the boys and jep davis dug a hole in the henhouse, put the guns in a box and buried them. they was there when the war ended. they had some jewelry. i don't know where they kept it. they sent all of the niggers fifteen miles on the river away from the yankees. not a one of us ever run off. not a one ever went to the war or the yankees. jep davis had been to get his mail on his horse. a yankee come up at the gate walking and took it. he asked for the bridle and saddle but the yankee laughed in his face. we never seen our horse no more. 'babe' we called her. she was a pretty horse and so gentle we could ride her bare back. "jep davis was religious. they had preaching at his church, the baptist church at nuna, for white folks in the morning and a white preacher preach for the niggers at the same church in the evening. he'd go to prayer meeting on wednesday night and thursday night he would come to the boys' house and read the bible to his own niggers. we would sing and pray. he never cared how much we would sing and pray but he never better ketch 'em dancing. he'd whoop every one of 'em. "i learned same of the abc's in playing ball with the white children. we never had a book. i never went to school in my life. the boys not married but up grown lived in a house to their own selves. they got cooked fer up at jep davises house till they got a house built for them and give them a wife. maybe they would see a woman on another plantation and claim her. then the master had to talk that over. freedom "jep davis had been to town. he got a notice to free his niggers. he had the farm bell rung. we all went out up to his house. he said, 'you are free. go. if you can't get along come back and do like you been.' they left. went hog wild. i was the last one to go. he said, 'mattie, come back if you find you can't make it.' i had a hard time for a fact. i had a sister married in atlanta. i went with them in . i married to better my living. we quit. i met a man come to arkansas and sent back for me when he got the money. i was in atlanta thirty years. i was married in arkansas in . been here ever since 'ceptin' visits back in georgia. my husband was a good farmer and a good shoemaker. he left me six good rent houses and this house here when he died." (she has an income of forty dollars per month--rent on houses.) "he was a hard worker. "i'd go to see my white folks after freedom. i loved 'em all. "jep davis died out of the church. him and jack (robertson, robson, robinson?) was deacons together in the baptist church and their farms j'ined. jack had two boys, john and ed. ed was killed by hinton right over his sister mollie. then she married hinton right. the quarrel started at la grange but they had a duel during preaching on the church yard at the baptist church at nuna, georgia. jack was mean. he had a lot of negroes and a big farm. he had two boys and four girls. jennie died. florence and lula, old maids; john and ed and mollie. "jack caused jep davis to be put out of the church 'cause he said after freedom he didn't believe in slavery. he always thought they ought to be free but owned some to be like all the other folks and to have a living easy. he was afraid to own that, fear somebody kill him before freedom. when jack was sick, jep went to see him. he wouldn't let jep come in to see him and he died. "i worked in the field, washed and ironed. i never cooked but a little. in atlanta when my first baby could stand in a cracker box i started cooking for a woman. she was upstairs. had a small baby a few days old. i didn't have time to do the work and nurse and get my baby to sleep. it cried and fretted till i got dinner done. i took it and got it to sleep. she sent word for me to leave my baby at home, she wasn't going to have a nigger baby crying in her kitchen and messing it up. she was a yankee woman. i left and i never cooked out no more. "i never had no dealings with the ku klux. i was in atlanta then. i heard my mother say they killed and beat up a lot of colored people in the country where she was. seem like they was mad 'cause they was free. "times was hard after freedom. times is hard now for some folks. times running away with the white and black races both. they stop thinking. the thing what they call education done ruined this country. the folks quit work and living on education. i learned to work. my husband was a good shoemaker. we laid up all we could. i got seven houses renting around here. i gets about forty or forty-five dollars a month rent. it do very well, i reckon." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: robert farmer battery street, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: tale of a "nigger ruler"] "i was born in north carolina. i can't tell when. our names are in the bible, and it was burnt up. my old master died and my young master was to go to the war, the civil war, in the next draft. i remember that they said, 'if them others had shot right, i wouldn't have had to go.' "he talked like they were standing up on a table or something shooting at the yankees. of course it wasn't that way. but he said that they didn't shoot right and that he would have to do it for them. they all came back, and none of them had shot right. one sick (he died after he got home); the other two come back all right. "when my old master died, the son that drawed me stayed home for a little while. when he left he said about me, 'don't let anybody whip him while i am gone. if they do, i'll bury them when i come back.' he was a good man and a good master. brutal beating "there were some that weren't so good. one of his brothers was a real bad man. they called him a nigger ruler. he used to go from place to place and handle niggers. he carried his cowhide with him when he went. my master said, 'a man is a damn fool to have a valuable slave and butcher him up.' he said, 'if they need a whipping, whip them, but don't beat them so they can't work.' he never whipped his slaves. no man ever hit me a lick but my father. no man. i ain't got no scar on me nowhere. "my young master was named wiley grave sharpe. he drawed me when my old master, teed sharpe, sr., died. he's been dead a long time. teed sharpe, jr., gibb sharpe, and sam sharpe were brothers to wiley grave sharpe. teed sharpe, jr. was the brutal one. he was the nigger ruler that did the beating up and the killing of negroes. "he beat my brother peter once till peter dropped dead. wiley graves who drawed me said, 'my brother shouldn't have done that.' but my brother didn't belong to wiley and he couldn't do nothing about it. that was teed, jr.'s name. he got big money and was called a nigger ruler. teed had said he was going to make peter do as much work as my sister did. she was a young girl--but grown and stout and strong. in the olden time, you could see women stout and strong like that. they don't grow that way now. peter couldn't keep up with her. he wasn't old enough nor strong enough then. he would be later, but he hadn't reached his growth and my sister had. every time that peter would fall behind my sister, teed would take him out and buckle him down to a log with a leather strap and stand 'way back and then he would lay that long cowhide down, up and down his back. he would split it open with every stroke and the blood would run down. the last time he turned peter loose, peter went to my sister and asked her for a rag. she thought he just wanted to wipe the blood out of his face and eyes, but when she gave it to him, he fell down dead across the potato ridges. family "mary farmer was my mother. william farmer was my father. i never knowed any of my father's 'lations except one sister. she would come to see us sometimes. "my father's master was isaac farmer. my mother didn't 'long to him. she 'longed to the sharpes. just what her master's name was i don't recollect. she lived five miles from my father. he went to see her every thursday night. that was his regular night to go. he would go saturday night; if he went any other time and the pateroles could catch him, they would whip him just the same as though he belonged to them. but they never did whip my father because they never could catch him. he was one of those who ran. "my father and mother had ten children. i don't know whether any of them is living now or not besides myself. how freedom came "freedom was a singsong every which way when i knowed anything. my father's master, isaac farmer, had a big farm and a whole world of land. he told the slaves all of them were free. he told his brother's slaves, 'after you have made this crop, bring your wives and children here because i am able to take care of them.' he had a smokehouse full of meat and other things. he told my father that after this crop is gathered, to fetch his wife and children to him (isaac farmer), because sharpe might not be able to feed and shelter and take care of them all. so my father brought us to isaac farmer's farm. "i never did anything but devilment the whole second year of freedom. i was large enough to take water in the field but i didn't have to do that. there were so many of them there that one could do what he pleased. the next year i worked because they had thinned out. the first year come during the surrender. they cared for sharpe's crop. the next year they took isaac farmer's invitation and stayed with him. the third year many of them went other places, but my father and my mother and brothers and sisters stayed with isaac farmer for awhile. "as time went on, i farmed with success myself. "i stayed in north carolina a long time. i had a wife and children in north carolina. later on, i went to louisiana and stayed there one year and made one crop. then i came here with my wife and children. i don't know how long i been here. we came up here when the high water was. that was the biggest high water they had. i worked on the levee and farmed. the first year we came here, we farmed. i lived out in the country then. occupation "while i was able to work, i stayed on the farm. i had forty acres. but after my children left me and my wife died, i thought it would be better to sell out and pay my debts. pay your honest debts and everything will be lovely. now i manages to pay my rent by taking care of this yard and i get help from the government. i can't read and i can't write. "i went down yonder to get help from the county. at last they taken me on and i got groceries three times. after that i couldn't get nothin' no more. they said my papers were made out incorrectly. i asked the worker to make it out correctly because i couldn't read and write. she said she wasn't supposed to do that but she would do it. she made it out for me. a short time later, the postman brought me a letter. i handed it to a lady to read for me, and she said, 'this is your old age check.' you don't know how much help that thing's been to me. ku klux "the ku klux never bothered me and they never bothered any of my people. opinions "the young people pass by me and i don't know nothing about 'em. i know they are quite indifferent from what i was. when i come old enough to want a wife, i knowed what sort of wife i wanted. god blessed me and i happened to run up on the kind of woman i wanted. i made an engagement with her, and i didn't have a dollar. i was engaged to marry for three years before i married. i knowed it wouldn't do for me to marry her the way she was raised and i didn't have nothing. it looked curious for me to want that woman. i wanted her, and i had sense. i had sense enough to know how i must carry myself to get her. now it looks like a young man wants all the women and ain't satisfied with nary one. "my youngest son had a fine wife and was satisfied. he took up with what i call a whiskey head. he's been swapping horses ever since. that is the baby boy of mine. you know good and well a man couldn't get along that way. "these young men will keep this one over here for a few days, and then that one over there for a few days. it shows like he wants them all. voting "i have voted. i don't now. since i lost out, i ain't voted. slave houses "you might say slave houses was nothing. log houses, made out of logs and chinked up with sticks and mud in the cracks. chimneys made with sticks and mud. two rooms in our house. no windows, just cracks. all furniture was homemade. take a two by four and bore a hole in it and put a cross piece in it and you had a bed. "they made stools for chairs and made tables too. food was kept in the smokehouse. for rations, they would give so much meat, so much molasses, and so much meal. no sugar and no coffee. they used to make tea out of sage, and out of sassafras, and that was the coffee. marriages "i been married twice. the first time was out in north carolina. the last time was in this city. i didn't stay with that last woman but four days. it took me just that long to find out who and who. she didn't want me; she wanted my money, and she thought i had more of it than i did. she got all i had though. i had just fifty dollars and she got that. i am going to get me a good woman, though, as soon as i can get divorced. memories of work on plantation "my mother used to milk and i used to rope the calves and hold them so that they couldn't get to the cow. i had to keep the horses in the canebrake so they could eat. that was to keep the soldiers from getting a fine black horse the master had. soldiers "but they got him just the same. the yankees used to come in blue uniforms and come right on in without asking anything. they would take your horse and ask nothing. they would go into the smokehouse and take out shoulders, hams, and side meat, and they would take all the wine and brandy that was there. dances after freedom "two sisters stayed in north carolina in a two-room house in wilson county. there was a big drove of us and we all went to town in the evening to get whiskey. there was one man who had a wife with us, but all the rest were single. we cut the pigeon wing, waltzed, and quadrilled. we danced all night until we burned up all the wood. then we went down into the swamp and brought back each one as long a log as he could carry. we chopped this up and piled it in the room. then we went on 'cross the swamp to another plantation and danced there. "when we got through dancing, i looked at my feet and the bottom of them was plumb naked. i had just bought new boots, and had danced the bottoms clean out of them. "i belong to the primitive baptist church. i stay with dr. cope and clean up the back yard for my rent." interviewer: mary d. hudgins. person interviewed: mrs. lou fergusson aged: home: with daughter mrs. peach sinclair, wade street. [jan ] zig-zaging across better than a mile of increasingly less thickly settled territory went the interviewer. the terrain was rolling--to put it mildly. during most of the walk her feet met the soft resistance of winter-packed earth. sidewalks were the exception rather than the rule. wade street, she had been told was "somewhere over in the boulevard". holding to a general direction she kept her course. "the boulevard", known on the tax books of hot springs as boulevard addition, sprawls over a wide area. houses vary in size and construction with startling frequency. few of them are pretentious. many appear well planned, are in excellent state of repair and front on yards, scrupulously neat, sometimes patterned with flower beds. occasionally a building leans with age, roof caving and windows and doors yawning voids--long since abandoned by owners to wind and weather. up one hill, down another went the interviewer. given a proper steer here and there by colored men and women--even children along the way, she finally found hereself in front of "that green house" belonging to peach sinclair. two colored women, middle aged, sat basking in the mild january sunlight on a back porch. "i beg your pardon," said the interviewer, approaching the step, "is this the home of peach sinclair, and will i find mrs. lou fergusson here?" "it sure is," the voice was cheerful. "my mother is in the house. come around to the front," (the interviewer couldn't have reached the back steps, even if she had wanted to--the back yard was fenced from the front) "she's in the parlor." mrs. lou turned out to be an incredibly black, unbelievably plump-cheeked, wide smiling "motherly" person. she seemed an aunt jemimah grown suddenly old, and even more mellow. "mamma, this young lady's come to see you. she wants to talk to you and ask you some questions, about when--about before the war." (the situation is always delicate when an ex-slave is asked for details. somehow both interviewer and interviewee avoid the ugly word whenever possible. the skillful interviewer can generally manage to pass it by completely, as well as any variant of the word negro. the informant is usually less squeamish. "black folks," "colored folks", "black people", "master's people", "us" are all encountered frequently.) five minutes of pleasant chatter preceeded the formal interview. both mrs. sinclair and her guest (unintroduced) sat in on the conference and made comments frequently. "law, child, we bought this place from your father. he was a mighty fine man." mrs. sinclair was delighted to find her guest to be "jack hudgins daughter." and later in the chat, "you done lost everything? even your home--that's going? too bad. but then i guess at that you're better off than we are. i've been trying for nearly a year to get my mother on the old age pension. they say she has passed. that was way along last march. here it is january and she hasn't got a penny. no, i know you can't help. yes, i see what you're doing. but if ever you does get on the pensions work--i'm going to 'hant'[a] you." (a wide grin) [footnote a: "hant" was an intentional barbarism.] the old woman rocked and smiled. "yes, ma'am. i'm her oldest, alive. she had and of them lived to grow up. but i'm about as old as she is, looks like. she never did have glasses--and today she can thread the finest needle. she can make as pretty a quilt as you'd hope to see. makes fine stitches too. seems like they made them stronger in her day." a nod of delighted approval from mrs. fergusson. "i was born in hempstead county, right here in this state. the town we were nearest was columbus. i lived around there all of my life until i come here to be with my daughter. that was years ago. yes, i was born on a farm. from what i know, i'm over ninety. i was around when the war ceaseted. the man what owned us was named ed johnson. yes, ma'am he had lots of folks. was he good to us? well, he was and he wasn't. he was good himself, wouldn't never have whipped us--but he had a mean wife. she'd dog him, and dog him until he'd tie us down and whip us for the least little thing. then they put overseers over us. they was most generally mean. they'd run us out way fore day--even in the sleet--run us out to the field. was the life hard--well it was and it wasn't. no, ma'am, i didn't get much learning. some folks wouldn't let their black folks learn at all. then there was some which would let their children teach the colored children what they learned at school. we never learned very much. you see, master didn't live on the place. he lived bout as far as from here to town" (fully two miles) "the overseer looked after us mostly. no, ma'am i don't remember much about the war. you see, they was afraid that the fighting was going to get down there so they run us off to texas. we settled down and made a crop there. how'd we get the land? master rented it. we made a crop down there and later we come back. no, ma'am we didn't stay with mr. johnson more than a month after there was peace. we come on in to washington. no, ma'am, i never heard tell that washington had been the capitol of arkansas for a while during the war. no, i never did hear that. guess it was when we was in texas. then we folks didn't hear so much anyway. we stayed in washington most a year. was i with my mother? no, ma'am i was married--married before the war was thru. married--does you know how we folks married in them days? well the man asked your mother. then you both asked your master. he built you a house. you moved in and there you was. you was married. i did some washing and cooking when i was in washington. then we moved onto a farm. i sort of liked washington, but i was born on a farm and i sort of liked farm life. we didn't move around very much--just two or three places. we raised cotton, corn, vegetables, peas, watermelons and lots of those sort of things. no ma'am, didn't nobody think of raising watermelons to ship way off like they does in hempstead county now. cotton was our cash crop. we rented thirds and fourths. didn't move but three times. one place i stayed years. i been a widow years. yes, ma'am. i farmed myself, and my children helped me. me and the owners got along well. made good crops, me and the children. i managed to take good care of them. made out to raise out of the to be grown. there's only of them alive now. hard on a woman to run a farm by herself. well now, i don't know. i made out. i raised my children and raised them healthy. i got along well with the farm owner. you might know when i was let to stay on one place for years. you know i must have treated the land right and worked it fair. yes ma'am i remembers lots. seems like women folks remembers better than men. i've got a good daughter. i'm still strong and can get about good. guess the lord has been good to me." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: jennie ferrell, west memphis, arkansas age: "i was born in yellowbush county, mississippi close to grenada. grandmother come from north carolina. they wouldn't sell grandpa. he was owned by laston. they never met again. she brought two boys with her. she was a pernell. her master brought her away and would have brought her husband but they wouldn't sell. she said durin' her forty years in slavery she never got a whoopin'. she was a field hand. after she come to mississippi they was so good to her they called her free. she was a midwife. she doctored the rich white and colored. she rode horseback, she said, far and near. in grenada after freedom she walked. they called her free her master was so good to her. i don't know how she learned to be a midwife. her master was henry pernell. he owned a small place twelve miles from grenada and another place in the mississippi bottoms. my folks become renters after freedom. i don't know if they rented from him but i guess they did. "the ku klux never bothered them that i ever heard them mention." interviewer: pernella anderson person interviewed: frank fikes, el dorado, arkansas age: about "my name is frank fikes. i live between el dorado and strong and i am years old if i make no mistake. i know my mama told me years ago that i was born in watermelon time. she said she ate the first watermelon that got ripe on the place that year and it made her sick. she thought she had the colic. said she went and ate a piece of calamus root for the pain and after eating the root for the pain behold i was born. so if i live and nothing happens to me in watermelon time i will be eighty this year. i was a boy at surrender about the age of fourteen or fifteen. "my work was very easy when i was a little slave. something got wrong with my foot when i first started to walking and i was crippled. i could not get around like the other children, so my work was to nurse all of the time. sometimes, as fast as i got one baby to sleep i would have to nurse another one to sleep. we belonged to mars colonel williams and he had i guess a hundred families on his place and nearly every family had a baby, so i had a big job after all. the rest of the children carried water, pine, drove up cows and held the calves off and made fires at old mar's house. "i had to keep a heap fire so the boys wouldn't have to beat fire out of rocks and iron. old miss did the cooking while all of the slaves worked. the slaves stood around the long back porch and ate. they ate out of wooden bowls and wooden spoons. they ate greens and peas and bread. and old miss fed all of us children in a large trough. she fed us on what we called the licker from the greens and peas with bread mashed in it. we children did not use spoons. we picked the bread out with our fingers and got down on our all fours and sipped the licker with our mouth. we all had a very easy time we thought because we did not know any better then. "i never went to church until after surrender. neither did we go to school but the white children taught me to read and count. "i recollect as well today as if it had been yesterday the soldiers passing our house going to vicksburg to fight. the reason i recollect it so well they all was dressed in blue suits with pretty gold buttons down the front. they passed a whole day and we watched them all day. "old miss and mars was not mean to us at all until after surrender and we were freed. we did not have a hard time until after we were freed. they got mad at us because we was free and they let us go without a crumb of anything and without a penny and nothing but what we had on our backs. we wandered around and around for a long time. then they hired us to work on halves and man, we had a hard time then and i've been having a hard time ever since. "before the war we lived in log cabins. there was a row of log cabins a quarter of a mile long. no windows and no floor. we had grass to sit on. our beds was made of pine poles nailed to the wall and we slept on hay beds. my mama and other slaves pulled grass and let it dry to make the beds with. our cover was made from our old worn out clothes. "on sunday evenings we played. we put on clean clothes once a week. in summer we bathed in the branch. we did not bathe at all in winter. i went in my shirt tail until i was eleven or twelve years old. back in slavery time boys did not wear britches. they wore shirts and our hair was long. the slaves say if you cut a child's hair before he or she was ten or twelve years old they won't talk plain until they are that old." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: j.e. filer, marianna, arkansas age: "i was born in washington, georgia. i come here in . there was three stores in marianna. my parents name betsy and bob filer. my mother belong to collins in georgia. she come to this state with colonel woods. she worked in the field in georgia and here too. mama said they always had some work on hand. work never played out. when it was cold and raining they would shuck corn to send to mill. the men would be under a shelter making boards or down at the blacksmith shop sharpening up the tools so they could work. "since we come to this state i've seen them make oak boards and pile them up in pens to dry out straight. i don't recollect that in georgia. i was so little when we come here. i can recollect that but not much else. my brother was older. he might tell all about it." [tr: next section crossed out] interviewer's comment i didn't get to see his brother. i went twice more but he was at work on a farm somewhere. interviewer: samuel s. taylor subject: ex-slavery [may ] person interviewed: orleans finger [tr: in text of interview, orleana] negro (apparently octoroon or quadroon) address: west fifteenth street, little rock, arkansas. occupation: formerly field hand and housekeeper age: [tr: personal information moved from bottom of first page.] birth, family, and master "i was born in mississippi in tippa county not far from the edge of tennessee. i wasn't raised in arkansas, but all my children was raised here. i really don't know just where in tippa county i was born. my mother's name was ann toler. toler was my step father. my real father, i don't know. my mother never told me nothin' bout him and i don't know that; i can't tell what i don't know. "my grandfather on my mother's side was captain ellis. that is the one come after me when i was small to carry me back to my folks. i didn't know him, and i said 'i don't want to go 'way with them strange niggers'. he's dead now. they're all dead long ago. i have got children over fifty years old myself. i am the mother of nine children--three of them living. one of the living ones is arthur finger. he lives in st. louis. i expected to hear from him today, but didn't. cornelius finger. (he is a brownskin boy, spare made), lives in palestine, arkansas, near forrest city. arthur is my baby boy. elmira was my baby girl. she's the one you met. she's married and has children of her own. "captain ellis' wife was named minerva. she was my mother's mother. she's been dead years. i got children older than she was when she died. she died in mississippi. i got a cousin named molly spight. she's dead. my mother's sister was named emmaline; she is dead now too. "my mother was colored. i don't know nothin' about my father, and my mother never taught me nothin' 'bout him. "my step father and mother were both field hands. they worked in the field. "i don't know just when i was born, but i am just sure that it was before the war. i remember hearing people talk about things in the war. "my mother's master was named whitely, i think, because she was named whitley before she married. "i have been married three times. the first man i married was 'lijah gibbs. the second time i married, i married joe finger. the third time i married will reese. he warn't no husband at all. they're all dead. folks always called me finger after my second husband died, because i didn't live with my third husband long. house "they had log houses. you would never see no brick chimney nor nothing of that kind. the logs were notched down and kinda kivered flat--no roof like now. they might have rafters on them, but the top was almost flat. wouldn't be any steep like they is now. in them times they wouldn't have many rooms. sometimes they would have two. they wouldn't have so many windows. just old dirt chimneys. they'd take and dig a hole and stick sticks up in it. then they'd make up the dirt and put water in it and pull grass and mix it in the dirt. they'd build a frame on the sticks and then put the mud on. the chimney couldn't catch fire till the house got old and the mud would fall off. when it got old and the mud got to fallin off, then they would be a fire. i've seen that since i been in arkansas. "sometimes they would get big rocks and put them inside the fireplace to take the place of bricks. you could get rocks in the forest. furniture "used to have ropes and they would cord the bed stead. the cords would act in place of springs. when you move you would have a heap of trouble because all that would have to be undone and done up again. you have to take the cords out and them put it together again. the cords would be run through the sides of the bed and stuck in with pegs. "they used to have spinning wheels and looms. they made clothes and they made the cloth for the clothes and they spun the thread they made the cloth our of. they'd card and spin the thread. there's lots of other things i can't remember. war memories "the yankess used to come in and have the people cook for them. they'd kill chickens and geese and things. the old people used to take their horses out and tie them out in the woods--hiding them out to keep the yankees from getting them. the yankees would ride up, take a good horse and leave the old worn-out one. "there never was any fighting round where i lived. none of my folks was soldiers in the war. right after the war "i don't remember just what my folks did right after the war. they were field hands and i guess they did that. my mother worked in the field that's all i know. life since the war "i have been in arkansas a long time. i have been here ever since i left mississippi. my first marriage was in mississippi. the second and last ones was in arkansas--forrest city. my second husband had been dead since . i don't know that i count reese. we married in june and separated in september. he's dead now, and i don't hold nothin' against him. "i am not able to work now. i do a little 'round the house and dig a little in the garden. i haven't worked in the field since way before . i don't get no help at all from the welfare. my daughter does what she can for me. i always have lived before i ever heard about the old age pension and i suppose god will take care of me yet somehow. cured by prayer "i'm puny and no'count. aint able to do much. but i was crippled. i had a hurting in my leg and i couldn't walk without a stick. finally, one day i went to go out and pick some turnips. i was visiting my son in palestine. my leg hurt so bad that i talked to the lord about it. and it seemed to me, he said 'put down your stick.' i put it down and i aint used it since. i put it down right thar and i aint used it since. god is a momentary god. god knowed what i wanted and he said, 'put down that sick,' and i aint been crippled since. it done me so much good. looks like to me when i get to talking about the lord, aint nobody a stranger to me. "i know i been converted but that made me stronger. my son is a siner. he knowed about how i was crippled. he said you ought use your stick. he didn't know what to think about it. young folks don't believe because they aint had no experience with prayer and they don't know what can happen. "i done told you all i know. i don't want to tell you anything i don't know. if you don't know nothing, it is best to say you don't." everything which orleana finger states has the earmarks of being true. there are a great many things which she does not state which i believe that she could state if she wished. she evidently has a long list of things which she things should be unmentioned. she has two magic phrases with which she dismisses all subjects which she does not wich to discuss: "i don't remember that." "i better quit talking now before i start lying." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: molly finley, honey creek - / miles from mesa, arkansas age: born "my master was captain baker jones and his pa was john jones. miss mariah was baker jones' wife. i believe the old man's wife was dead. "my parents' name was henry ("clay") harris and harriett harris. they had nine children. we lived close to the post (arkansas post). our nearest trading post was pine bluff. and the old man made trips to memphis and had barrels sent out by ship. we lived around hanniberry creek. it was a pretty lake of water. some folks called it hanniberry lake. we fished and waded and washed. we got our water out of two springs further up. i used to tote one bucket on my head and one in each hand. you never see that no more. mama was a nurse and house woman and field woman if she was needed. i made fires around the pots and 'tended to mama's children. "we lived on the jones place years after freedom. i was born after freedom. we finally left. i cried and cried to let's go back. only place ever seem like home to me yet. we went to the cummings farm. they worked free labor then. then we went to the hills. then we seen hard times. we knowed we was free niggers pretty soon back in them poor hills. "i was more educated than some white folks up in them hills. i went to school on the river. my teacher was a white man named mr. van sang. "mama belong to the garretts in mississippi. she was sold when she was about four years old she tole me. there had been a death and old mistress bought her in. master garrett died. then she give her to her daughter. she was her young mistress then. old mistress didn't want her to bring her but she said she might well have her as any rest of the children. mama never set eyes on none of her folks no more. her father, she said, was light and part enjun (indian). "john prior owned papa in kentucky. he sold him, brother and his mother to a nigger trader's gang. captain jones bought all three in tennessee. he come brought them on to arkansas. he was a field hand. he said they worked from daylight till after dark. "they took their slaves to close to houston, texas to save them. captain jones said he didn't want the yankees to scatter them and make soldiers of them. he brought them back on his place like he expected to do. mama said they was out there three years. she had a baby three months old and the trip was hard on her and the baby but they stood it. i was her next baby after that. freedom done been declared. mama said they went in wagons and camped along the roadside at night. "before they left, the yankees come. old master jones treated them so nice, give them a big dinner, and opened up everything and offered some for them to take along that they didn't bother his stock nor meat. then he had them (the slaves) set out with stock and supplies to texas. "mama and papa said the jones treated them pretty well. they wouldn't allow the overseers to beat up his slaves. "the two jones men put two barrels of money in a big iron chest. they said it weighed two hundred pounds. four men took it out there in barrels and eight men lowered it. they took it to the family graveyard down past the orchard. they leveled it up like it was a grave. yankees didn't get jones money! then he sent the slaves to texas. "captain jones had a home in tennessee and one in arkansas. papa said he cleared out land along the river where there was panther, bears, and wild cats. they worked in huddles and the overseers had guns to shoot varmints. he said their breakfast and dinner was sent to the field, them that had wives had supper with their families once a day, on sundays three times. the women left the fields to go fix supper and see after their cabins and children. they hauled their water in barrels and put it under the trees. they cooked washpots full of chicken and give them a big picnic dinner after they lay by crops and at christmas. they had gourd banjos. mama said they had good times. "they had preaching one sunday for white folks and one sunday for black folks. they used the same preacher there but some colored preachers would come on the place at times and preach under the trees down at the quarters. they said the white preacher would say, 'you may get to the kitchen of heaven if you obey your master, if you don't steal, if you tell no stories, etc.' "captain jones was a good doctor. if a doctor was had you know somebody was right low. they seldom had a doctor. mama said her coat tail froze and her working. but they wore warm clothes next to their bodies. "captain jones said, 'you all can go back on my place that want to go back and stay. you will have to learn to look after your own selves now but i will advise you and help you best i can. you will have to work hard as us have done b'fore. but i will pay you.' my folks was ready to 'board the wagons back to jones' farm then. that is the way mama tole me it was at freedom! it was a long time i kept wondering what is freedom? i took to noticing what they said it was in slavery times and i caught on. i found out times had changed just b'fore i got into this world. "some things seem all right and some don't. times seem good now but wait till dis winter. folks will go cold and hungry again. some folks good and some worse than in times b'fore." interviewer's comment gets a pension check. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: fanny finney, brinkley, arkansas age: plus "i was born in marshall county, mississippi. born during slavery. i b'long to master john rook. he died during the civil war. miss patsy rook raised me. i put on her shoes, made up her bed, fetched her water and kindling wood. "my parents named catherine and humphrey rook. they had three children. "when master john rook died they divided us. they give me to rodie briggs. john and lizzie was master john's other two children. he had three children too same as ma. my young master was a ball player. i'd hear them talk. ma was a good house girl. they thought we'd all be like 'er. when i was three years old, i was the baby. they took ma and pa off keep the yankees from stealing then. miss patsy took keer me. when ma and pa come home i didn't know them a tall. they say when they come back they went to louziana, then 'bout close to monticello in dis state, then last year they run 'em to texas. "pa was jus' a farmer. gran'ma lived down in the quarters and kept my sisters. i'd start to see 'em. old gander run me. sometimes the geese get me down and flog me wid their wings. one day i climbed up and peeped through a crack. i seen a lot of folks chopping cotton. it looked so easy. they was singing. "betsy done the milking. i'd sit or stand 'round till the butter come. she ax me which i wanted, milk or butter. i'd tell her. she put a little sugar on my buttered bread. it was so good i thought sometimes she'd fill my cup up with fresh churned milk. "i et in the kitchen; the white folks et in the dining-room. i slep' in granny's house, in granny's bed, in the back yard. granny's name was 'aunt' hannah. she was real old and the boss cook on our place. she learnt all the girls on our place how to cook. kept one or two helping her all the time. it was her part to make them wash their faces every morning soon as they started a fire and keep their hands clean all the time er cooking. granny wore her white apron around her waist all time. betty would make them help her milk. they had to wash the cows udder before they ever milked a drop. miss patsy learnt her black folks to be clean. every one of them neat as a pin sure as you born. "i was so little i couldn't think they got whoopings. i never heard of a woman on the place being whooped. they all had their work to do. grandma cut out and made pants for all the men on the whole farm. "old man rook raised near 'bout all his niggers. he bought whiskey by the barrel. on cold mornings they come by our shop to get their sacks. i heard them say they all got a drink of whiskey. his hands got to the field whooping and singing. the overseers handed it out to them. the women didn't get none as i knowed of. "the paddyrollers run 'em in a heap but master john rook never let them whoop his colored folks. "we lived six miles from holly springs on the big road to memphis. seem like every regiment of yankee and rebel soldiers stopped at our house. they made a rake-off every time. they cleaned us out of something to eat. they took the watches and silverware. the yankees rode up on our porch and one time one rode in the hall and in a room. miss patsy done run an' hid. i stood about. i had no sense. they done a lot every time they come. i watched see what all they would do. they burnt a lot of houses. "a little white boy said, 'i tell you something if you give me a watermelon.' the black man give the boy a big watermelon. he had a big patch. the boy said, 'my papa coming take all your money away from you some night.' he fixed and sure 'nough he come dressed like a ku klux. he had some money but they didn't find it. one of the ku kluxes run off and left his spurs. the colored folks killed some and they run off and leave their horses. they come around and say they could drink three hundred fifteen buckets of water. they throw turpentine balls in the houses to make a light. they took a ball of cotton and dip it in turpentine, light it, throw it in a house to make a light so they could see who in there. a lot of black folks was killed and whooped. their money was took from them. "the third year after the war ma and pa come and got me. they made a crop for a third. that was our first year off of rook's place. i love them rook's girls so good right now. wish i could see them or knowd where to write. i had to learn my folks. i played with my sisters all my life but i never had lived with them. when pa come for me they had my basket full of dresses and warm underclothes, clean and ironed. they sent ma some sweet potatoes and two big cakes. one of them was mine. miss patsy said, 'let fannie come back to see my girls.' i went back and visited. granny lived in her house and cooked till she died. i had a place with granny at her house. we went back often and we helped them after freedom. they was good white folks as ever breathed. there was good folks and bad folks then and still is. "times is hard. i was raised in the field. i made seven crops here--near brinkley--with my son. i had two girls. one teaches in brinkley, fourth or fifth grade; one girl works for a family in new york. my son fell off a tall building he was working on and bursted his head. he was in detroit. times is hard now. the young folks is going at too fast a gait. they are faster than the old generation. no time to sit and talk. on the go all the time. hurrying and worrying through time. hard to make a living." interviewer: zillah cross peel information given by: "gate-eye" fisher residence: washington county, arkansas "i was jes' a baby crawlin' 'round on the floor when war come" said "gate-eye" fisher, who lives in a log house covered with scraps of old tin, on what is known as the old bullington farm near lincoln. his one room log cabin is "down in the bresh" back of the barn and when new renters come on the place, they just take it for granted that "gate-eye" just belongs. he bothers no one. no floors, no windows just a door, a bed, stove and a table. yes and a lantern and a chair. "yes mam, my mother, caroline, belonged to the mister dave moore family. his wife, miss pleanie, was a reagan. yes mam, they was good folks. when the war come, my pa, harrison fisher and my ma stayed on the place, mister moore had lots of land and stock--and he and his folks went to texas, nearly everybody did 'round here, and he took some of his fine stock with him but he called my pa and ma in and told them he wanted them to stay on the place and take care of all the things. pa was boss over all the slaves. i guess mos' all my white folks is dead. mos' of them all buried down yan way to ft. smith. one of mister moore's daughters, miss mary, married dr. davenport and miss sinth (cynthia) went to live with her." (the moores came from kentucky and tennessee and settled at cane hill, washington county, about . the reagans came about the same time. the first schools in the county were at cane hill). "yes mam, i guess all the colored folks that belonged to mister moore, but me, is dead. i guess. my mother, caroline, stayed in the house nearly all the time and took care of missy's children, and when they come home from school she'd hear them learn their abc's. that's how come i can read and write. my ma taught me, out of an old blue back speller. yes mam, i learned to read and can't write much, jes my own name. yes mam, i kinda believe in signs that's how come i wear this leather strap 'round my wrist it keeps me from havin' rheumatism, neuralgia. yes mam, it helps. i used to believe in signs a lot and i used to believe in wishes. i used to wish a lot of bad wishes on folks till one day i read a piece from new york and it said the bad wishes that you made would come back to you wosser than you wished, so i don't wish no more. i got scared and don't wish nothin' to no body." "after the war ole mister and ole missey called in my ma and pa and asked them if they wanted to still stay on the place or go somewhere. 'bout ten of us stayed. then a while after mister moore asked my pa if he wanted to go up on the tilley place-- acres and farm it for what he could make. we, my pa and my ma and my sister mandy, stayed there a long time. then mister moore sold off a little here and a little there and we moved up on the mountain with my sister and her husband, peter doss, where my ma died. then i went down to mister oscar moore's place--he was my missey' boy." "yes mam, i did have a wife. i had a mos' worrysome time. it is a worrysome time when a man comes to takes your wife right away from you. no'm, i don't ever want her to come back." "yes'm, i do my own cooking, and i've put up some fruit. i have a little mite of meat, a little mite of taters, a little mite of beans and peas. i get a little pension too." "these darkies today nearly all get wild. you can't tell what they are going to do tomorrow. they's jes like everybody--some awful good and some awful bad." and in the tiny one room shack, of logs and tin, no window, a swing door held by a leather strap, "gate-eye" does his cooking on a small wood stove. a long bench holds a lantern with a shingly clean globe, a lot of canned fruit, dried beans and peas. the bed is a series of old bed springs. but "gate-eye" just belongs to the neighborhood, and every one feels kindly toward him. he says he is seventy-one years, past. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: ellen fitzgerald brinkley, ark. age: "mama was named anna noles. papa named milias noles. she belong to the whitakers and he belong to gibbs. noles bought them both. they was both sold. mother was born in athens, papa somewhere in kentucky. their owners, the noles, come to aberdeen, mississippi. "grandma, papa's mama, was killed with a battling stick. she was a slender woman, very tall and pretty, papa told me. she was at the spring, washing. they cut a tree off and make a smooth stump. they used a big tree stump for battling. they had paddles, wide as this (two hands wide--eight or ten inches) with rounded-off handle, smoothed so slick. they wet and soap the clothes, put em on that block-tree stump and beat em. rub boards was not heard of in them days. they soaked the clothes, boiled and rinsed a heap. they done good washing. i heard em say the clothes come white as snow from the lye soap they used. they made the soap. they had hard soap and soft soap, made from ashes dripped and meat skins. they used tallow and mutton suet too. i don't know what was said, but i recken she didn't please her mistress--mrs. callie gibbs. she struck her in the small part of her back and broke it. she left her at the spring. somebody went to get water and seen her there. they took her to the house but she finally died. grandpa was dead then. i recken they got scared to keep papa round then and sold him. "i was born first year of the surrender. moster noles told them they was free. they didn't give them a thing. they was glad they was free. they didn't want to be in slavery; it was too tied down to suit em. they lived about places, do little work where they found it. "we dodged the ku klux. one night they was huntin' a man and come to the wrong house. they nearly broke mama's arm pullin' her outen our house. they give us some trouble coming round. we was scared of em. we dodged em all the time. "i was married and had a child eight years old fore i come to arkansas. i come to brinkley first. i was writing to friends. they had immigrated, so we immigrated here and been here ever since. when i come here there was two big stores and a little one. a big sawmill--nothing but woods and wild animals. it wasn't no hard times then. we had a plenty to live on. "my husband was a saw mill hand and a railroad builder. he worked on the section. i nursed, washed, ironed, cooked, cleaned folks houses. we done about right smart. i could do right smart now if white folks hire me. "the night my husband died somebody stole nearly every chicken i had. he died last week. we found out it was two colored men. i ain't needed no support till now. my husband made us a good living long as he was able to go. we raised a family. he was a tolerably dark sort of man. my girls bout his color." the two grown girls were "scouring" the floor. both of them said they were married and lived somewhere else. interviewer: mary d. hudgins person interviewed: henry fitzhugh aged: home: rooms at walnut street several "colored" districts are scattered throughout hot springs. on whittington, within a block of the first presbyterian church and st. joseph's infirmary stand the roanok baptist and the haven methodist (both for colored). architecturally they compare favorably with similar edifices for whites. their choirs have become nationally famous. sunday afternoon concerts are frequent. mid-week ones are not uncommon. at such times special sections are reserved for whites, and are usually filled. visitors to the resort enjoy them immensely. across the street a one-time convent school has been converted into a negro apartment house. a couple of blocks up whittington, walnut veers to the right. it is paved for several blocks. fronting on concrete sidewalks are houses, well painted and boasting yards which indicate pride in possession. some are private homes, some rooming houses and some apartments. porch flower boxes and urns are mostly of concrete studded with crystals. finding henry fitzhugh wasn't easy. the delivery boy at the corner chain store "knows everybody in the neighborhood" according to a passer-by. he offered the address _ _. that number turned out to be an old, but substantial and well cared for two story house. ringing the bell repeatedly brought no response. a couple of women in the yard next door announced that to find fitzhugh one had to "go around back and knock on the last door on the back porch." this procedure too brought no results. another backyard observer offered the suggestion that fitzhugh was probably down at the restaurant eating. school had just been dismissed. two well dressed negro children walked along together, swinging their books. "can you tell me where the restaurant is?" asked the interviewer, stopping them. "do you mean the colored restaurant?" one of the tots asked, not a whit of embarrassment in her manner, no servility, no resentment--just an ordinary question. "it's right over there." the restaurant proved to be large, well lighted, scrupulously clean. tables were well spaced and quite a distance from the counter. sunshine streamed in from two directions. fitzhugh was sitting just outside talking to the boot-black. "yes, ma'am, i's henry fitzhugh. can't work no more since i got hit by an automoble. before that i had a shoe-shine place myself. but i can't work no more. yes 'um i gets the pension. i gets $ a month. it's not much, but i sort of get by. i's got my room up at and i gets my meals down here at the restaurant. yes ma'am, pensions seem to be coming in pretty regular now. been in hot springs a long, long time. come here in . i remembers lots of the old families here. what yo say your name was? your mother was a dengler? sure, i remembers the denglers. mr. dengler had a soda-water shop. i remembers him. when i first come, soon as i was able, i cleaned up for captain mallard. cleaned up all along central in that block he was in. how'd i come to hot springs? i was sick. i had rheumatism. was down with it so bad the doctor had done give me up. he'd stopped giving me medicine. but the lady i was working for, she run a hotel in poplar bluff. they put me on a stretcher and they put me in the baggage car and they brought me clean on in to hot springs. they bathed me at the free bath house. i started getting better right away. 'twasn't long before i was well and able to work. i stayed right on here in hot springs. yes, ma'am i's all arkansas. i was born near little rock. ain't never been out of the state but twice. then i didn't stay long. i worked on a farm that belonged to mr. j.b. henderson. he was an uncle to mr. jerome henderson what was in the bank and mr. jethro henderson what was a judge. no, the war didn't bother us none. we wasn't afraid. we heard the shots, but it seemed just like a whole lot of fire crackers to us. guess we just didn't have sense enough to be afraid. fighting we did [hw: hear was] near pine bluff--the baxter-ware trouble. we seen the soldiers when they come through mt. pleasant, right smart bunch of them. they was confederates. we didn't see none of the yankees. my father was killed during the war. went off to help and never came back. my mother, she died when i was a baby. she was lying down in her cabin before the fire--lying on the hearth, letting me nurse. the door was open and a gust of wind blew her dress in the fire. she dropped me and she screamed and run out into the yard. old miss saw her from the house. she grabbed a quilt and started out. she got to my mother and she wrapped her in the quilt to smother out the fire. but my mother done swallowed fire. she died. that's the story they tell me. i was too little to know. i guess i was about eleven when i went into the fields. what's that, pretty young? i didn't go because they made me. i went because i wanted to be with the men. wasn't nobody around to play with. we was the only family on the farm. it was a pretty good sized farm and they had lots of children. there was miss sally and miss fanny and miss ella and miss myrtle and miss hattie. then there was four boys. stayed on with the folks three years after the surrender. they treated me good and gave me what i wanted. treated me nice--very nice--my white folks. then i went on down to marshall--way down in texas. there i worked for the high sheriff. drove his carriage for him and cleaned up around the yard. i worked for him a whole year then i went back to arkansas and then went up in missouri. wasn't there long before i got sick. i was working for a woman who had a hotel. she was good to me. mighty good she was. yes ma'am. there has been lost chances i has had to do more than i has. but i's sort of satisfied. there's been lots of changes in hot springs since i come. i used to know all the white folks and all the colored folks too. can't do that today. place has got too big. joe golden? yes, i does--i knows joe. he used to have a butcher shop over on malvern. quite a man, joe was. i hasn't seen him in a long time. how is he? pretty good? that's fine. "i remembers mc--mcleod's happy hollow." (hot spring nearest approach to a coney island in the earlier days). "i remembers that they used to have the old stage coach there what the james and younger brothers held up. sort of broken down it was, but it was there. law, law, them was the times. i'll never forget when allen roane brought in the news. allen drove a sort of a hack. he come on into town and he whipped up his horse and he run all over town telling about the hold-up. allen lived just next door to where i does now." down the street passed a colored woman, her head held high. passing the porch where the aged negro man and the young white woman sat talking she paused and gave what was suspiciously like a sniff. fitzhugh grinned. "she's sanctified," he explained. "did you ever hear of tucky-nubby? he was an indian. bob hurley used to bring him to hot springs every year. what medicine shows they used to have here. ain't seen nothing like it lately, everybody knowed tucky-nubby. lots of those medicine shows--free shows, used to come here. but bob hurley and tucky-nubby was the most liked. yes, ma'am, i'm all alone now. my sister married a man a long, long time ago. she didn't live but a couple of years. i's had four children. one of them died when it was born. one died when it was three. one lived until it was seven. one son he lived to be grown. he went to the war. got as far as camp. one day i got a word saying that he was sick. i went but before i could get there he had died. that left me alone. what's that? been married once? i been married _eleven_ times. but it was ten times too many. besides they is all dead, so you might say that i's been married only once. yes, ma'am. thank you ma'am. the quarter will come in powerful handy. when you tries to make out on $ a month a little extra comes in powerful handy. thank you ma'am. i enjoyed talking to you, ma'am." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mary flagg georgia street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm, i was here in civil war days. i was bout twelve years old when lincoln was elected. i remember when he was elected. i was big enough to weave and knit for the soldiers. i remember when the war started. yes ma'm--oh i remember so much. saw all the soldiers and shook hands with em. why i waited on the table when general lee stopped there for dinner on his way from mobile to meet sherman. that was in winchester, mississippi where i was born. i worked in a hotel, yes ma'm. i was raised up in a hotel, called em taverns in those days. i was born right in winchester, mississippi. used to see the soldiers drill every day. if i could remember, i could tell you a heap of things. "my mistress' name was mrs. shaw. she took me away from my mother when i was four years old--taken me for her body servant. she learned me how to do housework and all kinds of sewin'--cuttin' and makin'. i done all the sewin' for her family. "i never went to no school but mrs. shaw tried to teach me and she slapped my jaws many a day bout my book. "i married when i was fifteen just fore the war ended and i forgot everything i ever learned--yes ma'm! i been married four times and they're all dead. i never married when any of em was livin' like a heap of colored folks did. "the yankees come within fifty miles of where we was livin' and then they burned the bridge and turned back. white folks never told us what the war was for but a old german man used to read the paper at the table--every battle they'd fight and when the yankees would whip. oh them was times then. if i could remember i could tell you a heap of things but my mind's gone from me. "old master had about a hundred head of hands and old mistress had a cousin had five hundred. "white folks was good to me. my father was the carriage driver and old mistress used to carry me to church with her every sunday. "i never seen no ku klux but i lived where they was, in mississippi. that was a ku klux state. yes ma'm. "i remember when general lee come to winchester you could hear the horses' feet a mile away, it so cold. "my great grandfather was a full blooded indian. i've lived among the indians in mississippi and bought baskets from em. they lived all around us. yes ma'm, i'm acquainted with em. oh, i been through a little bit. "i started sewin' and weavin' when i was just big enough to reach the treadles. used to sew for mrs. hulburt in bolivar county, mississippi. i remember she started to the mardi gras on a boat called the mary bell. it got burned and she had to turn back. i used to do a heap a sewin'. "everythings changed now. people is so treacherous now. chile, ain't nothin' to this younger generation. now i'm tellin' you the truth. they ain't studyin' nothin' good. sin and corruption all you see now. "last man i married was elder flagg. he was a preacher in the baptist church and as good a preacher as i ever heard. they don't preach the gospel now. "well, i wish i could remember more to tell you, but it's been a long time. i'll be ninety if i live till the th of next may." interviewer: mrs. zillah cross peel person interviewed: doc flowers age: ? home: lincoln, arkansas everybody calls him uncle doc. his name is doc flowers, and he lives in the last house on a street that is just part of a road in the town of lincoln, arkansas. when you stop in front of the house you will find there is no path. one has to watch his step owing to the fact that there is a zigzaggy branch hidden by the tangle of weeds. if old aunt jinney is on the porch she will say, "sorry, honey, but de path done growed up." uncle doc is six feet two and as strong as a lion. whether he is or if he is , he is young-looking for his age. "no'm lady, i'se jes' don' know how old i is. back in dem days didn't keep up with our ages. no record of the born. yes'm i was a pretty good chunk of a boy when de war started." doc belonged to edward choate, who lived on barron forks, near dutch mills in the southwest corner of washington county. barron forks is made up from fly creek and the river jordan creek. about edward choate came from tennessee to arkansas, where he had bought aunt marie [tr: 'a slave' marked out here] and her three sons, doc, abe, and dave. "yes'm, we had a acres or better all along the banks of de river and good valley land where we raised corn, potatoes, wheat, oats, an' 'bacco. master choate had three sons, i recollect, jack, sam, and win. he had a lot of slaves. some of dem was good, some was bad. an' old mister choate had a cat-a-nine-tails. he never did have to whup me, some of dem darkies did get whupped. dar was one who was always dressing up in wimmins clothes and go walking down by de river. "my mother was maria. she worked part time in de kitchen and part time in de field. my mother had three boys and i 'member one of my sisters was sold as a slave. we darkies had cabins all along de river bank. "during de war we all jes' stayed on de place. mister choate and old missy stayed too. after peace was made my mother and all of we went up to prairie grove to live. "yes'm, i voted every chance i got. i voted for harrison for president. no'm, i don't know which harrison. yes'm, i vote republican. "i can't say much for these young darkies these times. "i ben 'roun' some. i went to caldwell, kansas, two times. farming is my occupation. now we jes' live. i get $ a month from the state. yes'm, that there jinney is my wife. her mother celia and she belonged to the ballards of cincinnati. "no'm, i jes' can' tell how old i is. i know i was quite a chunk of a boy when de war started. me and mister win, one of mister choate's boys, was 'bout de same age." (winston choate died in the spring of at the age of years, according to a niece.) the choate place down on barron forks is still owned by one of the choates, a grandson of the first owner, edward choate. a granddaughter of mr. choate lives in fayetteville and said that there are four or five graves on the old place where negro slaves who belonged to her grandfather were buried, and the children on the place would never go near these graves. they thought they were haunted. so when one asks uncle doc how old he is he will say, "i know i was jes' a chunk of a boy when de war started so i mus' be 'bout nex' spring." aunt jinney, his wife, sat on the porch and just rocked back and forth while uncle doc was talking. she didn't speak while doc was speaking. "law, honey, i had good white folks. none of dem never struck their colored folks. no'm. me an' my mother celia belonged to mister ballard at cincinnati. old missey's name was miss liza, an' she kept my ma in de house wid her to wait on her. yes'm all de white folks always kept a little darkey in de house to wait on all of dem. dem was good times 'fo' de war. yes'm good times--plenty to eat. good times. i was jes' a baby crawling on de flo' when de war come." the interviewer didn't ask uncle doc when and why he went to caldwell, kansas the two times. she knew that uncle doc, big and strong, took another negro's wife away from him and ran off with her to kansas and there left her. later he brought her to arkansas. jinney was his wife and took uncle doc back, but gate-eye didn't take his wife back. nor did the interviewer tell uncle doc that she had been to see old gate-eye fisher and had heard the long ago story of uncle doc taking his wife, and what a worrysome time he had. in an old record marked "miscellaneous" in the washington county courthouse at fayetteville, arkansas, one can find this emancipation paper: "for and in consideration of the love and affection of my wife for my little negro girl (a slave) named celia, about two years old, i do by these presents henceforth and forever give to said celia her liberty and freedom, and through fear of some mistake, mishap or accident, i now hereby firmly bind myself, heirs and representatives forever in accordance with this indenture of emancipation. "in testimony whereof witness my hand and seal this th day of january . signed: thomas b. ballard witnesses: charles baylor sumet mussett" jinney, wife of doc flowers, is the daughter of the said celia. "yes'm," said jinney, "miss liza, my old missy, always had my mother right by her side all the time to wait on her. she were always good to all her colored folks. no'm she'd never let anybody be mean to her colored folks." jinney must have learned the art of house keeping from miss liza, for her little three-room home that she and doc rent for $ a month is spotless. maybe the "path is growed up with weeds," but one just can't blame that on jinney. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: frances fluker, edmondson, arkansas age: [may ] "i was born the th day of december in marshall county, mississippi. our owners was dr. george wilson and mistress mary. they had one son i knowed, dr. wilson at coldwater, mississippi. my parents was viney perry and dock bradley. "i never seen my pa. i heard about him since i been grown. he left when the war was going on and never went back. mama had ten children and i am all that's living now. old mistress set my name and age down in her bible. i sent back and my niece just cut it out and sent it to me so i could get my pension. i pasted it in the front of my bible. i was never sold. it was freedom when i first recollect. "ma was the cook for the white folks. grandma perry come from north carolina i heard 'em say. she was a widow woman. when company come they would send us out to play. they never talked to us children, no ma'am, not 'fore us neither. i come a woman 'fore i knowed what it was. my sisters knowed better than tell me. they didn't tell me nothin'. "when it wasn't company at ma's they was at work and singing. at night we was all tired and went to bed 'cause we had to be up by daybreak--children and all. they said it caused children's j'ints to be stiff sleeping up in the day. all old folks could tell you that. "this young set ain't got no strength neither. ma cooked and washed and raised five children up grown. the slaves didn't get nary thing give 'em in the way of land nor stock. they got what clothes they had and some provisions. "ma was ginger cake. they said pa was black. i don't know. grandma was reddish and lighter still than ma. they said she was part cherokee indian. her hair was smooth and pretty. she combed her hair with the fine comb to bring the oil out on it and make it slick. i recollect her combing her hair. it was long about on her shoulders. "i heard about the ku klux but i never seed none of 'em. ma said her owners was good to her. ma never had but one husband. "i come to arkansas . mr. passler in coldwater, mississippi had bought a farm at onida. we had worked for him at lula, mississippi. me and my husband come here. my husband died the first year. i cooked some in my younger days but field work and washing was my work mostly. i like' field work long as i was able to go. "my first husband cleared up eighty acres of land. he and myself done it, we had help. we got in debt and lost it. he bought the place. that was in pinola county close to sardis. i had four children. one daughter living. "what i think it was give me rheumatism was i picked cotton, broke it off frozen two weeks on the sleet. i picked two hundred pounds a day. i got numb and fell and they come by and got a doctor. he said it was from overwork. i got over that but i had rheumatism ever since. "i learned to read. i went to shiloah school--and church too--several terms. mr. will dunlap was my first teacher. he was a white man. he run the school a good while but i don't know how long. my name is frances christiana fluker. i been farming all my life, nothin' but farmin'. never thought 'bout gettin' sick 'cause i knowed i couldn't. "i jus' get $ and that is all. it cost more to send get the commodities than it do to buy them. we don't get much of them. i needs clothes--union suits. 'course i wears 'em all summer. if they would give me yarn and needles i could knit my socks. 'course i can see and ain't doing nothing else. i needs a dress. i ain't got but this one dress." note: the two old beds were filthy with slick dirt. they had two chairs and a short bench around the stove and a trunk in which she kept the little yellow torn to pieces bible tied around the back with a string. the large board door was kept wide open for light i suppose. there were no windows to the room. i heard the reason she gets only $ was because her daughter lives there and keeps two of her son's children and they try to get the young grandson work and help out and support his children and mother at least. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: ida may fluker route , box , pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in slavery times in clark county, alabama. clover hill was the county seat. "elias campbell was old master. i know the first time i ever saw any plums, old master brought 'em. i 'member that same as yesterday. "i 'member the same as if 'twas yesterday when the yankees come. we chillun would hide behind the door. had on blue suits with brass buttons. so you see i'm no baby. "i 'member my mother and the other folks would go up to the big house and help make molasses. didn't 'low us chillun to go but we'd slip up there anyway. "old missis' name miss annis. she was good to us. "i didn't do nothin' but play around in the yard and tote wood. used to tote water from the wood spring. had a spring called wood spring. "my mother was the cook and my grandma was the spinner. i used to weave after freedom. "i know the yankees come in there and got a lot of fodder. they was drivin' a lot of cows. we chillun would be scared of 'em--mama would be at the big house. "mama belonged to the campbells and papa belonged to davis solomon, and i know every christmas they let him come to see mama, and he'd bring me and my sister a red dress buttoned in the back. i 'member it same as if 'twas yesterday 'cause i was crazy 'bout them red dresses. "i used to hear the folks talkin' 'bout patrollers. yes ma'am, i heered that song 'run nigger run paddyrollers will ketch you jes' 'fore day.' i know you've heered that song. "i heered papa talk about how he was sold. he say the overseer so mean he run off in the woods and eat blackberries for a week. "i guess we had plenty to eat. i know mama used to fetch us somethin' to eat from the house. old missis give it to her. i know i was glad to get it. "when the people was freed they was so glad they went from house to house and prayed and give thanks to the lord. "our folks stayed right there and worked on the shares. "i never went to school but about two weeks. my papa was hard workin'. other folks would let their chillun rest but he wouldn't let his chillun rest. he sure did work us hard. "you know in them days people moved 'round so much they didn't have time to keep up no remembrance 'bout their ages. we didn't have no time to see 'bout no ages--had to work. that's the truth." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: wash ford, des arc, arkansas age: or ? "i was born close to des arc and hickory plains, seems like about half way. mama's master was named powell. papa's master was frank ford. my parents was fannie and henry ford. i was the oldest child. there was boys, girls of us. "they didn't get anything after freedom. they kept on farming. they started working on shares. that was all they could do. if they expected anything i never heard it. "i heard my mother say when i was small papa was bouncing me up and down. he was lying on the floor playing like wid me. she looked up the road or 'cross the field one, and said, 'yonder come some soldiers. what they coming here for?' papa put me down and run. he hid. they didn't find him. it was soldiers from de valls bluff i judge. they made the colored men go wait on them and fight too, if they run up on one. that is what i heard. "my father voted. he voted a republican ticket. i do cause he did i reckon. i still vote. if the colored man could vote in the primary it wouldn't be no better. they know better who to put in office, to run the offices right. i think it is right for a woman to vote. "i been farming all my life. i was a section hand much as six months in all my life. i work at the veneer mills but they never run no more. i am having a hard time. i have high blood pressure. i can't pick cotton. i can't even get a mess of turnip greens. the social welfare helps me a little and i am janitor up town in two offices. they hand me a little pocket change. it amount to maybe $ a month. i had that job four years. if i could work i would be on the farm. i could make a living there. i always did. i had plenty on the farm. "young folks don't take on no manners. the young folks take care of themselves. it is the old ones seeing a hard time now." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: wash ford, des arc, ark. age: ? "one thing i remembers hearin' my folks talk bout. they had a leader hoeing cotton. his name was john. he was a fast hand. he hoe one row a piece and reach over and hoe the other. he'd get way ahead of the other hands. if they didn't keep up they get a whoopin. so he rest till they ketch up. once he hoed up to a tree--big shade tree out in the field. he stuck his hoe in the root of the tree and a moccasin bit him bout that time. it bit him right on the toe. they took him up to the house but he died. "i was born close to des arc and hickory plains. my parents was henry and fannie ford. her master was named powell and his master was named frank ford. i was the oldest 'mong six boys and four girls. my folks didn't git nuthing. i don't think they expected freedom much. they heard they goiner be free and knowed they was fightin'. they didn't know what freedom be like. when they was set free at devalls bluff they signed up. they went back and went on farmin' lack nothin' ever happened. that what i heard em say when i was small boy. "i voted--republican ticket, i believe. if i vote that what i vote. i reckon the women ought to vote. i still vote that is if i sees fit to vote. "my father run from the soldiers. he didn't go to the war as i ever knowd of. "i been farmin' all my life till i got so nocount i ain't able to do nothin' no more. i worked on the section bout six months. i worked some off an on at the veneer mill till it shut down. i does a little janitor work now and the welfare help me a little. "the present conditions good if a fellow able to pick cotton but if they run through with it times be hard in the heart of the winter cause they cain't git no credit. times is hard for old folks." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: judia fortenberry arch street, little rock, arkansas age: occupation: field hand [may ] [hw: slaves allowed to visit] "i was born three miles west of hamburg in ashley county, arkansas, in the year , in the month of october. i don't know just what day of the month it was. "my mother was named indiana simms and my father was named burrell simms. my father's mother was named ony simms, and my mother's mother was named maria young. i don't know what the names of their parents was. "my mother's master was named robert tucker. my father's master was named hartwell simms. their plantations were pretty close together, but i don't know how my father and my mother got together. i guess they just happened to meet up with each other. the slaves from the two plantations were allowed to visit one another. after their marriage, the two continued to belong to different masters. every sunday, they would visit one another. my father used to come to visit his wife every sunday and through the week at night. "my mother had ten children. houses "i was born in a log house with one room. it was built with a stick and dirt chimney. it had plank floors. they didn't have nothin' much in the way of furniture--homemade beds, stools, tables. we had common pans and tin plates and tin cans to use for dishes. the cabin had one window and one door. patrollers "i have heard my mother and father tell many a story of the pateroles. but i can't remember them. my father said they used to go into the slave cabins and take folks out and whip them. they'd go at night and get 'em out and whip 'em. how freedom came "i was so little that i don't know much about how freedom came. i just know he took us all and went somewheres and made him a crop. went to another man. didn't stay on the place where he was a slave. he never got anything when he was freed. i never heard of any of the slaves getting anything. schooling "i went to free school after the war. i just went along during the vacation when they weren't doing any farming. that is all the education i got. i can't tell how many seasons i went--four or five, i reckon. i never did go any whole season. i never had much chance to go to school. people didn't send their children to school much in those days. i went to school in monticello, but most of my schooling was in country schools. occupation "when i first went to work, i picked cotton. that is at a place out near hamburg. i picked cotton about ten or fifteen years. then i went to town--monticello. i washed and ironed. about forty-five years ago, i came to little rock, and have been here every since. washing and ironing has been my support. i have sometimes cooked. opinions "i don't know what i think about the young people. seems to me they coming to nothing. lot of them do wrong just because they got a chance to do it. i'm a christian. i belong to the a.m.e.'s. you know how they do. song i belong to the band that good old christian band thank god i belong to the band. chorus steal away home to jesus i ain't got long to stay here. there'll i'll meet my mother, my good old christian mother, mother, how do you do; thank god i belong to the band. i can't remember the music. but that's on old song we used to sing 'way back yonder. i can't remember any more of the verses. you got enough anyhow." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: emma foster n. magnolia, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm, i was born in time of slavery--seven years before surrender. no'm, i wasn't born in arkansas. born in claiborne parish, louisiana. "i remember hearin' the big guns shoot. i was small and i didn't know what it was only by what they told me. "my parents belonged to the harts. my mother run off and left me, a year-old baby. "i remember better when i was young than i do now. "after i got big enough--you know, a little old nasty somethin' runnin' around in the yard--after i got big enough, they took me in the house to rock the cradle, and i stayed there till i was twenty-three. i would a stayed longer but they was so cruel to me. "i didn't know nothin'. i run off and stayed with a colored preacher and his family not far away. you know i was crazy. one day the preacher said some of his members was objectin' to me stayin' there and he was goin' to tell my white folks where i was. and sure enough, he did, and one morning i was out in the field and i saw the son-in-law comin'. so i went back and worked for him and his wife. "me? all i did do was farmin' when i was young. "oh, i been in arkansas 'bout fifty years. my oldest boy was fourteen when i come here and he is sixty-four now. "no, honey, i can't cook now. i'd burn it up. i used to cook. it's a poor dog that won't wag its own tail. "all i know is i had a hard time, i been married three times. my last husband was a preacher and he was so mean i left him. i told him if all preachers was like him, hell was full of 'em. "i went to chicago and lived with my son a while but i didn't like it, so i come back here and i been here right in the yard with mrs. o'neal eight years washin' and ironin'--anything come to hand. "now if there's goin' to be a death in my family, i can see that 'fore it happens. i was out in the potato patch one day and it started to rain and i come in and somethin' just bore down on me and i started to cry. i didn't know why. i thought, 'oh, lord, is somethin' goin' to happen to my son?' but instead it was my grandson. he got killed that evenin'." name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: birthmarks story:--information this information given by: emma foster (c) place of residence: n. magnolia street, pine bluff, arkansas occupation: laundress age: [tr: personal information moved from bottom of first page.] "i know i marked one of my babies with beer. it was 'cause i wanted some beer and couldn't get it. and when it was born it had a place on the back of its neck looked like beer and she just foamed at the mouth. and when she was about a week old i got some beer and give it to her with a teaspoon and she quit foamin'. "and another time there was a boy on the place had a finger that the doctor had done took the bone out. he and i used to love to rassle (wrestle) and one day he said, 'oh, emma, you hurt my finger.' and like a fool, you know i took his hand and just rubbed that finger. and do you know, when my baby was born it had six fingers on each hand." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: ira foster w. eureka street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in slavery because when the people come back from the war i was a pretty good sized yellin' boy when freedom come. "i heerd 'em tellin' 'bout my young master comin' back from the war. "yes ma'am, i was sure born in arkansas; i won't tell no lie 'bout that. "my mother's old master was named foster and after she married she belonged to hezekiah bursey. "she was born in alabama and she said she was pretty badly treated. "she was the cook and then she was the weaver and the spinner. "i never have been to school. never did learn nothin'. my father put me to work soon as i was big enough. "i always done farm work all my life till 'bout twenty years ago as near as i can come at it. i went to saw millin' and i didn't do nothin' but manufacture lumber. i worked for the camden lumber company eighteen years and never caused 'em a minute's trouble. "if i just had enough to live on i wouldn't do a thing but just sit around 'cause i think i done worked my share. why, some of the white folks say, 'foster, you ought to have a pension of thirty or forty dollars a month.' and i say, 'why?' and they say, 'cause you look just like a darky that has worked hard in this world.' "i suffers with the rheumatism in my right leg clear up and down. seems like sometimes i can't hardly get around." folklore subjects name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: songs of pre-war days story:--information this information given by: ira foster place of residence: w. eureka, pine bluff, arkansas occupation: none age: [tr: personal information moved from bottom of first page.] "'you may call me raggedy pat 'cause i wear this raggedy hat, and you may think i'm a workin' but i ain't.' i used to hear my uncle sing that. that's all the words i can remember." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: leonard franklin temporary: ridgeway, little rock, arkansas permanent: warren, arkansas age: [hw: mother whipped overseer] "i don't know exactly the year i was born. but my father told me i was born since the civil war. i am seventy years old. they always tell me when my birthday come 'round it will be in january--the eighteenth of january. "my father's name was abe franklin and my mother's name was lucy franklin. i know my father's mother but i didn't ever know his father. his mother's name was maria franklin. my mother's father was harris pennington. i never did see her mother and never did see her. "i was born in warren, arkansas. my mother and father were born in warren. that is on the outer edge of warren. my mother's slavery farm was on what they called big creek. it is named franklin creek. two or three miles of it ran through franklin's farm. "my father's master was al franklin. and my mother's master's name was hill pennington. one of hill pennington's sons was named fountain pennington. he lives about five miles from warren now on the south highway. "my mother had about three masters before she got free. she was a terrible working woman. her boss went off deer hunting once for a few weeks. while he was gone, the overseer tried to whip her. she knocked him down and tore his face up so that the doctor had to 'tend to him. when pennington came back, he noticed his face all patched up and asked him what was the matter with it. the overseer told him that he went down in the field to whip the hands and that he just thought he would hit lucy a few licks to show the slaves that he was impartial, but she jumped on me and like to tore me up. old pennington said to him, 'well, if that is the best you could do with her, damned if you won't just have to take it.' "then they sold her to another man named jim bernard. bernard did a lot of big talk to her one morning. he said, 'look out there and mind you do what you told around her and step lively. if you don't, you'll get that bull whip.' she said to him, 'yes, and we'll both be gittin' it.' he had heard about her; so he sold her to another man named cleary. he was good to her; so she wasn't sold no more after that. "there wasn't many men could class up with her when it come to working. she could do more work than any two men. there wasn't no use for no one man to try to do nothin' with her. no overseer never downed her. "they didn't kill niggers then--not in slavery times. not 'round where my folks were. a nigger was money. slaves were property. they'd paid money to git 'im and money to keep 'im and they couldn't 'ford to kill 'em up. when they couldn't manage them they sold them and got their money out of them. "the white people started to texas with the colored folks near the end of the war and got as far as el dorado. word come to 'em that freedom had come and they turned back. "a paterole come in one night before freedom and asked for a drink of water. he said he was thirsty. he had a rubber thing on and drank two or three buckets of water. his rubber bag swelled up and made his head or the thing that looked like his head under the hood grow taller. instead of gettin' 'fraid, mother threw a shovelful of hot ashes on him and i'll tell you he lit out from there and never did come back no more. "right after the war my folks went to work on the farm. they hired out by the month. [hw: my father] didn't never say how much he got. when they had a settlement at the end of the year, the boss said his wages didn't amount to nothing because his living took it up. said he had ate it all up. after that, he took my mother's advice and took up part of his wages in a cow and so on, and then he'd always have something to show for his work at the end of the year when it come settling up time. it was ten years before he got a start. it was hard to get ahead then because the niggers had just got free and didn't have nothin' and didn't know nothin'. my father had two brothers that just stayed on with the white folks. they stayed on till they got too old to work, then they had to go. couldn't do no good then. my father was always treated well by his master. "i got my schooling at warren. i went to the tenth grade. could have gone farther but didn't want to. i was looking at something i thought was better than education. when i got of age, i come up here and just run about. i was what you might say pretty fine. i was looking so high i couldn't find nothing to suit me. i went 'round to a number of places and none of them suited me. so i went on back home and been there ever since. "i married once in my life. my wife is still living. my wife is a good woman. no, if i got rid of this one, wouldn't do to take another one. i am the father of ten living children. i made a living by doing anything that come up--housework, gardening, anything. "i don't get no government help. i don't want none yet. god has seen me this far. i think he'll see me to the end. he is good to me; he's given me such a good time i couldn't help but serve him. only been sick once in seventy years. "i belong to the baptist church. god is my boss now. he has brought me this far and he's able to carry me across" interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: eliza frazier saracen street, pine bluff, arkansas age: ? "i don't know when i was born or 'zackly how old i is, but i was born in south carolina and come here before the war. "i belonged to wiley mosley and he brought me and my mother and my sister here to arkansas. i don't 'member it at all 'cause i was a baby, but i know what wiley mosley and my mother told me. "settled in redland township. that's what they called it. he bought a plantation there. there was three brothers come to this country and they didn't live very far from each other. "i 'member hearin' 'em talk 'bout the war and one time i heered the guns a poppin'. they said they was just passin' through. i was just a small girl but i 'member it. i seed the yankees too. i 'member they'd come up in the yard on hosses and jump down and go in the smokehouse and take the meat and go to the dairy house and get the milk. "old master was gone to the war. i 'member when he was gwine and i 'member when he come back. old missis said he was up in missouri. got shot right through the foot once. i know he come home and stayed 'til he was well, then he went back. i don't know how long he stayed but he went back--i know that. and he come back after the war--i 'member that. "i 'member one time when i upset the cradle. miss jane wouldn't 'low me to take the baby up but i rocked the cradle. and one time i reckon i rocked it too hard and it turned over. miss jane heard it time it hit the floor and she come runnin'. i was under the house by that time but she called me out and whipped me and told me to get back in the house. i know i didn't turn it over no more. "the yankees never said nothin' to me--talked to my mother though, and old mis'. "they said they was fightin' to free the niggers. there was a boy on the place and while old master was gone to war, he'd just go and come and get the news. he didn't do that when old master was home. i know he brought the news when peace declared. patrollers got him one night. "i 'member when peace declared ever'body went around shoutin' and hollerin', 'the niggers is free, the niggers is free!' "our folks stayed there on the place right smart while after freedom. i 'member i was gwine out to the field and woodson, he was the baby i upset, he wanted to go along and wanted me to tote him and i know old master said, 'put him down and let him walk.' "they told me i was twenty when i was married--the white folks told me. i know my mother asked how old i was and they said i was 'bout twenty. i 'member it well enough. "i never went to school but i knowed my abc's and could read some in the first reader. i ain't forgot about it. i thinks about it sometimes. "the biggest work i has done is farm work. "i've had nine chillun and raised all of 'em but one." note: eliza lives with her son who is well educated and a retired city mail carrier and he is now sending three children to the a.m.& n. college here. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mary frazier, near biscoe, arkansas age: "my parents was neily and amos hamilton. they lived in marshall county, about forty-eight miles from memphis. they belong to people by that same name. "i heard them all say how they come to be way out in mississippi. the thompsons owned grandma diana and her husband in south carolina. master jefferies went there from mississippi and bought grandma. they let all twelve of her children go in the sale some way but they didn't sell grandpa. he grieved so till the same man come back a long time afterward and bought him. jefferies was good to them. i was born in mississippi. grandma cooked all the time. mama and papa both worked in the field. i heard grandma say every one of her children was born in south carolina. mr. jefferies, one of the younger set, lived in clarendon, arkansas. since i come to this country i seen him. i lived over there pretty close by. "i got no 'pinion worth telling about our young folks. they want to have a big time when they are young. all young folks is swift on foot that way. times is funny. funniest times ever been in my life. is times right now? ain't no credit no more. that one thing making times so hard. money is the whole thing now'days." el dorado district folklore subjects name of interviewer: pernella anderson subject: tales of slavery days story:--information [feb ] this information given by: tyler frazier place of residence: ouachita county occupation: domestic age: [tr: personal information moved from bottom of first page.] ah wus a young nigger bout nine or ten years ole when de slaves wus freed. ah got freed in texas. we went tuh texas on a steamboat an dey wuz a lot uv people on de steamboat. we sho 'joyed dat trip. we went wid our mistress an moster. dey wuz de lides, mistuh john lide's parents. de lides run one uv de bigges' stores in camden now, if yo knows dem dey is de same lides. one uv de boys wuz named blackie lide, one john lide, one named hugh lide. dem wuz granchillun. hannah lide, minnie watts now, dey wuz de granchillun. now let me see, one miss wuz named emma lide. dem sho wuz good fokes. ole miss died when we wuz on ouh way tuh dis country. an ole moster been daid since way back yondah. but when we got tuh dis country we settled bout seven or eight miles fum camden in ouachita county. ole moster wuz named peter lide. we jes went tuh school nough tuh learn our a.b.c.'s cause we had tuh work in de fiel. we carried our meat tuh de fiel an cooked hot ash cake fuh dinnuh. we kep' spare ribs and backbone all de year roun'. we pickled de backbone an dem spareribs. we worked evah day. wednesday night wuz wash night. dat's when de women would do de washin. we'd go tuh de fiel way fo day. back in dem days we had er log church. ah went in mah shirt-tail till ah wuz six. mis lide made mah fust pair uv britches. ah membuhs one time ah went to miss lide's garden an stole watuh mellons. ah put em in a sack an when ah want tuh come outn de garden ah got ovah de fence an got hung an moster caught me. ah'm tellin de truth. ah aint had no desire tuh steal since. moster peter lide's favorite song wus dis: "hit's er long way tuh heaven." ah kin mos heah him singin hit now. he wuz a christian man. he wuz white and owned slaves but he wuz a good christian. we didn' know bout no money. when we got sick dat's when we got biscuit. we didn' know bout thanksgiving day and christmas. we heard de white fokes tawkin bout hit but we didn' know whut hit meant. when anybody would die dey made de coffin. didn' have no funeral, no singin, no nothin' jes put dem in de groun. dat wus all. nebber stop work. we nevah plowed er hoss. we used oxen teams. we made good crops den. we raised all our sumpin tuh eat. when ah wus a lil' bitsy boy mrs. lide use tuh tell us stories at night. she give us our fireside trainin. she tole us when anybody wuz a tawkin not tuh but in. ah'm seventy five yers ole now an ah aint nevah fuhgot dat. we ole fokes aint got long tuh stay heah now. we lives in de days dats past. all we knows tuh tawk bout is what we use tuh do. when mah time is up ah is ready tuh go cause ah is done mah bes' fuh mah god, mah country and mah race. interviewer: beulah sherwood hagg person interviewed: aunt mittie freeman aged: home: elm st., north little rock. in home of granddaughter. [aug ] story by aunt mittie freeman "howdy, honey. come on in and set down. it's awful hot, ain't it? what you come to see me for? you says old uncle boss tell you i'se old slave lady? that's right, that's right. us old war folks never fergits the others. anything you wants to know, honey, jest go on and ax me. i got the bestest remembrance. orange county, mississippi was where i was borned at but i been right here in arkansas before sech thing as war gonna be. in slavery, it was, when my white folks done come to camden. you know where that is?--camden on the ouachita? that's the place where we come. yes ma'am, it was long before the war when the doctor--i means dr. williams what owned my pappy and all us younguns--say he going to arkansas. theys rode in the fine carriages. us slaves rode in ox wagons. lord only knows how long it tuck a-coming. every night we camped. i was jest a little tike then but i has a remembrance of everything. the biggest younguns had to walk till theys so tired theys couldn't hardly drag they feets; them what had been a-riding had to get out the ox wagon and walk a far piece; so it like this we go on. dr. williams always wanted to keep his slaves together. he was sure good man. he didn't work his slaves hard like some. my pappy was a kind of a manager for doctor. doctor tended his business and pappy runned the plantation where we lived at. our good master died before freedom. he willed us slaves to his chilrun. you know--passeled (parcelled) us out, some to this child, some to that. i went to his daughter, miss emma. laws-a-mercy, how i wishes i could see her face onct more afore i dies. i heerd she married rich. unh-unh! i'd shore love to see her onct more. after old master died, poor old pappy got sent to another plantation of the fam'ly. it had a overseer. he was a northerner man and the meanest devil ever put foot on a plantation. my father was a gentleman; yes ma'am, he was jest that. he had been brung up that-a-way. old master teached us to never answer back to no white folks. but one day that overseer had my pappy whipped for sompin he never done, and pappy hit him. so after that, he sent pappy down to new orleans to be sold. he said he would liked to kill pappy, but he didn't dare 'cause he didn't owned him. pappy was old. every auction sale, all the young niggers be sold; everybody pass old pappy by. after a long time--oh, maybe five years--one day they ax pappy--"are you got some white folks back in arkansas?" he telled them the williams white folks in camden on the ouachita. theys white. after while theys send pappy home. miss, i tells you, nobody never seen sech a home coming. old miss and the young white folks gathered round and hugged my old black pappy when he come home; they cry on his shoulder, so glad to git him back. that's what them williams folks thought of their slaves. yes ma'am. old miss was name miss 'liza. she skeered to stay by herself after old master died. i was took to be her companion. every day she wanted me to bresh her long hair and bathe her feet in cool water; she said i was gentle and didn't never hurt her. one day i was a standing by the window and i seen smoke--blue smoke a rising over beyond a woods. i heerd cannons a-booming and axed her what was it. she say: "run, mittie, and hide yourself. it's the yanks. theys coming at last, oh lordy!" i was all incited (excited) and told her i didn't want to hide, i wanted to see 'em. "no" she say, right firm. "ain't i always told you yankees has horns on their heads? they'll get you. go on now, do like i tells you." so i runs out the room and went down by the big gate. a high wall was there and a tree put its branches right over the top. i clim up and hid under the leaves. they was coming, all a marching. the captain opened our big gate and marched them in. a soldier seen me and said "come on down here; i want to see you." i told him i would, if he would take off his hat and show me his horns. the day freedom came, i was fishing with pappy. my remembrance is sure good. all a-suddent cannons commence a-booming, it seem like everywhere. you know what that was, miss? it was the fall of richmond. cannons was to roar every place when richmond fell. pappy jumps up, throws his pole and everything, and grabs my hand, and starts flying towards the house. "it's victory," he keep on saying. "it's freedom. now we'es gwine be free." i didn't know what it all meant. it seem like it tuck a long time fer freedom to come. everything jest kept on like it was. we heard that lots of slaves was getting land and some mules to set up fer theirselves; i never knowed any what got land or mules nor nothing. we all stayed right on the place till the yankees came through. they was looking for slaves what was staying on. now we was free and had to git off the plantation. they packed us in their big amulance ... you say it wasn't a amulance,--what was it? well, then, their big covered army wagons, and tuck us to little rock. did you ever know where the old penitentiary was? well, right there is where the yanks had a great big barracks. all chilluns and growd womens was put there in tents. did you know that the fust real free school in little rock was opened by the govment for colored chullens? yes ma'am, and i went to it, right from the day we got there. they took pappy and put him to work in the big commissary; it was on the corner of second and main street. he got $ . a month and all the grub we could eat. unh, unh! didn't we live good? i sure got a good remembrance, honey. can't you tell? yes, ma'am. they was plenty of other refugees living in them barracks, and the govment taking keer of all of 'em. i was a purty big sized girl by then and had to go to work to help pappy. a man name captain hodge, a northerner, got a plantation down the river. he wanted to raise cotton but didn't know how and had to get colored folks to help him. a lot of us niggers from the barracks was sent to pick. we got $ . a hundred pounds. what did i do with my money? is you asking me that? bless your soul, honey, i never seen that money hardly long enough to git it home. in them days chilluns worked for their folks. i toted mine home to pappy and he got us what we had to have. that's the way it was. we picked cotton all fall and winter, and went to school after picking was over. when i got nearly growd, we moved on this very ground you is a setting on. pappy had a five year lease,--do you know what that was, i don't--but anyhow, they told him he could have all the ground he could clear and work for five years and it wouldn't cost him nothing. he built a log house and put in a orchard. next year he had a big garden and sold vegables. lord, miss, them white ladies wouldn't buy from nobody but pappy. they'd wait till he got there with his fresh beans and roasting ears. when he got more land broke out, he raised cotton and corn and made it right good. his name was harry williams. he was a stern man, and honest. he was named for his old master. when my brothers got growed they learned shoemakers trade and had right good business in little rock. but when pappy died, them boys give up that good business and tuck a farm--the old lawson place--so to make a home for mammy and the little chilluns. i married freeman. onliest husban ever i had. he died last summer. he was a slave too. we used to talk over them days before we met. the k.k.k. never bothered us. they was gathered together to bother niggers and whites what made trouble. if you tended to your own business, they's let you alone. no ma'am, i never voted. my husband did. yes ma'am, i can remember when they was colored men voted into office. justice of peace, county clerks, and, er--er--that fellow that comes running fast when somebody gets killed. what you call him? coroner? sure, that's him. i know that, 'cause i seen them a-setting in their offices. we raised our fam'ly on a plantation. that's the bestest place for colored chilluns. yes ma'am. my five boys stayed with me till they was grown. they heerd about the railroad shops and was bound theys going there to work. ben--that was my man--and me couldn't make it by ourselfs, so we come on back to this little place where we come soon after the war. he was taken with a tumor on his brains last summer and died in two weeks. he didn't know nothing all that time. my onliest boy what stayed here died jest two weeks after his pa. all them others went to iowa after the big railroad strike here. they was out of work for many years; they didn't like no kind of work but railroad, after they been in the shops. how i a-living now? you wants to know, honest? say honey, is you a relief worker--one of them welfare folkses? lor' god, how i needs help! honey, last summer when my husband and son die they wasn't nothin' to put on 'em to bury in. i told the welfare could i get something clean and whole to bury my dead; honey chile, it's the gospel truth, it was two weeks after they was buried when they brought me the close (clothes). theys told me then i would get $ . a month, but in all this time now, i only had $ . one time. i lives with my daughter here in this house, but her man been outen work so long he couldn't keep up the payments and theys 'bout to loose it. lordy, where'll we go? i made big garden in the spring of the year, and sold a heap. hot summer burnt everything up, now. yessum, that $ . the reliefers give me--i bought my garden stuff with it. i got the rheumatiz a-making the garden. it look like i'm done. i knowed a old potion. it made of pokeberry juice and whiskey. good whiskey. not old cheap corn likker. yessum, you takes fine whiskey--'bout half bottle, and fills up with strained pokeberry juice. tablespoon three times a day. look-a-here, miss. look at these old arms go up and down now. i kin do a washing along with the youngish womens. iffen you wants to know what i thinks of the young folks i tells you. look at that grandchile a-setting there. she fourteen and know more right now than i knowed in my whole life. yes ma'am! she can sew on a machine and make a dress in one day. she read in a book how to make sumthin to eat and go hatch it up. theys fast, too. ain't got no time for olds like me. can't find no time to do nothin' for me. people now makes more money than in old days, but the way they makes it ain't honest. no'am, honey, it jest plain ain't. old honest way was to bend the back and bear down on the hoe. did you ask somethin' 'bout old time songs? sure did have purty music them days. it's so long, honey, i jest can't 'member the names, 'excusing one. it was "hark, from the tombs a doleful sound." it was a burying song; wagons a-walking slow like; all that stuff. it was the most onliest song they knowed. they was other music, though. could they play the fiddle in them days, unh, unh! lordy, iffen i could take you back and show you that handsome white lady what put me on the floor and learned me to dance the contillion! i'm a-thinking we're a-living in the last days, honey, what does you think? yes, mam! we sure is living in the seventh seal. the days of tribulations is on us right now. nothing make like it used to. i sure would be proud iffen i knowed i had a living for the balance of my days. i got a clean and a clear heart--a clean and clear heart. be so to your neighbors and god will make it up to you. he sure will, honey." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mattie fritz, clarendon, arkansas age: "i was born at duncan, arkansas. mother died when i was a baby. old slavery black 'mammy' raised me. i called her 'mammy'. my father was born in the state of mississippi. he got loose there at 'mancipation. his master jack oates got killed in battle. they brung him home and buried him in the garden. down close to duncan on the place. i played in the yard wid mr. jack oates, jr. when we was little fellars. father's master in tennessee was bill tyler. my uncle went back to tennessee to them. his name was tyler oates. mr. jack gates, sr. used to pat me and call me his little nigger. we thought the world and all of our white folks. we sure did. some of 'em 'round 'bout helena they say now. mr. jack, jr., he had two boys and he was a widower. "my own dear mother was jane. my father called hisself bill tyler. my stepmother was liddy. the woman what raised me was 'mammy' all i ever knowed. but her name was luckadoo. "mr. tyler got killed. pa had to stay on take care of his mistress. he got sold. then she died. then mother died. jack oates went to my father and brung him to mississippi, then to arkansas. "master jack tyler hid out. the yankees come at night and caught him there and shot him. his wife lived about two more years. she grieved about him. they took everything and searched the house. my pa was hid under the house. they rumbled down in the cellar and pretty nigh seen him once. he was a little bit er black fellar scroughed back in the dark. all what saved him he wore a black sorter coat. they couldn't see him so good. way he said they would took him to wait on them and be in the fights too. them yankees took massa jack tyler off and sont him back in a while. she had him buried in the garden. she didn't know it was him. "'mammy' was a slavery woman. she was sold first time from a neighbor man to a neighbor man. he was an old man. she ploughed and rolled logs. then she was sold to master luckadoo close to holly grove. they named her eloise, and she was a farm woman. she was so good to me. she was a worker and never took time to tell me about old times. she said luckadoo never whooped her. a storm come and blowed a limb down killed her granddaughter and broke my leg. the same storm killed their mule. she raised a orphan boy too. she died from the change of life but she was old, gray headed. since i'm older i think she had a tumor. 'cause she was old when she took me on. "i gets ten dollars from the welfare. i ain't goiner say nothin' for 'em nor nothin' agin 'em. they's betwix' and between no 'count and good. "times too fast. i can't keep up wid them. 'betwix' and between the fat and the lean.' some do very well i reckon." proofreaders. produced from images provided by the library of congress, manuscript division. [tr: ***] = transcriber note [hw: ***] = handwritten note slave narratives a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress illustrated with photographs washington volume iv georgia narratives part prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of georgia informants adams, rachel allen, uncle wash [tr: originally listed as rev. w.b. (uncle wash)] allen, rev. w.b. [tr: different informant] atkinson, jack austin, hannah avery, celestia [tr: also appended is interview with emmaline heard that is repeated in part of the georgia narratives] baker, georgia battle, alice battle, jasper binns, arrie bland, henry body, rias bolton, james bostwick, alec boudry, nancy bradley, alice, and colquitt, kizzie [tr: interviews filed together though not connected] briscoe, della brooks, george brown, easter brown, julia (aunt sally) bunch, julia butler, marshal byrd, sarah calloway, mariah castle, susan claibourn, ellen clay, berry cody, pierce cofer, willis colbert, mary cole, john cole, julia colquitt, martha davis, minnie davis, mose derricotte, ike dillard, benny eason, george elder, callie everette, martha favor, lewis [tr: also referred to as favors] ferguson, mary fryer, carrie nancy furr, anderson illustrations marshal butler [tr: not listed in original index] john cole [tr: the interview headers presented here contain all information included in the original, but may have been rearranged for readability. also, some ages and addresses have been drawn from blocks of information on subsequent interview pages. names in brackets were drawn from text of interviews.] [tr: some interviews were date-stamped; these dates have been added to interview headers in brackets. where part of date could not be determined -- has been substituted. these dates do not appear to represent actual interview dates, rather dates completed interviews were received or perhaps transcription dates.] plantation life rachel adams, age odd street athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby [hw: (white)] athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, georgia rachel adams' two-room, frame house is perched on the side of a steep hill where peach trees and bamboo form dense shade. stalks of corn at the rear of the dwelling reach almost to the roof ridge and a portion of the front yard is enclosed for a chicken yard. stepping gingerly around the amazing number of nondescript articles scattered about the small veranda, the visitor rapped several times on the front door, but received no response. a neighbor said the old woman might be found at her son's store, but she was finally located at the home of a daughter. rachel came to the front door with a sandwich of hoecake and cheese in one hand and a glass of water in the other. "dis here's rachel adams," she declared. "have a seat on de porch." rachel is tall, thin, very black, and wears glasses. her faded pink outing wrapper was partly covered by an apron made of a heavy meal sack. tennis shoes, worn without hose, and a man's black hat completed her outfit. rachel began her story by saying: "miss, dats been sich a long time back dat i has most forgot how things went. anyhow i was borned in putman county 'bout two miles from eatonton, georgia. my ma and pa was 'melia and iaaac little and, far as i knows, dey was borned and bred in dat same county. pa, he was sold away from ma when i was still a baby. ma's job was to weave all de cloth for de white folks. i have wore many a dress made out of de homespun what she wove. dere was of us chillun, and i can't 'member de names of but two of 'em now--dey was john and sarah. john was ma's onliest son; all de rest of de other of us was gals. "us lived in mud-daubed log cabins what had old stack chimblies made out of sticks and mud. our old home-made beds didn't have no slats or metal springs neither. dey used stout cords for springs. de cloth what dey made the ticks of dem old hay mattresses and pillows out of was so coarse dat it scratched us little chillun most to death, it seemed lak to us dem days. i kin still feel dem old hay mattresses under me now. evvy time i moved at night it sounded lak de wind blowin' through dem peach trees and bamboos 'round de front of de house whar i lives now. "grandma anna was years old when she died. she had done wore herself out in slavery time. grandpa, he was sold off somewhar. both of 'em was field hands. "potlicker and cornbread was fed to us chillun, out of big old wooden bowls. two or three chillun et out of de same bowl. grown folks had meat, greens, syrup, cornbread, 'taters and de lak. 'possums! i should say so. dey cotch plenty of 'em and atter dey was kilt ma would scald 'em and rub 'em in hot ashes and dat clean't 'em jus' as pretty and white. oo-o-o but dey was good. lord, yessum! dey used to go fishin' and rabbit huntin' too. us jus' fotched in game galore den, for it was de style dem days. dere warn't no market meat in slavery days. seemed lak to me in dem days dat ash-roasted 'taters and groundpeas was de best somepin t'eat what anybody could want. 'course dey had a gyarden, and it had somepin of jus' about evvything what us knowed anything 'bout in de way of gyarden sass growin' in it. all de cookin' was done in dem big old open fireplaces what was fixed up special for de pots and ovens. ashcake was most as good as 'taters cooked in de ashes, but not quite. "summertime, us jus' wore homespun dresses made lak de slips dey use for underwear now. de coats what us wore over our wool dresses in winter was knowed as 'sacques' den, 'cause dey was so loose fittin'. dey was heavy and had wool in 'em too. marse lewis, he had a plenty of sheep, 'cause dey was bound to have lots of warm winter clothes, and den too, dey lakked mutton to eat. oh! dem old brogan shoes was coarse and rough. when marse lewis had a cow kilt dey put de hide in de tannin' vat. when de hides was ready, uncle ben made up de shoes, and sometimes dey let uncle jasper holp him if dere was many to be made all at one time. us wore de same sort of clothes on sunday as evvyday, only dey had to be clean and fresh when dey was put on sunday mornin'. "marse lewis little and his wife, miss sallie, owned us, and old miss, she died long 'fore de surrender. marse lewis, he was right good to all his slaves; but dat overseer, he would beat us down in a minute if us didn't do to suit him. when dey give slaves tasks to do and dey warn't done in a certain time, dat old overseer would whup 'em 'bout dat. marster never had to take none of his niggers to court or put 'em in jails neither; him and de overseer sot 'em right. long as miss sallie lived de carriage driver driv her and marse lewis around lots, but atter she died dere warn't so much use of de carriage. he jus' driv for marse lewis and piddled 'round de yard den. "some slaves larnt to read and write. if dey went to meetin' dey had to go wid deir white folks 'cause dey didn't have no sep'rate churches for de niggers 'til atter de war. on our marster's place, slaves didn't go off to meetin' a t'all. dey jus' went 'round to one another's houses and sung songs. some of 'em read de bible by heart. once i heared a man preach what didn't know how to read one word in de bible, and he didn't even have no bible yit. "de fust baptizin' i ever seed was atter i was nigh 'bout grown. if a slave from our place ever jined up wid a church 'fore de war was over, i never heared tell nothin' 'bout it. "lordy, miss! i didn't know nothin' 'bout what a funeral was dem days. if a nigger died dis mornin', dey sho' didn't waste no time a-puttin' him right on down in de ground dat same day. dem coffins never had no shape to 'em; dey was jus' squar-aidged pine boxes. now warn't dat turrible? "slaves never went nowhar widout dem patterollers beatin' 'em up if dey didn't have no pass. "dere was hunderds of acres in dat dere plantation. marse lewis had a heap of slaves. de overseer, he had a bugle what he blowed to wake up de slaves. he blowed it long 'fore day so dat dey could eat breakfast and be out dere in de fields waitin' for de sun to rise so dey could see how to wuk, and dey stayed out dar and wukked 'til black dark. when a rainy spell come and de grass got to growin' fast, dey wukked dem slaves at night, even when de moon warn't shinin'. on dem dark nights one set of slaves helt lanterns for de others to see how to chop de weeds out of de cotton and corn. wuk was sho' tight dem days. evvy slave had a task to do atter dey got back to dem cabins at night. dey each one hed to spin deir stint same as de 'omans, evvy night. "young and old washed deir clothes sadday nights. dey hardly knowed what sunday was. dey didn't have but one day in de christmas, and de only diff'unce dey seed dat day was dat dey give 'em some biscuits on christmas day. new year's day was rail-splittin' day. dey was told how many rails was to be cut, and dem niggers better split dat many or somebody was gwine to git beat up. "i don't 'member much 'bout what us played, 'cept de way us run 'round in a ring. us chillun was allus skeered to play in de thicket nigh de house 'cause raw head and bloody bones lived der. dey used to skeer us out 'bout red 'taters. dey was fine 'taters, red on de outside and pretty and white on de inside, but white folks called 'em 'nigger-killers.' dat was one of deir tricks to keep us from stealin' dem 'taters. dere wern't nothin' wrong wid dem 'taters; dey was jus' as good and healthy as any other 'taters. aunt lucy, she was de cook, and she told me dat slaves was skeered of dem 'nigger-killer' 'taters and never bothered 'em much den lak dey does de yam patches dese days. i used to think i seed ha'nts at night, but it allus turned out to be somebody dat was tryin' to skeer me. "'bout de most fun slaves had was at dem cornshuckin's. de general would git high on top of de corn pile and whoop and holler down leadin' dat cornshuckin' song 'til all de corn was done shucked. den come de big eats, de likker, and de dancin'. cotton pickin's was big fun too, and when dey got through pickin' de cotton dey et and drunk and danced 'til dey couldn't dance no more. "miss, white folks jus' had to be good to sick slaves, 'cause slaves was property. for old marster to lose a slave, was losin' money. dere warn't so many doctors dem days and home-made medicines was all de go. oil and turpentine, camphor, assfiddy (asafetida), cherry bark, sweetgum bark; all dem things was used to make teas for grown folks to take for deir ailments. red oak bark tea was give to chillun for stomach mis'ries. "all i can ricollect 'bout de comin' of freedom was old marster tellin' us dat us was free as jack-rabbits and dat from den on niggers would have to git deir own somepin t'eat. it warn't long atter dat when dem yankees, wid pretty blue clothes on come through our place and dey stole most evvything our marster had. dey kilt his chickens, hogs, and cows and tuk his hosses off and sold 'em. dat didn't look right, did it? "my aunt give us a big weddin' feast when i married tom adams, and she sho' did pile up dat table wid heaps of good eatments. my weddin' dress was blue, trimmed in white. us had six chillun, nine grandchillun, and great-grandchillun. one of my grandchillun is done been blind since he was three weeks old. i sont him off to de blind school and now he kin git around 'most as good as i kin. he has made his home wid me ever since his mammy died. "'cordin' to my way of thinkin', abraham lincoln done a good thing when he sot us free. jeff davis, he was all right too, 'cause if him and lincoln hadn't got to fightin' us would have been slaves to dis very day. it's mighty good to do jus' as you please, and bread and water is heaps better dan dat somepin t'eat us had to slave for. "i jined up wid de church 'cause i wanted to go to heben when i dies, and if folks lives right dey sho' is gwine to have a good restin' place in de next world. yes mam, i sho b'lieves in 'ligion, dat i does. now, miss, if you ain't got nothin' else to ax me, i'se gwine home and give dat blind boy his somepin t'eat." [hw: dist. ex-slv. # ] washington allen, ex-slave born: december --, place of birth: "some where" in south carolina present residence: -fifth avenue, columbus, georgia interviewed: december , [may ] [tr: original index refers to "allen, rev. w.b. (uncle wash)"; however, this informant is different from the next informant, rev. w.b. allen.] the story of "uncle wash", as he is familiarly known, is condensed as follows: he was born on the plantation of a mr. washington allen of south carolina, for whom he was named. this mr. allen had several sons and daughters, and of these, one son--george allen--who, during the 's left his south carolina home and settled near lafayette, alabama. about , mr. washington allen died and the next year, when "wash" was "a five-year old shaver", the allen estate in south carolina was divided--all except the allen negro slaves. these, at the instance and insistence of mr. george allen, were taken to lafayette, alabama, to be sold. all were put on the block and auctioned off, mr. george allen buying every negro, so that not a single slave family was divided up. "uncle wash" does not remember what he "fetched at de sale", but he does distinctly remember that as he stepped up on the block to be sold, the auctioneer ran his hand "over my head and said: genilmens, dis boy is as fine as split silk". then when mr. george allen had bought all the allen slaves, it dawned upon them, and they appreciated, why he had insisted on their being sold in alabama, rather than in south carolina. before he was six years of age, little "wash" lost his mother and, from then until freedom, he was personally cared for and looked after by mrs. george allen; and the old man wept every time he mentioned her name. during the ' 's, "uncle wash's" father drove a mail and passenger stage between cusseta and lafayette, alabama--and, finally died and was buried at lafayette by the side of his wife. "uncle wash" "drifted over" to columbus about fifty years ago and is now living with his two surviving children. he has been married four times, all his wives dying "nachul" deaths. he has also "buried four chillun". he was taught to read and write by the sons and daughters of mr. george allen, and attended church where a one-eyed white preacher--named mr. terrentine--preached to the slaves each sunday "evenin'" (afternoon). the salary of this preacher was paid by mr. george allen. when asked what this preacher usually preached about, "uncle wash" answered: "he was a one-eyed man an' couldn' see good; so, he mout a'made some mistakes, but he sho tole us plenty 'bout hell fire 'n brimstone." "uncle wash" is a literal worshipper of the memory of his "old time white fokes." j.r. jones rev. w.b. allen, ex-slave -second ave columbus, georgia (june , ) [jul ] [tr: original index refers to "allen, rev. w.b. (uncle wash)"; however, this informant is different from the previous informant, washington allen, interviewed on dec. , . the previous interview for rev. allen that is mentioned below is not found in this volume.] in a second interview, the submission of which was voluntarily sought by himself, this very interesting specimen of a rapidly vanishing type expressed a desire to amend his previous interview (of may , ) to incorporate the following facts: "for a number of years before freedom, my father bought his time from his master and traveled about over russell county (alabama) as a journeyman blacksmith, doing work for various planters and making good money--as money went in those days--on the side. at the close of the war, however, though he had a trunk full of confederate money, all of his good money was gone. father could neither read nor write, but had a good head for figures and was very pious. his life had a wonderful influence upon me, though i was originally worldly--that is, i drank and cussed, but haven't touched a drop of spirits in forty years and quit cussing before i entered the ministry in . i learned to pray when very young and kept it up even in my unsaved days. my white master's folks knew me to be a praying boy, and asked me--in --when the south was about whipped and general wilson was headed our way--to pray to god to hold the yankees back. of course, i didn't have any love for any yankees--and haven't now, for that matter--but i told my white folks straight-from-the-shoulder that i _could not_ pray along those lines. i told them flat-footedly that, while i loved them and would do any reasonable praying for them, i could not pray against my conscience: that i not only wanted to be free, but that i wanted to see all the negroes freed! i then told them that god was using the yankees to scourge the slave-holders just as he had, centuries before, used heathens and outcasts to chastise his chosen people--the children of israel." (here it is to be noted that, for a slave boy of between approximately and years of age, remarkable familiarity with the old testament was displayed.) the parson then entered into a mild tirade against yankees, saying: "the only time the northern people ever helped the nigger was when they freed him. they are not friends of the negro and many a time, from my pulpit, have i warned niggers about going north. no, sir, the colored man doesn't belong in the north---has no business up there, and you may tell the world that the reverend w.b. allen makes no bones about saying that! he also says that, if it wasn't for the influence of the white race in the south, the negro race would revert to savagery within a year! why, if they knew for dead certain that there was not a policeman or officer of the law in columbus tonight, the good lord only knows what they'd do tonight"! when the good parson had delivered himself as quoted, he was asked a few questions, the answers to which--as shall follow--disclose their nature. "the lowest down whites of slavery days were the average overseers. a few were gentlemen, one must admit, but the regular run of them were trash--commoner than the 'poor white trash'--and, if possible, their children were worse than their daddies. the name, 'overseer', was a synonym for 'slave driver', 'cruelty', 'brutishness'. no, sir, a nigger may be humble and refuse to talk outside of his race--because he's afraid to, but you can't fool him about a white man! and you couldn't fool him when he was a slave! he knows a white man for what he is, and he knew him the same way in slavery times." concerning the punishment of slaves, the reverend said: "i never heard or knew of a slave being tried in court for any thing. i never knew of a slave being guilty of any crime more serious than taking something or violating plantation rules. and the only punishment that i ever heard or knew of being administered slaves was whipping. i have personally known a few slaves that were beaten to death for one or more of the following offenses: leaving home without a pass, talking back to--'sassing'--a white person, hitting another negro, fussing, fighting, and rukkussing in the quarters, lying, loitering on their work, taking things--the whites called it stealing. plantation rules forbade a slave to: own a firearm, leave home without a pass, sell or buy anything without his master's consent, marry without his owner's consent, have a light in his cabin after a certain hour at night, attend any secret meeting, harbor or [hw: in] any manner assist a runaway slave, abuse a farm animal, mistreat a member of his family, and do a great many other things." when asked if he had ever heard slaves plot an insurrection, the parson answered in the negative. when asked if he had personal knowledge of an instance of a slave offering resistance to corporal punishment, the reverend shook his head, but said: "sometimes a stripped nigger would say some hard things to the white man with the strap in his hand, though he knew that he (the negro) would pay for it dearly, for when a slave showed spirit that way the master or overseer laid the lash on all the harder." when asked how the women took their whippings, he said: "they usually screamed and prayed, though a few never made a sound." the parson has had two wives and five children. both wives and three of his children are dead. he is also now superannuated, but occasionally does a "little preaching", having only recently been down to montezuma, georgia, on a special call to deliver a message to the methodist flock there. [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] henrietta carlisle jack atkinson--ex-slave rt. d griffin, georgia interviewed august , [may ] "onct a man, twice a child," quoted jack atkinson, grey haired darkey, when being interviewed, "and i done started in my second childhood. i useter be active as a cat, but i ain't, no mo." jack acquired his surname from his white master, a mr. atkinson, who owned this negro family prior to the war between the states. he was a little boy during the war but remembers "refugeeing" to griffin from butts county, georgia, with the atkinsons when sherman passed by their home on his march to the sea. jack's father, tom, the body-servant of mr. atkinson, "tuck care of him" [hw: during] the four years they were away at war. "many's the time i done heard my daddy tell 'bout biting his hands he wuz so hongry, and him and marster drinking water outer the ruts of the road, they wuz so thirsty, during the war." "boss man (mr. atkinson), wuz as fine a man as ever broke bread", according to jack. when asked how he got married he stated that he "broke off a love vine and throwed it over the fence and if it growed" he would get married. the vine "just growed and growed" and it wasn't long before he and lucy married. "a hootin' owl is a sho sign of rain, and a screech owl means a death, for a fact." "a tree frog's holler is a true sign of rain." jack maintains that he has received "a second blessing from the lord" and "no conjurer can bother him." whitley - - [hw: dis # unedited] minnie b. ross ex town slave hannah austin [hw: about - ] [apr ] when the writer was presented to mrs. hannah austin she was immediately impressed with her alert youthful appearance. mrs. austin is well preserved for her age and speaks clearly and with much intelligence. the interview was a brief but interesting one. this was due partly to the fact that mrs. austin was a small child when the civil war ended and too because her family was classed as "town slaves" so classed because of their superior intelligence. mrs. austin was a child of ten or twelve years when the war ended. she doesn't know her exact age but estimated it to be between seventy and seventy five years. she was born the oldest child of liza and george hall. their master mr. frank hall was very kind to them and considerate in his treatment of them. briefly mrs. austin gave the following account of slavery as she knew it. "my family lived in a two room well built house which had many windows and a nice large porch. our master, mr. hall was a merchant and operated a clothing store. because mr. hall lived in town he did not need but a few slaves. my family which included my mother, father, sister, and myself were his only servants. originally mr. hall did not own any slaves, however after marrying mrs. hall we were given to her by her father as a part of her inheritance. my mother nursed mrs. hall from a baby, consequently the hall family was very fond of her and often made the statement that they would not part with her for anything in the world, besides working as the cook for the hall family my mother was also a fine seamstress and made clothing for the master's family and for our family. we were allowed an ample amount of good clothing which mr. hall selected from the stock in his store. my father worked as a porter in the store and did other jobs around the house. i did not have to work and spent most of my time playing with the hall children. we were considered the better class of slaves and did not know the meaning of a hard time. other slave owners whipped their slaves severely and often, but i have never known our master to whip any one of my family. if any one in the family became ill the family doctor was called in as often as he was needed. we did not have churches of our own but were allowed to attend the white churches in the afternoon. the white families attended in the forenoon. we seldom heard a true religious sermon; but were constantly preached the doctrine of obedience to our masters and mistresses. we were required to attend church every sunday. marriages were conducted in much the same manner as they are today. after the usual courtship a minister was called in by the master and the marriage ceremony would then take place. in my opinion people of today are more lax in their attitude toward marriage than they were in those days. following the marriage of a slave couple a celebration would take place often the master and his family would take part in the celebration. i remember hearing my mother and father discuss the war; but was too young to know just the effect the war would have on the slave. one day i remember mr. hall coming to my mother telling her we were free. his exact words were quote--"liza you don't belong to me any longer you belong to yourself. if you are hired now i will have to pay you. i do not want you to leave as you have a home here as long as you live." i watched my mother to see the effect his words would have on her and i saw her eyes fill with tears. mr. hall's eyes filled with tears also. soon after this incident a yankee army appeared in our village one day. they practically destroyed mr. hall's store by throwing all clothes and other merchandise into the streets. seeing my sister and i they turned to us saying, "little negroes you are free there are no more masters and mistresses, here help yourselves to these clothes take them home with you." not knowing any better we carried stockings, socks, dresses, underwear and many other pieces home. after this they opened the smoke house door and told us to go in and take all of the meat we wanted. on another occasion the mistress called me asking that i come in the yard to play with the children". here mrs. austin began to laugh and remarked "i did not go but politely told her i was free and didn't belong to any one but my mama and papa. as i spoke these words my mistress began to cry. my mother and father continued to live with the halls even after freedom and until their deaths. although not impoverished most of the hall's fortune was wiped out with the war". mrs. austin married at the age of years; and was the mother of four children, all of whom are dead. she was very ambitious and was determined to get an education if such was possible. after the war northern white people came south and set up schools for the education of negroes. she remembers the organization of the old storrs school from which one of the present negroes colleges originated. mrs. austin proudly spoke of her old blue back speller, which she still possesses; and of the days when she attended storrs school. as the writer made ready to depart mrs. austin smilingly informed her that she had told her all that she knew about slavery; and every word spoken was the truth. [hw: dist. ex slave # ross] "a few facts of slavery" as told by celestia avery--ex-slave [may ] mrs. celestia avery is a small mulatto woman about ft. in height. she has a remarkably clear memory in view of the fact that she is about years of age. before the interview began she reminded the writer that the facts to be related were either told to her by her grandmother, sylvia heard, or were facts which she remembered herself. mrs. avery was born years ago in troupe county, lagrange, ga. the eighth oldest child of lenora and silas heard. there were other children beside herself. she and her family were owned by mr. & mrs. peter heard. in those days the slaves carried the surname of their master; this accounted for all slaves having the same name whether they were kin or not. the owner mr. heard had a plantation of about acres and was considered wealthy by all who knew him. mrs. avery was unable to give the exact number of slaves on the plantation, but knew he owned a large number. cotton, corn, peas, potatoes, (etc.) were the main crops raised. the homes provided for the slaves were two room log cabins which had one door and one window. these homes were not built in a group together but were more or less scattered over the plantation. slave homes were very simple and only contained a home made table, chair and bed which were made of the same type of wood and could easily be cleaned by scouring with sand every saturday. the beds were bottomed with rope which was run backward and forward from one rail to the other. on this framework was placed a mattress of wheat straw. each spring the mattresses were emptied and refilled with fresh wheat straw. slaves were required to prepare their own meals three times a day. this was done in a big open fire place which was filled with hot coals. the master did not give them much of a variety of food, but allowed each family to raise their own vegetables. each family was given a hand out of bacon and meal on saturdays and through the week corn ash cakes and meat; which had been broiled on the hot coals was the usual diet found in each home. the diet did not vary even at christmas only a little fruit was added. each family was provided with a loom and in mrs. avery's family, her grandmother, sylvia heard, did most of the carding and spinning of the thread into cloth. the most common cloth for women clothes was homespun, and calico. this same cloth was dyed and used to make men shirts and pants. dye was prepared by taking a berry known as the shumake berry and boiling them with walnut peelings. spring and fall were the seasons for masters to give shoes and clothing to their slaves. both men and women wore brogan shoes, the only difference being the piece in the side of the womens. one woman was required to do the work around the house there was also one slave man required to work around the house doing odd jobs. other than these two every one else was required to do the heavy work in the fields. work began at "sun up" and lasted until "sun down". in the middle of the day the big bell was rung to summon the workers from the field, for their mid-day lunch. after work hours slaves were then free to do work around their own cabins, such as sewing, cooking (etc.) "once a week mr. heard allowed his slaves to have a frolic and folks would get broke down from so much dancing" mrs. avery remarked. the music was furnished with fiddles. when asked how the slaves came to own fiddles she replied, "they bought them with money they earned selling chickens." at night slaves would steal off from the heard plantation, go to lagrange, ga. and sell chickens which they had raised. of course the masters always required half of every thing raised by each slave and it was not permissible for any slave to sell anything. another form of entertainment was the quilting party. every one would go together to different person's home on each separate night of the week and finish that person's quilts. each night this was repeated until every one had a sufficient amount of covering for the winter. any slave from another plantation, desiring to attend these frolics, could do so after securing a pass from their master. mrs. avery related the occasion when her uncle william was caught off the heard plantation without a pass, and was whipped almost to death by the "pader rollers." he stole off to the depths of the woods here he built a cave large enough to live in. a few nights later he came back to the plantation unobserved and carried his wife and two children back to this cave where they lived until after freedom. when found years later his wife had given birth to two children. no one was ever able to find his hiding place and if he saw any one in the woods he would run like a lion. mr. heard was a very mean master and was not liked by any one of his slaves. secretly each one hated him. he whipped unmercifully and in most cases unnecessarily. however, he sometimes found it hard to subdue some slaves who happened to have very high tempers. in the event this was the case he would set a pack of hounds on him. mrs. avery related to the writer the story told to her of mr. heard's cruelty by her grandmother. the facts were as follows: "every morning my grandmother would pray, and old man heard despised to hear any one pray saying they were only doing so that they might become free niggers. just as sure as the sun would rise, she would get a whipping; but this did not stop her prayers every morning before day. this particular time grandmother sylvia was in "family way" and that morning she began to pray as usual. the master heard her and became so angry he came to her cabin seized and pulled her clothes from her body and tied her to a young sapling. he whipped her so brutally that her body was raw all over. when darkness fell her husband cut her down from the tree, during the day he was afraid to go near her. rather than go back to the cabin she crawled on her knees to the woods and her husband brought grease for her to grease her raw body. for two weeks the master hunted but could not find her; however, when he finally did, she had given birth to twins. the only thing that saved her was the fact that she was a mid-wife and always carried a small pin knife which she used to cut the navel cord of the babies. after doing this she tore her petticoat into two pieces and wrapped each baby. grandmother sylvia lived to get years old. not only was mr. henderson cruel but it seemed that every one he hired in the capacity of overseer was just as cruel. for instance, mrs. henderson's grandmother sylvia, was told to take her clothes off when she reached the end of a row. she was to be whipped because she had not completed the required amount of hoeing for the day. grandmother continued hoeing until she came to a fence; as the overseer reached out to grab her she snatched a fence railing and broke it across his arms. on another occasion grandmother sylvia ran all the way to town to tell the master that an overseer was beating her husband to death. the master immediately jumped on his horse and started for home; and reaching the plantation he ordered the overseer to stop whipping the old man. mrs. avery received one whipping, with a hair brush, for disobedience; this was given to her by the mistress. slaves were given separate churches, but the minister, who conducted the services, was white. very seldom did the text vary from the usual one of obedience to the master and mistress, and the necessity for good behavior. every one was required to attend church, however, the only self expression they could indulge in without conflict with the master was that of singing. any one heard praying was given a good whipping; for most masters thought their prayers no good since freedom was the uppermost thought in every one's head. on the heard plantation as on a number of others, marriages were made by the masters of the parties concerned. marriage licenses were unheard of. if both masters mutually consented, the marriage ceremony was considered over with. after that the husband was given a pass to visit his wife once a week. in the event children were born the naming of them was left entirely to the master. parents were not allowed to name them. health of slaves was very important to every slave owner for loss of life meant loss of money to them. consequently they would call in their family doctor, if a slave became seriously ill. in minor cases of illness home remedies were used. "in fact," mrs. avery smilingly remarked, "we used every thing for medicine that grew in the ground." one particular home remedy was known as "cow foot oil" which was made by boiling cow's feet in water. other medicines used were hoarhound tea, catnip tea, and castor oil. very often medicines and doctors failed to save life; and whenever a slave died he was buried the same day. mrs. avery remarked, "if he died before dinner the funeral and burial usually took place immediately after dinner." although a very young child, mrs. avery remembers the frantic attempt slave owners made to hide their money when the war broke out. the following is a story related concerning the heard family. "mr. heard, our master, went to the swamp, dug a hole, and hid his money, then he and his wife left for town on their horses. my oldest brother, percy, saw their hiding place; and when the yanks came looking for the money, he carried them straight to the swamps and showed than where the money was hidden." although the yeard [tr: typo "heard"] farm was in the country the highway was very near and mrs. avery told of the long army of soldiers marching to la grange singing the following song: "rally around the flag boys, rally around the flag, joy, joy, for freedom." when the war ended mr. heard visited every slave home and broke the news to each family that they were free people and if they so desired could remain on his plantation. mrs. avery's family moved away, in fact most slave families did, for old man heard had been such a cruel master everyone was anxious to get away from him. however, one year later he sold his plantation to mr george traylor and some of the families moved back, mrs. avery's family included. mrs. avery married at the age of ; and was the mother of children, three of whom are still living. although she has had quite a bit of illness during her life, at present she is quite well and active in spite of her old age. she assured the writer that the story of slavery, which she had given her, was a true one and sincerely hoped it would do some good in this world. folklore (negro) minnie b. ross [mrs. celestia avery] in a small house at phoenix alley, n.e. lives a little old woman about ft. in. in height, who is an ex-slave. she greeted the writer with a bright smile and bade her enter and have a seat by the small fire in the poorly lighted room. the writer vividly recalled the interview she gave on slavery previously and wondered if any facts concerning superstitions, conjure, signs, etc. could be obtained from her. after a short conversation pertaining to everyday occurrences, the subject of superstition was broached to mrs. avery. the idea amused her and she gave the writer the following facts: as far as possible the stories are given in her exact words. the interview required two days, november and december , . "when you see a dog lay on his stomach and slide it is a true sign of death. this is sho true cause it happened to me. years ago when i lived on pine street i was sitting on my steps playing with my nine-months old baby. a friend uv mine came by and sat down; and as we set there a dog that followed her began to slide on his stomach. it scared me; and i said to her, did you see that dog? yes, i sho did. that night my baby died and it wuzn't sick at all that day. that's the truth and a sho sign of death. anudder sign of death is ter dream of a new-born baby. one night not so long ago i dreamt about a new-born baby and you know i went ter the door and called miss mary next door and told her i dreamed about a new-born baby, and she said, oh! that's a sho sign of death. the same week that gal's baby over there died. it didn't surprise me when i heard it cause i knowed somebody round here wuz go die." she continued: "listen, child! if ebber you clean your bed, don't you never sweep off your springs with a broom. always wipe 'em with a rag, or use a brush. jest as sho as you do you see or experience death around you. i took my bed down and swept off my springs, and i jest happened to tell old mrs. smith; and she jumped up and said, 'child, you ought not done that cause it's a sign of death.' sho nuff the same night i lost another child that wuz eight years old. the child had heart trouble, i think." mrs. avery believes in luck to a certain extent. the following are examples of how you may obtain luck: "i believe you can change your luck by throwing a teaspoonful of sulphur in the fire at zackly o'clock in the day. i know last week i was sitting here without a bit of fire, but i wuzn't thinking bout doing that till a 'oman came by and told me ter scrape up a stick fire and put a spoonful of sulphur on it; and sho nuff in a hour's time a coal man came by and gave me a tub uv coal. long time ago i used ter work fer some white women and every day at o'clock i wuz told ter put a teaspoonful of sulphur in the fire." "another thing, i sho ain't going ter let a 'oman come in my house on monday morning unless a man done come in there fust. no, surree, if it seem lak one ain't coming soon, i'll call one of the boy chilluns, jest so it is a male. the reason fer this is cause women is bad luck." the following are a few of the luck charms as described by mrs. avery: "black cat bone is taken from a cat. first, the cat is killed and boiled, after which the meat is scraped from the bones. the bones are then taken to the creek and thrown in. the bone that goes up stream is the lucky bone and is the one that should be kept." "there is a boy in this neighborhood that sells liquor and i know they done locked him up ten or twelve times but he always git out. they say he carries a black cat bone," related mrs. avery. "the devil's shoe string looks jest like a fern with a lot of roots. my mother used to grow them in the corner of our garden. they are lucky. "majres (?) are always carried tied in the corner of a handkerchief. i don't know how they make 'em. "i bought a lucky stick from a man onct. it looked jest lak a candle, only it wuz small; but he did have some sticks as large as candles and he called them lucky sticks, too, but you had to burn them all night in your room. he also had some that looked jest lak buttons, small and round." the following are two stories of conjure told by mrs. avery: "i knowed a man onct long ago and he stayed sick all der time. he had the headache from morning till night. one day he went to a old man that wuz called a conjurer; this old man told him that somebody had stole the sweat-band out of his cap and less he got it back, something terrible would happen. they say this man had been going with a 'oman and she had stole his sweat-band. well, he never did get it, so he died. "i had a cousin named alec heard, and he had a wife named anna heard. anna stayed sick all der time almost; fer two years she complained. one day a old conjurer came to der house and told alec that anna wuz poisoned, but if he would give him $ . he would come back sunday morning and find the conjure. alec wuz wise, so he bored a hole in the kitchen floor so that he could jest peep through there to der back steps. sho nuff sunday morning the nigger come back and as alec watched him he dug down in the gound a piece, then he took a ground puppy, threw it in the hole and covered it up. all right, he started digging again and all at onct he jumped up and cried: 'here 'tis! i got it.' 'got what?' alec said, running to the door with a piece of board. 'i got the ground puppy dat wuz buried fer her.' alec wuz so mad he jumped on that man and beat him most to death. they say he did that all the time and kept a lot of ground puppies fer that purpose." continuing, she explained that a ground puppy was a worm with two small horns. they are dug up out of the ground, and there is a belief that you will die if one barks at you. mrs. avery related two ways in which you can keep from being conjured by anyone. "one thing i do every morning is ter sprinkle chamber-lye [hw: (urine)] with salt and then throw it all around my door. they sho can't fix you if you do this. anudder thing, if you wear a silver dime around your leg they can't fix you. the 'oman live next door says she done wore two silver dimes around her leg for years." next is a story of the jack o'lantern. "onct when i wuz a little girl a lot of us chillun used to slip off and take walnuts from a old man. we picked a rainy night so nobody would see us, but do you know it looked like a thousand jack ma' lanterns got in behind us. they wuz all around us. i never will ferget my brother telling me ter get out in the path and turn my pocket wrong side out. i told him i didn't have no pocket but the one in my apron; he said, 'well, turn that one wrong side out.' sho nuff we did and they scattered then." closing the interview, mrs. avery remarked: "that's bout all i know; but come back some time and maybe i'll think of something else." mrs. emmaline heard [tr: this interview, which was attached to the interview with mrs. celestia avery, is also included in the second volume of the georgia narratives.] on december and , , mrs. emmaline heard was interviewed at her home, cain street. the writer had visited mrs. heard previously, and it was at her own request that another visit was made. this visit was supposed to be one to obtain information and stories on the practice of conjure. on two previous occasions mrs. heard's stories had proved very interesting, and i knew as i sat there waiting for her to begin that she had something very good to tell me. she began: "chile, this story wuz told ter me by my father and i know he sho wouldn't lie. every word of it is the trufe; fact, everything i ebber told you wuz the trufe. now, my pa had a brother, old uncle martin, and his wife wuz name julianne. aunt julianne used ter have spells and fight and kick all the time. they had doctor after doctor but none did her any good. somebody told uncle martin to go ter a old conjurer and let the doctors go cause they wan't doing nothing fer her anyway. sho nuff he got one ter come see her and give her some medicine. this old man said she had bugs in her head, and after giving her the medicine he started rubbing her head. while he rubbed her head he said: 'dar's a bug in her head; it looks jest like a big black roach. now, he's coming out of her head through her ear; whatever you do, don't let him get away cause i want him. whatever you do, catch him; he's going ter run, but when he hits the pillow, grab 'em. i'm go take him and turn it back on the one who is trying ter send you ter the grave.' sho nuff that bug drap out her ear and flew; she hollered, and old uncle martin ran in the room, snatched the bed clothes off but they never did find him. aunt julianne never did get better and soon she died. the conjurer said if they had a caught the bug she would a lived." the next story is a true story. the facts as told by mrs. heard were also witnessed by her; as it deals with the conjuring of one of her sons. it is related in her exact words as nearly as possible. "i got a son named albert heard. he is living and well; but chile, there wuz a time when he wuz almost ter his grave. i wuz living in town then, and albert and his wife wuz living in the country with their two chillun. well, albert got down sick and he would go ter doctors, and go ter doctors, but they didn't do him any good. i wuz worried ter death cause i had ter run backards and for'ards and it wuz a strain on me. he wuz suffering with a knot on his right side and he couldn't even fasten his shoes cause it pained him so, and it wuz so bad he couldn't even button up his pants. a 'oman teached school out there by the name of mrs. yancy; she's dead now but she lived right here on randolph street years ago. well, one day when i wuz leaving albert's house i met her on the way from her school. 'good evening, mrs. heard,' she says. 'how is mr. albert?' i don't hardly know, i says, cause he don't get no better. she looked at me kinda funny and said, don't you believe he's hurt?' yes mam, i said, i sho do. 'well,' says she, 'i been wanting to say something to you concerning this but i didn't know how you would take it. if i tell you somewhere ter go will you go, and tell them i sent you?' yes mam, i will do anything if albert can get better. 'all right then', she says. 'catch the federal prison car and get off at butler st.' in them days that car came down forrest ave. 'when you get to butler st.', she says, 'walk up to clifton st. and go to such and such a number. knock on the door and a 'oman by the name of mrs. hirshpath will come ter the door. fore she let you in she go ask who sent you there; when you tell 'er, she'll let you in. now lemme tell you she keeps two quarts of whisky all the time and you have ter drink a little with her; sides that she cusses nearly every word she speaks; but don't let that scare you; she will sho get your son up if it kin be done.' sho nuff that old 'oman did jest lak mrs. yancy said she would do. she had a harsh voice and she spoke right snappy. when she let me in she said, sit down. you lak whisky?' i said, well, i take a little dram sometimes. 'well, here take some of this', she said. i poured a little bit and drank it kinda lak i wuz afraid. she cursed and said 'i ain't go conjure you. drink it.' she got the cards and told me to cut 'em, so i did. looking at the cards, she said: 'you lak ter wait too long; they got him marching to the cemetery. the poor thing! i'll fix those devils. (a profane word was used instead of devils). he got a knot on his side, ain't he?' yes, mam, i said. that 'oman told me everything that was wrong with albert and zackly how he acted. all at once she said; 'if them d----d things had hatched in him it would a been too late. if you do zackly lak i tell you i'll get him up from there.' i sho will, i told her. 'well, there's a stable sets east of his house. his house got three rooms and a path go straight to the stable. i see it there where he hangs his harness. yes, i see it all, the devils! have you got any money?' yes, mam, a little, i said. 'all right then,' she said. 'go to the drug store and get ¢ worth of blue stone; ¢ wheat bran; and go ter a fish market and ask 'em ter give you a little fish brine; then go in the woods and get some poke-root berries. now, there's two kinds of poke-root berries, the red skin and the white skin berry. put all this in a pot, mix with it the guts from a green gourd and parts of red pepper. make a poultice and put to his side on that knot. now, listen, your son will be afraid and think you are trying ter do something ter him but be gentle and persuade him that its fer his good.' child, he sho did act funny when i told him i wanted to treat his side. i had ter tell him i wuz carrying out doctors orders so he could get well. he reared and fussed and said he didn't want that mess on him. i told him the doctor says you do very well till you go ter the horse lot then you go blind and you can't see. he looked at me. 'sho nuff, ma, he said, 'that sho is the trufe. i have ter always call one of the chillun when i go there cause i can't see how ter get back ter the house.' well, that convinced him and he let me fix the medicine for him. i put him ter bed and made the poultice, then i put it ter his side. now this 'oman said no one wuz ter take it off the next morning but me. i wuz suppose ter fix three, one each night, and after taking each one off ter bury it lak dead folks is buried, east and west, and ter make a real grave out of each one. well, when i told him not ter move it the next morning, but let me move it, he got funny again and wanted to know why. do you know i had ter play lak i could move it without messing up my bed clothes and if he moved it he might waste it all. finally he said he would call me the next morning. sho nuff, the next morning he called me, ma! ma! come take it off. i went in the room and he wuz smiling. i slept all night long he said, and i feel so much better. i'm so glad, i said, and do you know he could reach down and fasten up his shoe and it had been a long time since he could do that. later that day i slipped out and made my first grave under the fig bush in the garden. i even put up head boards, too. that night albert said, 'mama, fix another one. i feel so much better.' i sho will, i said. thank god you're better; so fer three nights i fixed poultices and put ter his side and each morning he would tell me how much better he felt. then the last morning i wuz fixing breakfast and he sat in the next room. after while albert jumped up and hollered, ma! ma!' what is it,' i said. 'mama, that knot is gone. it dropped down in my pants.' what! i cried. where is it? chile, we looked but we didn't find anything, but the knot had sho gone. der 'oman had told me ter come back when the knot moved and she would tell me what else ter do. that same day i went ter see her and when i told her she just shouted, 'i fixed 'em, the devils! now, says she, do you [tr: know?] where you can get a few leaves off a yellow peachtree. it must be a yellow peach tree, though. yes, mam, i says to her. i have a yellow peachtree right there in my yard. well, she says, get a handful of leaves, then take a knife and scrape the bark up, then make a tea and give him so it will heal up the poison from that knot in his side, also mix a few jimson weeds with it. i come home and told him i wanted ter give him a tea. he got scared and said, what fer, ma? i had ter tell him i wuz still carrying out the doctor's orders. well, he let me give him the tea and that boy got well. i went back to mrs. hirshpath and told her my son was well and i wanted to pay her. go on, she said, keep the dollar and send your chillun ter school. this sho happened ter me and i know people kin fix you. yes sir." the next story was told to mrs. heard by mrs. hirshpath, the woman who cured her son. i used to go see that 'oman quite a bit and even sent some of my friends ter her. one day while i wuz there she told me about this piece of work she did. "there was a young man and his wife and they worked fer some white folks. they had jest married and wuz trying ter save some money ter buy a home with. all at onct the young man went blind and it almost run him and his wife crazy cause they didn't know what in the world ter do. well, somebody told him and her about mrs. hirshpath, so they went ter see her. one day, says mrs. hirshpath, a big fine carriage drew up in front of her door and the coachman helped him to her door. she asked him who sent him and he told her. she only charged ¢ for giving advice and after you wuz cured it wuz up ter you to give her what you wanted to. well, this man gave her ¢ and she talked ter him. she says, boy, you go home and don't you put that cap on no more. what cap? he says. that cap you wears ter clean up the stables with, cause somebody done dressed that cap fer you, and every time you perspire and it run down ter your eyes it makes you blind. you jest get that cap and bring it ter me. i'll fix 'em; they's trying ter make you blind, but i go let you see. the boy was overjoyed, and sho nuff he went back and brought her that cap, and it wuzn't long fore he could see good as you and me. he brought that 'oman $ , but she wouldn't take but $ and give the other $ back ter him. "what i done told you is the trufe, every word of it; i know some other things that happened but you come back anudder day fer that." plantation life georgia baker, age meigs street athens, georgia written by: mrs. sadie b. hornsby [hw: (white)] athens edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth dist. supvr. federal writers' project residencies & augusta, ga. august , georgia's address proved to be the home of her daughter, ida baker. the clean-swept walks of the small yard were brightened by borders of gay colored zinnias and marigolds in front of the drab looking two-story, frame house. "come in," answered ida, in response to a knock at the front door. "yessum, mammy's here. go right in dat dere room and you'll find her." standing by the fireplace of the next room was a thin, very black woman engaged in lighting her pipe. a green checked gingham apron partially covered her faded blue frock over which she wore a black shirtwaist fastened together with "safety first" pins. a white cloth, tied turban fashion about her head, and gray cotton hose worn with black and white slippers that were run down at the heels, completed her costume. "good mornin'. yessum, dis here's georgia," was her greeting. "let's go in dar whar ida is so us can set down. i don't know what you come for, but i guess i'll soon find out." georgia was eager to talk but her articulation had been impaired by a paralytic stroke and at times it was difficult to understand her jumble of words. after observance of the amenities; comments on the weather, health and such subjects, she began: "whar was i born? why i was born on de plantation of a great man. it was marse alec stephens' plantation 'bout a mile and a half from crawfordville, in taliaferro county. mary and grandison tilly was my ma and pa. ma was cook up at de big house and she died when i was jus' a little gal. pa was a field hand, and he belonged to marse britt tilly. "dere was four of us chillun: me, and mary, and frances, and mack," she counted on the fingers of one hand. "marse alec let marse jim johnson have mack for his bodyguard. frances, she wuked in de field, and mary was de baby--she was too little to wuk. me, i was years old when de war was over. i swept yards, toted water to de field, and played 'round de house and yard wid de rest of de chillun. "de long, log houses what us lived in was called "shotgun" houses 'cause dey had three rooms, one behind de other in a row lak de barrel of a shotgun. all de chillun slept in one end room and de grown folkses slept in de other end room. de kitchen whar us cooked and et was de middle room. beds was made out of pine poles put together wid cords. dem wheat-straw mattresses was for grown folkses mostly 'cause nigh all de chillun slept on pallets. how-some-ever, dere was some few slave chillun what had beds to sleep on. pillows! dem days us never knowed what pillows was. gals slept on one side of de room and boys on de other in de chilluns room. uncle jim, he was de bed-maker, and he made up a heap of little beds lak what dey calls cots now. "becky and stafford stephens was my grandma and grandpa. marse alec bought 'em in old virginny. i don't know what my grandma done 'cause she died 'fore i was borned, but i 'members grandpa stafford well enough. i can see him now. he was a old man what slept on a trundle bed in the kitchen, and all he done was to set by de fire all day wid a switch in his hand and tend de chillun whilst dere mammies was at wuk. chillun minded better dem days dan dey does now. grandpa stafford never had to holler at 'em but one time. dey knowed dey would git de switch next if dey didn't behave. "now dere you is axin' 'bout dat somepin' t'eat us had dem days! ida, ain't dere a piece of watermelon in de ice box?" georgia lifted the lid of a small ice box, got out a piece of melon, and began to smack her thick lips as she devoured it with an air of ineffable satisfaction. when she had tilted the rind to swallow the last drop of pink juice, she indicated that she was fortified and ready to exercise her now well lubricated throat, by resuming her story: "oh, yessum! marse alec, had plenty for his slaves to eat. dere was meat, bread, collard greens, snap beans, 'taters, peas, all sorts of dried fruit, and just lots of milk and butter. marse alec had cows and dat's whar i learned to love milk so good. de same uncle jim what made our beds made our wooden bowls what dey kept filled wid bread and milk for de chillun all day. you might want to call dat place whar marse alec had our veg'tables raised a gyarden, but it looked more lak a big field to me, it was so big. you jus' ought to have seed dat dere fireplace whar dey cooked all us had to eat. it was one sho 'nough big somepin, all full of pots, skillets, and ovens. dey warn't never 'lowed to git full of smut neither. dey had to be cleant and shined up atter evvy meal, and dey sho was pretty hangin' dar in dat big old fireplace. "george and mack was de hunters. when dey went huntin' dey brought back jus' evvything: possums, rabbits, coons, squirrels, birds, and wild turkeys. yessum, wild turkeys is some sort of birds i reckon, but when us talked about birds to eat us meant part'idges. some folkses calls 'em quails. de fishes us had in summertime was a sight to see. us sho et good dem days. now us jus' eats what-some-ever us can git. "summertime us jus' wore what us wanted to. dresses was made wid full skirts gathered on to tight fittin' waisties. winter clothes was good and warm; dresses made of yarn cloth made up jus' lak dem summertime clothes, and petticoats and draw's made out of osnaburg. chillun what was big enough done de spinnin' and aunt betsey and aunt tinny, dey wove most evvy night 'til dey rung de bell at : o'clock for us to go to bed. us made bolts and bolts of cloth evvy year. "us went bar'foots in summer, but bless your sweet life us had good shoes in winter and wore good stockin's too. it tuk three shoemakers for our plantation. dey was uncle isom, uncle jim, and uncle stafford. dey made up hole-stock shoes for de 'omans and gals and brass-toed brogans for de mens and boys. "us had pretty white dresses for sunday. marse alec wanted evvybody on his place dressed up dat day. he sont his houseboy, uncle harris, down to de cabins evvy sunday mornin' to tell evvy slave to clean hisself up. dey warn't never give no chance to forgit. dere was a big old room sot aside for a wash-room. folkses laughs at me now 'cause i ain't never stopped takin' a bath evvy sunday mornin'. "marse lordnorth stephens was de boss on marse alec's plantation. course marse alec owned us and he was our sho 'nough marster. neither one of 'em ever married. marse lordnorth was a good man, but he didn't have no use for 'omans--he was a sissy. dere warn't no marster no whar no better dan our marse alec stephens, but he never stayed home enough to tend to things hisself much 'cause he was all de time too busy on de outside. he was de president or somepin of our side durin' de war. "uncle pierce went wid marse alec evvy whar he went. his dog, rio, had more sense dan most folkses. marse alec, he was all de time havin' big mens visit him up at de big house. one time, out in de yard, him and one of dem 'portant mens got in a argyment 'bout somepin. us chillun snuck up close to hear what dey was makin' such a rukus 'bout. i heared marse alec say: 'i got more sense in my big toe dan you is got in your whole body.' and he was right--he did have more sense dan most folkses. ain't i been a-tellin' you he was de president or somepin lak dat, dem days? "ma, she was marse alec's cook and looked atter de house. atter she died marse lordnorth got mrs. mary berry from habersham county to keep house at de big house, but aunt 'liza, she done de cookin' atter miss mary got dar. us little niggers sho' did love miss mary. us called her "mammy mary" sometimes. miss mary had three sons and one of 'em was named jeff davis. i 'members when dey come and got him and tuk him off to war. marse lordnorth built a four-room house on de plantation for miss mary and her boys. evvybody loved our miss mary, 'cause she was so good and sweet, and dere warn't nothin' us wouldn't have done for her. "no lord! marse lordnorth never needed no overseer or no carriage driver neither. uncle jim was de head man wat got de niggers up evvy mornin' and started 'em off to wuk right. de big house sho was a pretty place, a-settin' up on a high hill. de squirrels was so tame dar dey jus' played all 'round de yard. marse alec's dog is buried in dat yard. "no mam, i never knowed how many acres dere was in de plantation us lived on, and marse alec had other places too. he had land scattered evvywhar. lord, dere was a heap of niggers on dat place, and all of us was kin to one another. grandma becky and grandpa stafford was de fust slaves marse alec ever had, and dey sho had a passel of chillun. one thing sho marse lordnorth wouldn't keep no bright colored nigger on dat plantation if he could help it. aunt mary was a bright colored nigger and dey said dat marse john, marse lordnorth's brother, was her pa, but anyhow marse lordnorth never had no use for her 'cause she was a bright colored nigger. "marse lordnorth never had no certain early time for his slaves to git up nor no special late time for 'em to quit wuk. de hours dey wuked was 'cordin' to how much wuk was ahead to be done. folks in crawfordville called us 'stephens' free niggers.' "us minded marse lordnorth--us had to do dat--but he let us do pretty much as us pleased. us never had no sorry piece of a marster. he was a good man and he made a sho 'nough good marster. i never seed no nigger git a beatin', and what's more i never heared of nothin' lak dat on our place. dere was a jail in crawfordville, but none of us niggers on marse alec's place warn't never put in it. "no lord! none of us niggers never knowed nothin' 'bout readin' and writin'. dere warn't no school for niggers den, and i ain't never been to school a day in my life. niggers was more skeered of newspapers dan dey is of snakes now, and us never knowed what a bible was dem days. "niggers never had no churches of deir own den. dey went to de white folkses' churches and sot in de gallery. one sunday when me and my sister frances went to church i found ¢ in confederate money and showed it to her. she tuk it away from me. dat's de onliest money i seed durin' slavery time. course you knows dey throwed confederate money away for trash atter de war was over. den us young chaps used to play wid it. "i never went to no baptizin's nor no funerals neither den. funerals warn't de style. when a nigger died dem days, dey jus' put his body in a box and buried it. i 'members very well when aunt sallie and aunt catherine died, but i was little den, and i didn't take it in what dey done bout buryin' 'em. "none of marse alec's slaves never run away to de north, 'cause he was so good to 'em dey never wanted to leave him. de onliest nigger what left marse alec's place was uncle dave, and he wouldn't have left 'cept he got in trouble wid a white 'oman. you needn't ax me her name 'cause i ain't gwine to tell it, but i knows it well as i does my own name. anyhow marse alec give uncle dave some money and told him to leave, and nobody never seed him no more atter dat. "oh yessum! us heared 'bout 'em, but none of us never seed no patterollers on marse alec's plantation. he never 'lowed 'em on his land, and he let 'em know dat he kept his slaves supplied wid passes whenever dey wanted to go places so as dey could come and go when dey got good and ready. thursday and sadday nights was de main nights dey went off. uncle stafford's wife was miss mary stephen's cook, uncle jim's wife lived on de finley place, and uncle isom's belonged to de hollises, so dey had regular passes all de time and no patterollers never bothered 'em none. "whenever marse alec or marse lordnorth wanted to send a message dey jus' put george or mack on a horse and sont 'em on but one thing sho, dere warn't no slave knowed what was in dem letters. "marse alec sho had plenty of mules. some of 'em was named: pete, clay, rollin, jack, and sal. sal was allen's slow mule, and he set a heap of store by her. dere was a heap more mules on dat place, but i can't call back dere names right now. "most times when slaves went to deir quarters at night, mens rested, but sometimes dey holped de 'omans cyard de cotton and wool. young folkses frolicked, sung songs, and visited from cabin to cabin. when dey got behind wid de field wuk, sometimes slaves wuked atter dinner saddays, but dat warn't often. but, oh, dem sadday nights! dat was when slaves got together and danced. george, he blowed de quills, and he sho could blow grand dance music on 'em. dem niggers would jus' dance down. dere warn't no foolishment 'lowed atter : o'clock no night. sundays dey went to church and visited 'round, but folks didn't spend as much time gaddin' 'bout lak dey does now days. "christmas day! oh, what a time us niggers did have dat day! marse lordnorth and marse alec give us evvything you could name to eat: cake of all kinds, fresh meat, lightbread, turkeys, chickens, ducks, geese, and all kinds of wild game. dere was allus plenty of pecans, apples, and dried peaches too at christmas. marse alec had some trees what had fruit dat looked lak bananas on 'em, but i done forgot what was de name of dem trees. marse alec would call de grown folkses to de big house early in de mornin' and pass 'round a big pewter pitcher full of whiskey, den he would put a little whiskey in dat same pitcher and fill it wid sweetened water and give dat to us chillun. us called dat 'toddy' or 'dram'. marse alex allus had plenty of good whiskey, 'cause uncle willis made it up for him and it was made jus' right. de night atter christmas day us pulled syrup candy, drunk more liquor, and danced. us had a big time for a whole week and den on new year's day us done a little wuk jus' to start de year right and us feasted dat day on fresh meat, plenty of cake, and whiskey. dere was allus a big pile of ash-roasted 'taters on hand to go wid dat good old baked meat. us allus tried to raise enough 'taters to last all through de winter 'cause niggers sho does love dem sweet 'taters. no mam, us never knowed nothin' 'bout santa claus 'til atter de war. "no mam, dere warn't no special cornshuckin's and cotton pickin's on marse alec's place, but of course dey did quilt in de winter 'cause dere had to be lots of quiltin' done for all dem slaves to have plenty of warm kivver, and you knows, lady, 'omens can quilt better if dey gits a passel of 'em together to do it. marse alec and marse lordnorth never 'lowed dere slaves to mix up wid other folkses business much. "oh lord! us never played no games in slavery times, 'cept jus' to run around in a ring and pat our hands. i never sung no songs 'cause i warn't no singer, and don't talk 'bout no raw head and bloody bones or nothin' lak dat. dey used to skeer us chillun so bad 'bout dem sort of things dat us used to lay in bed at night a-shakin' lak us was havin' chills. i've seed plenty of ha'nts right here in athens. not long atter i had left crawfordville and moved to athens, i had been in bed jus' a little while one night, and was jus' dozin' off to sleep when i woke up and sot right spang up in bed. i seed a white man, dressed in white, standin' before me. i sho didn't say nothin' to him for i was too skeered. de very last time i went to a dance, somepin got atter me and skeered me so my hair riz up 'til i couldn't git my hat on my haid, and dat cyored me of gwine to dances. i ain't never been to no more sich doin's. "old marster was powerful good to his niggers when dey got sick. he had 'em seed atter soon as it was 'ported to him dat dey was ailin'. yessum, dere warn't nothin' short 'bout our good marsters, 'deed dere warn't! grandpa stafford had a sore laig and marse lordnorth looked atter him and had uncle jim dress dat pore old sore laig evvy day. slaves didn't git sick as often as niggers does now days. mammy mary had all sorts of teas made up for us, 'cordin' to whatever ailment us had. boneset tea was for colds. de fust thing dey allus done for sore throat was give us tea made of red oak bark wid alum. scurvy grass tea cleant us out in the springtime, and dey made us wear little sacks of assfiddy (asafetida) 'round our necks to keep off lots of sorts of miseries. some folkses hung de left hind foot of a mole on a string 'round deir babies necks to make 'em teethe easier. i never done nothin' lak dat to my babies 'cause i never believed in no such foolishment. some babies is jus' natchelly gwine to teethe easier dan others anyhow. "i 'members jus' as good as if it was yesterday what mammy mary said when she told us de fust news of freedom. 'you all is free now,' she said. 'you don't none of you belong to mister lordnorth nor mister alec no more, but i does hope you will all stay on wid 'em, 'cause dey will allus be jus' as good to you as dey has done been in de past.' me, i warn't even studyin' nothin' 'bout leavin' marse alec, but sarah ann and aunt mary, dey threwed down deir hoes and jus' whooped and hollered 'cause dey was so glad. when dem yankees come to our place mammy mary axed 'em if dey warn't tired of war. 'what does you know 'bout no war?' dey axed her right back. 'no, us won't never git tired of doin' good.' "i stayed on wid my two good marsters 'til most years atter de war, and den went to wuk for marse tye elder in crawfordville. atter dat i wuked for miss puss king, and when she left crawfordville i come on here to athens and wuked for miss tildy upson on prince avenue. den i went to atlanta to wuk for miss ruth evage (probably elliott). miss ruth was a niece of abraham lincoln's. her father was president lincoln's brother and he was a methodist preacher what lived in mailpack, new york. i went evvywhar wid miss ruth. when me and miss ruth was in philadelphia, i got sick and she sont me home to athens and i done been here wid my daughter ever since. "lawdy, miss! i ain't never been married, but i did live wid major baker years and us had five chillun. dey is all daid but two. niggers didn't pay so much 'tention to gittin' married dem days as dey does now. i stays here wid my gal, ida baker. my son lives in cleveland, ohio. my fust child was borned when i warn't but years old. de war ended in april and she was borned in november of dat year. now, miss! i ain't never told but one white 'oman who her pa was, so you needn't start axin' me nothin' 'bout dat. she had done been walkin' evvywhar 'fore she died when she was jus' months old and i'm a-tellin' you de truth when i say she had more sense dan a heap of white chillun has when dey is lots older dan she was. whilst i was off in new york wid miss ruth, major, he up and got married. i reckon he's daid by now. i don't keer nohow, atter de way he done me. i made a good livin' for major 'til he married again. i seed de 'oman he married once. "yes mam," there was strong emphasis in this reply. "i sho would ruther have slavery days back if i could have my same good marsters 'cause i never had no hard times den lak i went through atter dey give us freedom. i ain't never got over not bein' able to see marse alec no more. i was livin' at marse tye elder's when de gate fell on marse alec, and he was crippled and lamed up from dat time on 'til he died. he got to be governor of georgia whilst he was crippled. when he got hurt by dat gate, smallpox was evvywhar and dey wouldn't let me go to see 'bout him. dat most killed me 'cause i did want to go see if dere was somepin' i could do for him. "lordy mussy, miss! i had a time jinin' up wid de church. i was in mailpack, new york, wid miss ruth when i had de urge to jine up. i told miss ruth 'bout it and she said: 'dere ain't no baptist church in miles of here.' 'lord, have mussy!' i said. 'miss ruth, what i gwine do? dese is all methodist churches up here and i jus' can't jine up wid no methodists.' 'yes you can,' she snapped at me, 'cause my own pa's a-holdin a 'vival in dis very town and de methodist church is de best anyhow.' well, i went on and jined de reverend lincoln's methodist church, but i never felt right 'bout it. den us went to philadelphia and soon as i could find a baptist church dar, i jined up wid it. northern churches ain't lak our southern churches 'cause de black and white folkses all belong to de same church dar and goes to church together. on dat account i still didn't feel lak i had jined de church. bless your sweet life, honey, when i come back to de south, i was quick as i could be to jine up wid a good old southern baptist church. i sho didn't mean to live outdoors, 'specially atter i dies." georgia's eyes sparkled and her flow of speech was smooth as she told of her religious experiences. when that subject was exhausted her eyes dimmed again and her speech became less articulate. georgia's reeking pipe had been laid aside for the watermelon and not long after that was consumed the restless black fingers sought occupation sewing gay pieces for a quilt. "miss, i warn't born to be lazy, i warn't raised dat way, and i sho ain't skeered to die. "good-bye, honey," said georgia, as the interviewer arose and made her way toward the street. "hurry back and don't forgit to fetch me dat purty pink dress you is a-wearin'. i don't lak white dresses and i ain't never gwine to wear a black one nohow." [tr: return visit] georgia was on the back porch washing her face and hands and quarrelling with ida for not having her breakfast ready at nine-thirty when the interviewer arrived for a re-visit. "come in," georgia invited, "and have a cheer. but, miss i done told you all i knows 'bout marse alec and dem deys when i lived on his plantation. you know chillun den warn't 'lowed to hang 'round de grown folks whar dey could hear things what was talked about." about this time ida came down from a second-floor kitchen with her mother's breakfast. she was grumbling a little louder on each step of the rickety stairway. "lord, have mussy! ma is still a-talkin' 'bout dat old slavery stuff, and it ain't nothin' nohow." after ida's eyes had rested on the yellow crepe frock just presented georgia in appreciation of the three hours she had given for the first interview, she became reconciled for the story to be resumed, and even offered her assistance in rousing the recollections of her parent. "did i tell you" georgia began, "dat de man what looked atter marse alec's business was his fust cousin? he was de marse lordnorth i'se all time talkin' 'bout, and marse john was marse lordnorth's brother. dere warn't no cook or house gal up at de big house but ma 'til atter she died, and den when miss mary berry tuk charge of de house dey made uncle harry and his wife, aunt 'liza, house boy and cook. "marse alec growed all his corn on his googer crick plantation. he planned for evvything us needed and dere warn't but mighty little dat he didn't have raised to take keer of our needs. lordy, didn't i tell you what sort of shoes, holestock shoes is? dem was de shoes de 'omans wore and dey had extra pieces on de sides so us wouldn't knock holes in 'em too quick. "de fust time i ever seed marse alec to know who he was, i warn't more'n years old. uncle stafford had went fishin' and cotched de nicest mess of fish you ever seed. he cleant 'em and put 'em in a pan of water, and told me to take 'em up to de big house to marse alec. i was skeered when i went in de big house yard and axed, what looked lak a little boy, whar marse alec was, and i was wuss skeered when he said: 'dis is marse alec you is talkin' to. what you want?' i tole him uncle stafford sont him de fishes and he told me: 'take 'em to de kitchen and tell 'liza to cook 'em for me.' i sho ain't never gwine to forgit dat. "one day dey sont me wid a bucket of water to de field, and i had to go through de peach orchard. i et so many peaches, i was 'most daid when i got back to de house. dey had to drench me down wid sweet milk, and from dat day to dis i ain't never laked peaches. from den on marse alec called me de 'peach gal.' "marse alec warn't home much of de time, but when he was dar he used to walk down to de cabins and laugh and talk to his niggers. he used to sing a song for de slave chillun dat run somepin lak dis: 'walk light ladies de cake's all dough, you needn't mind de weather, if de wind don't blow.'" georgia giggled when she came to the end of the stanza. "us didn't know when he was a-singin' dat tune to us chillun dat when us growed up us would be cake walkin' to de same song. "on sundays, whenever marse alec was home, he done lots of readin' out of a great big old book. i didn't know what it was, but he was pow'ful busy wid it. he never had no parties or dancin' dat i knows 'bout, but he was all time havin' dem big 'portant mens at his house talkin' 'bout de business what tuk him off from home so much. i used to see lawyer coombs dere heaps of times. he was a big, fine lookin' man. another big lawyer was all time comin' dar too, but i done lost his name. marse alec had so awful much sense in his haid dat folkses said it stunted his growin'. anyhow, long as he lived he warn't no bigger dan a boy. "when uncle harry's and aunt 'liza's daughter what was named 'liza, got married he was in washin'ton or some place lak dat. he writ word to marse linton, his half-brother, to pervide a weddin' for her. i knows 'bout dat 'cause i et some of dat barbecue. dat's all i 'members 'bout her weddin'. i done forgot de name of de bridegroom. he lived on some other plantation. aunt 'liza had two gals and one boy. he was named allen. "whilst marse alec was president or somepin, he got sick and had to come back home, and it wern't long atter dat 'fore de surrender. allen was 'pinted to watch for de blue coats. when dey come to take marse alec off, dey was all over the place wid deir guns. us niggers hollered and cried and tuk on pow'ful 'cause us sho thought dey was gwine to kill him on account of his bein' such a high up man on de side what dey was fightin'. all de niggers followed 'em to de depot when dey tuk marse alec and uncle pierce away. dey kept marse alec in prison off somewhar a long time but dey sont pierce back home 'fore long. "i seed jeff davis when dey brung him through crawfordville on de train. dey had him all fastened up wid chains. dey told me dat a nigger 'oman put pizen in jeff davis' somepin t'eat and dat was what kilt him. one thing sho, our marse alec warn't pizened by nobody. he was comin' from de field one day when a big old heavy gate fell down on him, and even if he did live a long time atterwards dat was what was de cause of his death. "i seed uncle pierce 'fore he died and us sot and talked and cried 'bout marse alec. yessum, us sho did have de best marster in de world. if ever a man went to heaven, marse alec did. i sho does wish our good old marster was livin' now. now, miss, i done told you all i can ricollec' 'bout dem days. i thanks you a lot for dat purty yaller dress, and i hopes you comes back to see me again sometime." alice battle, ex-slave hawkinsville, georgia (interviewed by elizabeth watson-- ) [jul , ] during the 's, emanuel caldwell--born in north carolina, and neal anne caldwell--born in south carolina, were brought to macon by "speculators" and sold to mr. ed marshal of bibb county. some time thereafter, this couple married on mr. marshal's plantation, and their second child, born about , was alice battle. from her birth until freedom, alice was a chattel of this mr. marshal, whom she refers to as a humane man, though inclined to use the whip when occasion demanded. followed to its conclusion, alice's life history is void of thrills and simply an average ex-slave's story. as a slave, she was well fed, well clothed, and well treated, as were her brother and sister slaves. her mother was a weaver, her father--a field hand, and she did both housework and plantation labor. alice saw the yankee pass her ex-master's home with their famous prisoner, jeff davis, after his capture, in ' . the yankee band, says she, was playing "we'll hang jeff davis on a sour apple tree". some of the soldiers "took time out" to rob the marshal smokehouse. the whites and negroes were all badly frightened, but the "damyankees didn't harm nobody". after freedom, alice remained with the marshals until christmas, when she moved away. later, she and her family moved back to the marshal plantation for a few years. a few years still later, alice married a battle "nigger". since the early ' 's, alice has "drifted around" quite a bit. she and her husband are now too old and feeble to work. they live with one of their sons, and are objects of charity. plantation life jasper battle, age berry st., athens, ga. written by: grace mccune [hw: (white)] athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens leila harris augusta and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & the shade of the large water oaks in jasper's yard was a welcome sight when the interviewer completed the long walk to the old negro's place in the sweltering heat of a sunny july afternoon. the old house appeared to be in good condition and the yard was clean and tidy. jasper's wife, lula, came around the side of the house in answer to the call for jasper. a large checked apron almost covered her blue dress and a clean white headcloth concealed her hair. despite her advanced age, she seemed to be quite spry. "jus' come back here whar i'se a-doin' de white folks' washin'," she said. "jasper's done been powerful sick and i can't leave him by hisself none. i brung him out here in de shade so i could watch him and 'tend to him whilst i wuks. jasper stepped on a old plank what had two rusty nails in it, and both of 'em went up in his foot a fur ways. i done driv dem nails plumb up to dey haids in de north side of a tree and put jimpson weed poultices on jasper's foot, but it's still powerful bad off." by this time we had arrived within sight and earshot of the old rocking chair where jasper sat with his foot propped high in another chair. his chair had long ago been deprived of its rockers. the injured member appeared to be swollen and was covered with several layers of the jimpson weed leaves. the old man's thin form was clothed in a faded blue shirt and old gray cotton trousers. his clothes were clean and his white hair was in marked contrast to his shining but wrinkled black face. he smiled when lula explained the nature of the proposed interview. "'scuse me, missy," he apologized, "for not gittin' up, 'cause i jus' can't use dis old foot much, but you jus' have a seat here in de shade and rest yourself." lula now excused herself, saying: "i jus' got to hurry and git de white folks' clothes washed and dried 'fore it rains," and she resumed her work in the shade of another huge tree where a fire was burning brightly under her washpot and a row of sud-filled tubs occupied a long bench. "lula, she has to wuk all de time," jasper explained, "and she don't never have time to listen to me talk. i'se powerful glad somebody is willin' to stop long enough to pay some heed whilst i talks 'bout somepin. dem days 'fore de war was good old days, 'specially for de colored folks. i know, 'cause my mammy done told me so. you see i was mighty little and young when de war was over, but i heared de old folks do lots of talkin' 'bout dem times whilst i was a-growin' up, and den too, i stayed right dar on dat same place 'til i was 'bout grown. it was marse henry jones' plantation 'way off down in taliaferro county, nigh crawfordville, georgy. mammy b'longed to marse henry. she was harriet jones. daddy was simon battle and his owner was marse billie battle. de battle's plantation was off down dar nigh de jones' place. when my mammy and daddy got married marse henry wouldn't sell mammy, and marse billie wouldn't sell daddy, so dey didn't git to see one another but twice a week--dat was on wednesday and sadday nights--'til atter de war was done over. i kin still 'member daddy comin' over to marse henry's plantation to see us. "marse henry kept a lot of slaves to wuk his big old plantation whar he growed jus' evvything us needed to eat and wear 'cept sugar and coffee and de brass toes for our home-made, brogan shoes. dere allus was a-plenty t'eat and wear on dat place. "slave quarters was log cabins built in long rows. some had chimblies in de middle, twixt two rooms, but de most of 'em was jus' one-room cabins wid a stick and mud chimbly at de end. dem chimblies was awful bad 'bout ketchin' on fire. didn't nobody have no glass windows. dey jus' had plain plank shutters for blinds and de doors was made de same way, out of rough planks. all de beds was home-made and de best of 'em was corded. dey made holes in de sides and foots and haidpieces, and run heavy home-made cords in dem holes. dey wove 'em crossways in and out of dem holes from one side to another 'til dey had 'em ready to lay de mattress mat on. i'se helped to pull dem cords tight many a time. our mattress ticks was made of homespun cloth and was stuffed wid wheat straw. 'fore de mattress tick was put on de bed a stiff mat wove out of white oak splits was laid on top of de cords to pertect de mattress and make it lay smooth. us was 'lowed to pick up all de old dirty cotton 'round de place to make our pillows out of. "jus' a few of de slave famblies was 'lowed to do deir own cookin' 'cause marster kept cooks up at de big house what never had nothin' else to do but cook for de white folks and slaves. de big old fireplace in dat kitchen at de big house was more dan eight feet wide and you could pile whole sticks of cord-wood on it. it had racks acrost to hang de pots on and big ovens and little ovens and big, thick, iron fryin' pans wid long handles and hefty iron lids. dey could cook for a hunderd people at one time in dat big old kitchen easy. at one time dere was tables acrost one end of de kitchen for de slaves t'eat at, and de slave chillun et dar too. "marster was mighty good to slave chillun. he never sont us out to wuk in de fields 'til us was 'most growed-up, say or years old. a nigger or years old dem days was big as a white child or years old. why miss, niggers growed so fast, dat most of de nigger nurses warn't no older dan de white chillun dey tuk keer of. marster said he warn't gwine to send no babies to de fields. when slave chillun got to be 'bout or years old dey started 'em to fetchin' in wood and water, cleanin' de yards, and drivin' up de cows at night. de bigges' boys was 'lowed to measure out and fix de stock feed, but de most of us chillun jus' played in de cricks and woods all de time. sometimes us played injuns and made so much fuss dat old aunt nancy would come out to de woods to see what was wrong, and den when she found us was jus' a-havin' fun, she stropped us good for skeerin' her. "mammy's job was to make all de cloth. dat was what she done all de time; jus' wove cloth. some of de others cyarded de bats and spun thread, but mammy, she jus' wove on so reg'lar dat she made enough cloth for clothes for all dem slaves on de plantation and, it's a fact, us did have plenty of clothes. all de nigger babies wore dresses made jus' alak for boys and gals. i was sho'ly mighty glad when dey 'lowed me to git rid of dem dresses and wear shirts. i was 'bout years old den, but dat boys' shirt made me feel powerful mannish. slave gals wore homespun cotton dresses, and dey had plenty of dem dresses, so as dey could keep nice and clean all de time. dey knitted all de socks and stockin's for winter. dem gals wore shawls, and dere poke bonnets had ruffles 'round 'em. all de shoes was home-made too. marster kept one man on de plantation what didn't do nothin' but make shoes. lordy, missy! what would gals say now if dey had to wear dem kind of clothes? dey would raise de roof plumb offen de house. but jus' let me tell you, a purty young gal dressed in dem sort of clothes would look mighty sweet to me right now. "us never could eat all de meat in marster's big old smokehouse. sometimes he tuk hams to de store and traded 'em for sugar and coffee. plenty of 'bacco was raised on dat plantation for all de white folks and de growed-up niggers. slave chillun warn't sposen to have none, so us had to swipe what 'bacco us got. if our mammies found out 'bout us gittin' 'bacco, dey stropped us 'til de skin was most off our backs, but sometimes us got away wid a little. if us seed any of de old folks was watchin' us, us slipped de 'bacco from one to another of us whilst dey s'arched us, and it went mighty bad on us if dey found it. "slaves went to de white folks' church and listened to de white preachers. dere warn't no colored preacher 'lowed to preach in dem churches den. dey preached to de white folks fust and den dey let de colored folks come inside and hear some preachin' atter dey was through wid de white folks. but on de big 'vival meetin' days dey 'lowed de niggers to come in and set in de gallery and listen at de same time dey preached to de white folks. when de sermon was over dey had a big dinner spread out on de grounds and dey had jus' evvything good t'eat lak chickens, barbecued hogs and lambs, pies, and lots of watermelons. us kept de watermelons in de crick 'til dey was ready to cut 'em. a white gentleman, what dey called mr. kilpatrick, done most of de preachin'. he was from de white plains neighborhood. he sho' did try mighty hard to git evvybody to 'bey de good lord and keep his commandments. "mr. kilpatrick preached all de funerals too. it 'pears lak a heap more folks is a-dyin' out dese days dan died den, and folks was a heap better den to folks in trouble. dey would go miles and miles den when dey didn't have no auto'biles, to help folks what was in trouble. now, dey won't go next door when dere's death in de house. den, when anybody died de fust thing dey done was to shroud 'em and lay 'em out on de coolin' board 'til old marster's cyarpenter could git de coffin made up. dere warn't no embalmers dem days and us had to bury folks de next day atter dey died. de coffins was jus' de same for white folks and deir slaves. on evvy plantation dere was a piece of ground fenced in for a graveyard whar dey buried white folks and slaves too. my old daddy is buried down yonder on marse henry's plantation right now. "when a slave wanted to git married up wid a gal, he didn't ax de gal, but he went and told marster 'bout it. marster would talk to de gal and if she was willin', den marster would tell all de other niggers us was a-goin' to have a weddin'. dey would all come up to de big house and marster would tell de couple to jine hands and jump backwards over a broomstick, and den he pernounced 'em man and wife. dey didn't have to have no licenses or nothin' lak dey does now. if a man married up wid somebody on another place, he had to git a pass from his marster, so as he could go see his wife evvy wednesday and sadday nights. when de patterollers cotched slaves out widout no passes, dey evermore did beat 'em up. leastways dat's what mammy told me. "durin' de big war all de white folkses was off a-fightin' 'cept dem what was too old to fight or what was too bad crippled and 'flicted. dey stayed home and looked atter de 'omans and chillun. somebody sont mist'ess word dat dem yankees was on de way to our plantation and she hid evvything she could, den had de hogs and hosses driv off to de swamps and hid. mammy was crazy 'bout a pet pig what marster had done give her, so mist'ess told her to go on down to dat swamp quick, and hide dat little pig. jus' as she was a-runnin' back in de yard, dem yankees rid in and she seed 'em a-laughin' fit to kill. she looked 'round to see what dey was tickled 'bout and dere followin' her lak a baby was dat pig. dem yankees was perlite lak, and dey never bothered nothin' on our place, but dey jus' plumb ruint evvything on some of de plantations right close to our'n. dey tuk nigh evvything some of our neighbors had t'eat, most all deir good hosses, and anything else dey wanted. us never did know why dey never bothered our white folkses' things. "when dey give us our freedom us went right on over to marse billie battle's place and stayed dar wid daddy 'bout a year; den daddy come wid us back to marse henry's, and dar us stayed 'til old marster died. long as he lived atter de war, he wukked most of his help on sheers, and seed dat us was tuk keer of jus' lak he had done when us all b'longed to him. us never went to school much 'cause mammy said white folks didn't lak for niggers to have no larnin', but atter de war was done over our old mist'ess let colored chillun have some lessons in a little cabin what was built in de back yard for de white chillun to go to school in. "atter dey buried our old marster, us moved down to hancock county and farmed dar, 'cause dat was all us knowed how to do. us got together and raised money to buy ground enough for a churchyard and a graveyard for colored folks. dat graveyard filled up so fast dat dey had to buy more land several times. us holped 'em build de fust colored church in hancock county. "school for colored chillun was held den in our church house. our teacher was a white man, mr. tom andrews, and he was a mighty good teacher, but lordy, how strick he was! dese here chillun don't know nothin' 'bout school. us went early in de mornin', tuk our dinner in a bucket, and never left 'til four o'clock, and sometimes dat was 'most nigh sundown. all day us studied dat blue back speller, and dat white teacher of ours sho' tuk de skin offen our backs if us didn't mind him. dere warn't no fussin' and fightin' and foolin' 'round on de way home, 'cause dat white teacher 'lowed he had control of us 'til us got to our mammies' doors and if us didn't git for home in a hurry, it was jus' too bad for us when he tuk it out on us next day wid dat long hick'ry switch. "things is sho' diffunt now. folks ain't good now as dey was den, but dere is gwine to be a change. i may not be here to see it, but it's a-comin' 'cause de good lord is done 'sied (prophesied) it, and it's got to be. god's sayin' is comin' to pass jus' as sho' as us is livin' and settin' in de shade of dis here tree. "lordy, miss! how come you axes 'bout colored folks'es weddin's? i was a-courtin' a little -year old gal named lovie williams, but her mammy runned me off and said she warn't gwine to let lovie git married up wid nobody 'til she got big enough. i jus' bought dem licenses and watched for my chanct and den i stole dat gal right from under her mammy's eyes. my mammy knowed all 'bout it and holped us git away. us didn't have no time for no weddin'. de best us could do was jus' to git ourselfs married up. lovie's mammy raised de old ned, but us didn't keer den, 'cause it was too late for her to do nothin' to part us. lovie was one of the bestest gals what ever lived. us raised chillun and i never had one speck of trouble wid her. lovie's done been daid years now." his voice trembled as he talked about his first wife, and lula almost stopped her work to listen. this kind of talk did not please her and her expression grew stern. "you done talked a-plenty," she told him. "you ain't strong 'nough to do no more talkin'," but jasper was not willing to be silenced. "i reckon i knows when i'se tired. i ain't gwine to hush 'til i gits good and ready," was his protest. "yes missy," he continued. "all our chillun is done daid now 'cept four and dey is 'way off up north. ain't nobody left here 'cept me and lula. lula is pow'ful good to me. i done got too old to wuk, and can't do nothin' nohow wid dis old foot so bad off. i'se ready and even anxious to go when de good lord calls for old jasper to come to de heav'nly home. "i ain't heared nothin' from my only brother in over years. i 'spose he still lives in crawfordville. missy, i wishes i could go back down to crawfordville one more time. i kin jus' see our old homeplace on de plantation down dar now. lula a-washin' here, makes me study 'bout de old washplace on marse henry's plantation. dere was a long bench full of old wood tubs, and a great big iron pot for bilin' de clothes, and de batten block and stick. chillun beat de clothes wid de batten stick and kept up de fire 'round de pot whilst de 'omans leaned over de tubs washin' and a-singin' dem old songs. you could hear 'em 'most a mile away. now and den one of de 'omans would stop singin' long enough to yell at de chillun to 'git more wood on dat fire 'fore i lash de skin offen your back.' "oh missy, dem was good old days. us would be lucky to have 'em back again, 'specially when harvest time comes 'round. you could hear niggers a-singin' in de fields 'cause dey didn't have no worries lak dey got now. when us got de corn up from de fields, niggers come from far and nigh to marster's cornshuckin'. dat cornshuckin' wuk was easy wid evvybody singin' and havin' a good time together whilst dey made dem shucks fly. de cornshuckin' captain led all de singin' and he set right up on top of de highes' pile of corn. de chillun was kept busy a-passin' de liquor jug 'round. atter it started gittin' dark, marster had big bonfires built up and plenty of torches set 'round so as dere would be plenty of light. atter dey et all dey wanted of dem good things what had done been cooked up for de big supper, den de wrastlin' matches started, and marster allus give prizes to de best wrastlers. dere warn't no fussin' and fightin' 'lowed on our place, and dem wrastlin' matches was all in good humor and was kept orderly. marster wanted evvybody to be friends on our plantation and to stay dat way, for says he: 'de blessed saviour done said for us to love our neighbor as ourselfs, and to give and what us gives is gwine to come back to us.' missy, de good lord's word is always right." the interviewer was preparing to leave when one of jasper's old friends approached the sheltering tree in the yard, where the interview was drawing to a close. "brudder paul," said jasper, "i wisht you had come sooner 'cause missy, here, and me is done had de bestes' time a-goin' back over dem old times when folks loved one another better dan dey does now. good-bye missy, you done been mighty kind and patient wid old jasper. come back again some time." [hw: dist. -- ex-slv. # ] arrie binns of washington-wilkes by minnie branham stonestreet washington-wilkes georgia [may ] arrie binns lives in baltimore, a negro suburb of washington-wilkes, in a little old tumbled down kind of a cottage that used to be one of the neatest and best houses of the settlement and where she has lived for the past sixty-odd years. in the yard of her home is one of the most beautiful holly trees to be found anywhere. she set it there herself over fifty years ago. she recalled how her friends predicted bad luck would befall her because she "sot out er holly", but not being in the least bit superstitious she paid them "no mind" and has enjoyed her beautiful tree all these years. many lovely oaks are around her house; she set them there long ago when she was young and with her husband moved into their new home and wanted to make it as attractive as possible. she is all alone now. her husband died some years ago and three of her four children have passed on. her "preacher son" who was her delight, died not very long ago. all this sorrow has left aunt arrie old and sad; her face is no longer lighted by the smile it used to know. she is a tiny little scrap of a woman with the softest voice and is as neat as can be. she wears an oldfashioned apron all the time and in cool weather there is always a little black cape around her frail shoulders and held together with a plain old gold "breastpin". she was born in lincoln county (georgia), her mother was emeline sybert and her father jordan sybert. they belonged to mr. jones sybert and his wife "miss peggy". after freedom they changed their surname to gullatt as they liked that better. arrie was among the oldest of nine children. the night she was born the stork brought a little baby girl to the home of a white family just across the creek from the syberts. the little white girl was named arine so "miss peggy" named the little new black baby girl arrie, and that is how it happened she was given such an odd name. arrie said she was " or years old when the war broke ( ), i wuz big enough to be lookin' at boys an' dey lookin' at me." she remembers the days of war, how when the battle of atlanta was raging they heard the distant rumble of cannon, and how "upsot" they all were. her master died of "the consumption" during the war. she recalls how hard it was after his death. the syberts had no children and there was no one to turn to after his death. arrie tells of her master's illness, how she was the housemaid and was called upon to fan him and how she would get so tired and sleepy she would nod a little, the fan dropping from hands into his face. he would take it up and "crack my haid with the handle to wake me up. i wuz allus so sorry when i done that, but i jest had ter nod." she told about how bad the overseers were and the trouble they gave until finally "old miss turned off ther one she had an' put my pa in his place to manage things and look after the work." arrie was never punished, (not any more than having her head cracked by her master when she nodded while fanning him.) "no mam, not none of our niggers wuz whipped. why i recollect once, my brother wuz out without a pass an' de patter rollers kotch him and brung him to old miss and said he'd have ter be whipped, old miss got so mad she didn't know what ter do, she said nobody wuz a goin' ter whip her niggers, but the patter roller men 'sisted so she said after er while, 'well, but i'm goin' ter stan' right here an' when i say stop, yer got ter stop', an' they 'greed to dat, an' the third time dey hit him she raised her han' an' said 'stop' an' dey had ter let my brother go. my miss wuz a big 'oman, she'd weigh nigh on ter three hundred pound, i 'spect." after her master's death arrie had to go into the field to work. she recalled with a little chuckle, the old cream horse, "toby" she use to plow. she loved toby, she said, and they did good work. when not plowing she said she "picked er round in the fields" doing whatever she could. she and the other slaves were not required to do very hard work. her mother was a field hand, but in the evenings she spun and wove down in their cabin. aunt arrie added "an' i did love to hear that old spinnin' wheel. it made a low kind of a whirring sound that made me sleepy." she said her mother, with all the other negro women on the place, had "a task of spinnin' a spool at night", and they spun and wove on rainy days too. "ma made our clothes an' we had pretty dresses too. she dyed some blue and brown striped. we growed the indigo she used fer the blue, right dar on the plantation, and she used bark and leaves to make the tan and brown colors." aunt arrie said the doctor was always called in when they were sick, "but we never sont fer him lesse'n somebody wuz real sick. de old folks doctored us jest fer little ailments. dey give us lye tea fer colds. (this was made by taking a few clean ashes from the fire place, putting them in a little thin bag and pouring boiling water over them and let set for a few minutes. this had to be given very weak or else it would be harmful, aunt arrie explained.) garlic and whiskey, and den, dar ain't nothin' better fer the pneumony dan splinter tea. i've cured bad cases with it." (that is made by pouring boiling water over lightwood splinters.) aunt arrie told of their life on the plantation and it was not unlike that of other slaves who had good masters who looked after them. they had plenty to eat and to wear. their food was given them and they cooked and ate their meals in the cabins in family groups. santa claus always found his way to the quarters and brought them stick candy and other things to eat. she said for their christmas dinner there was always a big fat hen and a hog head. in slavery days the negroes had quiltings, dances, picnics and everybody had a good time, aunt arrie said, "an' i kin dance yit when i hears a fiddle." they had their work to do in the week days, but when sundays came there was no work, everybody rested and on "preachin' days" went to church. her father took them all to old rehoboth, the neighborhood white church, and they worshiped together, white and black, the negroes in the gallery. that was back in the days when there was "no lookin' neither to the right nor to the left" when in church; no matter what happened, no one could even half way smile. this all was much harder than having to listen to the long tiresome sermons of those days, arrie thinks, specially when she recalled on one occasion "when mr. sutton wuz a preachin' a old goat [hw: got] up under the church an' every time mr. sutton would say something out real loud that old goat would go 'bah-a-a bah ba-a-a' an' we couldn't laugh a bit. i most busted, i wanted ter laugh so bad." "yassum, in dem days" continued aunt arrie, "all us colored folks went to the white folks church kase us didn't have no churches of our own and day want no colored preachers den, but some what wuz called "chairbacks". the chairback fellows went er round preachin' an' singin' in the cabins down in the quarters and dey use ter have the bes' meetin's, folks would be converted an' change dey way. de hymns dey sung de most wuz "amazin' grace" an' "am i born ter die?" i 'members de meetin's us use ter have down in our cabin an' how everybody would pray an' sing." "dey ain't nothin' lak it use ter be," sighed aunt arrie, "now when i first could recollect, when a nigger died they sot up with de corpse all night and de next day had de funeral an' when dey started to the burial ground with the body every body in the whole procession would sing hymns. i've heard 'em 'nough times clear 'cross the fields, singin' and moanin' as they went. dem days of real feelin' an' keerin' is gone." when freedom came there were sad times on the sybert plantation, arrie said. "old miss cried and cried, and all us cried too. old miss said 'you'al jest goin' off to perish.' aunt jennie, one of the oldest women slaves stayed on with her and took keer of her, but all us stayed on a while. us didn't know whar to go an' what ter do, an' den come dr. peters and mr. allen frum arkansas to git han's to go out dar an' work fer dem. my pa took his family and we stayed two years. it took us might nigh ar whole week to git dar, we went part way on de train and den rid de steam boat up de mississippi river ter de landin'. we worked in the cotton field out dar and done all kinds er work on de farm, but us didn't like an' dr. peters an' mr. allen give my pa money fer us ter come home on. 'fore we could git started my oldest brother wanted to come home so bad he jest pitched out and walked all de way frum arkansas to our old home in georgy. we come back by memphis and den come on home on de train. when we wuz out dar i went to school an' got as far as 'baker'. dat's de only schoolin' i ever had." aunt arrie told about her courtship and marriage, she remembers all about it and grew rather sentimental and sad while she talked. she said that franklin binns was going with her before she went to live in arkansas and when she came home he picked up the courtship where he had left off when she went away. he would ride miles on horseback to see her. he brought her candy and nice things to eat, but she still wouldn't "give him no satisfaction 'bout whether she keered fer him er not." she said other men wanted to come to see her, but she paid them not one bit of attention. "no mam, i wouldn't 'cept of them, i never did go with in an' everybody, i don't do dat yit." she said one day franklin was to see her and said "less us marry, i think 'nough of you to marry." she said she wouldn't tell him nothin' so he went to see her parents and they agreed, so she married him sometime later. they were married by a white minister, mr. joe carter. aunt arrie leads a lonely life now. she grieves for her loved ones more than negroes usually do. she doesn't get about much, but "i does go over to see sis lou (a neighbor) every now an' den fer consolation." she says she is living on borrowed time because she has always taken care of herself and worked and been honest. she said that now she is almost at the close of her life waiting day by day for the call to come, she is glad she knew slavery, glad she was reared by good white people who taught her the right way to live, and she added: "mistess, i'se so glad i allus worked hard an' been honest--hit has sho paid me time an' time agin." [hw: dist. exslv. # driskell] henry bland--ex-slave [may -- --] henry bland is one of the few living ex-slaves who was born on a plantation near edenton, ga., in . his parents were martha and sam coxton. in this family group were three other children, two girls and one boy, who was the oldest. when questioned regarding the birthplace and the movements of his parents, mr. bland stated that his father was born in hancock county, ga. his mother along with her mother was brought to georgia by the speculator with a drove of other slaves. the first thing that he remembers of his parents is when he was quite small and was allowed to remain in the master's kitchen in the "big house" where his mother was cook. mr. coxton, who was the owner of mr. bland and his family, was described as being very rich and influential man in the community where he lived. says mr. bland, "his only fault was that of drinking too much of the whisky that he distilled on the plantation." unlike some of the other slave owners in that section, mr. coxton was very kind to his slaves. his plantation was a large one and on it was raised cotton, corn, cane[tr:?], vegetables, and live stock. more cotton was grown than anything else. from the time he was year and months of age until he was years old he lived in the "big house" with his mother. at night he slept on the floor there. in spite of this, his and his mother's treatment was considerably better than that received by those slaves who worked in the fields. while their food consisted of the same things as did that of the field slaves, sometimes choice morsels came back to the kitchen from the master's table. he says that his mother's clothes were of better quality than the other slave women (those who were not employed in the house). as a child his first job was to cut wood for the stove, pick up chips, and to drive the cows to and from the pasture. when years old he was sent to the field as a plow boy. here he worked with a large number of other slaves (he does not know the exact number) who were divided into two groups, the plow group and the hoe group. his father happened to be the foreman of the hoe gang. his brothers and sisters also worked here in the fields being required to hoe as well as plow. when picking time came, everyone was required to pick. the usual amount of cotton each person was required to pick was lbs. per day. however, when this amount was not picked by some they were not punished by the overseer, as was the case on neighboring plantations, because mr. coxton realized that some could do more work than others. mr. coxton often told his overseer that he had not been hired to whip the slaves, but to teach them how to work. says mr. bland: "our working hours were the same as on any other plantation. we had to get up every morning before sun-up and when it was good and light we were in the field. a bugle was blown to wake us." all the slaves stayed in the field until dark. after leaving the field they were never required to do any work but could spend their time as they saw fit to. no work was required on saturday or sunday with the exception that the stock had to be cared for. besides those days when no work was required, there was the th of july and christmas on which the slaves were permitted to do as they pleased. these two latter dates were usually spent in true holiday spirit as the master usually gave a big feast in the form of a barbecue and allowed them to invite their friends. when darkness came they sang and danced and this was what they called a "frolic." as a general rule this same thing was permitted after the crops had been gathered. music for these occasions was furnished by violin, banjo and a clapping of hands. mr. bland says that he used to help furnish this music as mr. coxton had bought him a violin. on the coxton plantation all slaves always had a sufficient amount of clothing. these clothes which were issued when needed and not at any certain time included articles for sunday wear as well as articles for work. those servants who worked in the "big house" wore practically the same clothes as the master and his wife with the possible exception that it met the qualification of being second-handed. an issue of work clothing included a heavy pair of work shoes called brogans, homespun shirts and a pair of jeans pants. a pair of knitted socks was also included the women wore homespun dresses for their working clothes. for sunday wear the men were given white cotton shirts and the women white cotton dresses. all clothing was made on the plantation by those women who were too old for field work. in the same manner that clothing was sufficient, so was food plentiful. at the end of each week each family was given lbs. of meat, peck of meal, and some syrup. each person in a family was allowed to raise a garden and so they had vegetables whenever they wished to. in addition to this they were allowed to raise chickens, to hunt and to fish. however, none of the food that was secured in any of the ways mentioned above could be sold. when anyone wished to hunt, mr. coxton supplied the gun and the shot. although the slaves cooked for themselves, their breakfast and dinner were usually sent to them in the fields after it had been prepared in the cook house. the reason for this was that they had to get up too soon in the morning, and at noon too much time would be lost if they were permitted to go to their cabins for lunch. the children who were too young to work in the field were cared for by some old slave who likewise was unable to do field work. the children were usually fed pot liquor, corn bread, milk, syrup, and vegetables. each one had his individual cup to eat from. the food on sunday was usually no different from that of any other day of the week. however, mr. bland says that they never had to break in the smokehouse because of hunger. when asked to describe the living quarters of the slaves on his plantation he looked around his room and muttered: "dey wuz a lot better than dis one." some of the cabins were made of logs and some of weatherboards. the chinks in the walls were sealed with mud. in some instances boards were used on the inside to keep the weather out. there were usually two windows, shutters being used in the place of window panes. the chimney and fireplace were made of mud and stones. all cooking was done at the fireplace as none of them were provided with stoves. iron cooking utensils were used. to boil food a pot was hung over the fire by means of a hook. the remaining furniture was a bench which served as a chair, and a crude bed. rope running from side to side served as bed springs. the mattress was made of straw or hay. for lighting purposes, pine knots and candles were used. the slaves on the coxton plantation were also fortunate in that all cabins had good floors. all cabins and their furnishings were built by the slaves who learned the use of hammer and saw from white artisans whom mr. coxton employed from time to time. mr. bland remarked that his father was a blacksmith, having learned the trade in this manner. a doctor was employed regularly by mr. coxton to minister to the needs of the slaves in time of illness. "we also had our own medicine," says mr. bland. at different times excursions were made to the woods where "yarbs" (herbs) were gathered. various kinds of teas and medicines were made by boiling these roots in water. the usual causes of illness on this plantation were colds, fevers, and constipation. castor oil and salts were also used to a great extent. if an individual was too ill to work an older slave had to nurse this person. no effort was made by mr. coxton to teach his slaves anything except manual training. a slave who could use his hands at skilled work was more valuable than the ordinary field hand. if, however, a slave secured a book, mr. coxton would help him learn to read it. above all, religious training was not denied. as a matter of fact, mr. coxton required each one of his servants to dress in his sunday clothes and to go to church every sunday. services for all were held at the white church--the slaves sitting on one side and the masters on the other. all preaching was done by a white pastor. no promiscuous relationships were allowed. if a man wanted to marry he merely pointed out the woman of his choice to the master. he in turn called her and told her that such and such an individual wished her for a wife. if she agreed they were pronounced man and wife and were permitted to live together. the slaves on his plantation were great believers in roots and their values in the use of conjuring people. mr. bland doesn't remember ever seeing anyone sold by mr. coxton, but he heard that on other nearby plantations slaves were placed on an auction block and sold like cattle. none of the slaves were ever whipped or beaten by mr. coxton or by anyone else. if a rule was broken the offender was called before mr. coxton where he was talked to. in some cases a whipping was promised and that ended the matter. the "paddie rollers" whipped the slaves from other plantations when they were caught off of their premises without a "pass" but this was never the case when a slave belonging to mr. coxton broke this rule. mr. bland remembers that once he and some of his fellow slaves were away from home without a pass when they were seen by the "paddie rollers" who started after them. when they were recognized as belonging to mr. coxton one of them (paddie rollers) said: "don't bother them; that's them d---- 'free niggers'." the paddie rollers were not allowed to come on the coxton plantation to whip his slaves or any other owner's slaves who happened to be visiting at the time. mr. coxton required that they all be on the plantation by nightfall. (the above seems to be rather conclusive proof of mr. coxton's influence in the community.) [tr: parentheses added by hand.] whenever a slave committed a crime against the state, his master usually had to pay for the damage done or pay the slave's fine. it was then up to him to see that the offender was punished. mr. coxton once saw him (mr. bland) beat another slave (who was a guest at a frolic) when this visitor attempted to draw a pistol on him. mr. bland was upheld in his action and told by mr. coxton that he had better always fight back when anyone struck him, whether the person was white or black. further, if he (mr. coxton) heard of his not fighting back a whipping would be in store for him. mr. coxton was different from some of the slave owners in that he gave the head of each family spending money at christmas time--the amount varying with the size of the family. "when the civil war was begun the master seemed to be worried all the time" states mr. bland. "he was afraid that we would be freed and then he would have to hire us to do his work." when asked to describe his feelings about the war and the possibility of his being freed, mr. bland said that he had no particular feeling of gladness at all. the outcome of the war did not interest him at all because mr. coxton was such a good master he didn't care whether he was freed or not. his fellow slaves felt the same way. when sherman and the yankees were marching through they took all of the live stock but bothered nothing else. the buildings on the adjoining plantation were all burned. a small skirmish took place about miles away from mr. coxton's plantation when the yankees and confederates met. mr. coxton's two sons took part in the war. mr. bland was taken by sherman's army to savannah and then to macon. he says that he saw president jeff davis give up his sword to general sherman in surrender. after the war mr. coxton was still well off in spite of the fact that he had lost quite a bit of money as a result of the war. he saved a great deal of his cash by burying it when sherman came through. the cattle might have been saved if he (mr. bland) could have driven them into the woods before he was seen by some of the soldiers. at the close of the war mr. coxton informed all the slaves that they were free to go where they wished, but they all refused to leave. most of them died on the plantation. mr. bland says that when he became of age his former master gave him a wagon, two mules, a horse and buggy and ten pigs. mr. bland thinks that old age is a characteristic in his family. his grandmother lived to be years old and his mother years old. although in his 's, mr. bland is an almost perfect picture of health. he thinks that he will live to become at least years old because he is going to continue to live as sane a life as he has in the past. j.r. jones rias body, ex-slave. place of birth: harris county, near waverly hall, georgia date of birth: april , present residence: - th street, columbus, georgia interviewed: july , [jul , ] rias body was born the slave property of mr. ben body, a harris county planter. he states that he was about fifteen years old when the civil war started and, many years ago, his old time white folks told him that april , , was the date of his birth. the "patarolers," according to "uncle" rias, were always quite active in ante-bellum days. the regular patrol consisted of six men who rode nightly, different planters and overseers taking turns about to do patrol duty in each militia district in the county. all slaves were required to procure passes from their owners or their plantation overseers before they could go visiting or leave their home premises. if the "patarolers" caught a "nigger" without a pass, they whipped him and sent him home. sometimes, however, if the "nigger" didn't run and told a straight story, he was let off with a lecture and a warning. slave children, though early taught to make themselves useful, had lots of time for playing and frolicking with the white children. rias was a great hand to go seining with a certain clique of white boys, who always gave him a generous or better than equal share of the fish caught. at christmas, every slave on the body plantation received a present. the negro children received candy, raisins and "nigger-toes", balls, marbles, etc. as for food, the slaves had, with the exception of "fancy trimmins", about the same food that the whites ate. no darky in harris county that he ever heard of ever went hungry or suffered for clothes until after freedom. every saturday was a wash day. the clothes and bed linen of all whites and blacks went into wash every saturday. and "niggers", whether they liked it or not, had to "scrub" themselves every saturday night. the usual laundry and toilet soap was a homemade lye product, some of it a soft-solid, and some as liquid as water. the latter was stored in jugs and demijohns. either would "fetch the dirt, or take the hide off"; in short, when applied "with rag and water, something had to come". many of the body slaves had wives and husbands living on other plantations and belonging to other planters. as a courtesy to the principals of such matrimonial alliances, their owners furnished the men passes permitting them to visit their wives once or twice a week. children born to such unions were the property of the wife's owner; the father's owner had no claim to them whatsoever. "uncle" rias used to frequently come to columbus with his master before the war, where he often saw "niggers oxioned off" at the old slave mart which was located at what is now broadway. negroes to be offered for sale were driven to columbus in droves--like cattle--by "nawthon speckulatahs". and prospective buyers would visit the "block" accompanied by doctors, who would feel of, thump, and examine the "nigger" to see if sound. a young or middle-aged negro man, specially or even well trained in some trade or out-of-the-ordinary line of work, often sold for from $ . to $ . in gold. women and "runty nigger men" commanded a price of from $ . up, each. a good "breedin oman", though, says "uncle" rias, would sometimes sell for as high as $ . . rias body had twelve brothers, eight of whom were "big buck niggers," and older than himself. the planters and "patarolers" accorded these "big niggers" unusual privileges--to the end that he estimates that they "wuz de daddies uv least a hunnert head o' chillun in harris county before de war broke out." some of these children were "scattered" over a wide area. sin, according to rias body, who voices the sentiment of the great majority of aged negroes, is that, or everything, which one does and says "not in the name of the master". the holy command, "whatever ye do, do it in my name," is subjected to some very unorthodox interpretations by many members of the colored race. indeed, by their peculiar interpretation of this command, it is established that "two clean sheets can't smut", which means that a devout man and woman may indulge in the primal passion without committing sin. the old man rather boasts of the fact that he received a number of whippings when a slave: says he now knows that he deserved them, "an thout 'em", he would have no doubt "been hung 'fore he wuz thutty years ole." among the very old slaves whom he knew as a boy were quite a few whom the negroes looked up to, respected, and feared as witches, wizzards, and magic-workers. these either brought their "learnin" with them from africa or absorbed it from their immediate african forebears. mentally, these people wern't brilliant, but highly sensitized, and rias gave "all sich" as wide a berth as opportunity permitted him, though he knows "dat dey had secret doins an carrying-ons". in truth, had the southern whites not curbed the mumbo-jumboism of his people, he is of the opinion that it would not now be safe to step "out his doe at night". incidentally, rias body is more fond of rabbit than any other meat "in de wurrul", and says that he could--if he were able to get them--eat three rabbits a day, days in the year, and two for breakfast on christmas morning. he also states that pork, though killed in the hottest of july weather, will not spoil if it is packed down in shucked corn-on-the-cob. this he learned in slavery days when, as a "run-away", he "knocked a shoat in the head" one summer and tried it--proving it. ex-slave interview james bolton athens, georgia written by: mrs. sarah h. hall federal writers' project residency athens, georgia edited by: miss maude barragan residency augusta, georgia "it never was the same on our plantation atter we done laid mistess away," said james bolton, year old mulatto ex-slave. "i ain't never forget when mistess died--she had been so good to every nigger on our plantation. when we got sick, mistess allus had us tended to. the niggers on our plantation all walked to church to hear her funeral sermon and then walked to the graveyard to the buryin'." james, shrivelled and wrinkled, with his bright eyes taking in everything on one of his rare visits to town, seemed glad of the chance to talk about slavery days. he spoke of his owner as "my employer" and hastily corrected himself by saying, "i means, my marster." "my employer, i means my marster, and my mistess, they was sho' all right white folkses," he continued. "they lived in the big 'ouse. hit was all painted brown. i heard tell they was more'n acres in our plantation and lots of folkses lived on it. the biggest portion was woods. my paw, he was name whitfield bolton and liza bolton was my maw. charlie, edmund, thomas and john bolton was my brothers and i had one sister, she was rosa. we belonged to marse whitfield bolton and we lived on his plantation in oglethorpe county near lexington, not far from the wilkes county line. "we stayed in a one room log cabin with a dirt floor. a frame made outen pine poles was fastened to the wall to hold up the mattresses. our mattresses was made outen cotton bagging stuffed with wheat straw. our kivers was quilts made outen old clothes. slave 'omens too old to work in the fields made the quilts. "maw, she went up to the big house onc't a week to git the 'lowance or vittles. they 'lowanced us a week's rations at a time. hit were generally hog meat, corn meal and sometimes a little flour. maw, she done our cookin' on the coals in the fireplace at our cabin. we had plenty of 'possums and rabbits and fishes and sometimes we had wild tukkeys and partidges. slaves warn't spozen to go huntin' at night and everybody know you can't ketch no 'possums 'ceppin' at night! jus' the same, we had plenty 'possums and nobody ax how we cotch 'em!" james laughed and nodded. "now, 'bout them rabbits! slaves warn't 'lowed to have no guns and no dogs of they own. all the dogs on our plantation belonged to my employer--i means, to my marster, and he 'lowed us to use his dogs to run down the rabbits. nigger mens and boys 'ud go in crowds, sometimes as many as twelve at one time, and a rabbit ain't got no chance 'ginst a lot of niggers and dogs when they light out for to run 'im down! "what wild critters we wanted to eat and couldn't run down, we was right smart 'bout ketchin' in traps. we cotch lots of wild tukkeys and partidges in traps and nets. long crick runned through our plantation and the river warn't no fur piece off. we sho' did ketch the fishes, mostly cats, and perch and heaps and heaps of suckers. we cotch our fishes mos'n generally with hook and line, but the carpenters on our plantation knowed how to make basket traps that sho' nuff did lay in the fishes! god only knows how long it's been since this old nigger pulled a big shad out of the river. ain't no shads been cotch in the river round here in so long i disremembers when! "we didn' have no gardens of our own round our cabins. my employer--i means, my marster--had one big gyarden for our whole plantation and all his niggers had to work in it whensomever he wanted 'em to, then he give 'em all plenty good gyarden sass for theyselfs. they was collards and cabbage and turnips and beets and english peas and beans and onions, and they was allus some garlic for ailments. garlic was mostly to cure wums (worms). they roasted the garlic in the hot ashes and squez the juice outen it and made the chilluns take it. sometimes they made poultices outen garlic for the pneumony. "we saved a heap of bark from wild cherry and poplar and black haw and slippery ellum trees and we dried out mullein leaves. they was all mixed and brewed to make bitters. whensomever a nigger got sick, them bitters was good for--well ma'am, they was good for what ailed 'em! we tuk 'em for rheumatiz, for fever, and for the misery in the stummick and for most all sorts of sickness. red oak bark tea was good for sore throat. "i never seed no store bought clothes twel long atter freedom done come! one slave 'oman done all the weavin' in a separate room called the 'loom house.' the cloth was dyed with home-made coloring. they used indigo for blue, red oak bark for brown, green husks offen warnicks (walnuts) for black, and sumacs for red and they'd mix these colors to make other colors. other slave 'omans larned to sew and they made all the clothes. endurin' the summertime we jus' wore shirts and pants made outen plain cotton cloth. they wove wool in with the cotton to make the cloth for our winter clothes. the wool was raised right thar on our plantation. we had our own shoemaker man--he was a slave named buck bolton and he made all the shoes the niggers on our plantation wore. "i waren't nothin' but chillun when freedom come. in slavery-time chilluns waren't 'lowed to do no wuk kazen the marsters wanted they niggers to grow up big and strong and didn' want 'em stunted none. tha's howcome i didn' git no mo' beatin's than i did! my employer--i means, my marster, never did give me but one lickin'. he had done told me to watch the cows and keep 'em in the pastur'. i cotch lots of grasshoppers and started fishin' in the crick runnin' through the pastur' and fust thing i knowed, the overseer was roundin' up all the other niggers to git the cows outen the cornfields! i knowed then my time had done come!" james was enjoying the spotlight now, and his audience did not have to prompt him. plantation recollections crowded together in his old mind. "we had one overseer at a time," he said, "and he allus lived at the big 'ouse. the overseers warn't quality white folkses like our marster and mistess but we never heard nuffin' 'bout no poor white trash in them days, and effen we had heard sumpin' like that we'd have knowed better'n to let marster hear us make such talk! marster made us call his overseer 'mister.' we had one overseer named mr. andrew smith and another time we had a overseer named mr. pope short. overseers was jus' there on the business of gettin' the work done--they seed atter everybody doin' his wuk 'cordin' to order. "my employer--i means, my marster, never 'lowed no overseer to whup none of his niggers! marster done all the whuppin' on our plantation hisself. he never did make no big bruises and he never drawed no blood, but he sho' could burn 'em up with that lash! niggers on our plantation was whupped for laziness mostly. next to that, whuppings was for stealin' eggs and chickens. they fed us good and plenty but a nigger is jus' bound to pick up chickens and eggs effen he kin, no matter how much he done eat! he jus' can't help it. effen a nigger ain't busy he gwine to git into mischief! "now and then slaves 'ud run away and go in the woods and dig dens and live in 'em. sometimes they runned away on 'count of cruel treatment, but most of the time they runned away kazen they jus' didn't want to wuk, and wanted to laze around for a spell. the marsters allus put the dogs atter 'em and git 'em back. they had black and brown dogs called 'nigger hounds' what waren't used for nothin' but to track down niggers. "they waren't no such place as a jail whar we was. effen a nigger done sumpin' disorderly they jus' natcherly tuk a lash to 'im. i ain't never seed no nigger in chains twel long atter freedom done come when i seed 'em on the chain gangs. "the overseer woke us up at sunrise--leas'n they called it sunrise! we would finish our vittles and be in the fields ready for wuk befo' we seed any sun! we laid off wuk at sunset and they didn't drive us hard. leas'wise, they didn' on our plantation. i done heard they was moughty hard on 'em on other plantations. my marster never did 'low his niggers to wuk atter sundown. my employer, i means my marster, didn't have no bell. he had 'em blow bugles to wake up his hands and to call 'em from the fields. sometimes the overseer blowed it. mistess done larned the cook to count the clock, but none of the rest of our niggers could count the clock. "i never knowed marster to sell but one slave and he jus' had bought her from the market at new orleans. she say it lonesome off on the plantation and axed marster for to sell her to folkses livin' in town. atter he done sold her, every time he got to town she beg 'im to buy her back! but he didn' pay her no more 'tention. when they had sales of slaves on the plantations they let everybody know what time the sale gwine to be. when the crowd git togedder they put the niggers on the block and sell 'em. leas'wise, they call it 'puttin' on the block'--they jus' fotch 'em out and show 'em and sell 'em. "they waren't no church for niggers on our plantation and we went to white folkses church and listened to the white preachers. we set behind a partition. sometimes on a plantation a nigger claim he done been called to preach and effen he kin git his marster's cawn-sent he kin preach round under trees and in cabins when t'aint wuk time. these nigger preachers in slavery time was called 'chairbackers.' they waren't no chairbackers 'lowed to baptize none of marster's niggers. white preachers done our baptizin' in long crick. when we went to be baptized they allus sang, 'amazing grace! how sweet the sound!'" the old negro's quavery voice rose in the familiar song. for a moment he sat thinking of those long-ago sundays. his eyes brightened again, and he went on: "we never done no wuk on sundays on our plantation. the church was 'bout nine miles from the plantation and we all walked there. anybody too old and feeble to walk the nine miles jus' stayed home, kazen marster didn't 'low his mules used none on sunday. all along the way niggers from other plantations 'ud jine us and sometimes befo' we git to the church house they'd be forty or fifty slaves comin' along the road in a crowd! preaching generally lasted twel bout three o'clock. in summertime we had dinner on the ground at the church. howsomever we didn' have no barbecue like they does now. everybody cooked enough on sadday and fotched it in baskets. "i was thirty years old when i jined the church. nobody ought to jine no church twels't he is truly borned of god, and effen he is truly borned of god he gwine know it. effen you want a restin' place atter you leaves this old world you ought to git ready for it now! "when folkses on our plantation died marster allus let many of us as wanted to go, lay offen wuk twel atter the buryin'. sometimes it were two or three months atter the buryin' befo' the funeral sermon was preached. right now i can't rekelleck no song we sung at funerals cep'n 'hark from the tombs a doleful sound.'" the reedy old voice carried the funeral hymn for a few minutes and then trailed off. james was thinking back into the past again. "spring plowin' and hoein' times we wukked all day saddays, but mos'en generally we laid off wuk at twelve o'clock sadday. that was dinnertime. sadday nights we played and danced. sometimes in the cabins, sometimes in the yards. effen we didn' have a big stack of fat kindling wood lit up to dance by, sometimes the mens and 'omans would carry torches of kindling wood whils't they danced and it sho' was a sight to see! we danced the 'turkey trot' and 'buzzard lope', and how we did love to dance the 'mary jane!' we would git in a ring and when the music started we would begin wukkin' our footses while we sang 'you steal my true love and i steal your'n!' "atter supper we used to gether round and knock tin buckets and pans, we beat 'em like drums. some used they fingers and some used sticks for to make the drum sounds and somebody allus blowed on quills. quills was a row of whistles made outen reeds, or sometimes they made 'em outen bark. every whistle in the row was a different tone and you could play any kind of tune you wants effen you had a good row of quills. they sho' did sound sweet! "'bout the most fun we had was at corn shuckin's whar they put the corn in long piles and called in the folkses from the plantations nigh round to shuck it. sometimes four or five hunnert head of niggers 'ud be shuckin' corn at one time. when the corn all done been shucked they'd drink the likker the marsters give 'em and then frolic and dance from sundown to sunup. we started shuckin' corn 'bout dinnertime and tried to finish by sundown so we could have the whole night for frolic. some years we 'ud go to ten or twelve corn shuckin's in one year! "we would sing and pray easter sunday and on easter monday we frolicked and danced all day long! christmas we allus had plenty good sumpin' to eat and we all got togedder and had lots of fun. we runned up to the big 'ouse early christmas mornin' and holler out: 'mornin', christmas gif'!' then they'd give us plenty of sandy claus and we would go back to our cabins to have fun twel new year's day. we knowed christmas was over and gone when new year's day come, kazen we got back to wuk that day atter frolickin' all christmas week. "we didn' know nuttin' 'bout games to play. we played with the white folkses chilluns and watched atter 'em but most of the time we played in the crick what runned through the pastur'. nigger chilluns was allus skeered to go in the woods atter dark. folkses done told us raw-head-and-bloody bones lived in the woods and git little chilluns and eat 'em up effen they got out in the woods atter dark! "'rockabye baby in the tree trops' was the onliest song i heard my maw sing to git her babies to sleep. slave folkses sung most all the time but we didn' think of what we sang much. we jus' got happy and started singin'. sometimes we 'ud sing effen we felt sad and lowdown, but soon as we could, we 'ud go off whar we could go to sleep and forgit all 'bout trouble!" james nodded his gray head with a wise look in his bright eyes. "when you hear a nigger singin' sad songs hit's jus' kazen he can't stop what he is doin' long enough to go to sleep!" the laughter that greeted this sally brought an answering grin to the wrinkled old face. asked about marriage customs, james said: "folkses didn' make no big to-do over weddings like they do now. when slaves got married they jus' laid down the broom on the floor and the couple jined hands and jumped back-uds over the broomstick. i done seed 'em married that way many a time. sometimes my marster would fetch mistess down to the slave quarters to see a weddin'. effen the slaves gittin' married was house servants, sometimes they married on the back porch or in the back yard at the big 'ouse but plantation niggers what was field hands married in they own cabins. the bride and groom jus' wore plain clothes kazen they didn' have no more. "when the young marsters and mistesses at the big houses got married they 'lowed the slaves to gadder on the porch and peep through the windows at the weddin'. mos'en generally they 'ud give the young couple a slave or two to take with them to they new home. my marster's chilluns was too young to git married befo' the war was over. they was seven of them chilluns; four of 'em was gals. "what sort of tales did they tell 'mongs't the slaves 'bout the norf befo' the war? to tell the troof, they didn't talk much like they does now 'bout them sort of things. none of our niggers ever runned away and we didn' know nuthin' 'bout no norf twel long atter freedom come. we visited round each other's cabins at night. i did hear tell 'bout the patterollers. folkses said effen they cotched niggers out at night they 'ud give 'em 'what paddy give the drum'. "jus' befo' freedom comed 'bout yankee sojers come through our plantation and told us that the bull-whups and cow-hides was all dead and buried. them sojers jus' passed on in a hurry and didn' stop for a meal or vittles or nuffin'. we didn't talk much 'bout mr. abbieham lincum endurin' slavery time kazen we was skeered of him atter the war got started. i don't know nothin' 'bout mr. jef'son davis, i don't remember ever hearin' 'bout him. i is heard about mr. booker washin'ton and they do say he runned a moughty good school for niggers. "one mornin' marster blowed the bugle his own self and called us all up to the big 'ouse yard. he told us: 'you all jus' as free as i is. you are free from under the taskmarster but you ain't free from labor. you gotter labor and wuk hard effen you aims to live and eet and have clothes to wear. you kin stay here and wuk for me, or you kin go wharsomever you please.' he said he 'ud pay us what was right, and lady, hit's the troof, they didn't nary a nigger on our plantation leave our marster then! i wukked on with marster for years atter the war!" james had no fear of the ku klux. "right soon atter the war we saw plenty of ku kluxers but they never bothered nobody on our plantation. they allus seemed to be havin' heaps of fun. 'course, they did have to straighten out some of them brash young nigger bucks on some of the other farms round about. mos' of the niggers the ku kluxers got atter was'n on no farm, but was jus' roamin' 'round talkin' too much and makin' trouble. they had to take 'em in hand two or three times befo' some of them fool free niggers could be larned to behave theyselfs! but them ku kluxers kept on atter 'em twels't they larned they jus got to be good effen they 'spects to stay round here. "hit was about years atter the war befo' many niggers 'gun to own they own lan'. they didn' know nothin' 'bout tendin' to money business when the war done ended and it take 'em a long time to larn how to buy and sell and take care of what they makes." james shook his head sadly. "ma'am, heaps of niggers ain't never larned nothin' 'bout them things yit! "a long time atter the war i married lizy yerby. i didn' give liza no chanc't for to dress up. jus' went and tuk her right outer the white folkses' kitchen and married her at the church in her workin' clothes. we had chilluns but they ain't but two of 'em livin' now. mos' of our chilluns died babies. endurin' slavery mistess tuk care of all the nigger babies borned on our plantations and looked atter they mammies too, but atter freedom come heap of nigger babies died out." james said he had two wives, both widows. "i married my second wife years ago. to tell the troof, i don't rightly know how many grandchilluns i got, kazen i ain't seed some of 'em for thirty years. my chilluns is off fum here and i wouldn' know to save my life whar they is or what they does. my sister and brothers they is done dead out what ain't gone off, i don't know for sho' whar none of 'em is now." a sigh punctuated james' monologue, and his old face was shadowed by a look of fear. "now i gwine tell you the troof. now that it's all over i don't find life so good in my old age, as it was in slavery time when i was chillun down on marster's plantation. then i didn' have to worry 'bout whar my clothes and my somepin' to eat was comin' from or whar i was gwine to sleep. marster tuk keer of all that. now i ain't able for to wuk and make a livin' and hit's sho' moughty hard on this old nigger." alec bostwick ex-slave--age [tr: preceding page that would usually contain information regarding the interview was marked 'placeholder'.] all of uncle alec bostwick's people are dead and he lives in his tiny home with a young negress named emma vergal. it was a beautiful april morning when his visitor arrived and while he was cordial enough he seemed very reluctant about talking. however, as one question followed another his interest gradually overcame his hesitancy and he began to unfold his life's story. "i wuz born in morgan county, an' i warn't mo' dan four year old when de war ended so i don't ricollect nothin' 'bout slav'ry days. i don't know much 'bout my ma, but her name was martha an' pa's name was jordan bostwick, i don't know whar dey come from. when i knowed nothin' i wuz dar on de plantation. i had three brothers; george, john an' reeje, an' dey's all dead. i dis'members my sister's name. dar warn't but one gal an' she died when she wuz little. "ain't much to tell 'bout what wuz done in de quarters. slaves wuz gyarded all de time jus' lak niggers on de chain gang now. de overseer always sot by wid a gun. "'bout de beds, nigger boys didn't pay no 'tention to sich as dat 'cause all dey keered 'bout wuz a place to sleep but 'peers lak to me dey wuz corded beds, made wid four high posties, put together wid iron pegs, an' holes what you run de cords thoo', bored in de sides. de cords wuz made out of b'ar grass woun' tight together. dey put straw an' old quilts on 'em, an' called 'em beds. "gran'pa berry wuz too old to wuk in de field so he stayed 'roun' de house an' piddled. he cut up wood, tended to de gyarden an' yard, an' bottomed chairs. gran'ma liza done de cookin' an' nussed de white folkses chilluns. "i wukked in de field 'long side da rest of de niggers, totin' water an' sich lak, wid de overseer dar all de time wid dat gun. "what you talkin' 'bout miss? us didn't have no money. sho' us didn't. dey had to feed us an' plenty of it, 'cause us couldn't wuk if dey didn't feed us good. "us et cornbread, sweet 'tatoes, peas, home-made syrup an' sich lak. de meat wuz fried sometimes, but mos' of de time it wuz biled wid de greens. all de somethin' t'eat wuz cooked in de fireplace. dey didn't know what stoves wuz in dem days. yes ma'am, us went 'possum huntin' at night, an' us had plenty 'possums too. dey put sweet 'tatoes an' fat meat roun' 'em, an' baked 'em in a oven what had eyes on each side of it to put hooks in to take it off de fire wid. "no ma'am, us didn't go fishin', or rabbit huntin' nuther. us had to wuk an' warn't no nigger 'lowed to do no frolickin' lak dat in daytime. de white folkses done all de fishin' an' daytime huntin'. i don't 'member lakin' no sartin' somethin'. i wuz jus' too glad to git anythin'. slaves didn't have no gyardens of dey own. old marster had one big gyarden what all de slaves et out of. "tell you 'bout our clo'es: us wore home-made clo'es, pants an' shirts made out of cotton in summer an' in de winter dey give us mo' home-made clo'es only dey wuz made of wool. all de clawf wuz made on de loom right dar on de plantation. us wore de same things on sunday what us did in de week, no diffunt. our shoes wuz jus' common brogans what dey made at home. i ain't seed no socks 'til long atter de war. co'se some folkses mought a had 'em, but us didn't have none. "marster berry bostwick an' mist'ess mary bostwick, had a passel of chillun, i don't 'member none 'cept young marse john. de others drifted off an' didn't come back, but young marse john stayed on wid old marster an' old mist'ess 'til dey died. old marster, he warn't good. truth is de light, an' he wuz one mean white man. old mist'ess wuz heaps better dan him. dar wuz 'bout mens an' 'omans. i couldn't keep up wid de chilluns. dere wuz too many for me. "marster an' mist'ess lived in a big fine house, but de slave quarters wuz made of logs, 'bout de size of box cyars wid two rooms. "'bout dat overseer he wuz a mean man, if one ever lived. he got de slaves up wid a gun at five o'clock an' wukked 'em 'til way atter sundown, standin' right over 'em wid a gun all de time. if a nigger lagged or tuk his eyes off his wuk, right den an' dar he would make him strip down his clo'es to his waist, an' he whup him wid a cat-o-nine tails. evvy lick dey struck him meant he wuz hit nine times, an' it fotch da red evvy time it struck. "oh! yes ma'am, dey had a cyar'iage driver, he didn't do much 'cept look attar de hawses an' drive de white folkses 'roun'. "i done tole you 'bout dat overseer; all he done wuz sot 'roun' all day wid a gun an' make de niggers wuk. but i'se gwine tell you de trufe, he sho' wuz poor white trash wid a house full of snotty-nose chilluns. old marster tole him he wuz jus' lak a rabbit, he had so many chillun. i means dis; if dem days comes back i hope de good lord takes me fus'. "dey had a house whar dey put de niggers, what wuz called de gyard house, an' us didn't know nothin' 'bout no jail dat day an' time. i seed 'em drive de niggers by old marster's place in droves takin' 'em to watkinsville. morgan county, whar us lived, touched oconee an' dat wuz the nighes' town. one day i went wid old marster to watkinsville an' i seed 'em sell niggers on de block. i warn't sold. when i knowed nothin' i wuz right whar i wuz at. "no ma'am, dey warn't no schools for de niggers in dem days. if a nigger wuz seed wid a paper, de white folks would pretty nigh knock his head off him. "us didn't have no church in de country for niggers, an' dey went to church wid deir white folkses, if dey went a tall. de white folks sot in front, an' de niggers sot in de back. all de time dat overseer wuz right dar wid his gun. when dey baptized de niggers dey tuk 'em down to de river and plunged 'em in, while dem what had done been baptized sang: "dar's a love feast in heb'en today." "yes ma'am, de white folkses had deir cemetery, an' dey had one for de slaves. when dere wuz a funeral 'mong de niggers us sung: 'dark was de night and cold was de groun' whar my marster was laid de drops of sweat lak blood run down in agony he prayed.' "dem coffins sho' wuz mournful lookin' things, made out of pine boa'ds an' painted wid lampblack; dey wuz black as de night. dey wuz big at de head an' little at de foot, sort a lak airplanes is. de inside wuz lined wid white clawf, what dey spun on de plantation. "de patterollers wuz right on dey job. slaves use' to frame up on 'em if dey knowed whar dey wuz hidin', 'waitin' to cotch a nigger. dey would git hot ashes an' dash over 'em, an' dem patterollers dey sho' would run, but de slaves would git worse dan dat, if dey was cotched. "miss, in slav'ry time when niggers come from de fields at night dey warn't no frolickin'. dey jus' went to sleep. de mens wukked all day sadday, but de 'omans knocked off at twelve o'clock to wash an' sich lak. "christmas times dey give us a week off an' brung us a little candy an' stuff 'roun'. not much, not much. on new year's day us had to git back on de job. "chilluns what wuz big enough to wuk didn't have time in week days to play no games on marse bostwick's place. on sunday us played wid marbles made out of clay, but dat's all. i heered my ma sing a little song to de baby what soun' lak dis: 'hush little baby don't you cry you'll be an angel bye-an'-bye.' "yes ma'am, dere wuz one thing dey wuz good 'bout. when de niggers got sick dey sont for de doctor. i heered 'em say dey biled jimson weeds an' made tea for colds, an' rhubarb tea wuz to cure worms in chillun. i wuz too young to be bothered 'bout witches an' charms, rawhead an' bloody bones an' sich. i didn't take it in. "when de yankees come thoo' an' 'lowed us wuz free, us thought dey wuz jus' dem patterollers, an' us made for de woods. dey tole us to come out, dat us wuz free niggers. marster berry said: 'you dam niggers am free. you don't b'long to me no more.' "us married long time atter de war, an' us had a little feast: cake, wine, fried chicken, an' ham, an' danced 'til 'mos' daybreak. i 'members how good she looked wid dat pretty dove colored dress, all trimmed wid lace. us didn't have no chillun. she wuz lak a tree what's sposen to bear fruit an' don't. she died 'bout thirteen years ago. "when de ku kluxers come thoo', us chillun thought de devil wuz atter us for sho'. i wuz sich a young chap i didn't take in what dey said 'bout mr. abyham lincoln, an' mr. jeff davis. us would a been slaves 'til yit, if mr. lincoln hadn't sot us free. dey wuz bofe of 'em, good mens. i sho' had ruther be free. who wants a gun over 'em lak a prisoner? a pusson is better off dead. "i jined de church 'cause dis is a bad place at de bes' an' dere's so many mean folkses, what's out to seem good an' ain't. an' if you serve god in de right way, i'se sho' when you die he'll give you a place to rest for evermore. an' 'cordin' to my notion dat's de way evvybody oughta live." in conclusion, alec said: "i don't want to talk no more. i'se disappointed, i thought sho' you wuz one of dem pension ladies what come for to fetch me some money. i sho' wish dey would come. good-bye miss." then he hobbled into the house. barragan-harris [tr: miss maude barragan (interviewer), mrs. leila harris (editor)] nancy boudry, thomson, georgia "if i ain't a hunnard," said nancy, nodding her white-turbaned head, "i sho' is close to it, 'cause i got a grandson years old." nancy's silky white hair showed long and wavy under her headband. her gingham dress was clean, and her wrinkled skin was a reddish-yellow color, showing a large proportion of indian and white blood. har eyes ware a faded blue. "i speck i is mos' white," acknowledged nancy, "but i ain't never knowed who my father was. my mother was a dark color." the cottage faced the pine grove behind an old church. pink ramblers grew everywhere, and the sandy yard was neatly kept. nancy's paralyzed granddaughter-in-law hovered in the doorway, her long smooth braids hanging over indian-brown shoulders, a loose wrapper of dark blue denim flowing around her tall unsteady figure. she was eager to taka part in the conversation but hampered by a thick tongue induced, as nancy put it, "by a bad sore throat she ain't got over." nancy's recollections of plantation days were colored to a somber hue by overwork, childbearing, poor food and long working hours. "master was a hard taskmaster," said nancy. "my husband didn't live on de same plantation where i was, de jerrell places in columbia county. he never did have nuthin' to give me 'cause he never got nuthin'. he had to come and ask my white folks for me. dey had to carry passes everywhere dey went, if dey didn't, dey'd git in trouble. "i had to work hard, plow and go and split wood jus' like a man. sometimes dey whup me. dey whup me bad, pull de cloes off down to de wais'--my master did it, our folks didn' have overseer. "we had to ask 'em to let us go to ohurch. went to white folks church, 'tell de black folks get one of dere own. no'm i dunno how to read. never had no schools at all, didn' 'low us to pick up a piece paper and look at it." "nancy, wasn't your mistress kind to you?" "mistis was sorta kin' to me, sometimes. but dey only give me meat and bread, didn' give me nothin' good--i ain' gwine tell no story. i had a heap to undergo wid. i had to scour at night at de big house--two planks one night, two more de nex'. de women peoples spun at night and reeled, so many cuts a night. us had to git up befo' daybreak be ready to go to de fiel's. "my master didn' have but three cullud people, dis yuh was what i stayed wid, my young master, had not been long married and dus' de han's dey give him when he marry was all he had. "didn' have no such house as dis," nancy looked into the open door of the comfortable octtage, "sometimes dey have a house built, it would be daubed. dus' one family, didn' no two families double up." "but the children had a good time, didn't they? they played games?" "maybe dey did play ring games, i never had no time to see what games my chillus play, i work so hard. heap o' little chillun slep' on de flo'. never had no frolics neither, no ma'm, and didn' go to none. we would have prayer meetings on saturday nights, and one might in de week us had a chairback preacher, and sometimes a regular preacher would come in." nancy did not remember ever having seen the patterollers. "i hearn talk of 'em you know, heap o' times dey come out and make out like dey gwine shoot you at night, dey mus' been patterollers, dey was gettin' hold of a heap of 'em." "what did you do about funerals, nancy?" "dey let us knock off for funerals, i tell de truth. us stay up all night, singin' and prayin'. dey make de coffin outter pine boards." "did you suffer during the war?" "we done de bes' we could, we et what we could get, sometimes didn' have nothin' to eat but piece of cornbread, but de white folks allus had chicken." "but you had clothes to wear?" "us had clothes 'cause we spun de thread and weaved 'em. dey bought dem dere great big ole brogans where you couldn' hardly walk in 'em. not like dese shoes i got on." nancy thrust out her foot, easy in "old ladies' comforts." "when they told you were free, nancy, did the master appear to be angry?" "no'm, white folks didn' 'pear to be mad. my master dus' tole us we was free. us moved right off, but not so far i couldn' go backwards and forwards to see 'um." (so it was evident that even if nancy's life had been hard, there was a bond between her and her former owners.) "i didn' do no mo' work for 'um, i work for somebody else. us rented land and made what we could, so we could have little somethin' to eat. i scoured and waited on white people in town, got little piece of money, and was dus' as proud!" nancy savored the recollection of her first earned money a moment, thinking back to the old days. "i had a preacher for my second marriage," she continued, "fo' chillun died on me--one girl, de yuthers was babies. white doctor tended me." asked about midwifery, nancy smiled. "i was a midwife myself, to black and white, after freedom. de thomson doctors all liked me and tole people to 'git nancy.' i used 'tansy tea'--heap o' little root--made black pepper tea, fotch de pains on 'em. when i would git to de place where i had a hard case, i would send for de doctor, and he would help me out, yes, doctor help me out of all of 'em." asked about signs and superstitions, nancy nodded. "i have seed things. day look dus' like a person, walkin' in de woods. i would look off and look back to see it again and it be gone." nancy lowered her voice mysteriously, and looked back into the little room where vanna's unsteady figure moved from bed to chair. "i seed a coffin floatin' in de air in dat room--" she shivered, "and i heard a heap o' knockings. i dunno what it bees--but de sounds come in de house. i runs ev'y squeech owl away what comes close, too." nancy clasped her hands, right thumb over left thumb, "does dat--and it goes on away--dey quits hollerin', you chokin' 'em when you does dat." "do you plant by the moon, nancy?" "plant when de moon change, my garden, corn, beans. i planted some beans once on de wrong time of de moon and dey didn' bear nothing--i hated it so bad, i didn' know what to do, so i been mindful ever since when i plant. women peoples come down on de moon, too. i ain't know no signs to raise chillun. i whup mine when dey didn' do right, i sho' did. i didn' 'low my chillun to take nothin'--no aigs and nothin' 'tall and bring 'em to my house. i say 'put dem right whar you git 'em." "did you sing spirituals, nancy?" "i sang regular meetin' songs," she said, "like 'lay dis body down' and 'let yo' joys be known'--but i can't sing now, not any mo'." nancy was proud of her quilt-making ability. "git 'um, vanna, let de ladies see 'um," she said; and when vanna brought the gay pieces made up in a "double-burst" (sunburst) pattern, nancy fingered the squares with loving fingers. "hit's pooty, ain't it?" she asked wistfully, "i made one for a white lady two years ago, but dey hurts my fingers now--makes 'em stiff." folklore interview alice bradley hull street near corner of hoyt street athens, georgia kizzie colquitt macon avenue athens, georgia written by: miss grace mccune athens, georgia edited by: mrs. leila harris editor federal writers' project augusta, georgia [apr ] [tr: these two interviews were filed together, though not recorded at the same place or time.] alice bradley alice bradley, or "aunt alice" as she is known to everybody, "runs cards" and claims to be a seeress. apologetic and embarrassed because she had overslept and was straightening her room, she explained that she hadn't slept well because a dog had howled all night and she was uneasy because of this certain forerunner of disaster. "here t'is sunday mornin' and what wid my back, de dog, and de rheumatics in my feets, its [tr: 'done' crossed out] too late to go to church, so come in honey i'se glad to hab somebody to talk to. dere is sho' goin' to be a corpse close 'round here. one night a long time ago two dogs howled all night long and on de nex' sunday dere wuz two corpses in de church at de same time. dat's one sign dat neber fails, when a dog howls dat certain way somebody is sho' goin' to be daid." when asked what her full name was, she said: "my whole name is alice bradley now. i used to be a hill, but when i married dat th'owed me out of bein' a hill, so i'se jus' a bradley now. i wuz born on january th but i don't 'member what year. my ma had three chillun durin' de war and one jus' atter de war. i think dat las' one wuz me, but i ain't sho'. my pa's name wuz jim hill, and ma's name wuz ca'line hill. both of 'em is daid now. pa died october , and wuz years old. ma died november , ; she wuz years old. i knows dem years is right 'cause i got 'em from dat old fambly bible so i kin git 'em jus' right. one of my sisters, older dan i is, stays in atlanta wid her son. since she los' one of her sons, her mind's done gone. my other sister ain't as old as i is but her mind is all right and she is well." "i wuz raised in washin'ton, wilkes county, and de fust i 'members was stayin' wid miss alice rayle. she had three chillun and i nussed 'em. one of de boys is a doctor now, and has a fambly of his own, and de las' i heared of 'im, he wuz stayin' in atlanta. "i'se been married' two times. i runned away wid will grisham, when i wuz 'bout years old. mr. carter, a justice of de peace, met us under a 'simmon tree and tied de knot right dar. my folks ketched us, but us wuz already married and so it didn't make no diffunce. "i lived on a farm wid my fust husband, and us had three chillun, but dey is all gone now. i 'members when my oldes' gal wuz 'bout years old, dey wuz playin' out on de porch wid dey little dog, when a mad dog come by and bit my chillun's dog. folks kilt our dog, and jus' 'bout one week atterwards my little gal wuz daid too. she did love dat little dog, and he sho' did mind 'er. she jus' grieved herself to death 'bout dat dog. "atter my fust husband died, i married rich bradley. rich wuz a railroad man, and he went off to washin'ton, d.c., to wuk. he sont me money all de time den, but when he went from dar to shecargo to wuk i didn't hear from 'im long, and i don't know what's happened to 'im 'til now, for it's been a long time since i heared from 'im. "i loves to run de cyards for my friends. i always tells 'em when i sees dere's trouble in de cyards for 'em, and shows 'em how to git 'round it, if i kin. none of de res' of my folks ever run de cyards, but i'se been at it ever since i wuz jus' a little gal, pickin' up old wore out cyards, dat had bean th'owed away, 'cause i could see things in 'em. i 'members one time when i wuz small and didn't know so good what de cyards wuz tellin' me, dat a rich man, one of de riches' in wilkes county, wuz at our place, i tol 'im de cyards when i run 'em. i saw sompin' wuz goin' to happen on his place, dat two colored mens would be tangled up wid, but i didn't know jus' what wuz goin' to happen. and sho' 'nuff, two colored mens sot fire to his barns and burned up all his horses and mules, de onlies' thing dey saved wuz one ridin' horse. dey ketched de mens, and dey served time for what dey done. one of 'em died way out yonder where dey sont 'em. "i 'members one white lady way out in alabama sont a note axin' me to run de cyards for her. i runned 'em and got one of my friends to writer her what i seed. dey had run bright and dat wuz good luck. one time i runned de cyards for two sisters dat had done married two brothers, and de cyards run so close kin date i wuz able to tell 'em how dey wuz married and dey tol me dat i wuz right. "and jus' a few days ago a old man come to see me thinkin' dat he wuz pizened. when i runned de cyards, i seed his trouble. he had been drinkin' and wuz sick, so i jus' give him a big dose of soda and cream of tartar and he got better. den i tole him to go on home; dat nobody hadn't done nothin' to 'im and all he needed wuz a little medicine. "i told mr. dick armell of how he wuz goin' to git kilt if he went up in his airyplane dat day and begged him not to try it but to wait. he wouldn't listen and went on and got kilt jus' lak i tole 'im he would. i runned de cyards for mrs. armell lots of times for i liked 'im, and he wuz a fine man. i runned de cyards for 'im one time 'fore he went to de world's fair, and de cyards run bright, and his trip wuz a good one jus' lak i tole 'im it would be. "all de old white folks dat i wuz raised up wid, de hills from washin'ton, wilkes, is gone now, 'cept i think one of de gals is wukin' at de capitol in atlanta, but she done married now and i don't 'member her name." alice excused herself to answer a knock at the door. upon her return she said: "dat wuz one of my white chillun. i wukked for 'em so long and one of 'em comes by every now an' den to see if i needs sompin'. her ma done had a new picture of herself took and wanted me to see it. dey sho' is good to me." alice doesn't charge for "running the cards." she says she doesn't have a license, and is very thankful for anything that visitors may care to give her. she will not run the cards on sunday. "dat's bad luck," she said. "come back some day when tain't sunday, and i'll see whats in de cyards for you!" kizzie colquitt old aunt kizzie colquitt, about years old, was busily washing in her neat kitchen. she opened the door and window frequently to let out the smoke, saying: "dis old wore out stove don't draw so good." her hands and feet were badly swollen and she seemed to be suffering. "i'll be glad to tell all i kin 'member 'bout dem old times," she said. "i wuz borned durin' de war, but i don't 'member what year. my pa wuz mitchell long. he b'longed to marster sam long of elbert county. us lived on broad river. my ma wuz sallie long, and she b'longed to marster billie lattimore. dey stayed on de other side of broad river and my pa and ma had to cross de river to see one another. atter de war wuz over, and dey wuz free, my pa went to jefferson, georgia, and dar he died. "my ma married some nigger from way out in indiana. he promised her he would send money back for her chillun, but us never heered nothin' from 'im no mo'. i wuz wid' my w'ite folks, de lattimores, when my ma died, way out in indiana. "atter marse bob died, i stayed wid my old missus, and slep' by her bed at night. she wuz good to me, and de hardes' wuk i done wuz pickin' up acorns to fatten de hogs. i stayed dar wid her 'til she died. us had plenty t'eat, a smokehouse filled wid hams, and all de other things us needed. dey had a great big fireplace and a big old time oven whar dey baked bread, and it sho' wuz good bread. "my old missus died when i wuz 'bout years old, and i wus sont to lexin'ton, georgia, to live wid my sister. dere wuz jus' da two of us chilluns. den us wukked every day, and went to bed by dark; not lak de young folks now, gallivantin' 'bout all night long. "when i wuz 'bout i married and come to live on dr. willingham's place. it wuz a big plantation, and dey really lived. when de crops wuz all in and all de wuk done, dey had big times 'round dar. "dere wuz de corn shuckin' wid one house for de corn and another house for de shucks. atter all de shuckin' wuz done, dere wuz eatin' and dancin'. and it wuz eatin' too! dey kilt hogs, barbecued 'em, and roasted some wid apples in dey mouf's to give 'em a good flavor, and course a little corn likker went wid it. dey had big doin's at syrup makin' time too, but dat wuz hard wuk den. makin' syrup sho' wuz a heap of trouble. "later us lived wid de johnson fambly, and atter my old man died, i come to dis town wid de johnsons. dere wuz three chilluns, percy, lewis, and a gal. i stayed wid 'em 'til de chilluns wuz all growed up and eddicated. all my other w'ite folks is gone; my sister done gone too, and my son; all de chillun dat i had, deys done daid too. "now i has to wash so i kin live. i used to have plenty, but times is changed and now sometimes i don't have nothin' but bread, and jus' bread is hard to git, heap of de time. "i put in for one of dem old age pensions, but dey ain't give me nothin' yet, so i jus' wuk when i kin, and hope dat it won't be long 'fore i has plenty again." old slave story della briscoe macon, georgia by adella s. dixon [hw: (colored)] [jul ] della briscoe, now living in macon, is a former slave of mr. david ross, who owned a large plantation in putnam county. della, when a very tiny child, was carried there with her father and mother, sam and mary ross. soon after their arrival the mother was sent to work at the "big house" in eatonton. this arrangement left della, her brother and sister to the care of their grandmother, who really posed as their mother. the children grew up under the impression that their mother was an older sister and did not know the truth until just after the close of the civil war, when the mother became seriously ill and called the children to her bedside to tell them goodbye. mr. david ross had a large family and was considered the richest planter in the county. nearly every type of soil was found on his vast estate, composed of hilly sections as well as acres of lowlands. the highway entering eatonton divided the plantation and, down this road every friday, della's father drove the wagon to town with a supply of fresh butter, for mrs. ross' thirty head of cows supplied enough milk to furnish the city dwellers with butter. refrigeration was practically unknown, so a well was used to keep the butter fresh. this cool well was eighty feet deep and passed through a layer of solid rock. a rope ladder was suspended from the mouth of the well to the place where the butter was lowered for preservation. for safety, and to shield it from the sun, reeds were planted all around the well. and as they grew very tall, a stranger would not suspect a well being there. in addition to marketing, della's father trapped beavers which were plentiful in the swampy part of the plantation bordering the oconee, selling their pelts to traders in the nearby towns of augusta and savannah, where mr. ross also marketed his cotton and large quantities of corn. oxen, instead of mules, were used to make the trips to market and return, each trip consuming six or seven days. the young children were assigned small tasks, such as piling brush in "new grounds", carrying water to field hands, and driving the calves to pasture. punishment was administered, though not as often as on some plantations. the little girl, della, was whipped only once--for breaking up a turkey's nest she had found. several were accused of this, and because the master could not find the guilty party, he whipped each of the children. crime was practically unknown and mr. ross' slaves never heard of a jail until they were freed. men were sometimes placed in "bucks", which meant they were laid across blocks with their hands and feet securely tied. an iron bar was run between the blocks to prevent any movement; then, after being stripped, they were whipped. della said that she knew of but one case of this type of punishment being administered a ross slave. sickness was negligible--childbirth being practically the only form of a negro woman's "coming down". as a precaution against disease, a tonic was given each slave every spring. three were also, every spring, taken from the field each day until every one had been given a dose of calomel and salts. mr. ross once bought two slaves who became ill with smallpox soon after their arrival. they were isolated in a small house located in the center of a field, while one other slave was sent there to nurse them. all three were burned to death when their hut was destroyed by fire. in case of death, even on a neighboring place, all work was suspended until the dead was buried. sunday, the only day of rest, was often spent in attending religious services, and because these were irregularly held, brush arbor meetings were common. this arbor was constructed of a brush roof supported by posts and crude joists. the seats were usually made of small saplings nailed to short stumps. religion was greatly stressed and every child was christened shortly after its birth. an adult who desired to join the church went first to the master to obtain his permission. he was then sent to the home of a minister who lived a short distance away at a place called flat rock. here, his confession was made and, at the next regular service, he was formally received into the church. courtships were brief. the "old man", who was past the age for work and only had to watch what went on at the quarters, was usually the first to notice a budding friendship, which he reported to the master. the couple was then questioned and, if they consented, were married without the benefit of clergy. food was distributed on monday night, and for each adult slave the following staple products were allowed-- weekly ration: on sunday: - / lbs. meat one qt. syrup pk. of meal one gal. flour gal. shorts one cup lard vegetables, milk, etc., could be obtained at the "big house", but fresh meat and chickens were never given. the desire for these delicacies often overcame the slaves' better natures, and some frequently went night foraging for small shoats and chickens. the "old man" kept account of the increase or decrease in live stock and poultry and reported anything missing each day. when suspicion fell on a visitor of the previous night, this information was given to his master, who then searched the accused's dinner pail and cabin. if meat was found in either the culprit was turned over to his accuser for punishment. after being whipped, he was forbidden for three months to visit the plantation where he had committed the theft. one of della's grandmother's favorite recipes was made of dried beef and wheat. the wheat was brought from the field and husked by hand. this, added to the rapidly boiling beef, was cooked until a mush resulted, which was then eaten from wooden bowls with spoons of the same material. white plates were never used by the slaves. cloth for clothing was woven on the place. della's grandmother did most of the spinning, and she taught her child to spin when she was so small that she had to stand on a raised plank to reach the wheel. after the cloth was spun it was dyed with dye made from "shoemake" (sumac) leaves, green walnuts, reeds, and copperas. one person cut and others sewed. the dresses for women were straight, like slips, and the garments of the small boys resembled night shirts. if desired, a bias fold of contrasting colour was placed at the waist line or at the bottom of dresses. the crudely made garments were starched with a solution of flour or meal and water which was strained and then boiled. as a small child della remembers hearing a peculiar knock on the door during the night, and a voice which replied to queries, "no one to hurt you, but keep that red flannel in your mouth. have you plenty to eat? don't worry; you'll be free." no one would ever tell, if they knew, to whom this voice belonged. just before the beginning of the civil war a comet appeared which was so bright that the elder people amused themselves by sitting on the rail fence and throwing pins upon the ground where the reflection was cast. the children scrambled madly to see who could find the most pins. during the early part of the war mr. ross fought with the confederates, leaving his young son, robert, in charge of his affairs. the young master was very fond of horses and his favorite horse--"bill"--was trained to do tricks. one of these was to lie down when tickled on his flanks. the yankees visited the plantation and tried to take this horse. robert, who loved him dearly, refused to dismount, and as they were about to shoot the horse beneath him, the slaves began to plead. they explained that the boy was kind to every one and devoted to animals, after which explanation, he was allowed to keep his horse. the breastworks at savannah required many laborers to complete their construction, and as the commanders desired to save the strength of their soldiers, slave labor was solicited. two slaves from each nearby plantation were sent to work for a limited number of days. the round trip from the ross plantation required seven days. nearly every man had a family and when they returned from these long trips they drove to the quarters and fell on their knees to receive the welcome caresses of their small children. recreational facilities were not provided and slave children had little knowledge of how to play. their two main amusements were building frog houses and sliding down a steep bank on a long board. one day, as they played up and down the highway, building frog houses at irregular intervals, little della looked up and saw a group of yankee calvarymen approaching. she screamed and began running and so attracted the attention of mr. ross who was at home on a furlough. he saw the men in time to find a hiding place. meanwhile, the soldiers arrived and the leader, springing from his horse, snatched della up and spanked her soundly for giving the alarm, as they had hoped to take her master by surprise. della said this was the first "white slap" she ever received. some of the yankees entered the house, tore up the interior, and threw the furniture out doors. another group robbed the smokehouse and smashed so many barrels of syrup that it ran in a stream through the yard. they carried much of the meat off with them and gave the remainder to the slaves. chickens were caught, dressed, and fried on the spot as each soldier carried his own frying pan, and a piece of flint rock and a sponge with which to make a fire. the men were skilled in dressing fowls and cleaned them in a few strokes. when they had eaten as much as they desired, a search for the corral was made, but the mules were so well hidden that they were not able to find them. della's father's hands were tied behind him and he was then forced to show them the hiding place. these fine beasts, used for plowing, were named by the slaves who worked them. characteristic names were: "jule", "pigeon", "little deal", "vic", (the carriage horse), "streaked leg," "kicking kid", "sore-back janie". every one was carried off. this raid took place on christmas eve and the slaves were frantic as they had been told that yankees were mean people, especially was sherman so pictured. when sherman had gone, mr. ross came from his hiding place in the "cool well" and spoke to his slaves. to the elder ones he said, "i saw you give away my meat and mules." "master, we were afraid. we didn't want to do it, but we were afraid not to." "yes, i understand that you could not help yourselves." he then turned to the children, saying, "bless all of you, but to little della, i owe my life. from now on she shall never be whipped, and she shall have a home of her own for life." she shook with laughter as she said, "master thought i screamed to warn him and i was only frightened." true to his word, after freedom he gave her a three-acre plot of land upon which he built a house and added a mule, buggy, cow, hogs, etc. della lived there until after her marriage, when she had to leave with her husband. she later lost her home. having been married twice, she now bears the name of briscoe, her last husband's name. when the family had again settled down to the ordinary routine, a new plague, body lice, said to have been left by the invaders, made life almost unbearable for both races. della now lives with her granddaughter, for she has been unable to work for twenty-eight years. macon's department of public welfare assists in contributing to her livelihood, as the granddaughter can only pay the room rent. she does not know her age but believes that she is above ninety. her keen old eyes seemed to look back into those bygone days as she said, "i got along better den dan i eber hab since. we didn't know nuthin 'bout jail houses, paying for our burial grounds, and de rent. we had plenty o' food." [hw: dist. ex. slv. # ] george brooks, ex-slave date of birth: year unknown (see below) place of birth: in muscogee county, near columbus, georgia present residence: east th street, columbus, georgia interviewed: august , [may ] this old darky, probably the oldest ex-slave in west georgia, claims to be years of age. his colored friends are also of the opinion that he is fully that old or older--but, since none of his former (two) owners' people can be located, and no records concerning his birth can be found, his definite age cannot be positively established. "uncle" george claims to have worked in the fields, "some", the year the "stars fell"-- . his original owner was mr. henry williams--to whom he was greatly attached. as a young man, he was--for a number of years--mr. williams' personal body-servant. after mr. williams' death--during the 's, "uncle" george was sold to a white man--whose name he doesn't remember--of dadeville, alabama, with whom he subsequently spent five months in the confederate service. one of "uncle" george's stories is to the effect that he once left a chore he was doing for his second "marster's" wife, "stepped" to a nearby well to get a drink of water and, impelled by some strange, irresistible "power", "jes kep on walkin 'til he run slap-dab inter de yankees", who corraled him and kept him for three months. still another story he tells is that of his being sold after freedom! according to his version of this incident, he was sold along with two bales of cotton in the fall of --either the cotton being sold and he "thrown in" with it, or vice versa--he doesn't know which, but he _does know_ that he and the cotton were "sold" together! and very soon after this transaction occurred, the seller was clapped in jail! then, "somebody" (he doesn't remember who) gave him some money, put him on a stage-coach at night and "shipped" him to columbus, where he learned that he was a free man and has since remained. "uncle" george has been married once and is the father of several children. his wife, however, died fifty-odd years ago and he knows nothing of the whereabouts of his children--doesn't even know whether or not any of them are living, having lost "all track o'all kin fokes too long ago to tawk about." unfortunately, "uncle" george's mind is clouded and his memory badly impaired, otherwise his life story would perhaps be quite interesting. for more than twenty years, he has been supported and cared for by kind hearted members of his race, who say that they intend to continue "to look after the old man 'til he passes on." ex-slave interview easter brown s. lumpkin street athens, georgia written by: mrs. sadie b. hornsby edited by: john n. booth federal writers' project wpa residency no. "aunt" easter brown, years old, was sweeping chips into a basket out in front of her cabin. "go right in honey, i'se comin' soon as i git some chips for my fire. does i lak to talk 'bout when i wuz a chile? i sho does. i warn't but years old when de war wuz over, but i knows all 'bout it." "i wuz born in floyd county sometime in october. my pa wuz erwin and my ma wuz liza lorie. i don't know whar dey come from, but i knows dey wuz from way down de country somewhars. dere wuz six of us chilluns. all of us wuz sold. yessum, i wuz sold too. my oldest brother wuz named jim. i don't riccolec' de others, dey wuz all sold off to diffunt parts of de country, and us never heared from 'em no more. my brother, my pa and me wuz sold on de block in rome, georgia. marster frank glenn buyed me. i wuz so little dat when dey bid me off, dey had to hold me up so folkses could see me. i don't 'member my real ma and pa, and i called marster 'pa' an' mist'ess 'ma', 'til i wuz 'bout 'leven years old. "i don't know much 'bout slave quarters, or what dey had in 'em, 'cause i wuz raised in de house wid de white folkses. i does know beds in de quarters wuz lak shelves. holes wuz bored in de side of de house, two in de wall and de floor, and poles runnin' from de wall and de floor, fastened together wid pegs; on 'em dey put planks, and cross de foot of de bed dey put a plank to hold de straw and keep de little 'uns from fallin' out. "what did us have to eat? lordy mussy! mist'ess! us had everything. summertime dere wuz beans, cabbage, squashes, irish 'tatoes, roas'en ears, 'matoes, cucumbers, cornbread, and fat meat, but de nigger boys, dey wuz plum fools 'bout hog head. in winter dey et sweet 'tatoes, collards, turnips and sich, but i et lak de white folkses. i sho does lak 'possums and rabbits. yessum, some of de slaves had gyardens, some of 'em sholy did. "no'm, us niggers never wore no clothes in summer, i means us little 'uns. in de winter us wore cotton clothes, but us went barefoots. my uncle sam and some of de other niggers went 'bout wid dey foots popped open from de cold. marster had slaves on his plantation. "mist'ess wuz good to me. pa begged her to buy me, 'cause she wuz his young mist'ess and he knowed she would be good to me, but marster wuz real cruel. he'd beat his hoss down on his knees and he kilt one of 'em. he whupped de niggers when dey didn't do right. niggers is lak dis; dey wuz brought to dis here land wild as bucks, and dey is lak chicken roosters in a pen. you just have to make 'em 'have deyselves. its lak dat now; if dey'd 'have deyselves, white folkses would let 'em be. "dere warn't no jails in dem days. dey had a gyuard house what dey whupped 'em in, and mondays and tuesdays wuz set aside for de whuppin's, when de niggers what had done wrong got so many lashes, 'cordin' to what devilment dey had been doin'. de overseer didn't do de whuppin', marster done dat. dem patterrollers wuz sompin else. mankind! if dey ketched a nigger out atter dark widout no pass dey'd most nigh tear de hide offen his back. "i'll tell you what dat overseer done one night. some enemy of marster's sot fire to de big frame house whar him and mist'ess and de chillun lived. de overseer seed it burnin', and run and clam up de tree what wuz close to de house, went in de window and got marster's two little gals out dat burnin' house 'fore you could say scat. dat sho fixed de overseer wid old marster. atter dat marster give him a nice house to live in but marster's fine old house sho wuz burnt to de ground. "de cyarriage driver wuz uncle sam. he drove de chillun to school, tuk marster and mist'ess to church, and done de wuk 'round de house; such as, totin' in wood, keepin' de yards and waitin' on de cook. no'm us slaves didn't go to church; de niggers wuz so wore out on sundays, dey wuz glad to stay home and rest up, 'cause de overseer had 'em up way 'fore day and wuked 'em 'til long atter dark. on saddays dey had to wash deir clothes and git ready for de next week. some slaves might a had special things give to 'em on christmas and new years day, but not on marster's plantation; dey rested up a day and dat wuz all. i heared tell dey had christmas fixin's and doin's on other plantations, but not on marse frank's place. all corn shuckin's, cotton pickin's, log rollin's, and de lak was when de boss made 'em do it, an' den dere sho warn't no extra sompin t'eat. "de onliest game i ever played wuz to take my doll made out of a stick wid a rag on it and play under a tree. when i wuz big 'nough to wuk, all i done wuz to help de cook in de kitchen and play wid old mist'ess' baby. "some of de niggers runned away. webster, hagar, atney, an' jane runned away a little while 'fore freedom. old marster didn't try to git 'em back, 'cause 'bout dat time de war wuz over. marster and mist'ess sho looked atter de niggers when dey got sick for dey knowed dat if a nigger died dat much property wuz lost. yessum, dey had a doctor sometime, but de most dey done wuz give 'em hoarhound, yellow root and tansy. when a baby wuz cuttin' teeth, dey biled ground ivy and give 'em. "louisa, de cook wuz married in de front yard. all i 'members 'bout it wuz dat all de niggers gathered in de yard, louisa had on a white dress; de white folkses sho fixed louisa up, 'cause she wuz deir cook. "jus' lemme tell you 'bout my weddin' i buyed myself a dress and had it laid out on de bed, den some triflin', no 'count nigger wench tuk and stole it 'fore i had a chance to git married in it. i had done buyed dat dress for two pupposes; fust to git married in it, and second to be buried in. i stayed on wid old miss 'til i got 'bout grown and den i drifted to athens. when i married my fust husband, charlie montgomery, i wuz wukkin' for mrs. w.r. booth, and us married in her dinin' room. charlie died out and i married james hoshier. us had one baby. hit wuz a boy. james an' our boy is both daid now and i'se all by myself. "what de slaves done when dey wuz told dat dey wuz free? i wuz too little to know what dey meant by freedom, but old marster called de overseer and told him to ring de bell for de niggers to come to de big house. he told 'em dey wuz free devils and dey could go whar dey pleased and do what dey pleased--dey could stay wid him if dey wanted to. some stayed wid old marster and some went away. i never seed no yankee sojers. i heared tell of 'em comin' but i never seed none of 'em. "no'm i don't know nothin' 'bout abraham lincoln, booker t. washington or jefferson davis. i didn't try to ketch on to any of 'em. as for slavery days; some of de niggers ought to be free and some oughtn't to be. i don't know nuttin much 'bout it. i had a good time den, and i gits on pretty good now. "how come i jined de church? well i felt lak it wuz time for me to live better and git ready for a home in de next world. chile you sho has axed me a pile of questions, and i has sho 'joyed tellin' you what i knowed." julia brown (aunt sally) griffin place, n.w. atlanta, ga. july , [tr:?] by geneva tonsill [tr: one page of this interview was repeated in typescript; where there was a discrepancy, the clearer version was used.] ah always had a hard time aunt sally rocked back and forth incessantly. she mopped her wrinkled face with a dirty rag as she talked. "ah wuz born fo' miles frum commerce, georgia, and wuz thirteen year ole at surrender. ah belonged to the nash fambly--three ole maid sisters. my mama belonged to the nashes and my papa belonged to general burns; he wuz a officer in the war. there wuz six of us chilluns, lucy, malvina, johnnie, callie, joe and me. we didn't stay together long, as we wuz give out to different people. the nashes didn't believe in selling slaves but we wuz known as their niggers. they sold one once 'cause the other slaves said they would kill him 'cause he had a baby by his own daughter. so to keep him frum bein' kilt, they sold him. "my mama died the year of surrender. ah didn't fare well after her death, ah had sicha hard time. ah wuz give to the mitchell fambly and they done every cruel thing they could to me. ah slept on the flo' nine years, winter and summer, sick or well. ah never wore anything but a cotton dress, a shimmy and draw's. that 'oman didn't care what happened to the niggers. sometimes she would take us to church. we'd walk to the church house. ah never went nowhere else. that 'oman took delight in sellin' slaves. she'd lash us with a cowhide whip. ah had to shift fur mahself. "they didn't mind the slaves matin', but they wanted their niggers to marry only amongst them on their place. they didn't 'low 'em to mate with other slaves frum other places. when the wimmen had babies they wuz treated kind and they let 'em stay in. we called it 'lay-in', just about lak they do now. we didn't go to no horspitals as they do now, we jest had our babies and had a granny to catch 'em. we didn't have all the pain-easin' medicines then. the granny would put a rusty piece of tin or a ax under the mattress and this would ease the pains. the granny put a ax under my mattress once. this wuz to cut off the after-pains and it sho did too, honey. we'd set up the fifth day and after the 'layin-in' time wuz up we wuz 'lowed to walk out doors and they tole us to walk around the house jest once and come in the house. this wuz to keep us frum takin' a 'lapse. "we wuzn't 'lowed to go around and have pleasure as the folks does today. we had to have passes to go wherever we wanted. when we'd git out there wuz a bunch of white men called the 'patty rollers'. they'd come in and see if all us had passes and if they found any who didn't have a pass he wuz whipped; give fifty or more lashes--and they'd count them lashes. if they said a hundred you got a hundred. they wuz somethin' lak the klu klux. we wuz 'fraid to tell our masters about the patty rollers because we wuz skeered they'd whip us again, fur we wuz tole not to tell. they'd sing a little ditty. ah wish ah could remember the words, but it went somethin' lak this: 'run, niggah, run, de patty rollers'll git you, run niggah, ran, you'd bettah git away.' "we wuz 'fraid to go any place. "slaves ware treated in most cases lak cattle. a man went about the country buyin' up slaves lak buyin' up cattle and the like, and he wuz called a 'speculator', then he'd sell 'em to the highest bidder. oh! it wuz pitiful to see chil'en taken frum their mothers' breast, mothers sold, husbands sold frum wives. one 'oman he wuz to buy had a baby, and of course the baby come befo' he bought her and he wouldn't buy the baby; said he hadn't bargained to buy the baby too, and he jest wouldn't. my uncle wuz married but he wuz owned by one master and his wife wuz owned by another. he wuz 'lowed to visit his wife on wednesday and saturday, that's the onliest time he could git off. he went on wednesday and when he went back on saturday his wife had been bought by the speculator and he never did know where she wuz. "ah worked hard always. honey, you can't 'magine what a hard time ah had. ah split rails lak a man. how did ah do it? ah used a huge glut, and a iron wedge drove into the wood with a maul, and this would split the wood. "ah help spin the cotton into thread fur our clothes. the thread wuz made into big broaches--four broaches made four cuts, or one hank. after the thread wuz made we used a loom to weave the cloth. we had no sewin' machine--had to sew by hand. my mistress had a big silver bird and she would always catch the cloth in the bird's bill and this would hold it fur her to sew. "ah didn't git to handle money when i wuz young. ah worked frum sunup to sundown. we never had overseers lak some of the slaves. we wuz give so much work to do in a day and if the white folks went off on a vacation they would give us so much work to do while they wuz gone and we better have all of that done too when they'd come home. some of the white folks wuz very kind to their slaves. some did not believe in slavery and some freed them befo' the war and even give 'em land and homes. some would give the niggers meal, lard and lak that. they made me hoe when ah wuz a chile and ah'd keep rat up with the others, 'cause they'd tell me that if ah got behind a run-a-way nigger would git me and split open my head and git the milk out'n it. of course ah didn't know then that wuzn't true--ah believed everything they tole me and that made me work the harder. "there wuz a white man, mister jim, that wuz very mean to the slaves. he'd go 'round and beat 'em. he'd even go to the little homes, tear down the chimneys and do all sorts of cruel things. the chimneys wuz made of mud 'n straw 'n sticks; they wuz powerful strong too. mister jim wuz jest a mean man, and when he died we all said god got tired of mister jim being so mean and kilt him. when they laid him out on the coolin' board, everybody wuz settin' 'round, moanin' over his death, and all of a sudden mister jim rolled off'n the coolin' board, and sich a runnin' and gittin' out'n that room you never saw. we said mister jim wuz tryin' to run the niggers and we wuz 'fraid to go about at night. ah believed it then; now that they's 'mbalmin' ah know that must have been gas and he wuz purgin', fur they didn't know nothin' 'bout 'mbalmin' then. they didn't keep dead folks out'n the ground long in them days. "doctors wuzn't so plentiful then. they'd go 'round in buggies and on hosses. them that rode on a hoss had saddle pockets jest filled with little bottles and lots of them. he'd try one medicine and if it didn't do not [tr: no?] good he'd try another until it did do good and when the doctor went to see a sick pusson he'd stay rat there until he wuz better. he didn't jest come in and write a 'scription fur somebody to take to a drug store. we used herbs a lots in them days. when a body had dropsy we'd set him in a tepid bath made of mullein leaves. there wuz a jimson weed we'd use fur rheumatism, and fur asthma we'd use tea made of chestnut leaves. we'd git the chestnut leaves, dry them in the sun jest lak tea leaves, and we wouldn't let them leaves git wet fur nothin' in the world while they wuz dryin'. we'd take poke salad roots, boil them and then take sugar and make a syrup. this wuz the best thing fur asthma. it was known to cure it too. fur colds and sich we used ho'hound; made candy out'n it with brown sugar. we used a lots of rock candy and whiskey fur colds too. they had a remedy that they used fur consumption--take dry cow manure, make a tea of this and flavor it with mint and give it to the sick pusson. we didn't need many doctors then fur we didn't have so much sickness in them days, and nachelly they didn't die so fast; folks lived a long time then. they used a lot of peachtree leaves too for fever, and when the stomach got upsot we'd crush the leaves, pour water over them and wouldn't let them drink any other kind of water 'till they wuz better. ah still believes in them ole ho'made medicines too and ah don't believe in so many doctors. "we didn't have stoves plentiful then: just ovens we set in the fireplace. ah's toted a many a armful of bark--good ole hickory bark to cook with. we'd cook light bread--both flour and corn. the yeast fur this bread wuz made frum hops. coals of fire wuz put on top of the oven and under the bottom, too. everything wuz cooked on coals frum a wood fire--coffee and all. wait, let me show you my coffee tribet. have you ever seen one? well, ah'll show you mine." aunt sally got up and hobbled to the kitchen to get the trivet. after a few moments search she came back into the room. "no, it's not there. ah guess it's been put in the basement. ah'll show it to you when you come back. it's a rack made of iron that the pot is set on befo' puttin' it on the fire coals. the victuals wuz good in them days; we got our vegetables out'n the garden in season and didn't have all the hot-house vegetables. ah don't eat many vegetables now unless they come out'n the garden and i know it. well, as i said, there wuz racks fitted in the fireplace to put pots on. once there wuz a big pot settin' on the fire, jest bilin' away with a big roast in it. as the water biled, the meat turned over and over, comin' up to the top and goin' down again, ole sandy, the dog, come in the kitchen. he sot there a while and watched that meat roll over and over in the pot, and all of a sudden-like he grabbed at that meat and pulls it out'n the pot. 'course he couldn't eat it 'cause it wuz hot and they got the meat befo' he et it. the kitchen wuz away frum the big house, so the victuals wuz cooked and carried up to the house. ah'd carry it up mahse'f. we couldn't eat all the different kinds of victuals the white folks et and one mornin' when i was carryin' the breakfast to the big house we had waffles that wuz a pretty golden brown and pipin' hot. they wuz a picture to look at and ah jest couldn't keep frum takin' one, and that wuz the hardest waffle fur me to eat befo' i got to the big house i ever saw. ah jest couldn't git rid of that waffle 'cause my conscience whipped me so. "they taught me to do everything. ah'd use battlin' blocks and battlin' sticks to wash the clothes; we all did. the clothes wuz taken out of the water an put on the block and beat with a battlin' stick, which was made like a paddle. on wash days you could hear them battlin' sticks poundin' every which-away. we made our own soap, used ole meat and grease, and poured water over wood ashes which wuz kept in a rack-like thing and the water would drip through the ashes. this made strong lye. we used a lot 'o sich lye, too, to bile with. "sometimes the slaves would run away. their masters wuz mean to them that caused them to run away. sometimes they would live in caves. how did they get along? well, chile, they got along all right--what with other people slippin' things in to 'em. and, too, they'd steal hogs, chickens, and anything else they could git their hands on. some white people would help, too, fur there wuz some white people who didn't believe in slavery. yes, they'd try to find them slaves that run away and if they wuz found they'd be beat or sold to somebody else. my grandmother run away frum her master. she stayed in the woods and she washed her clothes in the branches. she used sand fur soap. yes, chile, i reckon they got 'long all right in the caves. they had babies in thar and raised 'em too. "ah stayed with the mitchells 'til miss hannah died. ah even helped to lay her out. ah didn't go to the graveyard though. ah didn't have a home after she died and ah wandered from place to place, stayin' with a white fambly this time and then a nigger fambly the next time. ah moved to jackson county and stayed with a mister frank dowdy. ah didn't stay there long though. then ah moved to winder, georgia. they called it 'jug tavern' in them days, 'cause jugs wuz made there. ah married green hinton in winder. got along well after marryin' him. he farmed fur a livin' and made a good livin' fur me and the eight chilluns, all born in winder. the chilluns wuz grown nearly when he died and wuz able to help me with the smalles ones. ah got along all right after his death and didn't have sich a hard time raisin' the chilluns. then ah married jim brown and moved to atlanta. jim farmed at first fur a livin' and then he worked on the railroad--the seaboard. he helped to grade the first railroad track for that line. he wuz a sand-dryer." aunt sally broke off her story here. "lord, honey, ah got sich a pain in mah stomach ah don't believe ah can go on. it's a gnawin' kind of pain. jest keeps me weak all over." naturally i suggested that we complete the story at another time. so i left, promisin' to return in a few days. a block from the house i stopped in a store to order some groceries for aunt sally. the proprietress, a jewish woman, spoke up when i gave the delivery address. she explained in broken english that she knew aunt sally. "i tink you vas very kind to do dis for aunt sally. she neets it. i often gif her son food. he's very old and feeble. he passed here yesterday and he look so wasted and hungry. his stomick look like it vas drawn in, you know. i gif him some fresh hocks. i know dey could not eat all of them in a day and i'm afrait it von't be goof [tr: goot? or good?] for dem today. i vas trained to help people in neet. it's pert of my religion. see, if ve sit on de stritcar and an olt person comes in and finds no seat, ve get up and gif him one. if ve see a person loaded vid bundles and he iss old and barely able to go, ve gif a hand. see, ve jews--you colored--but ve know no difference. anyvon neeting help, ve gif." a couple of days later i was back at aunt sally's. i had brought some groceries for the old woman. i knocked a long time on the front door, and, getting no answer, i picked my way through the rank growth of weeds and grass surrounding the house and went around to the back door. it opened into the kitchen, where aunt sally and her son were having breakfast. the room was small and dark and i could hardly see the couple, but aunt sally welcomed me. "lawd, honey, you come right on in. i tole john i heard somebody knockin' at the do'." "you been hearin' things all mornin'," john spoke up. he turned to me. "you must've been thinkin' about mamma just when we started eatin' breakfast because she asked me did i hear somebody call her. i tole her the lawd jesus is always a-callin' poor niggers, but she said it sounded like the lady's voice who was here the other day. well i didn't hear anything and i tole her she mus' be hearin' things." i'd put the bag of groceries on the table unobtrusively, but aunt sally wasn't one to let such gifts pass unnoticed. eagerly she tore the bag open and began pulling out the packages. "lawd bless you, chile, and he sho will bless you! i feels rich seein' what you brought me. jest look at this--lawdy mercy!--rolls, butter, milk, balogny...! oh, this balogny, jest looky there! you must a knowed what i wanted!" she was stuffing it in her mouth as she talked. "and these aigs...! honey, you knows god is goin' to bless you and let you live long. ah'se goin' to cook one at a time. and ah sho been wantin' some milk. ah'se gonna cook me a hoecake rat now." she went about putting the things in little cans and placing them on shelves or in the dilapidated little cupboard that stood in a corner. i sat down near the door and listened while she rambled on. "ah used to say young people didn't care bout ole folks but ah is takin' that back now. ah jest tole my son the other day that its turned round, the young folks thinks of the ole and tries to help 'em and the ole folks don't try to think of each other; some of them, they is too mean. ah can't understand it; ah jest know i heard you call me when ah started to eat, and tole my son so. had you been to the do' befo'?" she talked on not waiting for a reply. "ah sho did enjoy the victuals you sent day befo' yistidy. they send me surplus food frum the gove'nment but ah don't like what they send. the skim milk gripes me and ah don't like that yellow meal. a friend brought me some white meal t'other day. and that wheat cereal they send! ah eats it with water when ah don't have milk and ah don't like it but when you don't have nothin' else you got to eat what you have. they send me ¢ ever two weeks but that don't go very fur. ah ain't complainin' fur ah'm thankful fur what ah git. "they send a girl to help me around the house, too. she's frum the housekeepin' department. she's very nice to me. yes, she sho'ly is a sweet girl, and her foreman is sweet too. she comes in now 'n then to see me and see how the girl is gittin' along. she washes, too. ah's been on relief a long time. now when ah first got on it wuz when they first started givin' me. they give me plenty of anything ah asked fur and my visitor wuz mrs. tompkins. she wuz so good to me. well they stopped that and then the dpw (department of public welfare) took care of me. when they first started ah got more than i do now and they've cut me down 'till ah gits only a mighty little. "yes, ah wuz talkin' about my husband when you wuz here t'other day. he wuz killed on the railroad. after he moved here he bought this home. ah'se lived here twenty years. jim wuz comin' in the railroad yard one day and stepped off the little engine they used for the workers rat in the path of the l. & m. train. he wuz cut up and crushed to pieces. he didn't have a sign of a head. they used a rake to git up the pieces they did git. a man brought a few pieces out here in a bundle and ah wouldn't even look at them. ah got a little money frum the railroad but the lawyer got most of it. he brought me a few dollars out and tole me not to discuss it with anyone nor tell how much ah got. ah tried to git some of the men that worked with him to tell me just how it all happened, but they wouldn't talk, and it wuz scand'lous how them niggers held their peace and wouldn't tell me anything. the boss man came out later but he didn't seem intrusted in it at all, so ah got little or nothing fur his death. the lawyer got it fur hisse'f. "all my chilluns died 'cept my son and he is ole and sick and can't do nothin' fur me or hisse'f. he gets relief too, ¢ every two weeks. he goes 'round and people gives him a little t'eat. he has a hard time tryin' to git 'long. "ah had a double bed in t'other room and let a woman have it so she could git some of the delegates to the baptist world alliance and she wuz goin' to pay me fur lettin' her use the bed, but she didn't git anybody 'cept two. they come there on friday and left the next day. she wuz tole that they didn't act right 'bout the delegates and lots of people went to the expense to prepare fur them and didn't git a one. ah wuz sorry, for ah intended to use what she paid me fur my water bill. ah owes $ . and had to give my deeds to my house to a lady to pay the water bill fur me and it worries me 'cause ah ain't got no money to pay it, fur this is all ah got and ah hates to loose my house. ah wisht it wuz some way to pay it. ah ain't been able to do fur mahse'f in many years now, and has to depend on what others gives me. "tell you mo' about the ole times? lawd, honey, times has changed so frum when ah was young. you don't hear of haints as you did when i growed up. the lawd had to show his work in miracles 'cause we didn't have learnin' in them days as they has now. and you may not believe it but them things happened. ah knows a old man what died, and after his death he would come to our house where he always cut wood, and at night we could hear a chain bein' drug along in the yard, jest as if a big log-chain wuz bein' pulled by somebody. it would drag on up to the woodpile and stop, then we could hear the thump-thump of the ax on the wood. the woodpile was near the chimney and it would chop-chop on, then stop and we could hear the chain bein' drug back the way it come. this went on fur several nights until my father got tired and one night after he heard it so long, the chop-chop, papa got mad and hollered at the haint, 'g---- d---- you, go to hell!!!' and that spirit went off and never did come back! "we'd always know somebody wuz goin' to die when we heard a owl come to a house and start screechin'. we always said, 'somebody is gwine to die!' honey, you don't hear it now and it's good you don't fur it would skeer you to death nearly. it sounded so mo'nful like and we'd put the poker or the shovel in the fire and that always run him away; it burned his tongue out and he couldn't holler no more. if they'd let us go out lak we always wanted to, ah don't 'spects we'd a-done it, 'cause we wuz too skeered. lawdy, chile, them wuz tryin' days. ah sho is glad god let me live to see these 'uns. "ah tried to git the ole-age pension fur ah sho'ly needed it and wuz 'titled to it too. sho wuz. but that visitor jest wouldn't let me go through. she acted lak that money belonged to her. ah 'plied when it first come out and shoulda been one of the first to get one. ah worried powerful much at first fur ah felt how much better off ah'd be. ah wouldn't be so dependent lak ah'm is now. ah 'spects you know that 'oman. she is a big black 'oman--wuz named smith at first befo' she married. she is a johns now. she sho is a mean 'oman. she jest wouldn't do no way. ah even tole her if she let me go through and ah got my pension ah would give her some of the money ah got, but she jest didn't do no way. she tole me if ah wuz put on ah'd get no more than ah _wuz_ gittin'. ah sho believes them thats on gits more'n ¢ every two weeks. ah sho had a hard time and a roughety road to travel with her my visitor until they sent in the housekeeper. fur that head 'oman jest went rat out and got me some clothes. everything ah needed. when ah tole her how my visitor wuz doin' me she jest went out and come rat back with all the things ah needed. ah don't know why my visitor done me lak that. ah said at first it wuz because ah had this house but honey what could ah do with a house when ah wuz hongry and not able to work. ah always worked hard. 'course ah didn't git much fur it but ah lak to work fur what ah gits." aunt sally was beginning to repeat herself and i began to suspect she was talking just to please me. so i arose to go. "lawsy mercy, chile, you sho is sweet to set here and talk to a ole 'oman lak me. ah sho is glad you come. ah tole my son you wuz a bundle of sunshine and ah felt so much better the day you left--and heah you is again! chile, my nose wuzn't itchin' fur nothin'! you come back to see me real soon. ah'se always glad to have you. and the lawd's gonna sho go with you fur bein' so good to me." my awareness of the obvious fulsomeness in the old woman's praise in no way detracted from my feeling of having done a good deed. aunt sally was a clever psychologist and as i carefully picked my way up the weedy path toward the street, i felt indeed that the "lawd" was "sho goin'" with me. ex-slave interview julia bunch, age beech island south carolina written by: leila harris augusta edited by: john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project res. & [may ] seated in a comfortable chair in the living room of her home, julia bunch, negress of years, presented a picture of the old south that will soon pass away forever. the little -room house, approachable only on foot, was situated on top of a hill. around the clean-swept yard, petunias, verbena, and other flowers were supplemented by a large patch of old-fashioned ribbon grass. a little black and white kitten was frisking about and a big red hen lazily scratched under a big shade tree in search of food for her brood. julia's daughter, who was washing "white people's clothes" around the side of the house, invited us into the living room where her mother was seated. the floors of the front porch and the living room were scrubbed spotlessly clean. there was a rug on the floor, while a piano across one corner, a chifforobe with mirrored doors, a bureau, and several comfortable chairs completed the room's furnishings. a motley assortment of pictures adorning the walls included: _the virgin mother_, _the sacred bleeding heart_, several large family photographs, two pictures of the dionne quintuplets, and one of president roosevelt. julia was not very talkative, but had a shy, irresistible chuckle, and it was this, together with her personal appearance and the tidiness of her home that left an indelible impression on the minds of her visitors. her skin was very dark, and her head closely wrapped in a dark bandana, from which this gray hair peeped at intervals forming a frame for her face. she was clad in a black and white flowered print dress and a dark gray sweater, from which a white ruffle was apparent at the neck. only two buttons of the sweater were fastened and it fell away at the waist displaying her green striped apron. from beneath the long dress, her feet were visible encased in men's black shoes laced with white strings. her ornaments consisted of a ring on her third finger, earrings, and tortoise-rimmed glasses which plainly displayed their dime-store origin. "i b'longed to marse jackie dorn of edgefield county, i was gived to him and his wife when dey was married for a weddin' gift. i nussed deir three chilluns for 'em and slep' on a couch in dier bedroom 'til i was years old, den 'mancipation come. i loved 'em so and stayed wid 'em for four years atter freedom and when i left 'em i cried and dem chilluns cried. "yassir, dey was sho' good white people and very rich. dere warn't nothin' lackin' on dat plantation. de big house was part wood and part brick, and de niggers lived in one or two room box houses built in rows. marse jackie runned a big grist mill and done de grindin' for all de neighbors 'round 'bout. three or four niggers wukked in de mill all de time. us runned a big farm and dairy too. "dere was allus plenty t'eat 'cause marster had a -acre gyarden and a big fruit orchard. two cooks was in de kitchen all de time. dey cooked in a big fireplace, but us had big ovens to cook de meat, biscuits and lightbread in. us made 'lasses and syrup and put up fruits just lak dey does now. "my ma was head weaver. it tuk two or three days to set up de loom 'cause dere was so many little bitty threads to be threaded up. us had dyes of evvy color. yassir, us could make wool cloth too. de sheeps was sheered once a year and de wool was manufactured up and us had a loom wid wheels to spin it into thread. "old marster never whupped nobody and dere was only one man dat i kin 'member dat de overseer whupped much and he 'served it 'cause he would run away in spite of evvything. dey would tie him to a tree way down in de orchard and whup him." julia kept repeating and seemed anxious to impress upon the minds of her visitors that her white folks were good and very rich. "yassir, my white folks had lots of company and visited a lot. dey rode saddle horses and had deir own carriages wid a high seat for de driver. nosir, she didn't ride wid hoopskirts--you couldn't ride wid dem on. "us bought some shoes from de market but dere was a travelin' shoemaker dat wukked by days for all de folks. he was a slave and didn't git no money; it was paid to his marster. us had our own blacksmith dat wukked all de time. "de slaves from all de plantations 'round come to our corn shuckin's. us had 'em down in de orchard. lots of white folks comed too. dey kilt hogs and us had a big supper and den us danced. nosir, dere warn't no toddy, marse didn't b'lieve in dat, but dey would beat up apples and us drinked de juice. it sho' was sweet too. "folks done dey travelin' in stages and hacks in dem days. each of de stages had four hosses to 'em. when de cotton and all de other things was ready to go to market, dey would pack 'em and bring 'em to augusta wid mules and wagons. it would take a week and sometimes longer for de trip, and dey would come back loaded down wid 'visions and clothes, and dere was allus a plenty for all de niggers too. "de white folks allus helped deir niggers wid de weddin's and buyed deir clothes for 'em. i 'members once a man friend of mine come to ax could he marry one of our gals. marster axed him a right smart of questions and den he told him he could have her, but he mustn't knock or cuff her 'bout when he didn't want her no more, but to turn her loose. "us had a big cemetery on our place and de white folks allus let deir niggers come to de fun'rals. de white folks had deir own sep'rate buryin' ground, but all de coffins was home-made. even de ones for de settlement peoples was made right in our shop. yassum, dey sung at de fun'rals and you wants me to sing. i can't sing, but i'll try a little bit." then with a beautiful and peculiar rhythm only attained by the southern negro, she chanted: 'come-ye-dat-love-de-lord and-let-your-joys-be-known.' "a rooster crowin' outside your door means company's comin' and a squinch owl means sho' death. dose are all de signs i kin 'member and i don't 'member nothin' 'bout slavery remedies. "yassir, dey useter give us a nickel or cents sometimes so us could buy candy from de store." asked if she remembered patterollers she gave her sly chuckle and said: "i sho' does. one time dey come to our house to hunt for some strange niggers. dey didn't find 'em but i was so skeered i hid de whole time dey was dar. yassir, de ku kluxers raised cain 'round dar too. "i 'members de day well when marster told us us was free. i was glad and didn't know what i was glad 'bout. den 'bout yankee soldiers come and dey played music right dar by de roadside. dat was de fust drum and fife music i ever heared. lots of de niggers followed 'em on off wid just what dey had on. none of our niggers went and lots of 'em stayed right on atter freedom. "four years atter dat, i left edgefield and come here wid my old man. us had six chilluns. my old man died six years ago right dar 'cross de road and i'se livin' here wid my daughter. i can't wuk no more. i tried to hoe a little out dar in de field last year and i fell down and i hasn't tried no more since. "i went once not so long ago to see my white folkses. dey gived me a dollar to spend for myself and i went 'cross de street and buyed me some snuff--de fust i had had for a long time. dey wanted to know if i had ever got de old age pension and said dat if i had been close to dem i would have had it 'fore now." [hw: ex. slv. # ] [hw: marshal butler] subject: slavery days and after district: no. w.p.a. editor and research: joseph e. jaffee supervisor: joseph e. jaffee [hw: (this copy has photog. attached.)] slavery days and after i'se marshal butler, [hw: ] years old and was born on december . i knows it was christmas day for i was a gift to my folks. anyhow, i'se the only niggah that knows exactly how old he be. i disremembers the year but you white folks can figure et out. [illustration] my mammy was harriet butler and my pappy was john butler and we all was raised in washington-wilkes. mammy was a frank collar niggah and her man was of the tribe of ben butler, some miles down de road. et was one of dem trial marriages--they'se tried so hard to see each other but old ben butler says two passes a week war enuff to see my mammy on de collar plantation. when de war was completed pappy came home to us. we wuz a family of ten--four females called sally, liza, ellen and lottie and six strong bucks called charlie, elisha, marshal, jack, heywood and little johnnie, [tr: 'cuz he war' marked out] de baby. de collar plantation wuz big and i don't know de size of it. et must have been big for dere war [hw: ] niggahs aching to go to work--i guess they mus' have been aching after de work wuz done. marse frank bossed the place hisself--dere war no overseers. we raised cotton, corn, wheat and everything we un's et. dere war no market to bring de goods to. marse frank wuz like a foodal lord of back history as my good for nothing grandson would say--he is the one with book-larning from atlanta. waste of time filling up a nigger's head with dat trash--what that boy needs is muscle-ology--jes' look at my head and hands. my mammy was maid in de collar's home and she had many fine dresses--some of them were give to her by her missus. pappy war a field nigger for ole ben butler and i worked in the field when i wuz knee high to a grasshopper. we uns et our breakfast while et war dark and we trooped to the fields at sun-up, carrying our lunch wid us. nothing fancy but jes' good rib-sticking victuals. we come in from the fields at sun-down and dere were a good meal awaiting us in de slave quarters. my good master give out rations every second monday and all day monday wuz taken to separate the wheat from the chaff--that is--i mean the victuals had to be organized to be marched off to de proper depository. before we uns et we took care of our mules. i had a mule named george--i know my mule--he was a good mule. "yes, i hollow at the mule, and the mule would not gee, this mornin'. yes, i hollow at the mule, and the mule would not gee. an' i hit him across the head with the single-tree, so soon." yes, boss-man i remembers my mule. marse frank gave mammy four acres of ground to till for herself and us childrens. we raised cotton--yes-sah! one bale of it and lots of garden truck. our boss-man give us saturday as a holiday to work our four acres. all the niggers worked hard--de cotton pickers had to pick pounds of cotton a day and if a nigger didn't, marse frank would take de nigger to the barn and beat him with a switch. he would tell de nigger to hollow loud as he could and de nigger would do so. then the old mistress would come in and say! "what are you doing frank?" "beating a nigger" would be his answer. "you let him alone, he is my nigger" and both marse frank and de whipped nigger would come out of the barn. we all loved marse and the mistress. no, we wuz never whipped for stealing--we never stole anything in dose days--much. we sure froliked saturday nights. dat wuz our day to howl and we howled. our gals sure could dance and when we wuz thirsty we had lemonade and whiskey. no sah! we never mixed [hw: no] whiskey with [hw: no] water.--dem dat wanted lemonade got it--de gals all liked it. niggers never got drunk those days--we wuz scared of the "paddle-rollers." um-m-h and swell music. a fiddle and a tin can and one nigger would beat his hand on the can and another nigger would beat the strings on the [hw: fiddle] [tr: 'can' marked out.] with broom straws. it wuz almos' like a banjo. i remembers we sung "little liza jane" and "green grows the willow tree". de frolik broke up in de morning--about two o'clock--and we all scattered to which ever way we wuz going. we put on clean clothes on sunday and go to church. we went to de white church. us niggars sat on one side and de white folks sat on the other. we wuz baptized in de church--de "pool-room" wuz right in de church. if we went visiting we had to have a pass. if nigger went out without a pass de "paddle-rollers" would get him. de white folks were the "paddle-rollers" and had masks on their faces. they looked like niggers wid de devil in dere eyes. they used no paddles--nothing but straps--wid de belt buckle fastened on. yes sah! i got paddled. et happened dis way. i'se left home one thursday to see a gal on the palmer plantation--five miles away. some gal! no, i didn't get a pass--de boss was so busy! everything was fine until my return trip. i wuz two miles out an' three miles to go. there come de "paddle-rollers" i wuz not scared--only i couldn't move. they give me thirty licks--i ran the rest of the way home. there was belt buckles all over me. i ate my victuals off de porch railing. some gal! um-m-h. was worth that paddlin' to see that gal--would do it over again to see mary de next night. "o jane! love me lak you useter, o jane! chew me lak you useter, ev'y time i figger, my heart gits bigger, sorry, sorry, can't be yo' piper any mo". um-m-mh--some gal! we niggers were a healthy lot. if we wuz really sick marse frank would send for doctor fielding ficklin of washington. if jus' a small cold de nigger would go to de woods and git catnip and roots and sich things. if tummy ache--dere was de castor oil--de white folks say children cry for it--i done my cryin' afterwards. for sore throat dere was alum. everybody made their own soap--if hand was burned would use soap as a poultice and place it on hand. soap was made out of grease, potash and water and boiled in a big iron pot. if yo' cut your finger use kerozene wid a rag around it. turpentine was for sprains and bad cuts. for constipation use tea made from sheep droppings and if away from home de speed of de feet do not match de speed of this remedy. no, boss, i'se not superstitious and i'se believe in no signs. i jes' carry a rabbits' foot for luck. but i do believe the screeching of an owl is a sign of death. i found et to be true. i had an uncle named haywood. he stayed at my house and was sick for a month but wasn't so bad off. one night uncle had a relapse and dat same night a screech owl come along and sat on de top of de house and he--i mean the owl,--"whooed" three times and next morning uncle got "worser" and at eleven o'clock he died. i does believe in signs. when de rooster crows in the house it is sign of a stranger coming. if foot itches you is going to walk on strange land. if cow lows at house at night death will be 'round de house in short time. if sweeping out ashes at night dat is bad luck for you is sweeping out your best friend. remember, your closest friend is your worst enemy. if you want to go a courtin'--et would take a week or so to get your gal. sometimes some fool nigger would bring a gal a present--like "pulled-candy" and sich like. i had no time for sich foolishness. you would pop the question to boss man to see if he was willing for you to marry de gal. there was no minister or boss man to marry you--no limitations at all. boss man would jes say: "don't forget to bring me a little one or two for next year" de boss man would fix a cottage for two and dere you was established for life. "if you want to go a courtin', i sho' you where to go, right down yonder in de house below, clothes all dirty an' ain't got no broom, ole dirty clothes all hangin' in de room. ask'd me to table, thought i'd take a seat, first thing i saw was big chunk o'meat. big as my head, hard as a maul, ash-cake, corn bread, bran an' all." marse frank had plenty of visitors to see him and his three gals was excuse for anyone for miles around to come trompin' in. he enterained mostly on tuesday and thursday nights. i remembers them nights for what was left over from de feasts the niggers would eat. dr. fielding ficklen [tr: earlier, 'ficklin'], bill pope, judge reese,--general robert toombs and alexander stephens from crawfordville--all would come to marse franks' big house. general robert toombs lived in washington and had a big plantation 'bout a mile from de city. he was a farmer and very rich. de general wuz a big man--'bout six feet tall--heavy and had a full face. always had unlighted cigar in his mouth. he was the first man i saw who smoked ten cent cigars. niggers used to run to get "the stumps" and the lucky nigger who got the "stump" could even sell it for a dime to the other niggers for after all--wasn't it general toombs' cigar? the general never wore expensive clothes and always carried a crooked-handled walking stick. i'se never heard him say "niggah", never heard him cuss. he always helped us niggars--gave gave us nickles and dimes at times. alexander stephens wuz crippled. he was a little fellow--slim, dark hair and blue eyes. always used a rolling chair. marse frank would see him at least once a month. i'se saw a red cloud in de west in . i knew war was brewing. marse frank went to war. my uncle was his man and went to war with him--uncle brought him back after the battle at gettsburg--wounded. he died later. we all loved him. my mistress and her boys ran de plantation. the blue-coats came to our place in ' and . they took everythin' that was not red-hot or nailed down. the war made no changes--we did the same work and had plenty to eat. the war was now over. we didn't know we wuz free until a year later. i'se stayed on with marse frank's boys for twenty years. i'se did the same work fo $ to $ a year with rations thrown in. i lived so long because i tells no lies, i never spent more than fifty cents for a doctor in my life. i believe in whiskey and that kept me going. and let me tell you--i'se always going to be a nigger till i die. [hw: dist. ex. slave # ] an interview on slavery obtained from mrs. sarah byrd--ex-slave mrs. sarah byrd claims to be years of age but the first impression one receives when looking at her is that of an old lady who is very active and possessing a sweet clear voice. when she speaks you can easily understand every word and besides this, each thought is well expressed. often during the interview she would suddenly break out in a merry laugh as if her own thoughts amused her. mrs. sarah byrd was born in orange county virginia the youngest of three children. during the early part of her childhood her family lived in virginia her mother judy newman and father sam goodan each belonging to a different master. later on the family became separated the father was sold to a family in east tennessee and the mother and children were bought by doctor byrd in augusta, georgia. here mrs. byrd remarked "chile in them days so many families were broke up and some went one way and der others went t'other way; and you nebber seed them no more. virginia wuz a reg'lar slave market." dr. byrd owned a large plantation and raised such products as peas potatoes, cotton corn (etc). there were a large number of slaves. mrs. byrd was unable to give the exact number but remarked. "oh lordy chile i nebber could tell just how many slaves that man had t'wuz too many uv em." the size of the plantation required that the slaves be classified according to the kind of work each was supposed to do. there were the "cotton pickers", the "plow hands," the "hoe hands," the "rail splitters," etc. "my very fust job," remarked mrs. byrd, "wuz that uv cotton picking." mrs byrd's mother was a full [tr: field?] hand. houses on the byrd plantation were made of logs and the cracks were daubed with mud. the chimnies were made of mud and supported by sticks. each fireplace varied in length from to feet because they serve the purpose of stoves; and the family meals were prepared in those large fireplaces often two and three pots were suspended from a rod running across the fireplace. most of the log houses consisted of one room; however if the family was very large two rooms were built. the furnishings consisted only of a home-made table, benches, and a home-made bed, the mattress of which was formed by running ropes from side to side forming a framework. mattresses were made by filling a tick with wheatstraw. the straw was changed each season. laughing mrs. byrd remarked, "yessirree, them houses wuz warmer than some are ter day." doctor byrd was rather kind and tried to help his slaves as much as possible, but according to mrs. byrd his wife was very mean and often punished her slaves without any cause. she never gave them anything but the coarsest foods. although there of plenty of milk and butter, she only gave it to the families after it had soured. "many a day i have seed butter just sittin around in pans day after day till it got good and spoiled then she would call some uv us and give it ter us. oh she wuz a mean un," remarked mrs. byrd. continuing mrs. byrd remarked "she would give us bread that had been cooked a week." mr. byrd gave his slave families good clothes. twice a year clothing was distributed among his families. every june summer clothes were given and every october winter clothes were given. here mrs. byrd remarked "i nebber knowed what it wuz not ter have a good pair uv shoes." cloth for the dresses and shirts was spun on the plantation by the slaves. the treatment of the slaves is told in mrs. byrd's own words: "we wuz always treated nice by master byrd and he always tried ter save us punishment at the hands uv his wife but that 'oman wuz somethin' nother. i nebber will ferget once she sent me after some brush broom and told me ter hurry back. well plums wuz jest gitting ripe so i just took my time and et all the plums i wanted after that i come on back ter the house. when i got there she called me upstairs, 'sarah come here.' up the steps i went and thar she stood with that old cow hide. she struck me three licks and i lost my balance and tumbled backward down the stairs. i don't know how come i didn't hurt myself but the lord wuz wid me and i got up and flew. i could hear her just hollering 'come back here! come back here!' but i ant stop fer nothing. that night at supper while i wuz fanning the flies from the table she sed ter the doctor. 'doctor what you think? i had ter whip that little devil ter day. i sent her after brush broom and she went off and eat plums instead of hurrying back.' the doctor just looked at her and rolled his eyes but never sed a word. there wuz very little whipping on byrd's plantation, but i have gone ter bed many a night and heard 'em gittin whipped on the plantation next ter us. if dey runned away they would put the hounds on 'em." concluding her story on treatmeant mrs. byrd remarked "yessirree i could tell that 'oman wuz mean the first time i seed her after we came from virginia cause she had red eyes." "pader rollers" stayed busy all the time trying to find slaves off their plantations without passes. marriages were performed by having the couple jump the broom. if the [tr: 'couple' deleted, handwritten words above illegible] belonged to different masters oftentimes one master would purchase the other; but should neither wish to sell the man would then have to get passes to visit his wife on her plantation. "dey would leave the plantation on saturday afternoons and on sunday afternoon you could see 'em coming in just lak they wuz coming from church," remarked mrs. byrd. there were frolics on the byrd plantation any time that the slaves chose to have them. "yes sir we could frolic all we want ter. i use ter be so glad when saturday night came cause i knowed us wuz go have a frolic and i wouldn't have a bit 'uv appetite i would tell my ma we gwine dance ter night i dont want nothin teet. yes sir us would frolic all night long sometimes when the sun rise on sunday morning us would all be layin round or settin on the floor. they made music on the banjo, by knocking bones, and blowing quills." the byrds did not provide a church on their plantation for their slaves neither were they allowed to attend the white church; instead they had prayer meetings in their own cabins where they could sing pray and shout as much as they wished. "i nebber will fergit the last prayer meeting us had," remarked mrs. byrd. "two woman named ant patsy and ant prudence came over from the next plantation. i believed they slipped over there wid out gittin a pass. anyway, they old master came there and whipped 'em and made 'em go home. i reckin he thought us wuz praying ter git free." continuing-- i nebber will fergit the fust time i set eyes on them thar yankees. i done already heard 'bout how they wuz going round ter the different plantations taking the horses and carrying away the money and other valuable things, but they had nebber come ter our place. so this day i saw 'em coming cross the railroad track and they look jest lack thunder there wuz so meny 'uv em. when they got ter our house every body wuz sleep and they knocked and knocked. we had a bad dog that didn't take no foolishness off nobody, so when he kept barking them yankees cursed him and do you know he heshed up? i sid, 'dear lord what sort of man is that all he got ter do is curse that dog and he don't even growl.' well, when they finally got in all they wanted wuz ter know if mr. byrd could help feed the soldiers until monday. mr. byrd told 'em he would. soon after that the war ended and we wuz called ter gether and told us wuz free. some uv'em stayed there and some uv'em left. us left and moved ter another plantation." mrs. byrd who had previously given the writer an interview on folk-lore asked the writer to return at a later date and she would try to think up more information concerning superstitions, conjure, etc. the writer thanked her for the interview and promised to make another visit soon. ex-slave # interview with (mrs.) mariah callaway ex-slave [tr: a significant portion of this interview was repeated in typescript; where there was a discrepancy, the clearer version was used. where a completely different word was substituted, 'the original' refers to the typewritten page.] mrs. mariah callaway sat in a chair opposite the writer and told her freely of the incidents of slavery as she remembered them. to a casual observer it will come as a surprise to know the woman was blind. she is quite old, but her thoughts were clearly and intelligently related to the writer. mrs. callaway was born in washington, wilkes county, georgia probably during the year , as she estimated her age to be around or years when freedom was declared. she does not remember her mother and father, as her mother died the second day after she was born, so the job of rearing her and a small brother fell on her grandmother, mariah willis, for whom she was named. mrs. callaway stated that the old master, jim willis, kept every negro's age in a bible: but after he died the bible was placed upstairs in the gallery and most of the pages were destroyed. the following is a story of the purchase of mrs. callaway's grandfather as related by her. "my grandfather come directly from africa and i never shall forget the story he told us of how he and other natives were fooled on board a ship by the white slave traders using red handkerchiefs as enticement. when they reached america, droves of them were put on the block and sold to people all over the united states. the master and mistress of their plantation were mr. jim willis and mrs. nancy willis who owned hundreds of acres of land and a large number of slaves. mrs. callaway was unable to give an exact number but stated the willises were considered wealthy people. on their plantation were raised sheep, goats, mules, horses, cows, etc. cotton, corn and vegetables were also raised. the willis family was a large one consisting of six children. boys and girls. their home was a large two-story frame house which was set apart from the slave quarters. slave homes on the willis plantation differed in no respect from the usual type found elsewhere. all homes were simple log cabins grouped together, forming what is known as slave quarters. the willis family as kind and religious and saw to it that their slaves were given plenty of food to eat. every monday night each family was given its share of food for the week. each grown person was given a peck of corn [tr: meal on original page] and three pounds of meat; besides the vegetables, etc. on tuesday morning each family was given an ample amount of real flour for biscuits. many of the slave families, especially mrs. callaway's family, were given the privilege of earning money by selling different products. "my grandfather owned a cotton patch," remarked mrs. callaway, "and the master would loan him a mule so he could plow it at night. two boys would each hold a light for him to work by. he preferred working at night to working on his holidays. my master had a friend in augusta, ga., by the name of steve heard and just before my grandfather got ready to sell his cotton, the master would write mr. heard and tell him that he was sending cotton by sam and wanted his sold and a receipt returned to him. he also advised him to give all the money received to sam. when grandfather returned he would be loaded down with sugar, cheese, tea, mackerel, etc. for his family." when the women came home from the fields they had to spin cuts, so many before supper and so many after supper. a group of women were then selected to weave the cuts of thread into cloth. dyes were made from red shoe berries and later used to dye this cloth different colors. all slaves received clothing twice a year, spring and winter. mr. jim willis was known for his kindness to his slaves and saw to it that they were kept supplied with sunday clothes and shoes as well as work clothing. a colored shoemaker was required to keep the plantation supplied with shoes; and everyone was given a pair of sunday shoes which they kept shined with a mixture of egg white and soot. the size of the willis plantation and the various crops and cattle raised required many different types of work. there were the plow hands, the hoe hands, etc. each worker had a required amount of work to complete each day and an overseer was hired by slave owners to keep check on this phase of the work. "we often waited until the overseer got behind a hill, and then we would lay down our hoe and call on god to free us, my grandfather told me," remarked mrs. callaway. "however, i was a pet in the willis household and did not have any work to do except play with the small children. i was required to keep their hands and faces clean. sometimes i brought in chips to make the fires. we often kept so much noise playing in the upstairs bedroom that the master would call to us and ask that we keep quiet." older women on the plantation acted as nurses for all the small children and babies while their parents worked in the fields. the mistress would keep a sharp eye on the children also to see that they were well cared for. a slave's life was very valuable to their owners. punishment was seldom necessary on the willis plantation as the master and mistress did everything possible to make their slaves happy; and to a certain extent indulged them. they were given whisky liberally from their master's still; and other choice food on special occasions. "i remember once," remarked mrs. callaway, "my aunt rachel burned the biscuits and the young master said to her, "rachel, you nursed me and i promised not to ever whip you, so don't worry about burning the bread." my mistress was very fond of me, too, and gave me some of everything that she gave her own children, tea cakes, apples, etc. she often told me that she was my mother and was supposed to look after me. in spite of the kindness of the willis family there were some slaves who were unruly; so the master built a house off to itself and called it the willis jail. here he would keep those whom he had to punish. i have known some slaves to run away on other plantations and the hounds would bite plugs out of their legs." the willis family did not object to girls and boys courting. there were large trees, and often in the evenings the boys from other plantations would come over to see the girls on the willis plantation. they would stand in groups around the trees, laughing and talking. if the courtship reached the point of marriage a real marriage ceremony was performed from the bible and the man was given a pass to visit his wife weekly. following a marriage a frolic took place and the mistress saw to it that everyone was served nice foods for the occasion. frolics were common occurrences on the willis plantation, also quilting parties. good foods consisting of pies, cakes, chicken, brandied peaches, etc. "dancing was always to be expected by anyone attending them," remarked mrs. callaway. "our master always kept two to three hundred gallons of whisky and didn't mind his slaves drinking. i can remember my master taking his sweetened dram every morning, and often he gave me some in a tumbler. on christmas day big dinners were given for all of the slaves and a few ate from the family's table after they had finished their dinner." medical care was promptly given a slave when he became ill. special care was always given them for the willis family had a personal interest in their slaves. "on one occasion," remarked mrs. calloway, "the scarlet fever broke out among the slaves and to protect the well ones it became necessary to build houses in a field for those who were sick. this little settlement later became know as "shant field." food was carried to a hill and left so that the sick persons could get it without coming in contact with the others. to kill the fever, sticks of fat pine were dipped in tar and set on fire and then placed all over the field." religion played as important part in the lives of the slaves, and such [tr: much?] importance was attached to their prayer meetings. there were no churches, provided and occasionally they attended the white churches; but more often they held their prayer meetings in their own cabins. prayers and singing was in a moaning fashion, and you often heard this and nothing more. on sunday afternoons everyone found a seat around the mulberry tree and the young mistress would conduct sunday school. concerning the civil war, mrs. callaway related the following story: "when the war broke out my mistress' home became a sewing center and deifferent women in the neighborhood would come there every day to make clothes for the soldiers. on each bed was placed the vests, coats, shirts, pants, and caps. one group did all the cutting, one the stitching, and one the fitting. many women cried while they served [tr: sewed?] heart-broken because their husbands and sons had to go to the war. one day the yanks came to our plantation and took all of the best horses. in one of their wagons were bales of money which they had taken. money then was blue in color; of course, there was silver and gold. after taking the horses they drank as much whisky as they could hold and then filled their canteens. the rest of the whisky they filled with spit. the master didn't interfere for fear of the long guns which they carried." after the war some of the slaves left the plantation to seek their fortune; others remained, renting land from the willis family or working with them on a share crop basis. as a conclusion mrs. callaway remarked: "my folks were good and i know [hw: they're] in heaven." mrs. callaway is deeply religious and all during the interview would constantly drift to the subject of religion. she is well cared for by her nine children, six girls and three boys. plantation life as viewed by ex-slave susan castle, age w. hancock ave. athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project augusta, georgia on a beautiful morning in april, the interviewer found susan sitting in the door of her cabin. when asked if she would like to talk about the old plantation days, she replied; "yes ma'am, i don't mind tellin' what i know, but for dat i done forgot i sho' ain't gwine make nothin' up. for one thing, i ain't never lived on no plantation. i was a house servant in town." she added: "do you mind me axin' you one favor?" consent was given and she continued: "dat is, please don't call me aunt susan; it makes me feel lak i was a hundred years old. "i was borned in clarke county, march , ; i believes dat's what dey say. mudder was named fannie and pappy's name was willis. us chillun called 'im pappy lak he was de onliest one in de world. he fust belonged to marse maxwell of savannah, georgia. i was so little i disremembers how pappy come by de name of castle. in all de seben of us chillun, i didn't have but one brudder, and his name was johnny. my five sisters was mary, louvenia, rosa, fannie, and sarah. all i 'members 'bout us as chilluns was dat us played lak chilluns will do. "in de quarters us had old timey beds and cheers, but i'll tell you whar i slept most times. hit was on a cot right at de foot of mist'ess' bed. i stayed at de big house most of de time at night, and 'fore bedtime i sot close by mist'ess on a foot stool she had special for me. "all i ricollects 'bout my gran'ma was she belonged to general thomas r.r. cobb, and us called 'im marse thomas. gran'ma susan wouldn't do right so marse thomas sold her on de block. "us had evvything good to eat. marse thomas was a rich man and fed 'is niggers well. dey cooked in a big open fireplace and biled greens and some of de udder vittals in a great big pot what swung on a rack. meat, fish and chickens was fried in a griddle iron what was sot on a flat topped trivet wid slits to let de fire thoo. dey called it a trivet 'cause it sot on three legs and hot coals was raked up under it. hoe cakes made out of cornmeal and wheat flour sho' was good cooked on dat griddle. 'tatoes was roasted in de ashes, and dey cooked bread what dey called ash cake in de ashes. pound cake, fruit cake, light bread and biscuits was baked in a great big round pot, only dey warn't as deep as de pots dey biled in; dese was called ovens. makes me hongry to think 'bout all dem good vittals now. "oh! yes ma'am, us had plenty 'possums. pappy used to cotch so many sometimes he jest put 'em in a box and let us eat 'em when us got ready. 'possums tasted better atter dey was put up in a box and fattened a while. us didn't have many rabbits; dey warn't as much in style den as dey is now, and de style of eatin' 'possums lak dey done in slav'ry times, dat is 'bout over. dey eats 'em some yet, but it ain't stylish no mo'. us chillun used to go fishin' in moore's branch; one would stand on one side of de branch wid a stick, and one on de udder side would roust de fishes out. when dey come to de top and jump up, us would hit 'em on de head, and de grown folks would cook 'em. dere warn't but one gyarden, but dat had plenty in it for evvybody. "in summer time us wore checkedy dresses made wid low waistes and gethered skirts, but in winter de dresses was made out of linsey-woolsey cloth and underclothes was made out of coarse unbleached cloth. petticoats had bodice tops and de draw's was made wid waistes too. us chillun didn't know when sunday come. our clothes warn't no diffu'nt den from no udder day. us wore coarse, heavy shoes in winter, but in summer us went splatter bar feets. "marse thomas was jest as good as he could be, what us knowed of 'im. miss marion, my mist'ess, she won't as good to us as marse thomas, but she was all right too. dey had a heap of chillun. deir twin boys died, and de gals was miss callie, miss sallie, miss marion (dey called her miss birdie), and miss lucy, dat lucy cobb institute was named for. my mudder was miss lucy's nuss. marse thomas had a big fine melonial (colonial) house on prince avenue wid slave quarters in de back yard of his -acre lot. he owned 'most nigh dat whole block 'long dar. "oh! dey had 'bout a hundred slaves i'm sho', for dere was a heap of 'em. de overseer got 'em up 'bout five o'clock in de mornin' and dat breakfust sho' had better be ready by seben or else somebody gwine to have to pay for it. dey went to deir cabins 'bout ten at night. marse was good, but he would whup us if we didn't do right. miss marion was allus findin' fault wid some of us. "jesse was de car'iage driver. car'iages was called phaetons den. dey had high seats up in front whar de driver sot, and de white folks sot in de car'iage below. jesse went to de war wid marse thomas, and was wid him when he was kilt at fred'ricksburg, virginia. i heard 'em sey one of his men shot 'im by mistake, but i don't know if dat's de trufe or not. i do know dey sho' had a big grand fun'al 'cause he was a big man and a general in de war. "some of de slaves on marse thomas' place knowed how to read. aunt vic was one of de readers what read de bible. but most of de niggers didn't have sense enough to learn so dey didn't bother wid 'em. dey had a church way downtown for de slaves. it was called landon's chapel for rev. landon, a white man what preached dar. us went to sunday school too. aunt vic read de bible sometimes den. when us jined de chu'ch dey sung: 'amazing grace how sweet de sound.' "marse thomas had lots of slaves to die, and dey was buried in de colored folks cemetery what was on de river back of de lucas place. i used to know what dey sung at fun'als way back yonder, but i can't bring it to mind now. "no ma'am, none of marse thomas' niggers ever run away to de nawth. he was good to his niggers. seems lak to me i 'members dem patterollers run some of marse thomas' niggers down and whupped 'em and put 'em in jail. old marse had to git 'em out when dey didn't show up at roll call next mornin'. "marse thomas allus put a man or de overseer on a hoss or a mule when he wanted to send news anywhar. he was a big man and had too many slaves to do anything hisse'f. "i 'spect dey done den lak dey does now, slipped 'round and got in devilment atter de day's wuk was done. marse thomas was allus havin' swell elegant doin's at de big house. de slaves what was house servants didn't have no time off only atter dinner on sundays. "christmas was somepin' else. us sho' had a good time den. dey give de chilluns china dolls and dey sont great sacks of apples, oranges, candy, cake, and evvything good out to de quarters. at night endurin' christmas us had parties, and dere was allus some nigger ready to pick de banjo. marse thomas allus give de slaves a little toddy too, but when dey was havin' deir fun if dey got too loud he sho' would call 'em down. i was allus glad to see christmas come. on new year's day, de general had big dinners and invited all de high-falutin' rich folks. "my mudder went to de corn shuckin's off on de plantations, but i was too little to go. yes ma'am, us sho' did dance and sing funny songs way back in dem days. us chillun used to play 'miss mary jane,' and us would pat our hands and walk on broom grass. i don't know nothin' 'bout charms. dey used to tell de chillun dat when old folks died dey turned to witches. i ain't never seed no ghostes, but i sho' has felt 'em. dey made de rabbits jump over my grave and had me feelin' right cold and clammy. mudder used to sing to miss lucy to git her to sleep, but i don't 'member de songs. "marster was mighty good to his slaves when dey got sick. he allus sont for dr. crawford long. he was de doctor for de white folks and marster had him for de slaves. "my mudder said she prayed to de lord not to let niggers be slaves all deir lifes and sho' 'nough de yankees comed and freed us. some of de slaves shouted and hollered for joy when miss marion called us togedder and said us was free and warn't slaves no more. most of 'em went right out and left 'er and hired out to make money for deyselfs. "i stayed on wid my mudder and she stayed on wid miss marion. miss marion give her a home on hull street 'cause mudder was allus faithful and didn't never leave her. atter miss marion died, mudder wukked for miss marion's daughter, miss callie hull, in atlanta. den miss callie died and mudder come on back to athens. 'bout ten years ago she died. "i wukked for mrs. burns on jackson street a long time, but she warn't no rich lady lak de cobbs. de last fambly i wukked for was dr. hill. i nussed 'til atter de chillun got too big for dat, and den i done de washin' 'til dis misery got in my limbs." when asked about marriage customs, she laughed and replied: "i was engaged, but i didn't marry though, 'cause my mudder 'posed me marryin'. i had done got my clothes bought and ready. mrs. hull helped me fix my things. my dress was a gray silk what had pearl beads on it and was trimmed in purple. "what does i think 'bout freedom? i think it's best to be free, 'cause you can do pretty well as you please. but in slav'ry time if de niggers had a-behaved and minded deir marster and mist'ess dey wouldn't have had sich a hard time. mr. jeff davis 'posed freedom, but mr. abraham lincoln freed us, and he was all right. booker washin'ton was a great man, and done all he knowed how to make somepin' out of his race. "de reason i jined de church was dat de lord converted me. he is our guide. i think people ought to be 'ligious and do good and let deir lights shine 'cause dat's de safest way to go to heben." at the conclusion of the interview susan asked: "is dat all you gwine to ax me? well, i sho' enjoyed talkin' to you. i hopes i didn't talk loud 'nough for dem other niggers to hear me, 'cause if you open your mouth dey sho' gwine tell it. yes ma'am, i'se too old to wuk now and i'se thankful for de old age pension. if it warn't for dat, since dis misery tuk up wid me, i would be done burnt up, i sho' would. good-bye mist'ess." [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] ellen claibourn campbell street (richmond county) augusta, georgia by: (mrs.) margaret johnson--editor federal writers' project dist. augusta, ga. ellen was born august , , on the plantation of mr. hezie boyd in columbia county, her father being owned by mr. hamilton on an adjoining plantation. she remembers being given, at the age of seven, to her young mistress, elizabeth, who afterward was married to mr. gabe hendricks. at her new home she served as maid, and later as nurse. the dignity of her position as house servant has clung to her through the years, forming her speech in a precision unusual in her race. "i 'member all our young marsters was drillin' way back in , an' the confed'rate war did not break out till in april . my mistis' young husband went to the war, an' all the other young marsters 'round us. young marster's bes' friend came to tell us all goodby, an' he was killed in the first battle he fought in. "befo' the war, when we was little, we mostly played dolls, and had doll houses, but sometime young marster would come out on the back porch and play the fiddle for us. when he played 'ole dan tucker' all the peoples uster skip and dance 'bout and have a good time. my young mistis played on the piano. "my granpa was so trusty and hon'able his old marster give him and granma they freedom when he died. he give him a little piece of land and a mule, and some money, and tole him he didn't b'long to nobody, and couldn't work for nobody 'cept for pay. he couldn't free granpa's chilrun, 'cause they already b'longed to their young marsters and mistises. he worked for mr. hezie boyd one year as overseer, but he say he didn't wanter lose his religion trying to make slaves work, so he took to preaching. he rode 'bout on his mule and preach at all the plantations. i never 'member seein' granma, but granpa came to see us of'en. he wore a long tail coat and a _big_ beaver hat. in that hat granma had always pack a pile of ginger cakes for us chilrun. they was big an' thick, an' longish, an' we all stood 'round to watch him take off his hat. every time he came to see us, granma sent us clothes and granpa carried 'em in his saddle bags. you ever see any saddle bags, ma'am? well they could sho' hold a heap of stuff! "my pa uster come two or three times a week to our plantashun, an' just so he was back by sun-up for work, nobody didn't say nothin' to him. he just lived 'bout three or four miles way from us. "yes ma'am we went to church, and the white preachers preached for us. we sat in the back of the church just like we sits in the back of the street cars now-days. some of the house servants would go one time and some another. all the hands could go but ev'rybody had to has a pass, to sho' who they b'long to. "yes ma'am, the slaves was whipped if they didn't do they taskwork, or if they steal off without a pass, but if our marster found a overseer whipped the slaves overmuch he would git rid of him. we was always treated good and kind and well cared for, and we was happy. "no ma'am, no overseer ever went to marster's table, or in the house 'cept to speak to marster. marster had his overseers' house and give 'em slaves to cook for 'em and wait on 'em, but they never go anywhere with the fam'ly. "the house servants' houses was better than the fiel'-hands'--and marster uster buy us cloth from the 'gusta fact'ry in checks and plaids for our dresses, but all the fiel'-hands clothes was made out of cloth what was wove on mistis' own loom. sometime the po' white folks in the neighborhood would come an' ask to make they cloth on mistis' loom, and she always let 'em. "yes, ma'am, we had seamsters to make all the clothes for everybody, and mistis had a press-room, where all the clothes was put away when they was finished. when any body needed clothes mistis would go to the press-room an' get 'em. "during the war mistis had one room all fixed up to take care of sick soldiers. they would come stragglin' in, all sick or shot, an' sometimes we had a room full of 'em. mistis had one young boy to do nothin' but look after 'em and many's the night i got up and helt the candle for 'em to see the way to the room. "oh my gawd, i saw plenty wounded soldiers. we was right on the road to brightsboro, and plenty of 'em pass by. that confed'rate war was the terriblest, awfullest thing. "nobody but me knowed where mistis buried her gold money and finger rings and ear-rings and breat-pins. [tr: breast-pins?] i helt the candle then, too. mistis and marster, (he was home then) an' me went down back of the grape arbor to the garden-house. marster took up some planks, an' dug a hole like a grabe and buried a big iron box with all them things in it; then he put back the planks. nobody ever found 'em, and after the war was over we went and got 'em. "yes, ma'am, everybody did they own work. de cook cooked, and the washer, she didn't iron no clothes. de ironer did that. de housemaid cleaned up, and nurse tended the chilrun. then they was butlers and coachmen. oh, they was a plenty of us to do eve'ything. "we didn't have a stove, just a big fire place, and big oven on both sides, and long-handle spiders. when we was fixin' up to go to camp meeting to the white oak camp meeting grounds, they cooked chickens and roasted pigs, and put apples in they mouth and a lot of other food--good food too. de food peoples eat these days, you couldn't have got _nobody_ to eat. camp meetin' was always in august and september. it was a good methodis' meetin', and eve'ybody got religion. sometimes a preacher would come to visit at the house, an' all the slaves was called an' he prayed for 'em. sometimes the young ones would laugh, an' then marster would have 'em whipped. "my young mistis had a sister older than her. she married mr. artie boyd, an' they had a big weddin' but she loved her home and her mother and father so much she wouldn't leave home. she just stayed on living there. when her baby come she died, and i tell you, ma'am, her fun'al was most like a weddin', with so many people an' so many flowers. all the people from the plantashun came to the house, an' the wimmen had they babies in they arms. one the ladies say, "how come they let all these niggers and babies come in the house?" but marster knowed all us loved mistis, and he call us in. marse artie he wrote a long letter an' all the things he got from mistis he give back to her fam'ly an' all his own things he give to his brother, an' then he died. some say his heart strings just broke 'cause mistis died, and some say he took something. "no, ma'am, i wasn't married till after freedom. i was married right here in 'gusta by mr. wharton, the first baptist church preacher, an' i lived and worked here ever since." [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] adella s. dixon district berry clay old slave story [may ] telfair county was the home of some colored people who never were slaves, but hired their services for wages just as the race does today. berry clay, half indian, half white, was the son of fitema bob britt, a full blood indian, who died shortly after his son's birth. his mother later married william clay, whose name was taken by the children as well as the mother. the family then moved to macon. clay, next [tr: 'to the' scratched out] oldest of five children was years old on august , , and while he was never a slave, remembers many incidents that took place then. not many years after his mother remarried, she became very ill and he recalls being lifted by his step-father to kiss her good bye as she lay dying. after her death, the family continued to live in south macon where the father was employed as overseer for a crew at the railroad yard. this position often called for the punishment of slaves but he was too loyal to his color to assist in making their lives more unhappy. his method of carrying out orders and yet keeping a clear conscience was unique--the slave was taken to the woods where he was supposedly laid upon a log and severely beaten. actually, he was made to stand to one side and to emit loud cries which were accompanied by hard blows on the log. the continuation of the two sounds gave any listener the impression that some one was severely beaten. it is said that clay, the father, wore out several huge leather straps upon logs but that he was never known to strike a slave. mr. wadley, by whom he was employed, was a well-known macon citizen who served as president of the central of georgia railroad for many years. a monument on mulberry street nearly opposite the post office is a constant reminder of the esteem in which he was held. his plantation was a huge one extending from the railroad yard as far as the present site of mercer university. a day of rest was given the slaves about once every three months in addition to the regular holidays which are observed today. on holidays, "frolics" at which square dances were the chief form of entertainment (by the music of a banjo or fiddle) were enjoyed. ring games were played by the children. the refreshments usually consisted of ash cakes and barbecue. the ash cake was made by wrapping corn pones in oak leaves and burying the whole in hot ashes. when the leaves dried, the cake was usually done and was carefully moved to prevent its becoming soiled. [hw: a] skillful cook could produce cakes that were a golden brown and not at all ashy. the membership of the local church was composed of slaves from several plantations. it was an old colored church with a white minister who preached the usual doctrine of the duty of a slave to his master. the form of service was the same as that of the white church. one unusual feature of the plantation was its sunday school for the negro children. courtships were very brief for as soon as a man or woman began to manifest interest in the opposite sex, the master busied himself to select a wife or husband and only in rare cases was the desire of the individual considered. when the selection was made, the master read the ceremony and gave the couple a home. he always requested, or rather demanded, that they be fruitful. a barren woman was separated from her husband and usually sold. very little money was handled by these people. the carriage drivers were more fortunate than the regular workers for they smuggled things to town when they drove the master and mistress and sold them while the family shopped or went visiting. at rare intervals, the field hands were able to earn small sums of money in this manner. food was provided by the owners and all families cooked for themselves whether they were many or one. the weekly allotments of meal, meat, etc., were supplemented through the use of vegetables which could always be obtained from the fields. on special days chicken or beef was given and each one had a sufficient amount for his needs. hunting and fishing were recreations in which the slaves were not allowed to participate although they frequently went on secret excursions of this nature. all food stuff as well as cloth for garments was produced at home. clay is very superstitious, still believing in most of the signs commonly believed in those days, because he has "watched them and found that they are true". he stated that the screeching of the owl may be stopped by placing a poker in the fire and allowing it to remain until it becomes red hot. the owl will then leave, but death will invariably follow its visit. the attitudes of the two races in the south regarding the war were directly opposite. the whites beheld it as something horrible and dreaded the losses that would necessarily be theirs. sons and fathers had property to be considered, but they were generous in their contributions to the soldiers. on the other hand, the slaves rejoiced as they looked forward to their freedom when the war was over. there were, however, a few who were devoted to their masters to the extent that they fought in their stead in the confederate army. others remained at home and skillfully ran the plantation and protected the women and children until the end of the war. when sherman made his famous "march to sea", one phalanx of his army wrought its destruction between this city and griswoldville. a gun factory and government shoe factory were completely destroyed. although the citizens gave the invaders everything they thought they desired, the rest was destroyed in most instances. they tried to ascertain the attitudes of the land owners toward his servants and when for any reason they presumed that one was cruel, their vengeance was expressed through the absolute destruction of his property. in nearly every instance smoke houses were raided and the contents either destroyed or given away. barrels of syrup flowing through the yard was a common sight. at the end of the war, the south was placed under military rule. the presence of the yankee guardsmen had a psychological effect upon the southerners and they were very humble. before the terrors of the war had subsided a new menace sprang up--the klu klux klan. while its energy was usually directed against ex-slaves, a white man was sometimes a victim. one such occasion was recalled by clay. the group planned to visit a man who for some reason became suspicious and prepared to outwit them if they came. he heated a huge pot of water and when a part of his door was crashed in he reached through the opening and poured gourds of boiling water upon his assailants. they retreated, [hw: and] while they were away, he made his way to atlanta. another group which began its operations shortly after the close of the war was a military clan organized for the purpose of giving the ex-slaves a knowledge of drilling and war tactics. an order to disband was received from the "black horse calvary" by the leader of the group. his life was threatened when he failed to obey so he prepared for a surprise visit. he fortified his house with twenty-five men on the inside and the same number outside. when the approaching calvarymen reached a certain point, the fifty hidden men fired at the same time. seven members of the band were killed and many others wounded. there was no further interference from this group. clay and his father ran a grocery store just after emancipation. he did not like this type of work and apprenticed himself to a painter to learn the trade. he is still considered an excellent painter though he does not receive much work. he has always taken care of himself and never "ran about" at night. he boasts that his associates never included a dancing woman. as he has used tobacco for sixty-five years, he does not consider it a menace to health but states that worry will kill anyone and the man who wants to live a long time must form the habit of not worrying. his indian blood--the high cheek bones, red skin and straight black hair now tinged with grey make this unmistakable--has probably played a large part in the length of his life. [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] adella s. dixon district pierce cody old slave story [hw: about ] [may ] pierce cody was the eldest son of elbert and dorothy cody. his father was born in richmond, virginia, his mother in warren county. when the emancipation proclamation was signed, he, the eldest child in a large family, was in his early teens. this group lived on the place owned by mr. bob cody, [hw: whose] family was a group of ardent believers in the hardshell baptist faith. so firm was their faith that a church of this denomination was provided for the slaves and each one required to become a member. a white minister invariably preached the then worn out doctrine of a slave's duty to his master, the reward of faithfulness and the usual admonition against stealing. the members of this church were required to fast on one day of the week, the fast lasting all day until seven in the evening. the small boys, both white and colored, resenting the abstinence from food, usually secured a reserve supply which was cached during the week and secretly enjoyed on fast day. fish were plentiful in all the streams and they sometimes sneaked away to the river and after enjoying the sport, cooked their catch on the banks of the stream. groups of ministers-- to --then traveled from one plantation to another spreading the gospel, and were entertained as they traveled. on one occasion the group arrived at the cody estate on fast day. the boys having been on one of their secret fishing trips had caught so many perch that they were not able to consume them on the banks, so had smuggled them to the kitchen, coaxed the cook to promise to prepare them, and had also sworn her to absolute secrecy regarding their origin. although the kitchen was not directly connected with the "big house", the guests soon detected the aroma of fresh fish and requested that they be allowed to partake of this delicacy. when the boys, as well as the servants, heard this, they became panicky for they feared the wrath of the master. but the catch was so heartily relished that instead of the expected punishment, they were commended and allowed to fish on the next day of fasting. as was characteristic of many others, the planter's home was near the center of a vast estate and in this instance had a tall lookout on the roof from which the watchman might see for miles around. the "quarters" were nearby and the care-free children who played in the large yard were closely watched as they were often stolen by speculators and later sold at auctions far away. the land was divided into many fields each of which was used to cultivate a particular product. each field had its special crew and overseer. cody's father was [hw: one of the] feeders [hw: who] arose at least two hours before sunrise, to feed the stock. a large number of horses and more than two hundred head of cattle had to be fed by sunrise when they were to be turned into the pastures or driven to the field to begin the day's work. after sunrise, his father's duty [hw: as] foreman for plowers began. other workers were hoe hands, additional foremen, cooks, weavers, spinners, seamstresses, tailors, shoemakers, etc. as everything used was grown and made on the estate there was plenty of work for all and in many instances [hw: slaves] learned trades which they liked and which furnished a livelihood when they were set free. [hw: when he entered his teens] cody's first duties began [hw: as] a plowhand who broke "newground." as all of this land was to be plowed, a lack of skill in making straight furrows did not matter, so beginners were preferably used. shortly after he began plowing he was made foreman of one of the groups. thus encouraged by his master's faith in his ability to do a man's work, he assumed a "grown up" attitude under the stimulus of his new responsibilities and was married shortly after. at this time marriages resulted from brief courtships. after the consent of the girl was obtained, it was necessary to seek permission from the master, whether she lived on the same or an adjoining plantation. in the latter case, the marriage rites were performed by her master. the minister was not used in most instances--the ceremony [hw: being] read from a testament by the owner of the bride. marriages were nearly always performed out of doors in the late afternoon. the bride's wedding dress was fashioned of cloth made on the plantation from a pattern of her own designing. attendants at marriages were rare. after the ceremony, the guests danced far into the night by music from the fiddle and banjo. refreshments consisting of ginger cakes, barbecue, etc., were served. such a couple, belonging to two different masters, did not keep house. the [hw: husband] was allowed to visit his wife on wednesday night and saturday when he might remain through sunday. all marriage unions were permanent and a barren wife was considered the only real cause for separation. church services for this group were held jointly with the white members, the two audiences being separated by a partition. gradually, the colored members became dissatisfied with this type of service and withdrew to form a separate church. the desire for independence in worship must necessarily have been strong, to endure the inconveniences of the "brush arbor" churches that they resorted to. as a beginning, several trees were felled, and the brush and forked branches separated. four heavy branches with forks formed the framework. straight poles were laid across these to form a crude imitation of beams and the other framework of a building. the top and sides were formed of brush which was thickly placed so that it formed a solid wall. a hole left in one side formed a doorway from which beaten paths extended in all directions. seats made from slabs obtained at local sawmills completed the furnishing. in inclement weather, it was not possible to conduct services here, but occasionally showers came in the midst of the service and the audience calmly hoisted umbrellas or papers and with such scant protection, the worship continued. sunday afternoons were quietly spent, visiting being the only means of recreation. one of the favorite stay at home pastimes was the inspection of heads. the pediculous condition made frequent treatment necessary for comfort. the young white men liked to visit the "quarters" and have the slaves search their heads. they would stretch full length upon the cabin floors and rest their heads upon a pillow. usually they offered a gift of some sort if many of the tiny parasites were destroyed, so the clever picker who found a barren head simply reached into his own and produced a goodly number. there existed on this plantation an antagonistic feeling toward children (born of slave parents) with a beautiful suit of hair, and this type of hair was kept cropped very short. gossip, stealing, etc. was not tolerated. no one was ever encouraged to "tattle" on another. locks were never used on any of the cabin doors or on the smokehouse. food was there in abundance and each person was free to replenish his supply as necessary. money was more or less a novelty as it was only given in ¢ pieces at christmas time. as food, clothing, and shelter were furnished, the absence was not particularly painful. connected with nearly every home were those persons who lived "in the woods" in preference to doing the labor necessary to remain at their home. each usually had a scythe and a bulldog for protection. as food became scarce, they sneaked to the quarters in the still of the night and coaxed some friend to get food for them from the smokehouse. their supply obtained, they would leave again. this was not considered stealing. medical care was also free. excellent physicians were maintained. it was not considered necessary to call a physician until home remedies--usually teas made of roots--had had no effect. women in childbirth were cared for by grannies,--old women whose knowledge was broad by experience, acted as practical nurses. several cooks were regularly maintained. some cooked for the men who had no families, others for the members of the big house and guests. the menus varied little from day to day. a diet of bread--called "shortening bread,"--vegetables and smoked meat were usually consumed. buttermilk was always plentiful. on sundays "seconds" (flour) were added to the list and butter accompanied this. chickens, fresh meat, etc., were holiday items and were seldom enjoyed at any other time. not only were the slaves required to work but the young men of the "big house" also had their duties. in the summer they went fishing. while this sport was enjoyed, it was done on an extremely large scale in order that everyone should have an adequate supply of fish. the streams abounded in all kinds of fish, and nets were used to obtain large quantities necessary. in winter hunting was engaged in for this same purpose. rabbits, squirrels, etc., were the usual game, but in addition the trapping of wild hogs was frequently indulged in. the woods contained many of these animals which were exceptionally vicious. the hunters, however, trapped them in much the same way that rabbits are now caught, without injury to the flesh [tr: 'making the meat more delicious' marked out]. deer were also plentiful and venison enjoyed during its season. horned snakes were the greatest impediments to more abundant hunting. knowledge of the war was kept from the slaves until long after its beginning. most of them had no idea what "war" meant and any news that might have been spread, fell on deaf ears. gradually this knowledge was imparted by yankee peddlers who came to the plantation to sell bed-ticking, etc. when the master discovered how this information was being given out, these peddlers were forbidden to go near the quarters. this rule was strictly enforced. eventually, the confederate soldiers on their way to and from camp began to stop at the house. food and everything available was given to them. three of mr. cody's sons were killed in battle. as the northern soldiers did not come near the home, the loss of property was practically negligible [tr: '--six cents being all' marked out]. when the emancipation proclamation was signed, the slaves were called to the "big house" in a group to receive the news that they were free. both old and young danced and cheered when this information was given out. many of the families remained there for a year or two until they were able to find desirable locations elsewhere. cody attributes his ability to reach a ripe old age to the excellent care he took of himself in his youth. he has used tobacco since he was a small boy and does not feel that it affects his health. distilled liquor was plentiful in his young days and he always drank but never to an excess. ex-slave interview willis cofer, age findley street athens, georgia written by: grace mccune federal writers' project athens, georgia edited by: sarah h. hall athens, ga. and leila harris john n. booth augusta, georgia [may ] willis was enjoying the warm sunshine of an april morning as he sat on his small porch. apparently, he was pleased because someone actually wanted to hear him talk about himself. his rheumatism had been painful ever since that last bad cold had weakened him, but he felt sure the sunshine would "draw out all the kinks." having observed the amenities in regard to health and weather, the old man proceeded with his story: "eden and calline cofer was my pa and ma and us all lived on de big old cofer plantation 'bout five miles from washin'ton, wilkes. pa b'longed to marse henry cofer and ma and us chillun wuz de property of marse henry's father, marse joe cofer. "i wuz borned in , and at one time i had three brudders, but cato and john died. my oldest brudder, ben cofer, is still livin' and a-preachin' de gospel somewhar up nawth. "chilluns did have de bestes' good times on our plantation, 'cause old marster didn't 'low 'em to do no wuk 'til dey wuz years old. us jus' frolicked and played 'round de yard wid de white chilluns, but us sho' did evermore have to stay in dat yard. it wuz de cook's place to boss us when de other niggers wuz off in de fields, and evvy time us tried to slip off, she cotch us and de way dat 'oman could burn us up wid a switch wuz a caution. "dere warn't no schools for us to go to, so us jes' played 'round. our cook wuz all time feedin' us. us had bread and milk for breakfas', and dinner wuz mos'ly peas and cornbread, den supper wuz milk and bread. dere wuz so many chilluns dey fed us in a trough. dey jes' poured de peas on de chunks of cornbread what dey had crumbled in de trough, and us had to mussel 'em out. yessum, i said mussel. de only spoons us had wuz mussel shells what us got out of de branches. a little nigger could put peas and cornbread away mighty fast wid a mussel shell. "boys jes' wore shirts what looked lak dresses 'til dey wuz years old and big enough to wuk in de field. den dey put 'em on pants made open in de back. dem britches would look awful funny now, but dey wuz all us had den, and all de boys wuz mighty proud when dey got big enough to wear pants and go to wuk in de fields wid grown folkses. when a boy got to be a man enough to wear pants, he drawed rations and quit eatin' out of de trough. "all de slave quarters wuz log cabins and little famblies had cabins wid jes' one room. old marster sho' did want to see lots of chilluns 'round de cabins and all de big famblies wuz 'lowed to live in two-room cabins. beds for slaves wuz made by nailing frames, built out of oak or walnut planks to de sides of de cabins. dey had two or three laigs to make 'em set right, and de mattresses wuz filled wid wheat straw. dere warn't no sto'-bought stoves den, and all our cookin' wuz done in de fireplace. pots wuz hung on iron cranes to bile and big pones of light bread wuz cooked in ovens on de hearth. dat light bread and de biscuits made out of shorts wuz our sunday bread and dey sho' wuz good, wid our home-made butter. us had good old corn bread for our evvyday bread, and dere ain't nothin' lak corn bread and buttermilk to make healthy niggers. dere wouldn't be so many old sick niggers now if dey et corn bread evvyday and let all dis wheat bread and sto'-bought, ready-made bread alone 'cept on sunday. "dere wuz four or five acres in marster's big old gyarden, but den it tuk a big place to raise enough for all de slaves and white folkses too in de same gyarden. dere wuz jus' de one gyarden wid plenty of cabbage, collards, turnip greens, beans, corn, peas, onions, 'taters, and jus' evvything folkses laked in de way of gyarden sass. marster never 'lowed but one smokehouse on his place. it wuz plumb full of meat, and evvy slave had his meat rations weighed out reg'lar. dere wuz jes' one dairy house too whar de slaves got all de milk and butter dey needed. marster sho' did b'lieve in seeing dat his niggers had a plenty to eat. "marster raised lots of chickens and de slaves raised chickens too if dey wanted to. marster let 'em have land to wuk for deyselves, but dey had to wuk it atter dey come out of his fields. all dey made on dis land wuz deir own to sell and do what dey wanted to wid. lots of 'em plowed and hoed by moonlight to make deir own crops. "us used to hear tell of big sales of slaves, when sometimes mammies would be sold away off from deir chilluns. it wuz awful, and dey would jes' cry and pray and beg to be 'lowed to stay together. old marster wouldn't do nothin' lak dat to us. he said it warn't right for de chilluns to be tuk away from deir mammies. at dem sales dey would put a nigger on de scales and weigh him, and den de biddin' would start. if he wuz young and strong, de biddin' would start 'round $ and de highest bidder got de nigger. a good young breedin' 'oman brung $ , easy, 'cause all de marsters wanted to see plenty of strong healthy chillun comin' on all de time. cyarpenters and bricklayers and blacksmiths brung fancy prices from $ , to $ , sometimes. a nigger what warn't no more'n jes' a good field hand brung 'bout $ . "dem bricklayers made all de bricks out of de red clay what dey had right dar on most all de plantations, and de blacksmith he had to make all de iron bars and cranes for de chimblies and fireplaces. he had to make de plow points too and keep de farm tools all fixed up. sometimes at night dey slipped off de place to go out and wuk for money, a-fixin' chimblies and buildin' things, but dey better not let demselves git cotched. "mammy wove de cloth for our clothes and de white folkses had 'em made up. quilts and all de bed-clothes wuz made out of homespun cloth. "de fus' sadday atter easter wuz allus a holiday for de slaves. us wuz proud of dat day 'cause dat wuz de onlies' day in de year a nigger could do 'zactly what he pleased. dey could go huntin', fishin' or visitin', but most of 'em used it to put in a good days wuk on de land what marster 'lowed 'em to use for deyselves. some of 'em come to athens and help lay bricks on a new buildin' goin' up on jackson street. no ma'am, i done forgot what buildin' it wuz. "us niggers went to de white folkses churches. mr. louis williams preached at de baptist church on de fust sundays, and meferdiss (methodist) meetin's wuz on de second sundays. mr. andy bowden and mr. scott cowan wuz two of de meferdiss preachers. me and pa jined de baptis' church. ma wuz jes' a meferdiss, but us all went to church together. dey had de baptizin's at de pool and dere wuz sho' a lot of prayin' and shoutin' and singin' goin' on while de preacher done de dippin' of 'em. de onliest one of dem baptizin' songs i can ricollect now is, _whar de healin' water flows_. dey waited 'til dey had a crowd ready to be baptized and den dey tuk a whole sunday for it and had a big dinner on de ground at de church. "de sho' 'nough big days wuz dem camp meetin' days. white folkses and niggers all went to de same camp meetin's, and dey brung plenty 'long to eat--big old loafs of light bread what had been baked in de skillets. de night before dey sot it in de ovens to rise and by mawnin' it had done riz most to de top of de deep old pans. dey piled red coals all 'round de ovens and when dat bread got done it wuz good 'nough for anybody. de tables wuz loaded wid barbecued pigs and lambs and all de fried chicken folkses could eat, and all sorts of pies and cakes wuz spread out wid de other goodies. "evvy plantation gen'ally had a barbecue and big dinner for fourth of july, and when sev'ral white famblies went in together, dey did have high old times tryin' to see which one of 'em could git deir barbecue done and ready to eat fust. dey jus' et and drunk all day. no ma'am, us didn't know nuffin' 'bout what dey wuz celebratin' on fourth of july, 'cept a big dinner and a good time. "when slaves got married, de man had to ax de gal's ma and pa for her and den he had to ax de white folkses to 'low 'em to git married. de white preacher married 'em. dey hold right hands and de preacher ax de man: 'do you take dis gal to do de bes' you kin for her?' and if he say yes, den dey had to change hands and jump over de broomstick and dey wuz married. our white folkses wuz all church folkses and didn't 'low no dancin' at weddin's but dey give 'em big suppers when deir slaves got married. if you married some gal on another place, you jus' got to see her on wednesday and sadday nights and all de chilluns b'longed to de gal's white folkses. you had to have a pass to go den, or de patterollers wuz sho' to git you. dem patterollers evermore did beat up slaves if dey cotched 'em off dey own marster's place 'thout no pass. if niggers could out run 'em and git on deir home lines dey wuz safe. "on our place when a slave died dey washed de corpse good wid plenty of hot water and soap and wropt it in a windin' sheet, den laid it out on de coolin' board and spread a snow white sheet over de whole business, 'til de coffin wuz made up. de windin' sheet wuz sorter lak a bed sheet made extra long. de coolin' board wuz made lak a ironin' board 'cept it had laigs. white folkses wuz laid out dat way same as niggers. de coffins wuz made in a day. dey tuk de measurin' stick and measured de head, de body, and de footses and made de coffin to fit dese measurements. if it wuz a man what died, dey put a suit of clothes on him before dey put him in de coffin. dey buried de 'omans in da windin' sheets. when de niggers got from de fields some of 'em went and dug a grave. den dey put de coffin on de oxcart and carried it to de graveyard whar dey jus' had a burial dat day. dey waited 'bout two months sometimes before dey preached de fun'ral sermon. for the fun'ral dey built a brush arbor in front of de white folkses church, and de white preacher preached de fun'ral sermon, and white folkses would come lissen to slave fun'rals. de song most sung at fun'rals wuz _hark from de tomb_. de reason dey had slave fun'rals so long atter de burial wuz to have 'em on sunday or some other time when de crops had been laid by so de other slaves could be on hand. "when white folkses died deir fun'rals wuz preached before dey wuz buried. dat wuz de onliest diff'unce in de way dey buried de whites and de niggers. warn't nobody embalmed dem days and de white folkses wuz buried in a graveyard on de farm same as de niggers wuz, and de same oxcart took 'em all to de graveyard. "our marster done de overseein' at his place hisself, and he never had no hired overseer. nobody never got a lickin' on our plantation lessen dey needed it bad, but when marster did whup 'em dey knowed dey had been whupped. dere warn't no fussin' and fightin' on our place and us all knowed better'n to take what didn't b'long to us, 'cause old marster sho' did git atter niggers what stole. if one nigger did kill another nigger, dey tuk him and locked him in da jailhouse for days to make his peace wid god. evvy day de preacher would come read de bible to him, and when de days wuz up, den dey would hang him by de neck 'til he died. de man what done de hangin' read de bible to de folkses what wuz gathered 'round dar while de murderer wuz a-dyin'. "its de devil makes folkses do bad, and dey all better change and serve god-a-mighty, so as he kin save 'em before its too late. i b'lieve folkses 'haved better dem days dan dey does now. marstar made 'em be good 'round his place. "when us turned marster's watch dogs loose at night, dey warn't nothin' could come 'round dat place. dey had to be kept chained up in de daytime. sometimes marster let us take his dogs and go huntin' and dey wuz de best 'possum trailers 'round dem parts. when dey barked up a 'simmon tree, us allus found a 'possum or two in dat tree. sometimes atter us cotched up lots of 'em, marster let us have a 'possum supper. baked wid plenty of butter and 'tatoes and sprinkled over wid red pepper, dey is mighty good eatments. my mouf's jus' a-waterin' 'cause i'm thinkin' 'bout 'possums. "yes ma'am, us had corn shuckin's, and dey wuz big old times. evvybody from plantations miles 'round would take time out to come. sometimes de big piles of corn would make a line most a half a mile long, but when all de niggers got at dat corn de shucks sho' would fly and it wouldn't be so long before all de wuk wuz done and dey would call us to supper. dere wuz barbecue and chickens, jus' a plenty for all de niggers, and corn bread made lak reg'lar light bread and sho' enough light bread too, and lots of 'tato pies and all sorts of good things. "atter da war wuz over, dey jus' turned de slaves loose widout nothin'. some stayed on wid old marster and wukked for a little money and dey rations. "pa went down on the hubbard place and wukked for dollars a year and his rations. ma made cloth for all de folkses 'round 'bout. dey fotched deir thread and she wove de cloth for cents a day. if us made a good crop, us wuz all right wid plenty of corn, peas, 'tatoes, cabbage, collards, turnip greens, all de hog meat us needed, and chickens too. us started out widout nothin' and had to go in debt to de white folkses at fust but dat wuz soon paid off. i never had no chance to go to school and git book larnin'. all de time, us had to wuk in de fields. "ku kluxers went 'round wid dem doughfaces on heaps atter de war. de niggers got more beatin's from 'em dan dey had ever got from deir old marsters. if a nigger sassed white folkses or kilt a hoss, dem kluxers sho' did evermore beat him up. dey never touched me for i stayed out of deir way, but dey whupped my pa one time for bein' off his place atter dark. when dey turned him loose, he couldn't hardly stand up. de yankees jus' about broke up de ku kluxers, but day sho' wuz bad on niggers while dey lasted. "i wuz 'bout years old when us married. us never had no chillun and my wife done been daid for all dese long years, i don't know how many. i can't wuk and i jus' has to stay hyar wid my daid brother's chillun. dey is mighty good to me, but i gits awful lonesome sometimes. "no ma'am, i ain't never seed but one ghost. late one night, i wuz comin' by de graveyard and seed somethin' dat looked lak a dog 'ceppin' it warn't no dog. it wuz white and went in a grave. it skeered me so i made tracks gittin' 'way from dar in a hurry and i ain't never bean 'round no more graveyards at night. "when i passes by de old graveyard on jackson street, i 'members lots of folkses whats buried dar, bofe white folkses and slaves too, for den white folkses put dey slaves whar dey aimed to be buried deyselves. dat sho' used to be a fine graveyard. "us all gwine to git together someday when us all leaves dis old world. i'm ready to go; jus' a-waitin' for de lord to call me home, and i ain't skeered to face de lord who will judge us all de same, 'cause i done tried to do right, and i ain't 'fraid to die." uncle willis was tired and sent a little boy to the store for milk. as the interviewer took her departure he said: "good-bye missy. god bless you. jus' put yourself in de hands of de lord, for dey ain't no better place to be." plantation life mary colbert, age pearl street athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby [hw: (white)] athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, ga. (note: this is the first story we have had in which the client did not use any dialect. mary colbert's grammar was excellent. her skin was almost white, and her hair was quite straight. none of us know what a "deep" slave was. it may have the same meaning as outlandish negro. the "outlandish negroes" were those newly arrived negroes who had just come in from any country outside of the united states of america, and were untrained. they were usually just from africa. sarah h. hall) with the thermometer registering degrees in the shade on a particularly humid july day, the visitor trudged up one steep, rocky alley and down another, hesitantly negotiated shaky little bridges over several ravines, scrambled out of a ditch, and finally arrived at the address of mary colbert. it was the noon hour. a negro man had tied his mule under an apple tree in one corner of mary's yard. the animal was peacefully munching hay while his master enjoyed lunch from a battered tin bucket. asked if mary was at home, the man replied: "yessum, jus' call her at de door." a luxuriant virginia creeper shaded the front porch of mary's five-room frame house, where a rap on the front door brought the response: "here i am, honey! come right on through the house to the back porch." the aged mulatto woman was hanging out clothes on a line suspended between two peach trees. to the inquiry for mary, she answered: "yes, honey, this is mary. they say i am old, childish, and hellish; anyway, this is mary." "dear, let's go in my parlor," she suggested in a cultured voice. "i wouldn't dare go out on the front porch wearing this dirty dress. it simply isn't my way of living." mary is about five feet tall and wears her straight, snowy-white hair in a neat knot low on the back of her head. the sparkle in her bright brown eyes bespeaks a more youthful spirit than her wrinkled and almost white face would indicate. she was wearing a soiled print dress, brown cotton hose, and high-topped black shoes. in remarkably good english for one of her race she told that her daughter's family lives with her, "so that i won't be right by myself." then she began her story: "honey, what is it you want me to tell you. where was i born? oh, my child! i was born right here in dear old hilly athens. yes, that's where i was born. polly crawford was my mother, and she belonged to major william h. crawford before he gave her to his son, marse john crawford. now about my father, that is the dream. he died when i was just a little child. they said he was sandy thomas and that he was owned by marster obadiah thomas, who lived in oglethorpe county. all i can remember about my grandparents is this: when i found my grandma, hannah crawford, she was living on major crawford's plantation, where crawford, georgia, is now. grandma was a little, bitty woman; so little that she wore a number one shoe. she was brought here from virginia to be a field hand, but she was smart as a whip, and lived to be years old. i used to tell my mother that i wished i was named hannah for her, and so mother called me mary hannah. "i can't bring my grandfather to mind very clearly. i do remember that my mother took me to penfield to see him, and told me if i wasn't a good little girl he would surely whip me. they called him 'uncle campfire', because he had such a fiery temper. for a living, after he got to be an old man, he made cheers (chairs), but for the life of me i don't know who he belonged to, because major crawford sold him before i was born. "there were five of us children: nat, solomon, susannah, sarah, and myself. marse john gave solomon to his daughter, miss fannie, when she married marse william h. gerdine. susannah belonged to miss rosa golden, and sarah and i belonged to the other miss fannie. she was marse john's sister. nat was marse john's house boy, and our mother was his cook. we children just played around the yard until we were large enough to work. "yes, my dear, i was born in marse john's back yard. he lived in a two-story frame house on dougherty street, back of scudder's school. the two slave houses and the kitchen were set off from the house a little piece out in the yard. it was the style then to have the kitchen built separate from the dwelling house. "lord bless your life, honey! we didn't live in log cabins, as you call them. there were two slave houses. the one aggie lived in was two-story, the other one had just one story and they were both weatherboarded like marse john's own house. the grown folks slept on beds made with tall oak posts. there were no metal springs then and the beds were corded instead. the straw-stuffed mattress ticks were made with plain and striped material, and pillows were filled with cotton. we children slept on trundle beds, which were pushed up under the big beds in the daytime, and pulled out for us to sleep on at night. "no ma'm, there was never any money given to me in slavery time. remember, dear, when the yankees came through here, i was only ten years old. misses fannie and ann crawford were major crawford's daughters, and they kept house for marse john. that morning in may i was wearing a sleeveless apron, and they (miss fannie and miss ann) put a bag of gold and silver, and some old greenback confederate money in my apron and told me to hold on to it. miss fannie and miss ann, both of them, patted me on the head and said: 'now, be a good little girl and don't move.' on came the blue coats: they went all over the house searching everything with their guns and swords shining and flashing. i was so scared the sweat was running down my face in streams. bless your life! when they came to the bedroom where i was standing by a bed, holding that money inside my apron, they didn't even glance at me the second time. little did they think that little slave girl had the money they were hunting for. after the yankees were gone, i gave it all back to miss fannie, and she didn't give me the first penny. if any of the money was given to my mother she didn't tell me about it. "i am going to tell you the truth about what we had to eat, so listen now. it was egg bread, biscuits, peas, potatoes--they they were called 'taters then--artichoke pickles, tea cakes, pies, and good old healthy lye hominy. there was plenty of meat served, but i was not allowed to eat that, as i was never a very strong child. i was a fool about stale bread, such as biscuit, cornbread, and light bread. mother was a fine cook and her battercakes would just melt in your mouth. of course, you know we had no stoves in those days and the cooking was done in open fireplaces, in ovens and pots. oh yes! we had a garden. there was only one on the place and enough was raised in it to feed all of the people living there. "i don't remember eating 'possums, rabbits, squirrels and fish until i went to jackson, mississippi, with miss rosa. there were plenty of those meats in mississippi and i was then getting old enough and healthy enough to be allowed to eat them." at this point, mary insisted on serving lunch for her visitor, saying that she had lived with white people and knew how to cook. after a polite refusal, the story was continued: "i was laughing at myself just the other day about those homespun dresses and sleeveless aprons i wore as a child. i reckon that was a sign you were coming to ask me about those things. i kept one of those dresses of mine until my own baby girl wore it out, and now i am sorry i let her wear it, for it would be so nice to have it to show you. we wore just a one piece costume in summer and had calico and muslin dresses for sunday. wintertime, i wore a balmoral petticoat, osnaburg drawers, and er-r-r. well, jacob! i never thought i would live to see the day i'd forget what our dresses were called. anyway they were of woolen material in a checked design, and were made with a full skirt gathered on to a deep yoke. uncle patrick hull--he was a deep slave belonging to mr. a.l. hull--made all the shoes for marse john's slaves. we all wore brass-toed brogans. "oh, good! i should smile! a better man than marse john never lived. nobody better not beat his slaves. marse john was the postmaster. he married miss sallie eden, and everybody said she was mighty good, but i never knew her for she died when i was a baby. marse john and his wife, miss sallie, had three children. they were: miss fannie, miss rosa and marse allie. miss annie crawford, who teaches in the school here, is marse allie's daughter. she don't know me so well, but i know mighty well who she is. i think i have already told you that misses fannie and rosa kept house for their brother, marse john, after their mother died. "darling, please get this right: the plantation is a dream to me. if i should try to tell you about it, i am sure it would be only what my mother told me about it in the years long after the surrender. whether the plantation was the property of marse john or his father, william h. crawford, i don't know, but i am sure there was an overseer, and i am quite sure it was a very large plantation. you know the town of crawford was named for my white folks. the only thing i can be sure of, from my own memory, is of the things that took place here in athens. "breakfast had to be served promptly at : . when that : o'clock bell sounded at night, god bless your soul! you had to be in your house, and you had to be in bed by : o'clock. marse john never punished but just two of his slaves that i can remember, but i have seen them get several good whippings. they were ned and william, aggie's and lucy's boys, and marse john cowhided them for misbehaving. "there were jails during slavery time, but marse john kept his slaves straight himself and did not allow any of them to be taken to jail. i have never seen slaves sold, but i have seen droves of them marching by, being taken to watkinsville to be sold. "no! no! oh! no! you had better not dare let white people know that you could read, in those days. i remember one colored man, alfred evans, who used to read the bible during slavery time. all the learning i have, i got after we were made free. there were two colored churches in athens; one was baptist and the other was methodist. yankee ladies came down from the north and taught us to read and write. i have often considered writing the history of my life and finally decided to undertake it, but i found that it was more of a job than i had expected it to be, and then too, i would have to tell too much, so i thought best to leave it alone. "i went to church but very little during slavery time. however, i dearly loved to go to sunday school, and never missed an opportunity of attending. one of our sunday school songs was worded something like this: 'i want to be an angel, and with the angels stand.' "my favorite song began: 'around the throne in heaven, ten thousand children stand.' "oo! yes, i know how they buried folks in slavery time. for caskets they used straight, white pine boxes that they called coffins. they didn't have funerals like they do now. a preacher would say a few words at the grave and then he prayed, and after that everybody sang something like: 'i will arise and go to jesus.' i was a singer in my younger days. "all i remember 'bout negroes going off to the north was when their masters took them along on trips to wait on them. bless your life! that was one time when the ones that could read and write had the advantage. they were usually chosen to go along so if anything happened to the marster on the trip, they could write back home. i never saw patrollers, but i heard that they used to beat up negroes who were caught away from home without a pass. marse john kept his slaves supplied with passes at all necessary times. "not all the slaves had to work on saturday afternoons. this was their time of the week to get together and have a little fun around their quarters. sunday mornings they went to church, as a rule, and on sunday nights they visited each other and held prayer meetings in their homes. don't get me wrong. they had to have passes to go visiting and attend those prayer meetings. "christmas time was a holiday season for slaves, and they had everything good you could want to eat. listen, child, i am telling you the truth. they even had pumpkin pie. oh, yes! santa claus came to see slave children. once i got too smart for my own good. miss fannie and miss ann had told us to go to bed early. they said if we weren't asleep when santa claus got there, he would go away and never come back. well, that night i made up my mind to stay awake and see santa claus. miss fannie and miss ann slipped into our quarters right easy and quiet and were filling up stockings with candy, dolls, and everything you can imagine. while they were doing that, they turned around and saw me with my eyes wide open. right there my santa claus ended. we didn't have any special observance of new year's day. it was the same as any other day. "mother said they had cornshuckings, quiltings, and cotton pickings on the plantation. she told me a good deal about the cornshuckings: about how they selected a general, whose job was to get up on top of the corn pile and holler at the top of his voice, leading the cornshucking song, while the others all shucked the corn and sang. after the corn was all shucked there were always fine eats. i can remember the quiltings myself. the women went from one house to another and quilted as many as quilts in one night sometimes. after the quilts were all finished they had a big spread of good food too. now it takes a whole month to quilt one quilt and nothing to eat. "what games did we play? let me see. oh! yes, one of them was played to the rhyme: 'chickimy, chickimy, craney crow i went to the well to wash my toe, when i got back my chicken was gone what time, old witch?' "then we would run and chase each other. another game was played to the counting-out by the rhyme that started: 'mollie, mollie bright, three-score and ten.' "honey, there is no use to ask me about raw head and bloody bones. when folks started talking about that, i always left the room. it is a shame how folks do frighten children trying to make them get quiet and go to sleep. i don't believe in ha'nts and ghosts. since i have been grown, i have been around so many dead folks i have learned that the dead can't harm you; its the living that make the trouble. "when his slaves were taken sick, marse john always called in a doctor. an old woman, who was known as 'aunt fannie,' was set aside to nurse sick slaves. dr. joe carlton was marse john's doctor. what i am going to tell you is no fairy tale. once i was so sick that marse john called in dr. carlton, dr. richard m. smith, dr. crawford long, and dr. james long, before they found out what was wrong with me. i had inflammatory rheumatism and i wore out two and a half pairs of crutches before i could walk good again. now, dr. crawford long is a great and famous man in history, but it is sure true that he doctored on this old negro many years ago. "honey, don't flatter me. don't you know a little girl years old can't remember everything that went on that far back. a few things they dosed the slaves with when they were sick was horehound tea, garlic mixed with whiskey, and the worm-few (vermifuge?) tea that they gave to negro children for worms. that worm-few dose was given in april. asafetida was used on us at all times and sage tea was considered a splendid medicine. "when news came that negroes had been freed there was a happy jubilee time. marse john explained the new freedom to his slaves and we were glad and sorry too. my mother stayed with marse john until he died. i was still a child and had never had to do anything more than play dolls, and keep the children in the yard. lord, honey! i had a fine time those days. "it wasn't so long after the surrender before schools for negroes were opened. it looked like they went wild trying to do just like their white folks had done. as for buying homes, i don't know where they would have gotten the money to pay for homes and land. "at the time i married i was a washerwoman for the white folks. my first husband was isaac dixon, who came from some place in alabama and had been owned by dr. lipscomb, the chancelor of the university. dr. lipscomb married us in the colored methodist church, and that night the church was crowded to overflowing. i wore a white dress made with a long train; that was the style then. after the ceremony, my mother served cake and wine at her house. our six children were prettier than you, but only three of them lived to get grown. our white friends named our children. my first husband died and then i married jones colbert, who belonged to marse fletcher colbert of madison county. we just went around to the preacher's house and got married. jones was an old man when i married him. he was a preacher. he is dead now and so are all my children except one. i have one grandson, and this is the shameful part about him; his mother won't married when he was born, but of course she married later. "now i am going to tell you the truth as i see it. abraham lincoln was an instrument of god sent to set us free, for it was god's will that we should be freed. i never did hitch my mind on jeff davis; like the children of israel, he had his time to rule. booker t. washington! well, now i didn't give him a thought. he had to do his part. his mistress had taught him to read. "why did i join the church? well, when the white folks sent their help off to mississippi trying to keep them slaves, my sister and i went with miss rosa crawford to jackson. before i left home my mother gave me an alabaster doll and told me to be a good girl and pray every night. well, i never saw so many slave-houses in my life as i saw in mississippi. every night when i heard a colored man named ben praying in his room that made me think of what my mother had told me and i grew more and more homesick for her. finally one night i crept into uncle ben's room and asked him to tell me about god, and he did. after that, every night i went into his room and we prayed together. yes, honey, i found god in jackson, mississippi, and i joined the church just as soon as i could after i got back to my mother and dear old athens. "yes, honey, i was raised and loved by my own white folks and, when i grew to be old enough and large enough, i worked for them. i have been with, or worked for, white folks all my life and, just let me tell you, i had the best white folks in the world, but it was by god's plan that the negroes were set free." [hw: dist. ex. slave # (with photograph)] [hw: "john cole"] subject: a slave remembers district: no. w.p.a editor: edward ficklen supervisor: joseph e. jaffee [may ] a slave remembers the front door of a little vine-clad cottage on billups street, in athens, georgia quaked open and john cole, ex-slave confronted a "gov'mint man." [illustration] yes, he was the son of lucius cole and betsy cole, was in his th year, and remembered the time "way back" when other gov'mint men with their strange ways had descended on athens. and far beyond that, back to the time when they had tried him out as a scullion boy in the big town house where his mother was the cook, but it seemed that the trays always escaped his clumsy young hands. so "marse henry" had put him on the acre oglethorpe plantation as apprentice to training of the farm horses whose large unmanageableness he found more manageable than the dainty china of the banker's house. he simply had followed more after his father, the carriage driver than his mother, the cook. of course, all fifteen of the hands worked from sun-up to sun-down, but his aunt was the plantation cook, and it was not so bad there. the night brought no counsel, but it brought better. stretch cow-hides over cheese-boxes and you had tambourines. saw bones from off a cow, knock them together, and call it [hw: a drum]. or use broom-straws, on fiddle-strings, and you had your entire orchestra. grow older, and get by the gates with a pass (you had to have a pass or the paddle-rollers would get you,) and you had you a woman. if the woman wasn't willing, a good, hard-working hand could always get the master to make the girl marry him--whether or no, willy-nilly. if a hand were noted for raising up strong black bucks, bucks that would never "let the monkey get them" while in the high-noon hoeing, he would be sent out as a species of circuit-rider to the other plantations--to plantations where there was over-plus of "worthless young nigger gals". there he would be "married off" again--time and again. this was thrifty and saved any actual purchase of new stock. always on saturday afternoon you would have till "first dark" for base-ball, and from first dark till sunday-go-to meeting for drinking and dancing. sunday you could go to the colored church (with benefit of white clergy) or you could go to the white church just like real class except you sat in the rear. no, it was not a bad life. you usually weren't sick, but if you were sick, it afforded you the luxury of tea. turpentine and caster oil composed the entire _materia medica_. turpentine was used for sore throats, cuts and bruises. castor oil was used for everything else except a major fracture which called for the master sending in a doctor to the quarters. yes, the gov'mint men with the blue uniforms and the shiny brass buttons had descended from the north on athens--descended in spite of the double-barrelled cannon that the little master and the little master's men had tried on them. the blue clad invaders had come in despite of the quick breast-works, and the new-fangled cannon, and bob toombs boast that he "could beat the damn yankees with corn-stalks before breakfast". (if only they had fought that way--if only they had [hw: not] needed grape-shot had enough to invent cannon mouths that spoke at the same time and were meant to mow down men with a long chain--if only they had not been able to fight long after bull run, and after breakfast!) yes, the yankees had come over the classic hills of athens (athens that had so many hills that she would have been named rome except for her first land-grant college,) had left, and had come again to stay, and to bring freedom to john cole and his kind. this was six months after lee and his palandins had laid down the sword--the gallant, the unstained (but, alas, claimed meade's batteries) the unconstitutional sword. six months had gone and freedom had come. but john cole, slave of henry hull, the banker, found that his freedom was the freedom of "the big oak"--athens famed tree-that-owns-itself. he was free, but he had no way to go anywhere. he was rooted in the soil and would stay fast rooted. he worked on with his master for years, without pay. did he believe, back in slavery time in "signs" and in "sayings"--that the itching foot meant the journey to new lands--that the hound's midnight threnody meant murder? no, when he was a young buck and had managed the bad horses, he had had no such beliefs. no, he was not superstitious. if the foot itched something ought to be put on it (or taken off it)--and as to the hounds yelping, nobody ever knew what dark-time foolishness a hound-dog might be up to. but he was old, now. death always comes in the afternoon. he does believe in things that have been proved. he does believe that a squinch-owl's screeching ("v-o-o-o-d-o-o! w-h-o-o-o? y-ou-u!") is a sure sign of death. lowing of a cow in afternoon georgia meadows means death mighty close. if death come down to a house, better stop clock and put white cloth on mirrors. no loud talking permitted. better for any nigger to bow low down to death.... to what factors did he attribute his long life, queried the gov'mint man. long living came from leaving off smoking and drinking. would he have a nickle cigar? he would. yes, he was feeling quite tol'able, thank you. but he believed now in the owl and the cow and the clock. in the morning-time one lives, but death always come in the afternoon. better for any nigger, anywhere, to bow low down to death. plantation life as viewed by ex-slave julia cole, age yonah avenue athens, georgia written by: corry fowler athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens leila harris augusta and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & a knock on the door of the comfortable little frame house which julia cole shares with her daughter, rosa, brought the response, "who dat?" soon rosa appeared. "come in honey and have a cheer," was her greeting and she added that julia had "stepped across de street to visit 'round a little." soon the neighborhood was echoing and reverberating as the call, "tell aunt julia somebody wants to see her at her house," was repeated from cabin to cabin. a few moments later julia walked in. yellowish gingercake in color, and of rather dumpy figure, she presented a clean, neat appearance. she and her daughter, who cooks for a dentist's family, take much pride in their attractively furnished home. julia was of pleasant manner and seemed anxious to tell all that she could. it is doubtful if rosa made much progress with her ironing in an adjoining room, for every few minutes she came to the door to remind her mother of some incident that she had heard her tell before. julia began her story by saying: "i was born in monroe, georgia and b'longed to marster john grant. my mamma was mittie johnson, and she died de year 'fore de war ended. i don't 'member my pa. mamma had four chillun. richard and thomas grant was my brothers, but me and my sister hattie was johnsons. marse john had a big plantation and a heap of slaves. dey was rich, his folks was. dey is de folks dat give grant's park to atlanta. "dey called my grandpa, 'uncle abram.' atter he had wukked hard in de field all day, he would jus' lay down on a bench at night and sleep widout pullin' off his clothes. us had home-made beds in de cabins widout no paint on 'em. evvything slaves had was home-made, jus' wooden-legged things. even de coffins was made at home out of pine wood. now me, i didn't sleep in de cabin much. i slept on a little trundle bed up at de big house. in de daytime my bed was pushed back up under one of de big beds. "marse john's son, marse willie grant, blowed de bugle in de mornin's by o'clock to git de slaves up in time to be in de fields by daybreak. when slaves got too old to wuk, dey took keer of de chillun in a house down below de kitchen. mamma wukked in de field when she was able. nobody on our place had to wuk in de fields on sadday evenin's. dat was de time de 'omans washed deir clothes and cleaned up. "chillun didn't have much to do. us loved to hunt for turkey nests 'cause dey give us a teacake for evvy turkey egg us fetched in. chillun et in de yard at de big house, whar dey give us plenty of meat and cornbread wid good vegetables for dinner. for breakfast and supper, us had mostly buttermilk and cornbread. on sundays us had bread made from wheat flour and sopped good old syrup wid it. sometimes marse john would give us 'mission to kill little pigs at night and broil 'em over de coals in our yards, and how us did enjoy 'em! i ain't never suffered for nothin' in all my life, 'cause de grants was mighty good white folks. de old white home on prince avenue was deir summer home. when dey built it, woods was all 'round and dere warn't many houses in dat section. "us had plenty of clothes made out of homespun checks, and marse john give us brass-toed shoes. our dresses was well sewed and made wid belts to 'em. nobody went 'bout half naked on our plantation lak some of de old folks f'um other farms talks 'bout. us had good well-made clothes, even if dey was made out of common cloth. "nobody on our plantation run away to de north, and de paddyrollers didn't git nobody at our place neither. marse john was too good to evvybody for his slaves to want to cut up and run 'way and do things to make de paddyrollers hunt 'em down. dey didn't have no jails 'cause dey didn't need none on our place. sometimes marse john made a colored man named uncle jim cooper give 'em a good whuppin' when dey needed it. "when us was sick, dey give us herbs and things of dat sort. in de springtime, dey give us jerusalem oak seed in syrup for nine mornin's and by den us was allus rid of de worms. dey 'tended to slave chillun so good and dutiful dat dere warn't many of 'em died, and i don't never 'member no doctor comin' to my mamma's house. "old missus used to teach us in da blue back speller, and when i didn't know my lesson she made me run f'um de house to de gyarden gate for punishment. de more words i missed; de more times i had to run. us had our own church services on de plantation under home-made brush arbors, and our colored preacher was uncle charles cooper. "once some sojers come by our place lookin' for marse john. he had done hid in de loft of de meat house and told evvybody on de place dey better not tell whar he was. dey didn't find marse john, but dey did find his son, marse willie, and dey tuk him 'long wid 'em. marse willie was de only chile dat marster and missus had and it nearly killed 'em for him to be tuk 'way from 'em. when mr. lincoln's general got to our place he was a-ridin' a big red hoss dat sho' was a grand animal. dem sojers went in de smokehouses and stores evvywhar and tuk what dey wanted. "not long 'fore de war ended, my mamma tuk a 'lapse f'um measles and died. 'fore she died, she sont for marse john and told him what she wanted done, and he done jus' what she axed. she give him my brothers, richard and thomas, and told him to take dem two boys and to make men out of 'em by makin' 'em wuk hard. i jus' lak to have died when my mamma died. dey carried her to de graveyard and put her down in de grave and i jus' couldn't help it; i jumped right down in dat grave wid her, and dey had to take me out. my brothers said i was plum crazy dat day. "atter de war was over, marster moved his family to atlanta on peachtree street. his grandson dat was born dat year died not long ago. dey didn't have no farm in atlanta and so dey didn't need all deir old servants. my sister hattie was a baby and auntie tuk her to atlanta wid de grants. "i don't know what 'come of de others on marster's farm. i had to git in a covered wagon and come wid my uncle jordan johnson to athens. i didn't want to leave, and i hid down under our things in de wagon when dey made me come. when us crossed de river, i was sho' us was 'bout to git drownded. one time atter dat us tuk a trip to madison to see de old breastplates (breastworks) dar. "my brother tom got to be captain of a colored troop dat went to de philippine islands. over dar de sojers kilt a big snake and et it all but de head. he had dat thing stuffed and brought it home. atter he left de army, he got a job in de atlanta post office whar he wukked 'til he was 'tired. "i was hired out to de marks family and stayed dar for years and dat was a mighty good place to be hired out. i was married twice. me and crit clayton married at home. i ain't never seed nothin' lak dat pretty flowerdy weddin' dress dat i wore and i had de prettiest hat and things dat i ever seed. my next husband was andrew cole--he was rosa's pa. i forgits de name of de white preacher dat married us when us went to his house and axed him to. four of our seven chillun is still livin'. "dey tells me our old big house near monroe is standin' yit, and i sho' do wish i could see it once more 'fore i die, but since i broke my hip a few years ago i jus' don't ride in dem automobiles. no ma'am, i don't limp. de lord was good to heal my hip and i ain't takin' no chances on breakin' no more of my bones." ex-slave interview martha colquitt, age lyndon avenue athens, georgia written by: mrs. sarah h. hall federal writers' project athens, georgia edited by: john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, georgia the aged negress leaned heavily on her cane as she shuffled about her tiny porch in the waning sunlight of a cold january day. an airplane writing an advertising slogan in letters of smoke high in the sky was receiving but indifferent attention from aunt martha. sha shivered and occasionally leaned against a post until a paroxysm of coughing subsided. "what would you have thought of that if it had suddenly appeared in the sky when you were a child?" she was asked. "it would have scared me plum to death," was the response. "i didn't come out here just to see dat," she continued, "i didn't have nothin' to make no fire wid, and i had to git out in de sunshine 'cause it wuz too cold to stay in de house. it sho' is mighty bad to have to go to bed wid cold feet and cough all night long." her visitor could not resist the impulse to say, "let's make a trade, aunt martha! if i give you a little money will you buy wood; then while you enjoy the fire will you think back over your life and tell me about your experiences when i come back tomorrow?" "bless de lord! i sho' will be glad to tell you de truf 'bout anything i can 'member," was her quick reply as she reached for the money. [tr: return visit] the next day aunt martha was in bed, slowly eating a bowl of potlicker and turnip greens into which cornbread had been crumbled. "my ches' hurt so bad i couldn't git up today," was her greeting, "but set right dar by my bed and i can talk all right, long as i don't have to walk 'bout none. walkin' makes me cough." soon the bowl was empty and when she had wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her nightgown, aunt martha began: "when i wuz born, my ma b'longed to marse billie glenn and us lived on his big plantation way down below lexin'ton. my pa wuz anderson mitchell. he come from milledgeville and b'longed to mr. d. smith. the smithies lived close by marse billie's place. my ma wuz healon mitchell. i don't know what her last name wuz 'fore she married. she wuz born in virginny, and her and my grandma wuz sold and brought to georgia when ma wuz a baby. grandma never did see none of her other chillun or her husband no more, and us never did hear nothin' 'bout 'em. "ma had four chillun. lucy wuz my onlies' sister. mr. davenport bought her and she growed up at his place, what wuz called 'de glade.' it wuz a big fine place at point peter, georgia. lucy married a taylor. "my brother, isaac, wuz raised at mr. hamilton's place at point peter. after he growed up, he worked in atlanta and bought him a home dar. he got in a fight wid a man what had done stobbed his mule, and de man hurt isaac so bad he went crazy and died in de 'sylum at milledgeville, but dey took him back and buried him in atlanta. "my other brother wuz anderson mitchell, and after freedom come he got work in athens at de compress. his boss man moved to augusta and took anderson wid him to work in de compress dar. one day somethin' blowed up and he wuz scalded so bad it paralyzed him. dey brought him back here, but he soon died. "ma's house was right on de edge of marse billie's yard, 'cause she was de cook. grandma lived in de same house wid ma and us chillun, and she worked in de loom house and wove cloth all de time. she wove de checkidy cloth for de slaves clo'es, and she made flannel cloth too, leaseways, it wuz part flannel. she made heaps of kinds of cloth. "our beds had big home-made posties and frames, and us used ropes for springs. grandma brought her feather bed wid her from virginny, and she used to piece up a heap of quilts outen our ole clo'es and any kind of scraps she could get a holt of. i don't know what de others had in dey cabins 'cause ma didn't 'low her chillun to visit 'round de other folkses none. "ma's chillun all had vittals from de white folkses kitchen. after marse billie's fambly done et and left de table, de cook wuz s'posed to take what wuz left to feed de house niggers and her own chillun, and us did have sho' 'nuff good vittals. all de other slave folks had day rations weighed out to 'em every week and dey cooked in dey own cabins. when de wheat wuz ground at de mill it made white flour, and shorts, and seconds. most of de shorts wuz weighed out in rations for de slave folks. now and den at christmas and special times dey got a little white flour. dey liked cornbread for reg'lar eatin'. dey wuz always lots of hogs on marse billie's plantation, and his colored folkses had plenty of side meat. slaves never had no time to hunt in de day time, but dey sho' could catch lots of 'possums at night, and dey knowed how to git catfish at night too. "'cross de road from de big 'ouse, marse billie had a big gyarden, and he seed dat his help had plenty of somethin' good to bile. dey won't no separate gyardens. dey didn't have no time to work no gyardens of dey own. "in summertime us chillun wore just one piece of clo'es. it wuz a sack apron. in winter grandma made us yarn underskirts and yarn drawers buttoned down over our knees. ma made our home-knit stockings. dey called our brass toed shoes 'brogans.' i don't speck you ever seed a brass toed shoe! "our big 'ouse sho' wuz one grand fine place. why, it must have been as big as de mill stone baptist church! it wuz all painted white wid green blinds and had a big old high porch dat went nigh all 'round de house. "if i ever did hear what marse billie's wife wuz named, i done plum clear forgot. us called her 'mist'ess' long as she lived and i don't recollect hearin' her called nothin' else. marster and mist'ess never had no little chillun whilst i was dar. miss lizzie wuz dey youngest child and she wuz most grown when i wuz born. "marse billie's overseer lived in a four-room house up de road a piece from the big 'ouse. nobody thought 'bout none of marse billie's overseers as pore white folkses. every overseer he ever had wuz decent and 'spectable. course dey won't in de same class wid marse billie's fambly, but dey was all right. dey wuz four or five homes nigh our plantation, but all of 'em b'longed to rich white folkses. if dey wuz any pore white folkses 'round dar, us chillun never heared nothin' of 'em. "i don't know just how many slaves marse billie had, but dey sho' was a drove of 'em. sometimes he had 'em all git together in de back yard at de big 'ouse, and dey just filled up de yard. "de overseer blowed a horn to wake 'em up just 'fore day, so as everybody could cook, eat, and git out to de fields by sunrise. dey quit nigh sundown, in time for 'em to feed de stock, do de milkin', tend to bringin' in de wood, and all sorts of other little jobs dat had to be done 'fore it got too dark to see. dey never wuz no work done at night on our plantation. "if any of marse billie's help wuz whipped, i never knowed nothin' 'bout it. dey used to say dat if any of 'em didn't work right de overseer would take 'em to de workshop. us chillun never did know what happened when dey took 'em to de workshop. it wuz too fur away for us to hear what happened dar. de workshop was a big lone shed off to itself, whar dey had da blacksmith place, and whar harness wuz mended, and all sorts of fixin' done to de tools and things. "us never heared of no jail. marse billie bossed his place and us never knowed 'bout no trouble. de workshop wuz de nighest thing to a jail or a court dat anybody on our plantation knowed anything 'bout. us never seed nobody in chains 'til long atter de war, when us wuz livin' in lexin'ton, and mr. jim smith come through dar wid some colored folkses all chained up, but us never did know how come dey wuz chained. "no slave never runned away fron marse billie's plantation. dey never even wanted to try. dey wuz always 'fraid dey might not be able to take as good keer of deyselves as marse billie did for 'em, and dey didn't know what would happen to 'em off de plantation. "i heared 'em talkin' 'bout paterollers, but i never did see one. folkses said dey would git you and beat you if dey cotch you off de plantation whar you b'longed 'thout no pass. if any of marse billie's slaves got cotched by de paterollers, i never knowed nothin' 'bout it. "i never heared of no trouble twixt de white folkses and dey colored folkses. grandma and ma never 'lowed us to go to no other cabins, and us didn't hear 'bout no talk what wuz goin' on 'mongst de others. at night ma always spinned and knit, and grandma, she sewed, makin' clo'es for us chillun. dey done it 'cause dey wanted to. dey wuz workin' for deyselves den. dey won't made to work at night. on sadday night, ma bathed all her chillun. i don't know what de other famblies done den. slaves wuz 'lowed to frolic sadday night, if dey b'haved deyselves. on sunday nights dey most always had prayer meetings. "on christmas mornin' all of us would come up to de yard back of de big 'ouse and marse billie and de overseer handed out presents for all. dey wuz a little dram and cake too. us chillun got dolls, and dresses, and aprons. them stuffed rag dolls wuz de prettiest things! on new year's day all de mens would come up to de big 'ouse early in de morning and would work lively as dey could a-cuttin' wood and doing all sorts of little jobs 'til de dinner bell rung. den marse billie would come out and tell 'em dey wuz startin' de new year right a-workin' lively and fast. den he would say dat dey would be fed good and looked atter good, long as dey worked good. he give 'em a good taste of dram and cake all 'round, and let 'em go back to dey cabins for dinner, and dey could have de rest of de day to frolic. "dem cornshuckin's us used to have sho' wuz a sight. corn would be piled up high as dis house, and de folkses would dance 'round and holler and whoop. ma 'lowed us chillun to watch 'em 'bout a half hour; den made us come back inside our cabin, 'cause dey always give de corn shuckin' folkses some dram, and things would git mighty lively and rough by de time all de corn wuz shucked. "on bright moonshiny nights folkses would invite de neighbors to come for cotton pickin's. after the cotton wuz picked dey would eat barbecue, and dance and have a big time. "i never seed but one weddin' 'fore freedom come, and dat wuz when marse billie's daughter, miss lizzie glenn, married mr. deadwyler. dey had everything at dat weddin'. yes, ma'am, just everything. miss lizzie had on a white silk dress a-trailin' so far behind her dat it took two ladies to tote her train. her veil wuz floatin' all 'bout her, and she wuz just de prettiest thing i ever did see in my whole life. a long time atter dat, mr. deadwyler, he died, and left miss lizzie wid two chillun, and she married mr. roan. "i never seed no slave marriage. ma went to 'em sometimes, but she never 'lowed us to go, 'cause she said us wuz too little. marse billie sont atter his own preacher, and de couple would come up to de big 'ouse and stand in de parlor door to be married 'fore marster and mist'ess. den de colored folkses would go back down to da cabins and have a weddin' supper and frolic and dance. dat's what ma told me 'bout 'em. "us used to play lots, but us never did have no special name for our playin'. 'swingin' the corner,' wuz when us all jined hands in a low row, and de leader would begin to run 'round in circles, and at de other end of de line dey would soon be runnin' so fast dey wuz most flyin'. "us all de time heared folkses talkin' 'bout voodoo, but my grandma wuz powerful 'ligious, and her and ma told us chillun voodoo wuz a no 'count doin' of de devil, and christians wuz never to pay it no 'tention. us wuz to be happy in de lord, and let voodoo and de devil alone. none of us liked to hear scritch owls holler, 'cause everybody thought it meant somebody in dat house wuz goin' to die if a scritch owl lit on your chimney and hollered, so us would stir up de fire to make the smoke drive him away. i always runned out and tried to see 'em, but old as i is, nigh , i ain't never seed no scritch owl. "yes, ma'am, i sho' does b'lieve in ha'nts, 'cause i done heared one and i seed it too, leasewise i seed its light. it wuz 'bout years ago, and us had just moved in a house whar a white fambly had moved out. the ma had died a few days atter a little baby wuz born, and de baby had died too. one night i heared a strange sound like somebody movin' 'round in de house, and pretty soon a dim light comes a-movin' into my room real slow and atter goin' 'round de room it went out of sight in de closet. "next day i went to see de white folkses what had lived dar 'fore us moved in, and de husband tole me not to worry, dat it wuz his wife's ha'nt. he said she wuz huntin' for some money she had hid in de house, 'cause she wanted her chillun what wuz still livin' to have it. i went back home and 'most tore dat house down lookin' for dat money. long as us lived dar i would see dat light now and den at night, and i always hoped it would lead me to de money but it never did. "when folkses got sick, marse billie had 'em looked atter. mist'ess would come every day to see 'bout 'em, and if she thought dey wuz bad off, she sont atter dr. davenport. dr. davenport come dar so much 'til he courted and married marse billie's daughter, miss martha glenn. i wuz named for miss martha. dey sho' did take special good keer of de mammies and de babies. dey had a separate house for 'em, and a granny 'oman who didn't have nothin' else to do but look atter colored babies and mammies. de granny 'oman took de place of a doctor when de babies wuz born, but if she found a mammy in a bad fix she would ax mist'ess to send for dr. davenport. "us didn't have no separate church for colored folkses. de white folkses had a big baptist church dey called mill stone church down at goosepond, a good ways down de road from marse billie's plantation. it sho' wuz a pretty sight to see, dat church, all painted white and set in a big oak grove. colored folkses had dey place in de gallery. dey won't 'lowed to jine de church on sunday, but dey had reg'lar sadday afternoons for de slaves to come and 'fess dey faith, and jine de church. us didn't know dey wuz no other church but de baptist. all de baptizin' wuz done on sunday by de white preacher. first he would baptize de white folkses in de pool back of de church and den he would baptize de slaves in de same pool. "my grandma wuz a powerful christian 'oman, and she did love to sing and shout. dat's how come marse billie had her locked up in de loom room when de yankee mens come to our plantation. grandma would git to shoutin' so loud she would make so much fuss nobody in de church could hear de preacher and she would wander off from de gallery and go downstairs and try to go down de white folkses aisles to git to de altar whar de preacher wuz, and dey wuz always lockin' her up for 'sturbin' worship, but dey never could break her from dat shoutin' and wanderin' 'round de meetin' house, atter she got old. "dem yankee sojers rode up in de big 'ouse yard and 'gun to ax me questions 'bout whar marse billy wuz, and whar everything on de place wuz kept, but i wuz too skeered to say nuthin'. everything wuz quiet and still as could be, 'cept for grandma a-singin' and a-shoutin' up in de loom house all by herself. one of dem yankees tried the door and he axed me how come it wuz locked. i told him it wuz 'cause grandma had 'sturbed de baptist meetin' wid her shoutin'. dem mens grabbed de axe from de woodpile and busted de door down. dey went in and got grandma. dey axed her 'bout how come she wuz locked up, and she told 'em de same thing i had told 'em. dey axed her if she wuz hongry, and she said she wuz. den dey took dat axe and busted down de smokehouse door and told her she wuz free now and to help herself to anything she wanted, 'cause everything on de plantation wuz to b'long to de slaves dat had worked dar. dey took grandma to de kitchen and told ma to give her some of de white folkses dinner. ma said 'but de white folkses ain't et yet.' 'go right on,' de yankees said, 'and give it to her, de best in de pot, and if dey's anything left when she gets through, maybe us will let de white folkses have some of it.' "dem brash mens strutted on through de kitchen into de house and dey didn't see nobody else down stairs. upstairs dey didn't even have de manners to knock at mist'ess' door. dey just walked right on in whar my sister, lucy, wuz combin' mist'ess' long pretty hair. they told lucy she wuz free now and not to do no more work for mist'ess. den all of 'em grabbed dey big old rough hands into mist'ess' hair, and dey made her walk down stairs and out in de yard, and all de time dey wuz a-pullin' and jerkin' at her long hair, tryin' to make her point out to 'em whar marse billie had done had his horses and cattle hid out. us chilluns wuz a-cryin' and takin' on 'cause us loved mist'ess and us didn't want nobody to bother her. dey made out like dey wuz goin' to kill her if she didn't tell 'em what dey wanted to know, but atter a while dey let her alone. "atter dey had told all de slaves dey could find on de place not to do no more work, and to go help deyselves to anything dey wanted in de smokehouse, and 'bout de big 'ouse and plantation, dey rode on off, and us never seed no more of 'em. atter de yankees wuz done gone off grandma 'gun to fuss: 'how, dem sojers wuz tellin' us what ain't so, 'cause ain't nobody got no right to take what belongs to marster and mist'ess.' and ma jined in: 'sho' it ain't no truf in what dem yankees wuz a-sayin', and us went right on living' just like us always done 'til marse billie called us together and told us de war wuz over and us wuz free to go whar us wanted to go, and us could charge wages for our work. "when freedom comed my pa wanted us to move off right away over to mr. smithies' place so our family could be together, but us stayed on wid marse billie de rest of dat year. den pa and ma moved to lexin'ton, whar pa digged walls and ditches and made right good pay. ma took all four of us chillun and run a good farm. us got along fine. "'fore de war, all work stopped on de plantation for de funeral of a slave. grandma didn't think chillun ought to see funerals, so de first one i ever seed, wuz when ma died two years atter de war wuz done over. a jackleg colored preacher talked, but he didn't have sense 'nuff to preach a sho' 'nuff sermon. "us heared a heap 'bout dem ku kluxers, but none of my folks never even seed any of 'em. dey wuz s'posed to have done lots of beatin' of colored folks, but nobody knowed who dem ku kluxers wuz. "a long time atter de war i got married to traverse colquitt. de weddin' took place at my sister's house, and us sho' did have a big weddin' and a fine dinner afterwards. den next day my husband carried me to whar he wuz born, and his ma give us another big fine dinner. she had a table longer dan this room, and it wuz just loaded with all sorts of good things. de white folkses dat my husband had used to work for had sent some of de good vittals. "most of my life atter de war wuz spent in lexin'ton. does you know anythin' 'bout mr. john bacon dat used to run de only hotel dar den? well, i worked for him for many a year. his daughter, miss mamie bacon, lives here in athens and she is old and feeble like me. she lives 'bout four blocks from here, and whenever i'se able to walk dat far, i goes to see her to talk 'bout old times, and to git her to 'vise me how to git along. i sho'ly does love miss mamie. "my husband died 'bout a year ago. us had eight boys and two girls, but dey ain't but four of our chillun livin' now. least, i thinks dey is all four alive. two of my sons lives somewhar in alabama, and one son stays in new york. my only livin' daughter lives wid me here, pore thing! since she seed one of her chillun killed last year, she ain't had no mind a t'all. i'se tryin' to look atter her and de other child. her husband done been dead a long time. my neighbors helps me, by bringin' me a little to eat, when dey knows i ain't got nothin' in de house to cook. de storekeeper lets me have a little credit, but i owe her so much now dat i'se 'shamed to ax her to let me have anythin' else. de white folkses on prince avenue is right good to let me have dey clo'es to wash, and de young gals in the neighborhood helps me to do de washin'. i sho' is hopin' de old age pension will soon git started comin' to me. some dat i know, has been gittin' dey old age pensions two or three months. i done signed up for mine twict, so maybe it will 'gin to come 'fore i is done plum wore out." when her visitor was ready to leave, martha hobbled to the door and bade her an affectionate farewell. "goodbye, lady! i prays for you every night. may de good lord bless you." plantation life as viewed by an ex-slave minnie davis, age billups st. athens, ga. written by: mrs. sadie b. hornsby athens, georgia edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens, georgia and john n. booth wpa residencies & august , the bareness of minnie davis' yard was relieved by a single rosebush, and her small house might best be described as a "tumble-down shack." an unsteady wooden box served as a step to the fragment of porch before the front door. "good mornin', mam," was the greeting of a negro man who hastened to answer the visitor's knock at the door. "yes mam, miss minnie's at home." he turned, tapped on the door of one of the four rooms adjoining the hall, and called: "miss minnie, a white lady wants to see you." minnie hobbled to the door and invited the visitor to her bedroom, where a suite of handsome walnut furniture reflected the period when marble tops were standard parts of dressers and washstands. a low chair, an old table, and a rusty heater completed the furnishings of the room. age and ill health have not dealt kindly with minnie, and her short-cut, kinky hair is almost white, but her eyes and face retain a remarkably youthful appearance. she is a small thin woman of gingercake color and, despite the sweltering heat, she wore a pink flannel nightgown, faded and dingy, and a pair of high top black shoes, so badly run over that she hobbled along on the sides of them. minnie is well educated, and she taught school for so long that her speech is remarkably free of dialect. when the nature of the visit was explained, minnie said: "a white woman has been here several times before, but i was sick and didn't understand clearly what she wanted me to tell her." she then explained that she did not care to talk for publication at all. she said she was hungry and had nothing at all in the house to eat. her nephew, ed, an ex-postman lived with her, she explained, and he would go for food if there was any money. she might feel like talking a little if she had a little something to eat. the interviewer provided the cash and ed soon returned with a pint of milk and some cinnamon rolls. after her repast, minnie began to talk, giving the impression that every word was carefully weighed before it was uttered. "i was born in greene county near penfield, georgia," she said. "aggie crawford was my mother and she was married to jim young. my only sister was mariah, and my three brothers were ned, john, and jim. ned was a mulatto. i know who his father was, but of course you won't ask me that. i wouldn't want to expose my own mother or the man who was ned's father. i was quite a small child during the war period, and i can tell you very little of that time, except the things my mother told me when i grew old enough to remember. my mother belonged to the crawford family in greene county, but when i knew anything we were living in athens and were the slaves of marster john crawford. "as children we played around the yard; those of us who were old enough had odd jobs to do. the unceiled house that my father and mother shared with three other families was weatherboarded and had a chimney made of sticks and dirt. there was a bed in each corner of the room and from one to three children slept in the bed with their parents: the rest of the children slept on the floor. the tall old home-made wooden beds had very much the appearance of beds used now, except that cords were used instead of the metal springs that came into use later. our osnaburg mattress ticks were filled with straw. i'm quite sure there were no pillows. there was also a two-story house on the lot for slaves." she was asked what she called her father and mother during slavery time, and her reply was: "i have always said father and mother because i liked it better, and the bible teaches us to say that. "grandmother dilsey and grandfather levi crawford lived in lexington. i saw my grandmother one time, but i don't know what she did at the white folks' house. grandfather was a carpenter. "i never got any money in slavery time. if the slaves ever got any, it was when the yankees came through here. at that time the white people gave their money to the slaves for safekeeping, and after the yankees went on it was returned to the white owners. "my mother was the cook and looked after the house. oh, yes indeed, we had good food to eat. bread, milk, meat, collard greens, turnips, and potatoes. i would say we had just everything that was grown in the garden and on the plantations to eat at that time. the cooking was done in the kitchen in the yard. the fireplace was as wide as the end of this room, and a long iron bar extended from one end to the other. the great cooking pots were suspended over the coals from this bar by means of pot hooks. heavy iron skillets with thick lids were much used for baking, and they had ovens of various sizes. i have seen my mother bake beautiful biscuits and cakes in those old skillets, and they were ideal for roasting meats. mother's batter cakes would just melt in your mouth and she could bake and fry the most delicious fish. there was no certain thing that i liked to eat more than anything else in those days. i was young and had a keen appetite for all good things. miss fannie and miss susan often made candy and it was so good i could have eaten all they made, had they given it to me. my father hired his time out; he made and sold gingercakes on the railroad. "in the summertime we wore homespun dresses made with a full skirt gathered onto a tight-fitting waist. in the wintertime the dresses were made of checked woolen material called linsey cloth. for underwear, we wore balmoral petticoats and osnaburg drawers. we went barefooted most of the time. i remember one particular time when the ground was frozen and i went about without any shoes, but it didn't bother me. barefooted children seldom had bad colds in winter. we wore just anything on sunday, but we had to look nice and clean. "marster john crawford, son of the distinguished william h. crawford, was my owner. indeed, he was good to us. i'll tell you after awhile about the time he wouldn't let the town marshal whip my mother. they told me his wife was a fine woman and that she was as good to her slaves as she could be. she died very young in life and marse john's sisters, miss fannie and miss susan, kept house for him after that. marse john's three children were miss fannie, miss rosa, and marse allie. miss rosa married marse tom golden, and miss fannie married a gerdine; i've forgotten his first name. "marse john may have had an overseer on one of his plantations, but i don't remember. i do know he didn't have a carriage driver for he didn't have a carriage. i don't believe i can describe the peculiar shape of his fine eight-room house. it was on dougherty street, right back of scudder's school. the crawfords were considered very uppity people and their slaves were uppish too. marse john didn't have many slaves and they had to get up and get going early every morning. marse john was postmaster of athens and had to be in his office by eight o'clock every morning so he ordered that his breakfast be served regularly at seven-thirty. "no mam, our white folks didn't teach their slaves to read and write because it was against the law. however, they did read the bible to us, and the slaves that were smart enough, were asked to repeat the verses they had learned from hearing miss fannie, miss sue, and marse john read. the crawford children were caught teaching my mother to read and write, but they were made to stop. mother was quick to learn and she never gave up. she would steal the newspapers and read up about the war, and she kept the other slaves posted as to how the war was progressing. she knew when the war was over, almost as soon as marse john did. "i don't recall any certain reason why the slaves were punished; they needed it, i'm sure of that. some folks need to be punished now. miss sue, as we called her, whipped the slaves for misbehavior. i remember one time there was quite a commotion. the town marshal came to our house to whip my mother. it had been told that she had been writing letters, asking people to buy whiskey from her, but marse john wouldn't let the marshal touch her. there was a jail, but i don't recall that any of marse john's slaves were ever put in there. i was told that his slaves were, as a rule, well behaved and that they gave him no trouble. "yes mam, we went to church, that is, those of us who cared to go did. there wasn't any separate church for colored people in athens, that i can remember. we went to church and sunday school at the first presbyterian church, where the slaves were allowed to sit in the gallery. i recall that dr. hoyt used to pray that the lord would drive the yankees back. he said that 'niggers were born to be slaves.' my mother said that all the time he was praying out loud like that, she was praying to herself: 'oh, lord, please send the yankees on and let them set us free.' i wasn't enough of a singer to have a favorite song, and i was too happy playing with the crawford children to be interested in going to baptizings and funerals. "i did go to my father's funeral. when he was taken sick dr. holt attended his case, and it was not long before he told marse john that father would never get well. when he died mother hollered and screamed something terrible. miss sue told her not to cry because, 'the lord knows best.' 'yes, miss sue,' answered mother, 'but you have never loved a man to lose.' with that, they both cried. when anyone died in those days, the people sat up all night and didn't go to bed until the funeral was over. now, no real sympathy is shown. "i don't believe any of marse john's slaves ever went to the war. he was good to them and everyone of them loved him. i heard of patterollers chasing slaves and whipping them if they were caught away from home without a pass, and sometimes they locked them up. however, nothing of the kind ever happened to any of marse john's slaves. he was a highly respected citizen and everyone in athens knew better than to touch his negroes. "after the work for the day was finished at the big house, the slaves went to their quarters to weave cloth and sew, but when ten o'clock came and the bell sounded, everything had to be quiet. slaves on our place worked saturday afternoons the same as any other day. on saturday nights the young folks and a few of the older folks danced. some of them got passes from marse john so they could visit around. they popped corn, pulled candy, or just sat around and talked. those of us who desired went to sunday school and church on sundays; others stayed at home and did their washing and ironing, and there was always plenty of that to be done. "christmas was a grand time at marse john's. we had everything good to eat under the sun at that time and, as my mother was the cook, i was sure of getting my share of the good things. miss fannie and miss sue played santa claus to slave children. i was sorry when mary got too smart and peeped to see what it was all about, for after that they just came to our house and handed us the things that would have come as santa claus. "new year's day was no different from other days, except that marse john gave the grown folks whiskey to drink that day like he did on christmas morning. they couldn't risk giving slaves much whiskey because it made them mean, and then they would fight the white folks. they had to be mighty careful about things like that in order to keep down uprisings. "my mother went to cornshuckings, cotton pickings, and quiltings. they must have had wonderful times, to hear her tell it. she said that after the corn was shucked, cotton picked, or quilts quilted, they always gave them plenty of good things to eat and drink and let them aloose to enjoy themselves for the balance of the night. those things took place at harvest time, and everyone looked forward to having a good time at that season. mother said that marse john was particular with his slaves, and wouldn't let them go just anywhere to these things. "about the only game i can remember playing as a child was a doll game. the crawford children would use me for the doll, and then when my turn came to play mamma and claim one of them for my doll, miss fanny or miss sue would appear and then i would have to be a doll for them. i didn't mind, for i dearly loved them all. "now about raw head and bloody bones; i am going to tell you, miss, my marster's people were cultured and refined, and they wouldn't allow such things told to their own children or to their slaves' children. they didn't want anything said or done to frighten any little children, and if a nurse or anyone else was caught doing such a thing, that person was punished for it. with the heritage of training like that i could hardly be expected to believe in such things. "marse john was grand to sick slaves. he always sent for dr. moore, who would make his examination and write out his prescription. when he left his parting word was usually 'give him a sound thrashing and he will get better.' of course he didn't mean that; it was his little joke. dr. holt, dr. crawford long, and dr. jones long were sometimes called in for consultation on particularly serious cases. we didn't like dr. moore and usually begged for one of the other doctors. i don't think my white folks used teas made of herbs, leaves or roots; they may have, but i don't remember it. however, i do know that we wore little sacks of asafetida around our necks to keep off diseases, and the white folks wore it too. "on the day we learned of the surrender, the negroes rallied around the liberty flag pole that they set up near where the city hall is now. all day long they cut up and there was a song they sung that day that went something like this: 'we rally around the flag pole of liberty, the union forever, hurrah! boys hurrah!' "next morning when the negroes got up the white folks had cut that pole down. we were mortally afraid of the yankees when they appeared here a short time after the surrender. we were afraid of the ku klux klan riders too. the negroes did act so bad; there were lots of killings going on for a long time after the war was supposed to be over. "mother was glad and sorry too that she was free. marse john had been so good to all his slaves that none of them really wanted to leave him. we stayed on a while, then mother left and rented a room. she worked hard and bought a house as soon as she could; others did the same. there were very few slaves that had any money at all to begin on. "immediately following the surrender northern people opened knox institute. one of my teachers was miss dora brooks, a white woman from the north. the principal was a white man, he was mr. sortur. after i graduated from knox institute, i went to the atlanta university four years, then came back to athens and taught school here forty years. i taught whatever grade they assigned me to each year, never any certain grade from year to year. first and last, i've taught from first grade through high school. i would be teaching now if it were not for my bad health. i receive a teacher's pension, but have never applied for an old age pension. "my husband was samuel b. davis, publisher of the _athens clipper_. i published this newspaper myself for a short while after his death, then sold it. we didn't have a big wedding, just a very simple one at my mother's house. i was married in a nice white dress, but it was nothing fancy. our two children were born dead. once i had a nice home, beautifully furnished. all i have left of it is this old house and my good bedroom suite. the rest of my possessions have gotten away from me during my continued illness. "i often think of abraham lincoln; he did a good deed for my race. jeff davis was a good man and, no doubt, he thought he was doing the right thing. booker t. washington was a man of brilliant mind, but he was radically wrong in many of his views pertaining to education of the black race. he lectured here once, but i didn't bother to hear him speak. "yes mam, indeed i had rather be free. oh! religion is glorious. if god has set you free from the bonds and penalties of sin, i think you ought to live up to your lord's commands. i dearly love to go to church and hear the preacher tell of god. it gives me strength to live until he is ready for me to go. "now, miss, i hope i have told you what you wanted to know, but i must admit the things that took place way back there are rather vague in my mind. i'm an old woman and my mind is not as clear as it once was. next week, if i am strong enough to make the trip, i am going to spend the day with mary colbert, and go over the old times you and i have discussed. she remembers them better than i do, because she is older." whitley [hw: unedited atlanta] e. driskell ex-slave mose davis [apr ] in one of atlanta's many alleys lives mose davis, an ex-slave who was born on a very large plantation miles from perry, georgia. his master was colonel davis, a very rich old man, who owned a large number of slaves in addition to his vast property holdings. mose davis says that all the buildings on this plantation were whitewashed, the lime having been secured from a corner of the plantation known as "the lime sink". colonel davis had a large family and so he had to have a large house to accommodate these members. the mansion, as it was called, was a great big three-storied affair surrounded by a thick growth of cedar trees. mose's parents, jennie and january davis, had always been the property of the davis family, naturally he and his two brothers and two sisters never knew any other master than "the old colonel". mr. davis says that the first thing he remembers of his parents is being whipped by his mother who had tied him to the bed to prevent his running away. his first recollection of his father is seeing him take a drink of whiskey from a five gallon jug. when asked if this was'nt against the plantation rules "uncle mose" replied: "the colonel was one of the biggest devils you ever seen--he's the one that started my daddy to drinking. sometimes he used to come to our house to git a drink hisself". mose's father was the family coachman. "all that he had to do was to drive the master and his family and to take care of the two big grey horses that he drove. compared to my mother and the other slaves he had an easy time," said uncle mose, shaking his head and smiling: "my daddy was so crazy about the white folks and the horses he drove until i believe he thought more of them than he did of me. one day while i was in the stable with him one of the horses tried to kick me and when i started to hit him daddy cussed me and threatned to beat me." his mother, brothers, and sisters, were all field hands, but there was never any work required of mose, who was play-mate and companion to manning, the youngest of colonel davis' five sons. these two spent most of the time fishing and hunting. manning had a pony and buggy and whenever he went to town he always took mose along. field hands were roused, every morning by the overseer who rang the large bell near the slave quarters. women [tr: and] young children were permitted to remain at home until o'clock to prepare breakfast. at o'clock these women had to start to the fields where they worked along with the others until sundown. the one break in the day's work was the noon dinner hour. field hands planted and tended cotton, corn, and the other produce grown on the plantation until harvest time when everybody picked cotton. slaves usually worked harder during the picking season than at any other time. after harvest, the only remaining work was cleaning out fence corners, splitting rails building fences and numerous other minor tasks. in hot weather, the only work was shelling corn. there was no sunday work other than caring for the stock. on this plantation there were quite a few skilled slaves mostly blacksmiths, carpenters, masons, plasterers, and a cobbler. one of mose's brothers was a carpenter. all slaves too old for field work remained at home where some took care of the young children, while others worked in the loom houses helping make the cloth and the clothing used on the plantation. since no work was required at night, this time was utilized by doing personal work such as the washing and the repairing of clothing, etc. on the fourth of july or at christmas colonel davis always had a festival for all his slaves. barbecue was served and there was much singing and dancing. these frolics were made merrier by the presence of guests from other plantations. music was furnished by some of the slaves who also furnished music at the mansion whenever the col. or some of the members of his family had a party. there was also a celebration after the crops had been gathered. although there was only one distribution of clothing per year nobody suffered from the lack of clothes because this one lot had enough to last a year if properly cared for. the children wore one piece garments, a cross between a dress and a slightly lengthened shirt, made of homespun or crocus material [tr note: "crocus" is a coarse, loosely woven material like burlap]. no shoes were given them until winter and then they got the cast-offs of the grown ups. the men all wore pants made of material known as "ausenberg". the shirts and under wear were made of another cotton material. dresses for the women were of striped homespun. all shoes were made on the premises of the heaviest leather, clumsely fashioned and uncle mose says that slaves like his father who worked in the mansion, were given much better clothing. his father received of "the colonel" and his grown sons many discarded clothes. one of the greatest thrills of mose's boyhood was receiving first pair of "ausenberg" pants. as his mother had already taught him to knit (by using four needles at one time) all that he had to do was to go to his hiding place and get the socks that he had made. none of the clothing worn by the slaves on this particular plantation was bought. everything was made by the slaves, even to the dye that was used. asked if there was sufficient food for all slaves, uncle mose said "i never heard any complaints." at the end of each week every family was given some fat meat, black molasses, meal and flour in quantity varying with the size of the family. at certain intervals during the week, they were given vegetables. here too, as in everything else, mose's father was more fortunate than the others, since he took all his meals at the mansion where he ate the same food served to the master and his family. the only difference between week-day and sunday diet was that biscuits were served on sundays. the children were given only one biscuit each. in addition to the other bread was considered a delicacy. all food stuff was grown on the plantation. the slave quarters were located a short distance below the mansion. the cabins one-roomed weatherboard structures were arranged so as to form a semi-circle. there was a wide tree-lined road leading from the master's home to these cabins. furnishings of each cabin consisted of one or two benches, a bed, and a few cooking utensils. these were very crude, especially the beds. some of them had four posts while the ends of others were nailed to the walls. all lumber used in their construction was very heavy and rough. bed springs were unheard of--wooden slats being used for this purpose. the mattresses were large ausenberg bags stuffed to capacity with hay, straw, or leaves. uncle mose told about one of the slaves, named ike, whose entire family slept on bare pine straw. his children were among the fattest on the plantation and when colonel davis tried to make him put this straw in a bag he refused claiming that the pine needles kept his children healthy. the floors and chimneys on the davis plantation were made of wood and brick instead of dirt and mud as was the case on many of the other surrounding plantations. one window (with shutters instead of window panes) served the purpose of ventilation and light. at night pine knots or candles gave light. the little cooking that the slaves did at home was all done at the open fireplace. near the living quarters was a house known as the "chillun house." all children too young for field work stayed at this house in the care of the older slave women. there was no hospital building on the premises. the sick had to remain in their individual cabins where they too were cared for by slaves too old for field work. only one family lived in a cabin. mose's mother and father each had a separate cabin. he did not explain the reason for this but said that he was made to live in his father's cabin. whenever he could, (usually when his father was away with the colonel for a day or two) he stayed in his mothers cabin. "the only difference between the houses we lived in during slavery and those that some of us live in now who said is that we had more room there than we have now." he says that even the community cook house was larger than some of the living quarters of today. all cabins were white washed the same as the other buildings on the plantation, and the occupants were required to keep the interiors and the surrounding clean at all times. the overseer's cabin was located a short distance away from the slave cabins, so that it would be easier for him to keep check on his charges. there was little if any sickness but colonel davis employed a doctor who visited the plantation each week. on other occasions the overseer administered such remedies as castor oil, turpentine, etc., and the slaves had remedies of their own. for stomach ache they used a tea made of jimson weeds. another medicine was heart leaf tea. manual and religious training were the only types allowed on the plantation. trades like carpentry, blacksmithing, etc. were learned from the white mechanics sometimes employed by colonel davis. all slaves were required to attend church and a special building was known as "davis' chapel." a negro preacher officiated and no white people were present. uncle mose doesn't know what was preached as he and manning always slipped into town on sundays to see the girls. uncle mose says he and manning were together so much that occasionally they even slept in the same bed,--sometimes in manning's house and sometimes at his own house. a pool for baptism was filled with well water. the colored pastor performed all baptisms and marriages. book learning was prohibited in any form. sometimes mose tried to persuade manning to teach him to read and write but manning always refused. mose's cousin who was taught to read and write forged colonel davis' name to a check and drew the money from the bank before the hand writing was discovered. for this act he was given a sound whipping and assigned to hard labor by the master, "and", said uncle mose, "he didn't even have the pleasure of spending one penny". when asked if his cousin was arrested and placed in jail he replied that the jails were not for the slaves, as their punishment was usually left to their individual masters. when his cousin was whipped this was an exception to "the colonel's rule"; he was entirely against any form of whipping. his usual method of punishment was to cut off individual privileges for a limited amount of time (in proportion to the nature of the offense), along with an assignment of extra heavy work. the fame of the "paddle-rollers" was widespread among the slaves, but none of colonel davis' servants attempted to run away or leave the plantation often without the required pass (if they did they were never caught). there was very little talk on the plantation about the actual beginning of the civil war. slaves was very guarded in their talk as they feared the master's wrath. uncle mose thought little or nothing about the war and had even less to say. when the yankee soldiers came to the plantation they drove wagons to the smoke house and took all the meat away. "the funny part about it was that "the colonel" had taken shelter in this particular house when he saw the yankees coming," said uncle mose. "he didn't have time to hide any of his other belongings." when the soldiers had left, the colonel looked around and said to manning and mose: "just like i get that, i guess i can get some more." uncle mose says that when freedom was declared, his father came rushing to their cabin waving his arms like a windmill, shouting: "boy we is free--you can go and git yourself a job 'cause i ain't goin' to hitch up no more horses". some of the slaves remained on the plantation where they worked for wages until their deaths. his father was one of them and after his death, his mother moved to another plantation to live with another son. meanwhile mose started traveling from place to place as soon as he was told that he was free to go as he pleased. he paid one visit to the plantation where he learned of his father's death. he then asked manning, who was operating the plantation, for the ox that had belonged to his father and when manning refused to part with this animal, he made a secret visit back, that night, and took the animal away. he has not been back since. at this time mr. davis stretched himself, saying: "well, i guess that's about as straight as i can get it--wish that i could tell you some more but i can't." smiling broadly, he bade the interviewer a pleasant good-bye. ex-slave interview ike derricotte, age hancock avenue athens, georgia written by: miss grace mccune athens edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, georgia august , [tr: one page of this interview was repeated in typescript; where there was a discrepancy, the clearer version was used.] ike derricotte's brown-painted, frame bungalow, well back from the street, faces a wide grassy yard where tall pecan trees provide summer shade and winter nuts. a mulatto woman answered the knock at the front door. her long, straight, white hair was neatly arranged in a low-pinned coil at the back of her head. her print frock and white shoes were immaculate. "yes mam, ike is at home," was the answer to the inquiry for her husband. "jus' have a seat on de porch here 'cause it's so much cooler dan inside de house, and i'll call ike. he's jus' piddlin' 'round de back yard dis mornin'." almost at once a tall, well-built man of gingercake color appeared. he wore an old black cap, blue work shirt, blue wool trousers, and black shoes. "howdy-do, miss! did you want to see me?" was his greeting. his eyes sparkled when he learned that we wished to record the story of his life. "yes mam, i'll be glad to tell you what i kin," he promised, "and miss, i'll jus' bet i kin tell you somepin dat very few folks kin say 'bout dem old days. i was born right here on dis same street, and i'm still livin' on it, but dis house and lot ain't my birthplace. when i was born, dis section was mostly in woods. jus' look at it now; houses has been built up and down both sides of what was den jus' de big road. times has changed in lots of ways since dem days. "my mother's name was myra, and she was a laundry 'oman owned by mr. stevens thomas. mr. thomas was one of de biggest merchants in athens dem days. he owned de square between thomas street and wall street, and it s'tended back to clayton street. "william derricotte was my father, and he belonged to col. robert thomas. my father spent most of his time beautifyin' de yards 'round de big house, and in dese days and times he would be called a landscape gardener. dey jus' called 'em yard boys den. atter pa and ma was married, marster stevens sold ma to marster robert, so dat dey could be together. mr. robert thomas' place was right up dis same old street, whar de y.w.c.a. is now, and right dar is whar i was born. dat was in , a long time ago; and lots of things has happened since den. lots of people has moved away and lots more has died out, 'til dere ain't many of de folks left here dat lived in athens den. de thomases, dorseys, and phinizys was some of de oldest families here. "i was too little to know much about de war but, little as i was, dere's one thing dat's still as fresh in my memory now as den, and dat's how people watched and waited to hear dat old georgia train come in. not many folks was able to take de papers den, and de news in 'em was from one to two weeks old when dey got here. all de men dat was able to fight was off at de front and de folks at home was anxious for news. de way dat old train brought 'em de news was lak dis: if de southern troops was in de front, den dat old whistle jus' blowed continuously, but if it was bad news, den it was jus' one short, sharp blast. in dat way, from de time it got in hearin', evvybody could tell by de whistle if de news was good or bad and, believe me, evvybody sho' did listen to dat train. "times was hard durin' de war but from what i've heared de folks dat was old folks den say, dey warn't near as bad here as in lots of other places. yes mam! sho' i kin 'member dem yankees comin' here, but dat was atter de war was done over. dey camped right here on hancock avenue. whar dey camped was mostly woods den, and deir camp reached nearly all de way to whar milledge avenue is now. us chillun was scared to death of dem soldiers and stayed out of deir way all us could. my marster, mr. stevens thomas, hid all of his family's silver and other valuables dat could be put out of sight, for dem yankees jus' went 'round takin' whatever dey wanted. dey stole all kinds of food out of de homes, went into de smokehouses and got hams, and cotched up de chickens. dey jus' reached out and tuk what dey wanted and laughed about it lak dey hadn't been stealin'. "dem yankees brought de smallpox here wid 'em and give it to all de athens folks, and dat was somepin awful. folks jus' died out wid it so bad. dey built a hospital what dey called de 'pest house' out whar de stockade is now. it was rough and small but i reckon it helped some. it warn't near large enough for all de folks dat was sick wid smallpox at one time, and so dey finally got to whar dey used it jus' for de colored folks, 'cause it seemed dat smallpox went harder wid dem dan wid de white folks. "when de war ended us didn't leave mr. stevens thomas. ma kept on cookin' and wukin' 'round de house, and pa wuked lots for other folks, larned to do brick-work, build walls, and things lak dat. atter he got to be a brickmason he allus had plenty to do. "marbles was de favorite game of de chillun dem days but us never got to play much lak chillun does dese days, 'cause times was so hard right atter de war dat as soon as chillun got big enough dey had to go to wuk. some of our very best times was at de old swimmin' hole. us dammed up dat little crick right back of whar de seaboard depot is now and it made a fine pool to swim in. it was cool for it was shady off down dar in de woods, and us spent many a hour dar on days as hot as dis one is. when dey missed us at home, dat was de fust place dey thought of when dey come to hunt us. i had some mighty good times in dat crick and i couldn't begin to count de duckin's i got dar and de whuppin's my ma and pa give me for stayin' so long. "de biggest time in all de year was de commencement day; evvybody got busy and fixed up for dat. my marster allus had lots of company at commencement times, and us had de most good things to eat. out in town dey was 'pared for it too. tables was all along de sidewalks whar you could buy any kind of 'freshments you wanted. course dere warn't as many kinds of 'freshments den as dey has now, but dere was allus plenty of de strong sort. one time durin' commencement week, ma give me a whole quarter to spend. i was de happiest and de richest boy in dis town; jus' had more money to spend dan anybody, and i walked de streets from one table to another tryin' to see whar i was gwine to spend all dat money." here, ike laughed heartily. "miss," he said, "you jus' never could guess what i spent all dat money for. i bought a whole quarter's worth of ginger-cakes and lit out for de swimmin' hole. us chillun had a fine time down at de swimmin' hole dat day. de cobbs and lumpkins owned all dat land in dar 'round our swimmin' hole den. dey owned from de catholic church straight through to college avenue. "i mighty well 'member de fust wuk i ever done. i was still jus' a little fellow when miss belle brumby told ma she wanted me for a butler boy and dat she would pay me $ . a month. i jus' jumped up and down and begged her to let me wuk for miss belle. why, i jus' knowed i would git rich right away, 'cause $ . was a mighty lot of money." ike laughed as he said: "how many boys would wuk for dat pay for a week now, let alone a whole month? ma did let me wuk for miss belle and i was happy, but i know my mist'ess had a time wid me 'cause, when i got on dat white coat dey let me wear to wait on de table, i knowed more dan evvybody else put together and dere couldn't nobody tell me how to keep de flies off de table. miss belle is one fine 'oman, dey jua' don't come no finer and no better. "when i was fourteen my pa hired me out to be a shoemaker. de shop whar i was 'prenticed was down on broad street, jus' about whar de bernstein furniture store is now. dat old buildin' was tore down long years ago and evvything 'long dar is changed now. de athens hardware store is de only broad street business of dem days dat has stood in de same place and endured through all dese years. "when i went to wuk for mr. joe barry in his shoe shop on jackson street, right in back of whar mr. lee morris' store is now, i felt lak i had got to be a real sho' 'nough important shoemaker. i wuked for him 'bout or years. he was a good man to wuk for and he was de only shoemaker i ever knowed to git rich at his trade; he really did make money in dat shop. i've been a shoemaker ever since , but i never have been able to git far ahead. in spite of all our trouble for years atter de war, it seems to me dat times was much better den dan dey is now. course, folks didn't make as much den as dey does now. carpenters, bricklayers, shoemakers, in fact 'most any kind of laborers who got from $ . to $ . a day thought dey had fine wages den. boys was paid from $ . to $ . a month. cooks got $ . to $ . a month, and of course, dey got deir meals whar dey wuked. sometimes odds and ends of old clothes was give to 'em, and dey got along very well, even if most of 'em did have families and big families at dat. folks could live on less den 'cause things was cheaper. you could git meal for ¢ a bushel; side meat was ¢ to ¢ a pound; and you could git a -pound sack of flour for ¢. wood was ¢ a load. house rent was so cheap dat you didn't have to pay over $ . a month for a or room house, and lots of times you got it cheaper. most evvybody wore clothes made out of homespun cloth and jeans, and dey didn't know nothin' 'bout ready-made, store-bought clothes. dem clothes what dey made at home didn't cost very much. livin' was cheap, but folks lived mighty well in dem days. "us has been married more dan years and dey has all been happy years. us has had our troubles and hard luck, but dey come to evvybody. de lord has been mighty good to us, 'specially in lettin' us be together so long. it was what you might call a case of love at fust sight wid us. i was visitin' down at camak, georgia at christmastime. she lived at sparta, and was spendin' christmas at camak too, but i didn't see her 'til i was 'bout to leave for athens. i jus' thought i never could go 'way atter i fust seed her, but i did, and i didn't git to see her again for long months. us writ to one another all dat year and got married at christmastime, one year from de time us fust met. "us has still got dat old pen i used when i writ and axed her to marry me; i'd lak to show it to you. 'scuse me please whilst i goes in de house to git it." soon ike returned. "ain't it a sight?" he proudly exclaimed as he displayed the relic. "i made it up myself in december and it got her consent to marry me, so i'se kept it ever since. my wife and me wouldn't part wid it for nothin'." the wooden pen staff is very smooth as though from long usage except at the tip end, where it appears to have been gnawed. it looks very much as though ike may have chewed on it as he wrote that all important letter. the iron pen point, much too large to fit the standard grooves of the ordinary pen staff, was placed on the staff and tightly wrapped. after years of service the pen point and its staff are still in good condition. ike has the prince albert coat that he wore on his wedding day and he insists that it looks and fits as well now as it did on the occasion of his marriage. "i'm keepin' de coat and pen for our chillun," he declared. before resuming the conversation, ike went back in the house to put the treasured pen away. in a few moments he returned. "god has been good to us," he said, "for he let us have all nine of our chillun 'til dey was grown up. us wuked mighty hard to raise 'em and give all of 'em a good education. dat was somepin us couldn't have when us was growin' up and i'm thankful to be able to say dat us was able to send 'em all to college. four of our chillun has gone on ahead to de next world, and de five dat's left is scattered from place to place; none of 'em is wid us now, but dey don't forgit us. dey writes to us and visits us often and us goes to see dem. one son is goin' mighty well as a lawyer in washin'ton, d.c., and our baby lives in new york city. it's been 'bout years now since my daughter juliette died atter a automobile wreck near dalton, georgia. did you know 'bout juliette? she give her life to wuk for de y.w.c.a., and she went all over de world tryin' to make things better for de young women of our race. somebody writ a memorial book 'bout her. i wish dere was a copy of dat book here for you to see, but it was borrowed from us and it ain't been returned. "did you know i had jus' come back from washin'ton, whar i visited dat lawyer son of mine? he sends for me nearly evvy summer and i enjoy visitin' dar, but i wouldn't lak to live up dar 'cause dem folks ain't lak our own southern people. i must say dey is mighty nice and good to me when i goes dar though. once when i was dar somebody told me dat if i wanted to have a good time i mustn't let nobody know i was a georgian 'cause dey said dat de northerners don't lak our state. de rest of de time i was dar on dat visit i tuk partic'lar pleasure in tellin' evvybody how proud i was of my state and my home. "dat reminds me of miss sally hodgson. she was in de north, and one evenin' she was tryin' to tell de folks up dar dat de southern people warn't as bad as some of de yankees had said dey was, and dat de white folks down south didn't mistreat de colored folks. miss sally said dat de very next mornin' de papers up dar was full of news 'bout de lynchin' of negroes in one night at watkinsville. if you had knowed miss sally, you would know how funny dat was," ike laughed. "she said atter dat dere warn't no way she could convince dem folks up dar dat georgia was a good place to live in. "us had some good friends in de north and sometimes dey comes down here to see us. one of my wife's friends, a 'oman wid a lot of education has jus' gone back to philadelphia atter a visit here in our home. us travels a good deal and us has found dat de world ain't so large but dat us is allus runnin' up against somebody dat us knows wherever us goes. "sometimes when you is in a strange place it's mighty handy to find somebody you have knowed a long time ago. i 'member one time when i was visitin' in washin'ton and wanted to git a glimpse of de president. i didn't say nothin' to nobody 'bout what was on my mind, but atter my son went to his wuk in de mornin' i slipped off to de capitol widout tellin' nobody whar i was gwine. i found a waitin' room outside de president's office and i made up my mind i would set dar 'til de president had to go out for dinner or to go home for supper. i never thought about he might have a side door he could come and go from widout usin' de door to de waitin' room. atter i had set dar in dat waitin' room de best part of two days watchin' for de president, somebody said: 'howdy, uncle ike! what is you doin' here in de president's waitin' room?' i looked up and dar stood albon holsey. he had growed up in athens. he was de boy dey 'signed to wait on president taft when he was at miss maggie welch's home for a day and night in january 'fore he was inaugurated. i bet albon is still got dat $ . mr. taft give him de mornin' he left athens, but he don't need to spend it now 'cause folks say he got rich off of his chain of stores for colored folks, and anyhow he's got a fine job dese days. well, i s'plained to albon dat i was jus' waitin' to git a peep at de president whenever he happened to pass through dat room. albon he smiled sort of wise-like. he tuk out one of his cyards and writ sompin on it, and axed a lady to take it right in to de president. she warn't gone minutes 'fore she come back and said: 'de president will see mr. holsey and his friend now.' i was wuss skeered dan i has ever been at any other time in my life. us walked in and i was 'fraid de president could hear my knees knockin' together, and my heart was beatin' so fast and loud it seemed to me lak it was 'bout to bust. de president spoke to us and when he found out dat i was from athens, he axed me lots of questions. he said dat he was interested in athens. soon albon said us must be goin' and when us got out of dar i was right weak, but i was might proud and happy to think de president had tuk time to talk pleasant lak wid a pore old negro shoemaker. "another time in washin'ton a friend of my son's tuk me to a club one night whar some of de richest of our race is members. dat night i met a man who had went to school wid de mr. teddy roosevelt dat was president atter mr. mckinley; den i met another negro dat had been a classmate of president hoover and one dat went to school wid president franklin d. roosevelt. it's right strange how dey all heads for washin'ton, d.c. to stay. "athens has allus been a real quiet town, and dere never was no real serious trouble here 'tween de races, not even when matt davis and pink morton was postmasters here. people was allus predictin' trouble 'bout dat, but de folks here was too level-headed for dat. dey knowed dey could straighten out deir own troubles widout havin' to fly off de handle in a race riot, and so dey 'tended to deir own business' and de races got along all right through it all. "atter all, athens is a good place to live in. here us has de best neighbors in de world; dey's allus ready to look atter one another in times of sickness and trouble. wid de kind of good, christian folks dat lives here, athens is bound to go ahead." plantation life benny dillard, age cor. broad and derby streets athens, ga. written by: grace mccune [hw: (white)] athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, ga. benny's rocky little yard is gay with flowers and a flourishing rose vine shades the small porch at the front of his ramshackle two-room cabin. the old negro was busily engaged at washing his clothes. he is of medium size, darker than gingerbread in color, and his clothing on this day consisted of a faded blue shirt, pants adorned with many patches, and brogans. a frayed sun hat covered the gray hair that is "gittin' mighty thin on de top of my haid." benny was singing as he worked and his quavering old voice kept tune and rhythm to a remarkable degree as he carefully and distinctly pronounced: "jesus will fix it for you, just let him have his way he knows just how to do, jesus will fix it for you." almost in the same breath he began another song: "all my sisters gone, mammy and daddy too whar would i be if it warn't for my lord and marster." about this time he looked up and saw his visitor. off came the old sun hat as he said: "'scuse me, missy, i didn't know nobody was listenin' to dem old songs. i loves to sing 'em when i gits lonesome and blue. but won't you come up on my porch and have a cheer in de shade? dere's a good breeze on dat little porch." having placed a chair for the visitor and made himself comfortable on a crude bench, benny began his story: "missy, de good lord gives and he takes away, and us old darkies is a-passin' out of dis world. dat was why i was a-singin'. one of my bestest friends done passed on to glory dis very mornin'. i knows i'se goin' to miss old randal clayton 'cause both of us warn't no good but for to set and talk 'bout old times." tears rolled down his face as he told of his friend, and the visitor, fearful that he was too much overcome by grief to be able to give a good story, suggested that another engagement be made to record his reminiscences, but he objected. "lawsy, missy!" he protested. "please don't go now, for dem old times is on my mind today and i would so love to talk 'bout 'em now, if you don't mind. if i talks too much, jus' tell me, 'cause i'se mighty apt to do dat when onct i gits started. "my mammy and daddy, dey warn't from dis part of de country. my mammy said dat not long atter she got to america from a trip on de water dat took nigh months to make, dey brung her from virginny and sold her down here in georgy when she was jus' 'bout years old. de onliest name she had when she got to georgy was nancy. i don't know whar my daddy come from. him and mammy was both sold to marse isaac dillard and he tuk 'em to live on his place in elbert county, close to de place dey calls goose pond. dey lived at home on dat big old plantation. by dat, i means dat marse isaac growed evvything needed to feed and clothe his folks 'cept de little sugar, coffee, and salt dey used. i don't 'member so much 'bout times 'fore de big war 'cause i warn't but years old when us was made free. tellin' de slaves dey was free didn't make much diff'unce on our place, for most of 'em stayed right on dar and wukked wid old marster jus' lak dey allus done. dat plantation was jus' lak a little town, it was so big and it had evvything us wanted and needed. "slaves lived in log cabins what had red mud daubed in de cracks 'twixt de logs. de roofs was made out of boards what had so many cracks 'twixt 'em, atter a few rains made 'em swink (shrink), dat us could lay in bed and see de stars through dem big holes. even if us did have leaky houses, folkses didn't git sick half as much as dey does now. our homemade beds was made out of rough planks nailed to high poles; leastways de poles was high for de headpieces, and a little lower for de footpieces. for most of dem beds, planks was nailed to de wall for one long side and dere was two laigs to make it stand straight on de other long side. dey never seed no metal springs dem days but jus' wove cords back and forth, up and down and across, to lay de mattress on. i never seed no sto'-bought bed 'til atter i was married. bedticks was made out of homespun cloth stuffed wid wheatstraw, and sometimes dey slept on rye or oatstraw. pillows was stuffed wid hay what had a little cotton mixed in it sometimes. atter a long day of wuk in de fields, nobody bothered 'bout what was inside dem pillows. dey slept mighty good lak dey was. dey fixed planks to slide across de inside of de holes dey cut out for windows. de doors swung on pegs what tuk de place of de iron hinges dey uses dese days. dem old stack chimblies was made out of sticks and red mud. "de fireplaces was a heap bigger dan dey has now, for all de cookin' was done in open fireplaces den. 'taters and cornpone was roasted in de ashes and most of de other victuals was biled in de big old pots what swung on cranes over de coals. dey had long-handled fryin' pans and heavy iron skillets wid big, thick, tight-fittin' lids, and ovens of all sizes to bake in. all of dem things was used right dar in de fireplace. dere never was no better tastin' somepin t'eat dan dat cooked in dem old cook-things in open fireplaces. "chillun never had no wuk to do. dey jus' et and frolicked around gittin' into evvything dey could find. dey never got no lickin's 'less dey was mighty bad, 'cause our marster said he warn't gwine to 'low no beatin' on his niggers 'cept what he done his own self, and dat was pow'ful little. in hot weather chillun played on de crick and de best game of all was to play lak it was big meetin' time. white chillun loved to play dar too wid de little slave chillun. us would have make-believe preachin' and baptizin' and de way us would sing was a sight. one of dem songs us chillun loved de best went lak dis: 'why does you thirst by de livin' stream? and den pine away and den go to die. 'why does you search for all dese earthly things? when you all can drink at de livin' spring, and den can live.' "when us started playin' lak us was baptizin' 'em, us th'owed all us could ketch right in de crick, clothes and all, and ducked 'em. whilst us was doin' dat, us was singin': 'git on board, git on board for de land of many mansions, same old train dat carried my mammy to de promised land.' "one day our marster hid in de trees and watched us 'cause mist'ess had done been fussin' down 'bout chillun all comin' in soaked to de hide. he waited 'til he seed all de preachin' and baptizin', den he hollered for us to stop and he tuk de ones what was doin' all de baptizin' and made 'em pray and sing, den he ducked 'em good in de water and made us all go up to de house to show mist'ess how come so many of dem pore chillun had done been gittin' wet so much. us got a tannin' den dat marster 'lowed would help us to git sho' 'nough 'ligion. "de wooden bowls what slave chillun et out of was made out of sweetgum trees. us et wid mussel shells 'stid of spoons. dem mussel shells was all right. us could use 'em to git up plenty of bread and milk, or cornpone soaked wid peas and pot likker. dey never let chillun have no meat 'til dey was big enough to wuk in de fields. us had biscuit once a week, dat was sunday breakfast, and dem biscuits was cakebread to us. de fust bought meat us chillun ever seed was a slab of side-meat daddy got from de sto' atter us had done left de plantation, and us was skeered to eat it 'cause it warn't lak what us had been used to. "chillun jus' wore one piece of clothes in summertime and dey all went bar'foots. de gals' summer gyarment was a plain, sleeveless apron dress, and de boys wore skimpy little shirts and nothin' else. dey mixed cow-hair wid de cotton when dey wove de cloth to make our winter clothes out of, and i'm a-tellin' you missy, dat cow-hair cloth sho' could scratch, but it was good and warm and marster seed to it dat us had all de clothes us needed. de 'omans made all de cloth used on de place; dey cyarded, spun, and den wove it. mammy was de weaver; dat was all she done, jus' wove cloth. dey dyed it wid red mud and ink balls, and sich lak. "marster never lakked to git up real early hisself in slavery time, so he had one man what got de niggers up out of bed so early dat dey had done et breakfast and was in de field when daylight come. atter de war was over and evvybody was free, all de niggers used to jus' piddle and play 'round evvy mornin' whilst dey was waitin' for marster to come. dem and de mules would be jus' a-standin' still and when de word was passed dat marster had done got up all of 'em would start off wid a rush, jus' a-hollerin': 'whoa, dar! gee haw!' jus' lak dey had done been wukkin' hard all mornin'. one day marster cotch 'em at it, and he didn't say a word 'til time come to pay off, and he tuk out for all de time dey had lost. "sometimes slaves run away and hid out in caves. dey would pile up rocks and sticks and pine limbs to hide de caves, and sometimes dey would stay hid out for weeks, and de other niggers would slip 'em somepin t'eat at night. dere warn't many what run off on our place, 'cause our marster was so good to all of 'em dat dere warn't nothin' to run from. "marster made all his wuk tools at home. plow-sheers was made out of wood trimmed to de right shape and fastened to a iron point. when dey was plowin' in de young cotton, dey nailed a board on one side of de plow to rake de dirt back up 'round de cotton plants. "marster's gin was turned by a mule. dat big old gin wheel had wooden cogs what made de gin wuk when de old mule went 'round and 'round hitched to dat wheel. dat old cotton press was a sight. fust dey cut down a big old tree and trimmed off de limbs and made grooves in it for planks to fit in. it was stood up wid a big weight on top of it, over de cotton what was to be pressed. it was wukked by a wheel what was turned by a mule, jus' lak de one what turned de gin. a old mule pulled de pole what turned de syrup mill too. missy, dem old mules done deir part 'long side de niggers dem days, and marster seed dat his mules had good keer too. when dem mules had done turned de mill 'til de juice was squez out of de sugarcane stalks, dey strained dat juice and biled it down 'til it was jus' de finest tastin' syrup you ever did see. marster's mill whar he ground his wheat and corn was down on de crick, so de water could turn de big old wheel. "dem old cornshuckin's was sho' 'nough big times, 'cause us raised so much corn dat it tuk several days to shuck it all. us had to have two generals. dey chose sides and den dey got up on top of de biggest piles of corn and kept de slaves a-singin' fast so dey would wuk fast. de fust crowd what finished got de prize. dere ain't much i can 'member of words to dem old cornshuckin' songs. one general would start off singin': 'shuck up dis corn, shuck up dis corn, 'cause us is gwine home,' and de other general would be a-shoutin': 'make dem shucks fly, make dem shucks fly, us is gwine to go home.' over and over dey kept on singin' dem lines. come nighttime marster would have big bonfires built up and set out torches for 'em to see how to wuk, and evvy time he passed 'round dat jug of corn likker shucks would fly some faster. when all de corn was done shucked and de big supper had been et, dere was wrastlin' matches and dancin' and all sorts of frolickin'. "'til dey could git a colored preacher, slaves had to go to church wid deir white folks. missy, i 'members yit, de fust preacher i ever heared. he was a white man, preacher gibson dey called him, and his sermons made you mind what you was 'bout 'cause he preached straight from de bible. dat day when i fust heared him his text was: 'if you gits lost in sin, den you is lost from god's word, and will have to be borned again.' dat's de trufe, missy, it sho' is. young folks dese days is headed plumb straight for 'struction, 'cause dey won't listen to de gospel. if dey don't change from de way dey is goin' now de old debbil is gwine to ketch 'em sho. all of us had better mind what us is 'bout, for 'ligion most times now is by our own minds and thoughts, and somebody else is apt to follow de 'ligion he sees in us. de bible says to teach young folks de way dey should go, and dey won't depart from deir raisin'. you sho' can't raise 'em right by jus' teachin' 'em dese days; it evermore do take plenty of layin' on of dat rod. i would jus' lak to see how dese young folks would lak it if dey had to ride for miles and miles in a oxcart, or else walk it, to git to 'tend church. dere wouldn't be many of de ones i knows 'round here would git dar. us used to have four steers hitched to our old cart, and it was slow-goin', but us got dar. "atter us got our own churches us still had to have white preachers for a long time and den us was 'lowed to have colored preachers. when somebody wanted to jine our church us 'zamined 'em, and if us didn't think dey was done ready to be tuk in de church, dey was told to wait and pray 'til dey had done seed de light. anybody can jine up wid de church now, missy, and it ain't right de way dey lets 'em come in widout 'zaminin' 'em. de good lord sho' don't lak dat way of handlin' his church business. one of dem cand-i-dates was a mean nigger and our preacher and deacons wouldn't let him in our church. den he went over to another church and told 'em dat he had talked wid de lord 'bout how us wouldn't let him jine up wid us, and he 'lowed dat de lord said to him: 'dat's all right. i done been tryin' to jine up in dat church for years myself, and can't git in, so you go on and jine another church.' dat other church let dat bad nigger in and it warn't long 'fore dey had to turn him out, 'cause he warn't fittin' to be in no church. "our preacher used to give us parables. one of 'em was lak dis: 'i'se seed good cotton growin' in de grass.' he 'splained it dat dere was some good in de wust sinners. another of his parables was: 'if you can't keep up wid de man at de foot, how is you gwine to keep up wid de higher-up folks?' dat meant if you can't sarve god here below, how is you gwine to git along wid him if you gits to heben? our preacher told us to sarve both our marsters. de fust marster was god, he said, and de other one was our white marster. "i ain't never been inside no courtroom and don't never 'spect to be dar, 'cause, missy, i don't mind nobody's business but my own, and dat's all i can do. "no mam, i don't never git much sick. i had a bad old haid cold last winter, but i stopped dat wid coal oil and by breathin' in smoke from scorched leather. light'ood splinter tea is helpful when i has a chist cold. salts ain't de best thing for old folks to be doctored wid. i takes common cookin' soda sweetened wid a little sugar. dem is old-time doses from way back in de old days, and i still use 'em all. "durin' of de war time, soda and salt was both hard to git. dey biled down de dirt from under old smokehouses to git salt, and soda was made out of burnt corncobs. you would be s'prised to see what good cookin' could be done wid dat old corncob soda. "us wukked for mr. green hubbard de fust year us left de old plantation, but he wouldn't pay us so us left him and rented some land to farm. den i went to wuk for mr. stephens and stayed wid him years. he was one of de owners of de georgy railroad and i used to drive for him when he went to 'gusty (augusta) to dem board meetin's. he had one of dem old-time gins what run by mule power, and us sho' did gin a heap of cotton. lots of times he had us to haul it all de way to 'gusty on dem wagons. mr. stephens' place was at crawford, georgy. "me and my gal runned away to git married. if you please, mam, come inside and look at her pitcher. ain't she a fine lookin' gal? well, she was jus' as good as she looks. i keeps her pitcher hangin' right over my bed so as i can look at her all de time." the small room was tidy and clean. in one corner a narrow, single bed, neatly made, stood beneath the picture of benny's wife, mary. the picture showed a young woman dressed in white in the style of the period when tight waists and enormous puffed sleeves were in vogue. an old washstand supporting a huge mirror, a small table, evidently used as a dining table, two chairs, a small cupboard filled with dishes, and a small, wood-burning stove completed the furnishings of the room. back on the porch again, benny resumed the story of his marriage. "her daddy wouldn't 'gree for us to git married 'cause he wanted her to stay on and wuk for him. she warn't but seventeen. my boss-man let us use his hoss and buggy and, missy, dat fast hoss is what saved de day for us. when i got to whar i was to meet her, i seed her runnin' down de road wid her daddy atter her fast as he could go on foot. i snatched her up in dat buggy and it seemed lak dat hoss knowed us was in a hurry 'cause he sho' did run. squire jimmie green married us and when us got back to my boss-man's house her daddy had done got dar and was a-raisin' cane. boss stephens, he come out and told her daddy to git on 'way from dar and let us 'lone, 'cause us was done married and dere warn't nothin' could be done 'bout it. us had a hard time gittin' started housekeepin', 'cause my daddy couldn't holp us none. our bed was one of dem home-made ones nailed to de side of de house. us lived together years 'fore de lord tuk her home to heben years ago. dem years was all of 'em happy years. since she's been gone i'se mighty lonesome, but it won't be long now 'til i see her, for i'se ready to go whenever de good lord calls me." [hw: atlanta dist. driskell] the experience of george eason in slavery time [may ] mr. george eason was born in forsyth, ga., on the plantation of mr. jack ormond. in addition to himself there were six other children, one of whom was his twin brother. he and his brother were the oldest members of this group of children. his mother, who was the master's cook, had always belonged to the ormond family while his father belonged to another family, having been sold while he (george) was still a baby. it so happened that mr. ormond was a wealthy planter and in addition to the plantation that he owned in the country, he also maintained a large mansion in the town. the first few years of his life were spent in town where he helped his mother in the kitchen by attending to the fire, getting water, etc. he was also required to look after the master's horse. unlike most other slave owners who allowed their house servants to sleep in the mansion, mr. ormond had several cabins built a short distance in the rear of his house to accommodate those who were employed in the house. this house group consisted of the cook, seamstress, maid, butler, and the wash woman. mr. eason and those persons who held the above positions always had good food because they got practically the same thing that was served to the master and his family. they all had good clothing--the women's dresses being made of calico, and the butler's suits of good grade cloth, the particular kind of which mr. eason knows nothing about. he himself wore a one-piece garment made of crocus. mr. eason was about or years of age when he was first sent to work in the field. it was then that his troubles began. he says that he was made to get up each morning at sun-up and that after going to the field he had to toil there all day until the sun went down. he and his fellow slaves had to work in all types of weather, good as well as bad. although the master or the overseer were not as cruel as some he had heard of they tolerated no looseness of work and in case a person was suspected of loafing the whip was applied freely. although he was never whipped, he has heard the whip being applied to his mother any number of times. it hurt him, he says, because he had to stand back unable to render any assistance whatever. (this happened before he was sent to the plantation.) when his mother got these whippings she always ran off afterwards and hid in the woods which were nearby. at night she would slip to the cabin to get food and while there would caution him and the other children not to tell the master that they had seen her. the master's wife who was very mean was always the cause of her receiving these lashings. some nights after he and the other slaves had left the field they were required to do extra work such as ginning cotton and shelling peas and corn, etc. the young women were required to work that in some respects was as hard as that the men did, while the older women usually did lighter work. when the time came to pick the cotton all hands were converted into pickers. night was the only time that they had to do their washing and to cultivate the small gardens they were allowed to have. during the months when there was little field work to do they were kept busy repairing fences, etc. on the farm. every day was considered a working day except sunday, thanksgiving and christmas. they were not allowed to celebrate on these days as were the slaves on other nearby plantations. clothing on the ormond plantation was usually insufficient to satisfy the needs of the slave. each year one issue was given each slave. for the men this issue consisted of pair of brogan shoes, several homespun shirts, a few pairs of knitted socks, and two or three pairs of pants. the brogans were made of such hard leather until the wearers' feet were usually blistered before the shoes were "broken in." the women, in addition to a pair of shoes and some cotton stockings were given several homespun dresses. on one occasion mr. eason says that he wore his shoes out before time for an issue of clothing. it was so cold until the skin on his feet cracked, causing the blood to flow. in spite of this his master would give him no more shoes. all clothing was made on the plantation except the shoes. those women who were too old for field work did the sewing in addition to other duties to be described later. indigo was cultivated for dyeing purposes and in some instances a dye was made by boiling walnut leaves and walnut hulls in water. in addition to her duties as cook, mr. eason's mother had to also weave part of the cloth. he told of how he had to sit up at night and help her and how she would "crack" him on the head for being too slow at times. the amount of food given each slave was also inadequate as a general rule. at the end of each week they all went to a certain spot on the plantation where each was given peck of meal, gal. of syrup, and pounds of meat. they often suffered from that particular stomach ailment commonly known as hunger. at such times raids were made on the smokehouse. this was considered as stealing by the master and the overseer but to them it was merely taking that which they had worked for. at other times they increased their food by hunting and fishing. possums and coons were the usual game from such a hunting expedition. all meals usually consisted of grits, bacon, syrup, corn bread and vegetables. on sundays and holidays the meals varied to the extent that they were allowed to have biscuits which they called "cake bread." the slaves made coffee by parching corn meal, okra seed or irish potatoes. when sufficiently parched any one of the above named would make a vile type of coffee. syrup was used for all sweetening purposes. the produce from the gardens which the master allowed them could only be used for home consumption and under no circumstances could any of it be sold. the cabins that the slaves occupied were located on one section of the plantation known as the "quarters." these dwellings were crude one-roomed structures usually made from logs. in order to keep the weather out mud was used to close the openings between the logs. in most instances the furnishing of a cabin was complete after a bed, a bench (both of which were made by the slave) and a few cooking utensils had been placed in it. as there were no stoves for slave use all cooking was done at the fireplace, which, like the chimney, was made of mud and stones. one or two openings served the purpose of windows, and shutters were used instead of glass. the mattresses on which they slept were made from hay, grass or straw. when a light was needed a tallow candle or a pine knot was lighted. absolute cleanliness was required at all times and the floors, if they were made of wood, had to be swept and scrubbed often. in addition to the private dwellings there was one large house where all children not old enough to go to the field were kept. one or two of the older women took charge of them, seeing that they had a sufficient amount of corn bread, vegetables and milk each day. all were fed from a trough like little pigs. these old women were also responsible for the care of the sick. when asked if a doctor was employed, mr. eason replied that one had to be mighty sick to have the services of a doctor. the usual treatment for sick slaves was castor oil, which was given in large doses, salts and a type of pill known as "hippocat." (ipecac) although they were not permitted any formal type of learning religious worship it was not denied them. each sunday mr. ormond required that all his slaves attend church. all went to the white church where they sat in back and listened to the sermon of a white preacher. mr. eason says that the slaves believed in all kinds of and every conceivable type of signs. their superstitions usually had to do with methods of conjure. a preacher was never used to perform a wedding ceremony on the ormond plantation. after the man told the master about the woman of his choice and she had been called and had agreed to the plan, all that was necessary was for the couple to join hands and jump over a broom which had been placed on the ground. mr. ormond permitted few if any celebrations or frolics to take place on his farm. when he did grant this privilege his slaves were permitted to invite their friends who of course had to get a "pass" from their respective masters. they, too, were required to secure a pass from mr. ormond if they wanted to visit off the premises. if caught by the "paddle rollers" (patrollers) without this pass they were soundly whipped and then taken to their master. at the beginning of the civil war all the slaves talked among themselves concerning the possible outcome of the war. however, they never let the master or the overseer hear them because it meant a whipping. when sherman and his army marched through they burned all the gin houses on the ormond plantation and took all the available live stock. mr. ormond took a few prized possessions and a few slaves (one of whom was mr. eason) and fled to augusta, ga. after freedom was declared he was still held in bondage and hired out by the day. once he ran away but was found and brought back. in the remaining members of the ormond family moved to atlanta, bringing him along with them. after most of them had died he was finally permitted to go or stay as he pleased. immediately after freedom had been declared he had the good fortune to find his father. however, he never got a chance to spend any time with him as the ormonds refused to release him. says mr. eason: "slavery had a good point in that we slaves always felt that somebody was going to take care of us." he says that he has heard some wish for the good old days but as for himself he prefers things to remain as they are at present. plantation life as viewed by ex-slave callie elder, age w. hancock avenue athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens leila harris augusta and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & [jun ] callie lives with her daughter, cornelia, in a -room house near the crest of a hill. their abode is a short distance from the street and is reached by steep stone steps. in response to the call for callie, a tall mulatto woman appeared. her crudely fashioned blue dress was of a coarse cotton fabric and her dingy head rag had long lost its original color. straight black hair, streaked with gray, and high cheek bones gave the impression that in her ancestry of mixed races, indian characteristics predominate. her constant use of snuff causes frequent expectoration and her favorite pastime seems to be the endeavor to attain an incredible degree of accuracy in landing each mouthful of the amber fluid at the greatest possible distance. as she was about to begin conversation, a little yellow boy about five years old ran into the room and callie said: "'scuse me please, i can't talk 'til i gits my grandboy off so he won't be late to school at little knox. set down in dat dar cheer and i'll be right back." soon callie returned and it was evident that her curiosity was aroused. when the interviewer explained the purpose of the visit, she exclaimed: "lordy! miss, what is de government gwine do next? for de god's truth, i never knowed i would have to tell nobody what happened back in dem days, so its jus' done slipped out of my mind. "anyhow, i warn't even born in clarke county. i was born in floyd county, up nigh rome, georgia, on marse billy neal's plantation. ann and washin'ton neal was my mammy and pappy. no ma'am, no preacher never married 'em. marse billy neal, he owned bofe of 'em and atter my pappy axed him could he marry mammy, marse billy made 'em go up to de hall of de big house and jump backwards over a broom. "dere was six of us chillun: me and frances, beulah, thomas, felix, and scott. dere was mighty little wuk done by chillun in slav'ry days. i jus' played 'round and kicked up my heels wid de rest of de chillun. when us played our hidin' game, us sung somepin' lak dis: 'mollie, mollie bright three score and ten, can i git dere by candlelight? yes, if your laigs is long enough!' "sometimes us played what us called de 'crow' game. us spread our fingers out, side by side and counted 'em out wid a rhyme. de one de last word of de rhyme fell on had to be de crow. i didn't love to be counted out and made de crow, but it was a heap of fun to count de others out. since i been knee high to a grasshopper, i ain't never done nothin' but wuk 'round white folks' houses. "our log cabins what us lived in was daubed inside and out wid mud to keep out bad weather. our beds was held together by cords what was twisted evvy which way. you had to be mighty careful tightenin' dem cords or de beds was liable to fall down. us slept on wheat straw mattresses and had plenty of good warm quilts for kiver. "grown folks was fed cornbread and meat wid plenty of vegetables in de week days and on sunday mornin's dey give 'em wheat bread, what was somethin' slaves didn't see no more 'til de next sunday mornin'. 'bout four o'clock on summer atternoons, dey sot a big old wooden bowl full of cornbread crumbs out in de yard and poured in buttermilk or potliquor 'til de crumbs was kivered. den dey let de chillun gather 'round it and eat 'til de bowl was empty. in winter chillun was fed inside de house. "'possums, oh, mussy me! my grandpa hunted 'possums at night and fetched in two and three at a time. don't say nothin' 'bout dem rabbits for dere warn't no end to 'em. rabbits stewed, rabbits fried, and rabbits dried, smoked, and cured lak hog meat! i et so many rabbits when i was young i can't stand to look at 'em now but i could eat 'possums and gnaw de bones all day long. marse billy let grandpa go fishin' and he was all time bringin' back a passel of minnows and other fishes. us rubbed 'em down wid lard and salt and pepper, den rolled 'em in cornmeal and baked 'em. i never seed no fried meat 'til i was a big strappin' gal. dere was one big gyarden whar dey raised 'nough vegetables for all de white folks and slaves too. all de bilin' was done in pots swung on cranes over coals in de fireplace. "our clothes was made new for us in de fall out of cloth wove in looms right dar on de plantation. top clothes was dyed wid hick'ry bark. de full skirts was gathered to tight fittin' waisties. underskirts was made de same way. de dresses had done wore thin 'nough for hot weather by de time winter was gone so us wore dem same clothes straight on through de summer, only us left off de underskirts den. slave chillun didn't never wear no shoes. our foots cracked open 'til dey looked lak goose foots. us wore de same on sunday as evvy day, 'cept dat our clothes was clean, and stiff wid meal starch when us got into 'em on sunday mornin's. "marse billie neal was our owner and miss peggy was his old 'oman. dey was jus' as good to us as dey could be. deir two chillun was marse tom and marse mid. de car'iage driver never had much to do but drive marse billy and miss peggy 'round and, course he had to see dat de hosses and car'iage was kept clean and shiny. i don't 'member if he tuk de chillun 'round. chillun didn't stand de show dey does now. "oh, no ma'am, i sho' can't tell nothin' t'all 'bout how big dat old plantation was, but it was one whoppin' big place. dere was too many slaves on dat plantation for me to count. de overseer got 'em up by : o'clock and de mens had to be in de fields by sunrise. de 'omans went out 'bout : o'clock. dey stopped wuk at sundown and by de time dey et and done de chores for de day it was : o'clock 'fore dey hit de bed. de cabins was built in a circle and de overseer went de rounds evvy night to see if de slaves was in bed. "yes ma'am, dey whupped de niggers. my pappy and grandpa was de wust ones 'bout gittin' licked. evvy time pappy runned away marse billy sicked dem hounds on his heels and dey was sho' to ketch him and fetch him back. dey had to keep knives from pappy or when dem dogs cotch him he would jus' cut 'em up so dey would die. when dey got him back to de house, dey would buckle him down over a barrel and larrup him wid a plaited whup. 'omans warn't whupped much. my grandpa york was so bad 'bout runnin' 'way marse billy made him wear long old horns. one sunday marse billy went by our church to see if all his niggers was dar what was sposen to be dar. and dere grandpa was a-sottin' wid dem horns on his head. marse billy told him he could take de horns off his head whilst he was in de meetin' house. at dat grandpa dropped dem horns, and lit a rag to de woods and it tuk de dogs days to find him. "if one slave kilt another, marse billy made de overseer tie dat dead nigger to de one what kilt him, and de killer had to drag de corpse 'round 'til he died too. de murderers never lived long a-draggin' dem daid ones 'round. dat jus' pyorely skeered 'em to death. dere was a guard house on de farm, whar de wust niggers was kept, and while dey was in dat guard house, dey warn't fed but once a day. it warn't nothin' unusual for marse billy to sell slaves, but he never sold his best niggers. de ones he sold was allus dem he couldn't git no wuk out of. "not a nigger could read or write on marse billy's plantation. dey was all too dumb to larn. dere was a shackly sort of church house on our plantation and on sundays atter de niggers had cleaned deyselfs up, if dey told marse billy dey wanted to go to church, he sent 'em on. all i knows 'bout baptizin's is dey jus' tuk 'em to de river and plunged 'em in. dey sung somepin' 'bout: 'gwine to de river for to be baptized.' us had prayer meetin's on wednesday nights sometimes. "oh, mussy! don't ax me 'bout fun'rals. i got de misery in my laigs and i feels too bad dis mornin' to let myself even think 'bout fun'rals. back den when slave folks died dey jus' put 'em in home-made pine coffins what dey throwed in a wagon and tuk 'em to de graveyard. at dem buryin's, dey used to sing: 'am i born to die to let dis body down.' "none of our niggers ever runned away to de north. dey was too busy runnin' off to de woods. jus' to tell de truth dem niggers on our place was so dumb dey didn't even take in 'bout no north. dey didn't even know what de war was 'bout 'til it was all over. i don't know whar to start 'bout dem patterollers. dey was de devil turned a-loose. dere was a song 'bout 'run nigger run, de patteroller git you!' and dey sho' would too, i want to tell you. "what de slaves done on saddy night? dey done anything dey was big 'nough to do. dere warn't no frolickin' 'cept on sadday night. niggers on our place wukked all day sadday 'cept once a month. some of de slaves would slip off and stay half a day and de overseer wouldn't miss 'em 'cause dere was so many in de field. it was jus' too bad for any nigger what got cotched at dat trick. sadday night, slaves was 'lowed to git together and frolic and cut de buck. "christmas day marse billy called us to de big house and give us a little fresh meat and sweet bread, dat was cake. christmas warn't much diff'unt f'um other times. jus' more t'eat. us jus' had dat one day off, and new year's day was used as a holiday too. "oh, dem cornshuckin's! all day 'fore a cornshuckin' dey hauled corn and put it in great piles as high as dis here house. us sung all de time us was shuckin' corn. dere was a lot of dem old shuckin' songs. de one us sung most was: 'whooper john and calline all night.' marse billy, he give 'em coffee and whiskey all night and dat made 'em git rough and rowdy. den de shucks did fly. us had one more grand feast when de last ear of corn had done been shucked. dere warn't nothin' lackin'. "cotton pickin's warn't planned for fun and frolic lak cornshuckin's. if marse billy got behind in his crops, he jus' sent us back to de fields at night when de moon was bright and sometimes us picked cotton all night long. marster give de 'oman what picked de most cotton a day off, and de man what picked de most had de same privilege. "old aunt martha what nussed de chillun while deir mammies wukked in de field was de quiltin' manager. it warn't nothin' for 'omans to quilt three quilts in one night. dem quilts had to be finished 'fore dey stopped t'eat a bit of de quiltin' feast. marse billy 'vided dem quilts out 'mongst de niggers what needed 'em most. "dem blue and white beads what de grown 'omans wore was jus' to look pretty. dey never meant nothin' else. mammy would skeer us down 'bout rawhead and bloody bones. us was all time a-lookin' for him, but he never got dar. what skeered us most was painters (panthers) a-howlin' close to our cabins at night. you could hear 'em most any night. when mammy wanted to make us behave all she had to say was: 'i hears dem painters comin'!' dat made us jus' shake all over and git mighty still and quiet. de mens tried to run dem painters down, but dey never did ketch one. "one of de cabins was allus ha'nted atter some of de slaves got kilt in it whilst dey was fightin'. nobody never could live in dat cabin no more atter dat widout ha'nts gittin' atter 'em. de wust of 'em was a 'oman ha'nt what you could hear sweepin' up leaves in de yard and all dat time you might be lookin' hard and not see a leaf move. in dat cabin you could all time hear ha'nts movin' cheers and knockin' on de wall. some of dem ha'nts would p'int a gun in your face if you met 'em in de dark. dem ha'nts was too much for me. "our white folks was good as dey knowed how to be when us got sick. i don't 'member dat dey ever had a doctor for de slaves, but dey give us all kinds of home-brewed teas. pinetops, mullein and fat light'ood splinters was biled together and de tea was our cure for diff'unt ailments. scurvy grass tea mixed wid honey was good for stomach troubles, but you sho' couldn't take much of it at a time. it was de movin'est medicine! round our necks us wore asafetida sacks tied on strings soaked in turpentine. dat was to keep diseases off of us. "what does i 'member 'bout de war? well, it was fit to fetch our freedom. marse billy had a fine stallion. when de sojers was comin', he sont pappy to de woods wid dat stallion and some gold and told him not to let dem yankees find 'em. dat stallion kept squealin' 'til de yankees found him, and dey tuk him and de gold too. grandma was a churnin' away out on de back porch and she had a ten dollar gold piece what she didn't want dem sojers to steal, so she drapped it in de churn. dem yankees poured dat buttermilk out right dar on de porch floor and got grandma's money. marse billy hid hisself in a den wid some more money and other things and dey didn't find him. dey tuk what dey wanted of what dey found and give de rest to de slaves. atter de sojers left, de niggers give it all back to marster 'cause he had allus been so good to 'em. "us stayed on wid marse billy for sev'ral years atter de war. he paid us $ a month and he 'lowanced out de rations to us evvy week; most allus on monday 'cause sundays us had 'nough company to eat it all at one time. he give us three pounds of fat meat, a peck of meal, a peck of flour, ¢ worth of sugar, and a pound of coffee. dat had to last a whole week. "i didn't take in nothin' 'bout abraham lincoln, jefferson davis and dat dar booker t. washin'ton man, but i heared folks say dey was all right. "what is you talkin' 'bout miss? i didn't need to have no big weddin' when i married lige elder. it was a big 'nough thing to git a man lak what i got. what did i want to have a big weddin' for when all i was atter was my man? us had done been married years 'fore us had no chillun. dis here cornelia what i lives wid was our first chile. she ain't got no chillun. isaac, my boy, has got four chillun. my old man died 'bout two years ago. "i j'ined de church 'cause i was happy and wanted de world to know i had done got 'ligion. i think evvybody ought to git 'ligion. god says if us do right he will give us all a home in his heaven. "i'd rather have de days as dey is now in some ways. but one thing i does lak to do is eat and us had a plenty of good eatin' den and never had to worry none 'bout whar it was a-comin' f'um. miss, ain't you through axin' me questions yet? i'm tired of talkin'. i done let de fire go out under my washpot twice. dem white folks ain't gwine to lak it if dey has to wait for deir clothes, and dis misery in my laigs, it sho' does hurt me bad dis mornin'." martha everette, ex-slave hawkinsville, georgia (interviewed by elizabeth watson-- ) [jul ] born in pulaski county about , the daughter of isaac and amanda lathrop, martha everette has lived all her life near where she was born. prior to freedom, her first job was "toting in wood", from which she was soon "promoted" to waiting on the table, house cleaning, etc. she make no claims to have ever "graduated" as a cook, as so many old before-the-war negresses do. "aunt" martha's owner was a kind man: he never whipped the slaves, but the overseer "burnt 'em up sometimes." and her mother was a "whipper, too"--a woman that "fanned" her children religiously, so to speak, not overlooking martha. all the watson slaves attended the (white) baptist church at blue springs. rations were distributed on sunday morning of each week, and the slaves had plenty to eat. the slaves were also allowed to fish, thus often adding variety to their regular fare. negro women were taught to sew by the overseers' wives, and most of the slaves' clothes were made from cloth woven on the plantation. the yankees visited the lathrop plantation in ' , asked for food, received it, and marched on without molesting anything or any body. truly, these were well-behaved yankees! "aunt" martha says that she remembers quite well when the yankees captured jefferson davis. she and other slave children were in the "big house" yard when they heard drums beating, and soon saw the yankees pass with mr. davis. "aunt" martha, now old and decrepit, lives with one of her sons, who takes care of her. this son is a gardener and a carpenter and, being thrifty, fares much better than many negroes of his generation. [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] by e. driskell typed by a.m. whitley - - first copy of article entitled: "an interview with lewis favor," ex-slave [may ] [tr: informant also referred to as favors in this document.] among atlanta's few remaining ex-slaves is one lewis favors. when he fully understood this worker's reasons for approaching him he consented to tell what he had seen and experienced as a slave. chewing slowly on a large wad of tobacco he began his account in the following manner: "i was born in merriweather county in near the present location of greenville, georgia. besides my mother there were eight of us children and i was elder than all of them with one exception. our owner was mrs. favors, but she was known to everybody as the "widow favors." my father was owned by a mr. darden who had a plantation in this same county. when the "widow's" husband died he left her about one-hundred acres of land and a large sum of money and so she was considered as being rich. she didn't have many slaves of her own and so her son (also a plantation owner) used to send some of his slaves over occasionally to help cultivate her crops, which consisted of cotton, corn, and all kinds of vegetables." in regard to her treatment of the slaves that she held mr. favors says: "she wasn't so tight and then she was pretty tight too." those slaves who were field hands were in the field and at work by the time it was light enough to see. they plowed, hoed, and then later in the season gathered the crops. after the harvesting was over the fences were repaired and rails were split. in rainy weather nobody had to work out of doors, instead they shelled the peas and corn and sometimes ginned the cotton. at night the women were required to spin and to weave. in the winter season no work was required at night unless they had not spun as much thread as was required. at such times they had to work at night until the amount set had been reached. mr. favor's mother was the cook for the "widow favors" and her two neices who lived with her. the favors had paid the owner of a hotel four hundred dollars to have the hotel cook teach her (mr. favors mother) to prepare all kinds of fancy dishes. his father was a field hand on the darden plantation. in addition to this he repaired all the shoes when this was necessary. as a child mr. favors was not very strong physically and because of this the "widow" made him her pet. he never had to do any work other than that of waiting on the mistress while she ate her meals. even in this he had to get up at four o'clock in the morning and help his mother in the kitchen. sometimes he would sweep the yards if he felt like doing so. when he grew older he was given the task of picking the seed out of the cotton at night. on sundays all the servants were free to do as they pleased, that is, with the exception of mr. favors, his mother, and the two women who serve as maids to the "widow's" two neices. at other times if a task was done before the day was over with they were given the remaining time to do as they pleased. however, everybody had a one week holiday at christmas. mr. favors made the following statement in regard to the clothing: "everybody wore the homespun cotton clothes that were made on the plantation by the slave women. the women wore striped ausenberg dresses while the men wore ausenberg pants and shirts that had been made into one garment. my clothes were always better than the other little fellows, who ran around in their shirttails because i was always in the house of the "widow." they used red clay to do the dyeing with. in the winter time cracked feet were common. the grown people wore heavy shoes called brogans while i wore the cast-off shoes of the white ladies. we all wrapped our feet in bagging sacks to help them to keep warm. we were given one complete outfit of clothes each year and these had to last until the time for the next issue." sheets for the beds were also made out of homespun material while the heavier cover such as the quilts, etc., were made from the dresses and the other clothing that was no longer fit for wear. as a general rule all of the slaves on this plantation had enough food to keep them well and healthy. at the end of each week the field hands were given enough food to last them seven days. for most of them the week's supply consisted of three and one-half pounds of pork or fat meat, one peck of meal, flour, and black molasses. the only meals that they had to prepare from the above mentioned articles were breakfast and supper. dinner was cooked in the plantation kitchen by one of the women who was too old for work in the fields. for this particular meal the slaves had some different type of vegetable each day along with the fat meat, corn bread, and the pot liquor which was served every day. they were allowed to come in from the fields to the house to be served. breakfast usually consisted of fat meat, molasses, and corn bread while supper consisted of pot-liquor, bread, and milk. the only variation from this diet was on sunday when all were allowed to have bisquits instead of corn bread. mr. favors was asked what happened if anyone's food was all eaten before it was time for the weekly issue and he answered: "it was just too bad for them 'cause they would have to do the best they could until the time came to get more." when such a thing happened to anyone the others usually helped as far as their limited supplies would permit. mr. favors says that he, his mother, and the two maids ate the same kind of food that the "widow," and her nieces were served. after he had seen to the wants of all at the table he had to take a seat at the table beside his owner where he ate with her and the others seated there. there were two one-roomed cabins located directly behind the four-roomed house of the "widow," the entire lot of them were built out of logs. these two cabins were for the use of those servants who worked in the house of their owner. at one end of each cabin there was a wide fireplace which was made of sticks, stones, and dried mud. instead of windows there were only one or two small holes cut in the back wall of the cabin. the beds were made out of heavy planks and were called "georgia looms," by the slaves. wooden slats were used in the place of bed springs while the mattresses were merely large bags that had been stuffed to capacity with hay, wheat straw, or leaves. the only other furnishings in each of these cabins were several benches and a few cooking utensils. mr. favors says: "we didn't have plank floors like these on some of the other plantations; the plain bare ground served as our floor." as he made this statement he reminded this worker that he meant his mother and some of the other house servants lived in these cabins. he himself always lived in the house with the "widow favors," who had provided a comfortable bed along with a small chair for his use. these slaves who worked in the fields lived in several cabins that were somewhat nearer to their fields than the other two cabins mentioned above. the remaining buildings on the favors' plantation were the smokehouse and the cook house where in addition to the cooking the younger children were cared for by another old person. the woman who cared for these children had to also help with the cooking. whenever any of the slaves were sick the doctor was called if conditions warranted it, otherwise a dose of castor oil was prescribed. mr. favors stated that after freedom was declared the white people for whom they worked gave them hog-feet oil and sometimes beef-oil both of which had the same effect as castor oil. if any were too ill to work in the field one of the others was required to remain at the cabin or at some other convenient place so as to be able to attend to the wants of these so indisposed. when mr. favors was asked if the servants on this plantation ever had the chance to learn how to read or to write he answered: "they was all afraid to even try because they would cut these off," and he held up his right hand and pointed to his thumb and forefinger. at any rate the "widow," nieces taught him to read a few months before the slaves were set free. on sunday all were required to attend the white church in town. they sat in the back of the church as the white minister preached and directed the following text at them: "don't steal your master's chickens or his eggs and your backs won't be whipped." in the afternoon of this same day when the colored minister was allowed to preach the slaves heard this text: "obey your masters and your mistresses and your backs won't be whipped." all of the marriages ware performed by the colored preacher who read a text from the bible and then pronounced the couple being married as man and wife. although nobody was ever sold on the favors plantation mr. favors has witnessed the selling of others on the auction block. he says that the block resembled a flight of steps. the young children and those women who had babies too young to be separated from them were placed on the bottom step, those in their early teens on the next, the young men and women on the next, and the middle-aged and old ones on the last one. prices decreased as the auctioneer went from the bottom step to the top one, that is, the younger a slave was the more money he brought if he was sold. sometimes there were slaves who were punished by the overseer because they had broken some rule. mr. favors says that at such times a cowhide whip was used and the number of lashes that the overseer gave depended on the slave owner's instructions. he has seen others whipped and at such times he began praying. the only punishment that he ever received was as a little boy and then a switch was used instead of the whip. if the "patter-roller" caught a slave out in the streets without a pass from his master they proceeded to give the luckless fellow five lashes with a whip called the cat-o-nine-tails. they gave six lashes if the slave was caught out at night regardless of whether he had a pass or not. as none of the slaves held by the "widow" or her son ever attempted to run away there was no punishment for this. however, he has heard that on other plantations blood hounds were used to trail those who ran away and if they were caught a severe beating was administered. sometime after the civil war had begun the "widow favors" packed as many of her belongings as possible and fled to lagrange, georgia. he and his mother along with several other slaves (one of whom was an old man) were taken along. he never heard any of the white people say anything about the war or its possible results. at one time a battle was being fought a few miles distant and they all saw the cannon balls fall on the plantation. this was when the journey to lagrange was decided upon. before leaving the "widow" had the slaves to bury all the meat, flour, and other food on the plantation so that the yankee soldiers would not get it. mr. favors was given about two thousand dollars in gold currency to keep and protect for his owner. at various intervals he had to take this money to the "widow". so that she might count it. another one of the slaves was given the son's gold watch to keep on his person until the yanks left the vicinity. before freedom was declared mr. favors says that he prayed all of the time because he never wanted to be whipped with the cowhide, like others he had seen. further he says that it was a happy day for him when he was told that he could do as he pleased because he realized then that he could do some of the things that he had always wanted to do. when freedom was declared for the slaves the favors family freed slaves valued at one-hundred and fifty thousand dollars. the live stock that they sold represented a like sum. mr. favors and his mother remained with the "widow," who gave him his board in return for his services and paid his mother twenty-five dollars per year for hers as cook. "even after the war things were pretty tough for us" stated mr. favors. "the plantation owners refused to pay more than thirty or forty cents to a person for a days work in the fields. some of them would not allow an ex-slave to walk in the streets in front of their homes but made them take to the out-of-the-way paths through the woods to reach their various destinations. at other times white men cut the clothes from the backs of the ex-slaves when they were well dressed. if they didn't beg hard enough when thus accosted they might even be cut to death!" after the first three years following the war conditions were somewhat better, he continued. mr. favors says that his old age is due to the fact that he has always taken good care of himself and because he has always refrained from those habits that are known to tear a person's health down. [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] the story of aunt mary ferguson, ex-slave oak street columbus, georgia december , "aunt" mary ferguson, née mary little, née mary shorter, was born somewhere in maryland; the exact locality being designated by her simply as "the eastern shore" of that state. she was born the chattel of a planter named shorter, so her first name, of course, was mary shorter. for many years she has resided with a daughter and a granddaughter, at oak avenue, columbus, georgia. "aunt" mary was about thirteen years old when, in , she was sold and brought south. the story of which, as told in her own words is as follows: "in i wuz a happy chile. i had a good ma an a good paw; one older bruther an one older suster, an a little bruther an a baby suster, too. all my fambly wucked in de fields, 'ceptin me an de two little uns, which i stayed at home to mind. (mind--care for). "it wuz durin' cotton chopping time dat year ( ), a day i'll never fergit, when de speckulataws bought me. we come home from the fiel' 'bout haf atter 'leven dat day an cooked a good dinner, i hopin her. o, i never has forgot dat last dinner wid my fokes! but, some-ow, i had felt, all de mawnin, lak sumpin was gwineter hapin'. i could jes feel it in my bones! an' sho nough, bout de middle of the even', up rid my young marster on his hoss, an' up driv two strange white mens in a buggy. dey hitch dere hosses an' cum in de house, which skeered me. den one o' de strangers said, 'git yo clothers, mary; we has bought you frum mr. shorter." i c'menced cryin' an' beggin' mr. shorter to not let 'em take me away. but he say, 'yes, mary, i has sole yer, an' yer must go wid em.' "den dese strange mens, whose names i ain't never knowed, tuk me an' put me in de buggy an' driv off wid me, me hollerin' at de top o' my voice an' callin' my ma! den dem speckulataws begin to sing loud--jes to drown out my hollerin.' "us passed de very fiel whar paw an' all my fokes wuz wuckin, an' i calt out as loud as i could an', as long as i could see 'em, 'good-bye, ma!' 'good-bye, ma!' but she never heared me. naw, nah, daz white mens wuz singin' so loud ma could'n hear me! an' she could'n see me, caze dey had me pushed down out o' sight on de floe o' de buggy. "i ain't never seed nor heared tell o' my ma an' paw, an' bruthers, an' susters from dat day to dis. "my new owners tuck me to baltymore, whar dey had herded tergether two two-hoss wagon loads o' niggers. all o' us niggers wuz den shipped on a boat to savannah, an' frum dar us wuz put on de cyars an' sont to macon. "in macon, us wuz sold out, and doctor (w.r.) little, of talbotton, bought me at oxion (auction) an' tuck me home wid 'im. den i wuz known as mary little, instid of mary shorter." in the continuation of her narrative, "aunt" mary said that the littles trained her to be a nurse. before the war ended, she was inherited by mr. gus (the late hon. w.a.) little. she remembers that all the "quality", young white men who went to the war from talbotton took negro men-servants (slaves) along with them. these were usually called body-servants, and it was a body-servant's duty to cook, wash, and do general valet service for his master. in a pinch, he was also supposed to raid a hen roost, or otherwise rustle food for his "white fokes". according to "aunt" mary, the little negroes were very religious and given to much loud praying and singing, which often so disturbed dr. little that he gave orders for them to stop it, and also ordered that all lights in the slave quarters be out at o'clock each night. "so us tuck to slippin' off to a big gully in de pastur to sing and pray whar de white fokes couldn' hear us. "my fust baby wuz bawned in , during de secon' year o' de war. i has had several husbants, my las' un, he died 'bout seventeen years ago. "i ain't never seed but one hant in my life, an' i didn' know it wuz a hant 'til aunt peggy (an old slave woman) tole me so. dis hant was in de shape o' a duck, an' it followed me one day frum de big house kitchen ter de hawg pen whar i wuz gwine ter slop de hawgs. when i got back, i said, 'aunt peggy, dar's a strange duck done tuck up wid us!' and she say, 'hush, chile, dat's a hant!' i been seein' 'im fur severrel years! an' dat sholy skeert me!" when asked if she had ever been whipped when a slave, "aunt" mary replied, "yes, and thank god fur it, fur ole miss taught me to be hones' an' not to steal." she admitted that being whipped for stealing made her an honest woman. "aunt" mary's oldest child is now a man of . her hair is as white as cotton and her eye sight is dim, but she is still mentally alert. she says that colored people are naturally religious and that they learned all their "devilment" from the whites. she deplores the wickedness into which the world has drifted, but thanks god that slavery ended when it did. she has never had any particular love for the yankees, and thinks that they treated the southern white folks "most scandalously" after the war, yet feels that she owes them a debt of gratitude for freeing her people. she admits that her awful hatred of slavery was born of her sad experience as a girl when she was so unceremoniously separated from her loved ones, as previously told. she is also of the firm opinion the those "speculataws" who brought her from maryland to georgia in are "brilin in hell fur dey sin" of seperating her from her people. must jesus bear the cross alone and all the world go free? no, there is a cross for every one; there's a cross for me; this consecrated cross i shall bear til death shall set me free, and then go home, my crown to wear; there is a crown for me. sung for interviewer by mary ferguson, ex-slave, december , . folklore interview carrie nancy fryer mill street augusta, georgia written by: miss maude barragan federal writers' project residency # augusta, georgia an angular, red-skinned old negro women was treading heavily down the dusty sidewalk, leaning on a gnarled stick and talking to a little black girl. a "sundown" hat shaded a bony face of typical indian cast and her red skin was stretched so tight over high cheek bones that few wrinkles showed. "auntie," she was asked, "have you time to tell me something about slavery times?" "no'm, i sorry," she answered, "but i gwine to see a sick lady now, and i gots to 'tend to somepin'." "may i come back to see you at your house?" "yas'm, any time you wants. i live in de lil' house on de canal, it has a ellum tree in front. i riz it from sapling. i name dat lil' tree 'nancy' so when i gone, folks kin come by and bow and say 'howdy, nancy.'" she seated herself on a stone step and spread her many skirts of gray chambray, hand-sewed with big white stitches. an old woman came by, her shining black face puckered with anxiety, dressed in a starched white uniform and a battered black hat, well brushed. "morning, nancy," she said. "you look mighty peak-ked dis morning." "hunh!" grunted nancy, "i oughter. i bin to see de mayor. i say 'mr. mayor, here i is. i ain' got nuttin' to eat--it ain' right for a woman my age to beg food. now what yer gwine do 'bout it?' de mayor say: 'auntie, you go right down to de welfare office at de court house and tell de lady i sont you to git somepin' to eat.' i done dat--dey promise to send a lady, but i ain' see no lady yit." a heavy sigh rolled out. "i didn' lef' skin of meat in my house or a piece of cornpone. but i didn' take nuttin' to heart 'cause de lord is my helper." the old woman sighed too. "yeah, nancy, das de way dey does. i ain' gwine keep nasty house for nobody. but white people's funny. dey think if you got clean house and bleachin' sheets you mus' have somepin' to eat inside." she clenched her fist, and her voice rose. "i tells you right now--i gwine keep my house neat jus' like i bin taught, ef i never gits no somepin' t'eat and ain' got cornpone in de oven." "a poor creeter come to my house today to beg for somepin' to eat," said nancy, "i ain' got nuttin' and i tell her so. she say she gwine to de court-house too." "t'won't do no good," answered the other woman. "come over here, nancy. i wants to talk to you." with a dignified excuse, nancy creaked to her long length and moved deliberately to the edge of the sidewalk. whisperings followed, the voices of the two old women rising in their excitement. "i ain' gwine into somepin' i don't know nuttin' about." "nobody gwine 'swade me either." "my husband didn' put no composin' on me. if i don't git but one meal a day, i ain' gwine dirty. i didn' have mouthful t'eat in my house." the interested eavesdropper decided that the welfare office had talked social security to the women instead of direct relief, and they were worried and suspicious about the matter. the old black woman was getting angrier and angrier. "if any of 'em lookin' for me to have nasty old tore-up house, i ain' gwine did it. you dunno when sickness come. when my boy got his leg broke up, soon as dey could, dey put him off on me. miz' powell say: 'steve, if you don't be good to your ma, de lord gwine take your blessing from you.' dey paid steve $ . , nancy, and he ain't gimmie a nickle! he spent it on a woman in edgefield. but my gal is diffunt. if she ain' got but one mouthful she gwine give me half." nancy nodded: "dat like my gal too." the old woman took up her complaint again: "um got daughter. when you walk in her house, you think dey is a white person's house. when i was workin and able, i put down as many bleachin' sheets as any white 'oman." nancy's ponderous sigh rolled out. she was very "peaked" indeed on this hot september morning. "if sister got a hoecake of bread, she gwine give it to me. ain' nobody else to help now--de lord done come along and got ev'y one of my mother's chillun but me." seeing that present necessities were too important to permit an interview, the visitor said: "nancy, i'll see you tomorrow." a preoccupied goodbye followed the interviewer, and the excited conversation rose again. three days later nancy was found on the cluttered back porch of her house by the canal. she was moving heavily about, picking up behind a white boy and her bright-faced grandchild. her face was still worried, but her manner was warm and friendly. "i knowed you'd be comin'," she said, smiling, "but i looked for you yesterday." she sat down and settled herself for conversation, her long hands, still nice looking in spite of rheumatism, moving nervously over her gray chambray lap. "dis las' gone august i was years old," she began, "my sister say i older dan dat, but i know i born las' year of de war. i was born on governor pickens' place, de grove place fur out, and my mother was lizbeth cohen. must have was my father a indian, he brighter dan me, but redder. i kin' member miss dooshka pickens, de one what went to europe. dey put all de lil' chillun in a row for her to look at, and she sittin' up on her lil' pony lookin' at us chillun. she was a pretty thing, yeah, i knowed her well. after de war my mother and father rented land, paid de rent. we liveded well. i would go to school three months when we first gether all de krep (crop). we had a colored teacher in de baptist church where dey taught school. de name was spring grove. "my father died and mother, she moved over in ca-lina on general butler's place. she work in de fields. i wouldn' go to school but three months in de year. when i growed up i work for colonel doctor mckie in de house. he de fines' doctor i ever knowed. i got married to general butler's place where my mother was. i done had six chillun before i come to augusta. i nused to work for dr. sam litchenstein, years. he moved to louisville and dat thow me out anything to do. he tried to git me to go down dere wid him but i fell in bad health. den my daughter and dis yere grandchild, i couldn' bear to leave dem. i cried when dr. sam lef', he was good to me. i nused to carry dis grandchild to his house wid me all de time." as nancy's plantation recollections seemed vague, she was prompted to talk about remedies and cures and on these her mind worked with speed and decision. "i had high blood pressure so bad i couldn' walk right. my head nused to spin, laying down all night, couldn' res. one night i doze off in my sleep and a lady's spirit come to me. her and my mother was two friends, her name was cyndie gardenigh. she say: 'honey, in de morning when you git up, you git you some jimpson weed and put it wid cookin' salt and bind it on your head.' i done det. i nused to have long hair to my shoulder. jimpson weed done cut my hair off, but it cured my blood pressure. mus' did kill 'em!" asked how she treated her rheumatism, nancy replied: "git a pint glass wid a pint of kerosene in it, and a block of camphor. cut up de camphor and mix it round in de kerosene. pat it on when de pain come. when i got up dis morning, dis yere hand i couldn' move, and now it feel a heap better. lord, i done work so hard thoo' life, and all done tuk from me!" a moment's silence brought shadows to nancy's face. a twinge in her knee reminded her of rheumatism cures. she rubbed the painful spot and resumed: "you know what i am wearin' on my leg now? i made me two lil' bags and put a irish potato in it, and when it drawed up jus' as hard as a log it done me good. but you got to _steal_ two irish potatoes, and put around both legs jus' below de knee. i just' be leanin' back stiff all de time, couldn' walk. a old white man told me about dat. he see me walkin' along crooked and he say: 'auntie, what's de matter?' i told him. he say: 'now, i'll tell you what cure me. i was off in a furn (foreign) country, and a man say; me walking cripple, and he told me to steal two irish potatoes and wear 'em, and when dey git hard you burn 'em up.' i specked i bin crooked up all kind of fashion if i ain't done dat: i always bind a piece of brass around my leg. das' good like gold." the eager grandchild was hanging over nancy's shoulder, listening and smiling. the white boy edged up, and nancy laughed. "hunh! i spects dese chillun kin 'member tomorrow every word i tells you today. dey knows everything." her bony arm encircled the negro child. "jooroosalom oak--we got some and give it to dis lil' thing for worms. she went off in a trance and never come out until o'clock nex' day. i think we got de wrong thing and give her root instead of seed. i never fool wid it no more it skeered me so. thought we had killed de child." nancy was asked what her methods were in raising children. "bin so long i mos' forgot," she said. "all my babies growed straight 'cause i swep' 'em times for mornings from de knees down on out, dataway, and bathed 'em wid pot liquor and dish water. i ain' nused no root cep' sassafax roots to make tea outten das good to purge your blood in de spring of de year. drinkin' water from a horse trough, i hearn' tell das good for whoopin' cough and all lika-dat." "dat daughter of mine, she had a wen on her neck big as a apple. an old lady come to me. 'i come to git my child today,' she say, 'a lady died dis morning and i wants to take her dere.' well i didn' want my child gwine to de death house but she take her. de corpse ain' cold yit. she put her times across, nine times straight, and dat child was cured. yas'm, she got jus' as pretty face now! ain' no use talkin', she straighten my child, her and de lord! de wen went and jus' pass away. you got to do it before de corpse git cold, jus' after de breaf' pass out of de body." "i done mark three of my chillun. yas'm, i ruin't three of 'em. i was een de country and i was gwine thoo' de orchard, and de cherries was scarce. i looked up in de man's cherry tree, and one tree was full of fruit. dey jus' as pretty! i say: 'jim, please sir, give me one of dem cherries.' jim say: 'no!' i stood dere wishin' for dem cherries, scratchin' my wrist, and my child born wid cherry on his wrist, right where i scratch! i took de baby and showed him to old man jim, and he cry and pray over dat cherry and told me to forgive him and he never would do it no more. but he done it den." "i live in de country. i come to town where a white man was down here on mckinne street makin' dat soft white candy. i stood up and wished for it. it did look so pretty and i wanted some so bad and i didn' have no money. i was cryin', scratchin' my forehead over my right eye near de hair. he didn' give me none. when my gal born, she had white mark right on her forehead in de place i scratched." "my sister-in-law made me ruin't my other child. twas an old man coming along. he was ruptured. he had on a white ap'on, and she bus' out laughin' and say: 'look at dat!' i jus' young gal, ain' be thinkin' and i bus' out laughin' too, he did look funny. i ruin't my boy. he was in de same fix and when i look at him i feel so bad, and think 'dat didn' have to be.'" "dis kin happen: anybody see another person wid pretty hair and rub dey hair down, dat child gwine have mustee hair too. a old black 'oman had a baby. she seen somebody wid dat mustee hair (das what we calls black folks wid smooth straight hair) and when her child born, everybody say: 'look what dis baby got! long black hair!" asked about persons born with cauls, nancy grunted: "hunh! my mother said it cover my head, shoulders and all! i kin see ghosts. was a man lived right dere in dat house yonder. his name was will beasley but we call 'im bee. de fus' time he got sick he had a stroke, den he git up. de doctor told him to be careful but he would go out. one night about o'clock i see him go. i stay sittin' here on dis porch, and about o'clock here come bee out of his house, in his night clothes out de open door and cross de yard. he go behind dat house. i call out: 'bee, i thought you was gone off? he didn' notice me no more dan i never spoke. i got worried about him bein' sick and when he come out from behind de house i say: 'bee, you bes' be gwine indorrs, dress lika-dat. you git sick again.' he walk straight back in de house. pretty soon here come bee down de street, all dressed up in his brown pants and white shirt! i grab de bannister just' a-tremblin' and de hair rizzed up on my head. i knowed den he ain' got long for here. he come on by and say: 'nancy, how you feelin'?' i say: 'bee, how long you bin out?' he say: 'why, i bin gone since o'clock.' i didn't say nuttin' but i knowed i seed his spirit and it was his death. he tooken sick two or three weeks later jus' before labor day, and died all paralyzed up. a woman come to my house and say: 'nancy, give dis to bee.' i didn' want to see him if he dyin' but i went on over. i call: 'bee! bee!' he say: 'who dat, you, miz' nancy?' i say: 'here's a bottle of medicine miss minnie sont you.' he say: 'i can't move my right side.' he was: laying wid his leg and arm in the air: stiff as a board. he say: 'miz nancy?' i say: 'hunh?' he say: 'go down de canal bank and tell my minnie please come and rub me 'cause she know how. i want my minnie.' das de 'oman he bin livin' wid since his wife lef' him. i wait till de king mill boys come along and call 'em. 'tell miz' minnie dat will bee want her to come and rub him.' but she never did come till o'clock and he was dead before she come. "i did had a niece what died. she was about years old and a good boy. twas a year in august. i went on so over him, his mother say: 'don't you know his last words was, 'i'm on my way to heaven and i ain' gwine turn back?' don't worry, nancy.' but i did worry. dat night he come to me in spirit. he stand dere and look at me and smile, and he say: 'aunt, i am all right. aunt, i am all right,' over and over. den it went off. i was jus' as satisfy den, and i never worry no more." nancy said she saw ghosts all through her childhood. she did not characterize them as "hants" but spoke of them throughout as ghosts. "i seed 'em when i was chillun," she said, "me and my sister one night was comin' from spring. twas in de winter time and jus' as cold, twas dark and i had de light. sister say: 'babe, don't let dat light go out.' jus' den i seed it--a horse's head all spread out in fore! a big ball of fire! i yelled: 'oh, sister, look at de horse wid a head of fire!' she knock me out for dead! she grab dat light and run home and lef' me in de wood. when i come to i run to my mother crying and she say: 'now nancy, you know you kin see 'em but you ought not to tell de other chillun and skeer 'em. you mus' keep it to yourself.' ever since den, i won't tell nobody what i kin see. yas'm, i wake up in de nighttime and see 'em standin' all 'bout dis house. i ain' skeered--when you born wid de veil it jus' be natchel to see 'em. why, i sees 'em on de canal bank when de fog sprangles through de trees and de shape forms on de ground'. "i hears de death alarm too. one kind of call comes from out de sky, a big howlin' noise, loud like singin'--a regular tune. de other kind goes 'hummmmmmm' like somebody moanin'. i was settin' down and de bull bat come in de house. me and de chillun done all we could to git him out de house. a woman nex' door was name rachel. i say: 'rachel! dere's a bull bat in here and we can't get him out.' you know what she done? she turn her pocket inside out and dat bat went out de door jus' like it come in! dat a simple thing to do, ain' it? but it done de work. dat was on thursday night. saturday morning i got de news that my babiest sister was dead. one of my boys was wid her. i was settin' down wid my head bowed, prayin', and a white man dressed in a white robe come in de house and stood before me and say: 'oh, yeah! i gwine take your sister! den what your child gwine do?' i sot down and studied and i said: 'lord, i'll do de bes' i kin.' and miss you know i had to take dat child back! "before i los' my husband ev'y time he go out to work i couldn' hear nuttin' but knockin'--ever he step out de house somebody come to de door and knock four slow knocks. if he go off in de night it wouldn' stop till he git back. i wouldn' tell him 'cause i knowed twould worry him. i say: 'sam, les' us move.' he say: 'honey, we ain' long bin move here.' but us 'cided to move anyway. twas a big show in town. i let all de chillun go to de show. time i got my things fix up to move and went to cook my dinner come de knockin' four times. i knowed he'd be took sick pretty soon. he didn' 'low me to work. dat was a good husband! i had six chillun. he say: 'honey, no! i workin' makin' enough to support you. all i want you to do is keep dis house clean and me and my chillun, and i will pay you de five dollars every week de white lady would pay you.' and he done dat, gimme five dollars every week for myself. "a white lady was crazy about my work, jus' her and her husband. i got up soon one morning, time he left, and runned up dere and washed her clothes and ironed dem. den i started back home 'bout noon. i heared somethin' walkin' behind me. 'bip! bip!' i look round and didn' see nuttin'. i kep' a lookin' back and den i heard a voice moanin' and kind of singing: 'oh, yeah! i bin here and done took your mother. i bin here and done took your sister! now i'm a-comin' to take your husband!' talking to me like-dat in de broad open daytime! i say: 'no, you won't! no, you won't!' i commence a runnin', cryin' inside. when i got home i thow myself on de bed shiverin' and shakin'. twas no dinner done dat day. when he come home dat night he tooken sick and never got up again. he knock on de head of de bed jus' like de knocks come at de door, when he want me to go to him! he never lived but two weeks and went on to de judgment! "one night dey was givin' my husband toddy. he drink some and wanted me to finish it. i told him no, i ain' drinkin' after no sick folks 'cause it mean death. his first cousin tooked it and drank it. he was a fine looking man in two months he was gone too! "my husband come to me in spirit any time i git worried up. when i git in trouble he'll come and stand over me wid his arms folded behind him. he told me one night: 'you must pray, nancy. you must pray! um gwine help, and de lord gwine help you too.' missy, how you reckon he gwine help me if he dead? i ask de lord and beg him to take me too, beg him to please carry me home." nancy was becoming more and more doleful, and to take her mind from the thought of her dead husband, she was asked about remedies. "when us had de mumps mother git sardines and take de oil out and rub us jaws and dat cure us good. sassafax for measles, to run de numor (humor) out de blood. when de fever gone, she would grease us wid grease from skin of meat. git fat light'ood, make fire, cut de skin off bacon meat, broil it over flame and let grease drip into a pan, den rub us all over for de rash. couldn' wash us you see, 'cep' under de arms a little 'cause water musn' tech us. for a sty in de eye we nused to say: 'sty! lie!' you see dat call 'em a lie and dey go on off. 'um got a sty! sty! lie!' when witches ride me i took a sifter. an old lady told me de nex' time dey come, 'you put de sifter in de bed.' i done dat and dey ain' bother me since. a basin of water under de bed is good too." nancy had an experience with a gold digger. he came to board, and had an inconvenient habit of staying up all night. "i nused to have a old man stay here wid me. one night i couldn' lay down it was so cold, so i sit up and wrop in a blanket. he say: 'nancy, see yonder! in de corner of your yard is a pot of gold.' now i knows if you go and git de money what de dead done bury, you don't see no peace, so i told him he couldn' dig in my yard. i made him move. a 'oman say he went to stay wid her and when she got up one morning he had dug a hole in de yard big as a well, so she runned him off too. he had all de implee-ments but he wouldn' let nobody see him digging in de night. well miss, i knowed dat gold was truly in my yard, because i got up one night and looked out dere, and a white 'oman was standin' right where de old man say twas gold pot. i look at de white lady, a high white lady, and she kep' her eye down in dat corner guardin' de gold what she bury! den i seed her go on off thoo' de gate and i knowed twas de spirit of de woman what bury it." nancy did not remember any stories about witches, booger-men or animals, but she did give a version of the story of the mistress who was buried alive. "dat really did happen in edgefield," she said. "marster los' his daughter and den his butler went to de cemetery and dugged her up. he was gittin' de jewelries off of her finger when she moan; 'oh, you hurtin' my finger!' he runned back to de house and she got up out of de coffin and went to de big house. she knock on de door and her father went, and he fainted. her mother went, and she fainted. everyone went to de door fainted. but her father come to himself and he was so happy to have his daughter back, he said god let de man dig her up and git her out alive. he made dat nigger rich. gin him a whole plantation and two big carriage horses and a great big carriage and i dunno how much gold and silver. told him he didn' want him to do anything but sit down and live off of what he gin him de res' of his life." nancy asked her visitor to write a postcard to her "dear doctor" in louisville and tell him she was having a hard time. she insisted that the card be signed: "your carrie fryer what used to work for you, with love." "come back and see me some more," she begged wistfully, "i bin callin' you in my mind all week." plantation life anderson furr, age w. broad street athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby [hw: (white)] athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens leila harris augusta and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & anderson furr's address led the interviewer to a physician's residence on broad street, where she was directed to a small frame house on the rear of the lot. the little three-room cottage has a separate entrance from pulaski street. three stone steps lead from the street to the narrow yard which is enclosed by a low rock coping. anderson rents only one room and the remainder of the house is occupied by annie sims and her husband, george, who works at the holman hotel. reclining comfortably in a cane-backed chair, with his walking stick conveniently placed across his knees, anderson was enjoying the shade of a wide spread oak tree in the tidy yard. his costume consisted of a battered old black felt hat, a dingy white shirt, dark gray pants, and scuffed black shoes. asked if he remembered the days when the north was fighting the south for his freedom, anderson replied: "'member fightin'! why, lady! dey ain't never stopped fightin' yit. folks has been a-fightin' ever since i come in dis world, and dey will be fightin' long atter i is gone. "i dis'members what was de name of de town whar i was borned, but it was in hall county. lydia and earl strickland was my ma and pa. all of deir chillun is daid now 'cept me and bob. de others was: abe, bill, jim, and sarah. dere ain't much to tell 'bout what us done dem days, 'cept play and eat. dem what was big 'nough had to wuk. "lordy, miss! it's lak dis: i is a old nigger, and i done been here for many years, but dese last few years i sho' has been a sick man, and now i can't git things straight in my mind lak dey was den. i knows us lived in log houses what had great big chimblies made out of sticks and mud. why, dem fireplaces was 'bout eight feet wide, and you could put a whole stick of cord wood on de fire. us slept on high-up old timey beds what had big posties and instead of springs, dey had stout cords wove 'cross to hold de mattress. de last time i slept on one of dem sort of beds was when i was a little boy, sleepin' wid my ma. pa and ma was both field hands. ma's mammy was de onliest one of my grandmas i ever seed. her name was ca'line and she lived wid grandpa abe on another plantation. ma's sister, my aunt ca'line was cook up at our old marster's big house. "money? yessum! dey gimme a little money now and den for totin' water to de field, sweepin' de yards, and a million other things dey used to make me do. de most dey ever gimme was cents. i never spent none of it, but jus' turned it over to my ma. chillun warn't 'lowed to spend money den lak dey does now, 'cause dey had evvything dey needed anyhow. old marster, he give us plenty somepin t'eat, such as it was. dere was lots of cornbread, a little meat now and den, collards, whip-poor-will peas and dem unknown peas what was most big as a dime, and black 'lasses--dat was lallyho. "us cotch lots of 'possums, but mighty few of 'em us niggers ever got a chance to eat, or rabbits neither. dey made niggers go out and hunt 'em and de white folks et 'em. our mouths would water for some of dat 'possum but it warn't often dey let us have none. i don't know nothin' 'bout no fishin' bein' done dem days. yessum, slaves had deir own gyardens, and dey better wuk 'em good if dey wanted any gyarden sass to eat. cookin' was done in dem big open fireplaces, mostly in pots and thick iron skillets what had lids on 'em. "boys wore long blue striped shirts in summer and nothin' else a t'all. dem shirts was made jus' lak mother hubbards. us wore de same thing in winter only dem shirts was made new for winter. by summer dey had done wore thin. when de weather got too cold, marster give us old coats, what grown folks had done most wore out, and us warn't none too warm den wid de wind a-sailin' under our little old shirt tails. our shoes was rough old brogans what was hard as rocks, and us had to put rags inside 'em to keep 'em from rubbin' de skin off our foots. us didn't know what socks and stockin's was dem. "marse earl strickland owned us. miss sarah was his old 'oman and dey was sho' mighty good to deir slaves. white folks was heap better folks den dan dey is now anyhow. now-a-days dey will knock you up right now, and won't be long 'bout it. i can't git up no ricollections 'bout 'em havin' no chillun a t'all. seems lak i know for sho' dey didn't have none. dey never had no fine house neither; jus' a plain common house wid a chimbly at both ends. "oh, lord! marster never had no overseer; no car'iage driver neither; didn't even have no car'iage yit. he did have a surrey what he hitched mules to and driv for hisself. warn't no hoss on dat plantation, nothin' 'cept mules. "how big was dat plantation? good granny! it was so big i never did git all de way over it, and dere must a been or slaves. old marster got us up 'bout sunrise and fetched us in at sundown. he was all time knockin' on his niggers 'bout somepin. he 'lowed dey didn't do dis, or dat, or somepin else right--he allus had to have some 'scuse to knock 'em 'round." a little negro boy, possibly five years old, came up to anderson with a peach in his hand and said: "look, uncle anderson, c.t. done gimme dis peach what he stole off dat dar wagon." the old man reached out his hand. "boy, you gimme dat peach," he commanded. "you knows i lak peaches. give it to me, i say. i do declar', nigger chillun jus' got to steal anyhow. run git yourself 'nother peach off dat wagon, but don't you let dat man see you git it. put dat peach under your shirt 'til you gits in dis yard, and if you leave dis yard 'gain i'll buss your haid wide open. does you hear me, boy? "what was dat you was a-axin' 'bout jails, miss? yessum, us had 'em. niggers would git too rowdy-lak, drinkin' liquor and fightin', and dat was when de white folks slapped 'em in de gyardhouse, widout a bite to eat. gyardhouses is called jails dese days. i'se lak my ma. i'se a fighter. ma would jump on anybody what looked at her twice. de onliest time i ever got in de gyardhouse was a long time atter de end of de big war. a man owed me some money, and when i axed him for it, he got mad and knocked me down. i got right up and knocked him out, and right den and dar i was sont to de gyardhouse. "good lord, miss! slave folks warn't 'lowed no time for to larn readin' and writin'. deir time was all tuk up in de field at wuk. slaves went to de white folks' church, but one thing sho' dey couldn't read de bible for deirselfs and couldn't write none. jus' to tell de truth, i didn't take in what dey sung at church, but i ain't forgot dem baptizin's. i'se been to so many of 'em. evvybody went in dem days. dere warn't no place in de church houses for to be ducked dem days, so de white folks had a pool dug out by de branch for de baptizin's, and white folks and slaves was ducked in de same pool of water. white folks went in fust and den de niggers. evvybody what come dar sung a song 'bout 'my sins has all been washed away, and i is white as snow.' "slave fun'rels was mournful sights, for sho'. dem home-made coffins was made out of pine planks, and dey warn't painted or lined or nothin'. and slave coffins warn't no diffunt from de ones de white folks used. our marster sot aside a spot in his own buryin' grounds for de slaves' graveyard. when dey was a-buryin' folks dey sung a song what went somepin lak dis: 'oh, lord! us takes 'em to de graveyard, never to fetch 'em back.' "if slaves did run off to de north, i never heared nothin' 'bout it. oh, lord! i jus' can't talk 'bout dem patterollers, for it looked lak all de white folks tried to jine up wid 'em. how dey did beat up us pore niggers! us had to git a pass for dis and a pass for dat, and dere jus' warn't nothin' us could do widout dem patterollers a-beatin' us up. dey beat you wid a cowhide lash what cut a gash in your back evvy time it struck you. yessum, white folks and niggers was all time quar'ellin' and fightin'. "when slaves got in from de fields dey et deir somepin t'eat and went to bed. dey didn't have to wuk on saddays atter dinnertime. when our old marster turned us loose, he turned us loose; and when he wuked us, us sho' was wuked. de young folks had deir big times on sadday nights. dey danced and frolicked 'round sort of lak dey does now. evvybody went to de meetin' house on sunday, and dere's whar niggers had a good time a-courtin'. "christmas was de time when old marster let us do pretty much as us pleased. us had all kinds of good things t'eat, and atter us drunk a lot of liquor it warn't long 'fore dere was a nigger fight goin' on. yessum, us had cornshuckin's, cotton pickin's, quiltin's, log rollin's, and all sich as dat. wid plenty t'eat and good liquor to drink on hand, niggers would shuck corn or pick cotton all night. it was de big eats and lots of liquor dat made slaves lak dem things. "little slave boys played wid sun-baked marbles, made of mud, and old rag balls, what was sho' a heap diffunt from what chilluns thinks dey has got to have dese days 'fore dey kin have a good time. "marster had mighty good keer tuk of his slaves when dey got sick. dere warn't many doctors dem days. dey jus' used home-made medicines, mostly teas made out of yarbs (herbs). i jus' can't git up no ricollection of what yarbs dey did put in dem teas. i does 'member dat chillun had to live wid bags of assfiddy (asafetida) 'round deir necks to keep off ailments. ma give me and bob, each one, a block of dat assfiddy for good luck. i throwed my block 'way a few years ago, and i ain't had nothin' but bad luck ever since. dat's why i can't git up de things you wants to know 'bout. my mind jus' don't wuk right no more. "dem yankees was on de go all de time. one of 'em come to old marster's house and axed one of my uncles to go off wid him. uncle was old and skeered and he thought de yankees might kill him or somepin lak dat. when de war was done over, old marster told us 'bout how things was. he said us was free and would have to do de best us could for ourselfs. dem was happy days for niggers. dey sho' didn't take no more foolishment off of white folks atter dat, and dey don't pay 'em no mind now. niggers got so bad atter dey got deir freedom dat de ku kluxers come 'round and made 'em be'have deirselfs. one of dem kluxers come to our house and set down and talked to us 'bout how us ought to act, and how us was goin' to have to do, if us 'spected to live and do well. us allus thought it was our own old marster, all dressed up in dem white robes wid his face kivvered up, and a-talkin' in a strange, put-on lak, voice. none of marster's niggers never left him for 'bout two or three years. dere warn't no way for niggers to buy no land 'til atter dey could make and save up some money. marster jus' paid up his niggers once a year, at de end of crap time. it warn't long atter de war was over 'fore dere was some few schools for niggers scattered 'round 'bout. "when did i git married? lordy, miss! such things de giverment do want to know 'bout pore old niggers! it warn't 'til ten years atter us was freed, dat me and martha freeman got married up together. dat was one sho' 'nough fine weddin' what miss sallie morton and our other white friends give us. dey give us evvything us had at dat big old feast. dere was three tables full, one for de white folks, and two for de niggers, and dem tables was jus' loaded down wid good things. willie and ida was de onliest chillun me and martha had, and dey never lived to git grown. martha died out and den i married up wid mamie white. us didn't have no chillun and mamie's daid now. dey's all daid 'cept me. "i thinks it was a good thing mr. lincoln and mr. davis did set us free, and i sho hopes de giverment won't never fetch slavery back no more. "i never will forgit de day i jined up wid morton's baptist church. i had done helped my pa build it from a brush arbor to a sho' 'nough church house. de reason i jined up was 'cause de marster had done changed me from nature to grace. i thinks evvybody ought to jine up in de church 'cause it's de lord's will. "miss, i done told you all i knows and i'se a sick man, so go 'long wid you and let me take my rest." from images provided by the library of congress, manuscript division. [tr: ***] = transcriber note [hw: ***] = handwritten note slave narratives a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress washington volume iii florida narratives prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of florida informants anderson, josephine andrews, samuel simeon austin, bill berry, frank biddie, mary minus boyd, rev. eli boynton, rivana brooks, matilda bynes, titus campbell, patience clayton, florida coates, charles coates, irene coker, neil davis, rev. young winston dorsey, douglas douglass, ambrose duck, mama dukes, willis everett, sam and louisa gaines, duncan gantling, clayborn gragston, arnold gresham, harriett hall, bolden hooks, rebecca jackson, rev. squires kemp, john henry (prophet) kinsey, cindy lee, randall lycurgas, edward mccray, amanda maxwell, henry mitchell, christine moore, lindsey mullen, mack napoleon, louis nickerson, margrett parish, douglas pretty, george scott, anna sherman, william smalls, samuel taswell, salena taylor, dave thomas, acie thomas, shack towns, luke williams, willis wilson, claude augusta combined interviews [tr: county names added] dade county, florida, ex-slave stories charley roberts jennie colder banana williams frank bates william neighten rivana boynton [tr: riviana in text] salena taswell dade county, florida, folklore annie trip millie sampson annie gail jessie rowell margaret white priscilla mitchell fannie mccay hattie thomas david lee folk stuff, florida jules a. frost tampa, florida october , josephine anderson hants "i kaint tell nothin bout slavery times cept what i heared folks talk about. i was too young to remember much but i recleck seein my granma milk de cows an do de washin. granpa was old, an dey let him do light work, mosly fish an hunt. "i doan member nothin bout my daddy. he died when i was a baby. my stepfather was stephen anderson, an my mammy's name was dorcas. he come fum vajinny, but my mammy was borned an raised in wilmington. my name was josephine anderson fore i married willie jones. i had two half-brothers youngern me, john henry an ed, an a half-sister, elsie. de boys had to mind de calves an sheeps, an elsie nursed de missus' baby. i done de cookin, mosly, an helped my mammy spin. "i was ony five year old when dey brung me to sanderson, in baker county, florida. my stepfather went to work for a turpentine man, makin barrels, an he work at dat job till he drop dead in de camp. i reckon he musta had heart disease. "i doan recleck ever seein my mammy wear shoes. even in de winter she go barefoot, an i reckon cold didn't hurt her feet no moran her hands an face. we all wore dresses made o' homespun. de thread was spun an de cloth wove right in our own home. my mamy an granmamy an me done it in spare time. "my weddin dress was blue--blue for true. i thought it was de prettiest dress i ever see. we was married in de court-house, an dat be a mighty happy day for me. mos folks dem days got married by layin a broom on de floor an jumpin over it. dat seals de marriage, an at de same time brings em good luck. "ya see brooms keeps hants away. when mean folks dies, de old debbil sometimes doan want em down dere in da bad place, so he makes witches out of em, an sends em back. one thing bout witches, dey gotta count everthing fore dey can git acrosst it. you put a broom acrosst your door at night an old witches gotta count ever straw in dat broom fore she can come in. "some folks can jes nachly see hants bettern others. teeny, my gal can. i reckon das cause she been borned wid a veil--you know, a caul, sumpum what be over some babies' faces when dey is borned. folks borned wid a caul can see sperrits, an tell whas gonna happen fore it comes true. "use to worry teeny right smart, seein sperrits day an night. my husban say he gonna cure her, so he taken a grain o' corn an put it in a bottle in teeny's bedroom over night. den he planted it in de yard, an driv plenty sticks roun da place. when it was growin good, he put leaf-mold roun de stalk, an watch it ever day, an tell us don't _nobody_ touch de stalk. it raise three big ears o' corn, an when dey was good roastin size he pick em off an cook em an tell teeny eat ever grain offn all three cobs. he watch her while she done it, an she ain never been worried wid hants no more. she sees em jes the same, but dey doan bother her none. "fust time i ever knowed a hant to come into our quarters was when i was jes big nough to go out to parties. de game what we use to play was spin de plate. ever time i think on dat game it gives me de shivers. one time there was a strange young man come to a party where i was. said he name richard green, an he been takin keer o' horses for a rich man what was gonna buy a plantation in dat county. he look kinda slick an dressed-up--diffunt from de rest. all de gals begin to cast sheep's eyes at him, an hope he gonna choose dem when day start playin games. "pretty soon dey begin to play spin de plate an it come my turn fust thing. i spin it an call out 'mister green!' he jumps to de middle o' de ring to grab de plate an 'bang'--bout four guns go off all at oncet, an mister green fall to de floor plum dead shot through de head. "fore we knowed who done it, de sheriff an some more men jump down from de loft, where dey bean hidin an tell us quit hollerin an doan be scairt. dis man be a bad deeper--you know, one o' them outlaws what kills folks. he some kinda foreigner, an jes tryin make blieve he a niggah, so's they don't find him. "wall we didn't feel like playin no more games, an f'ever after dat you coundn't git no niggahs to pass dat house alone atter dark. dey say da place was hanted, an if you look through de winder any dark night you could see a man in dere spinnin de plate. "i sho didn't never look in, cause i done seen more hants aready dan i ever wants to see agin. one night i was goin to my granny's house. it was jes comin dark, an when i got to de crick an start across on de foot-log, dere on de other end o' dat log was a man wid his haid cut off an layin plum over on his shoulder. he look at me, kinda pitiful, an don't say a word--but i closely never waited to see what he gonna talk about. i pure flew back home. i was so scairt i couldn't tell de folks what done happened till i set down an get my breath. "nother time, not so long ago, when i live down in gary, i be walkin down de railroad track soon in de mornin an fore i knowed it, dere was a white man walkin long side o' me. i jes thought it were somebody, but i wadn't sho, so i turn off at de fust street to git way from dere. de nex mawnin i be boin[tr: goin?] to work at de same time. it were kinda foggy an dark, so i never seen nobody till i mighty nigh run into dis same man, an dere he goes, bout half a step ahead o' me, his two hands restin on his be-hind. "i was so close up to him i could see him plain as i see you. he had fingernails dat long, all cleaned an polished. he was tull, an had on a derby hat, an stylish black clothes. when i walk slow he slow down, an when i stop, he stop, never oncet lookin roun. my feets make a noise on de cinders tween de rails, but he doan make a mite o' noise. dat was de fust thing got me scairt, but i figger i better find out for sho ifen he be a sperrit; so i say, gook an loud: 'lookee here, mister, i jez an old colored woman, an i knows my place, an i wisht you wouldn't walk wid me counta what folks might say.' "he never looked roun no moren if i wan't there, an i cut my eyes roun to see if there is somebody i can holler to for help. when i looked back he was gone; gone, like dat, without makin a sound. den i knowed he be a hant, an de nex day when i tell somebody bout it dey say he be de genman what got killed at de crossin a spell back, an other folks has seen him jus like i did. dey say dey can hear babies cryin at de trestle right near dere, an ain't nobody yit ever found em. "dat ain de ony hant i ever seen. one day i go out to de smokehouse to git a mess o' taters. it was after sundown, but still purty light. when i gits dere de door be unlocked an a big man standin half inside. 'what you doin stealin our taters!' i hollers at him, an pow! he gone, jes like dat. did i git back to dat house! we mighty glad to eat grits an cornbread dat night. "when we livin at titusville, i see my old mammy comin up de road jus as plain as day. i stan on de porch, fixin to run an meet her, when all of a sudden she be gone. i begin to cry an tell de folks i ain't gonna see my mammy agin. an sho nuff, i never did. she die at sanderson, back in west florida, fore i got to see her. "does i blieve in witches? s-a-a-y, i knows more bout em den to jes 'blieve'--i been _rid_ by em. right here in dis house. you ain never been rid by a witch? well, you mighty lucky. dey come in de night, ginnerly soon after you drop off to sleep. dey put a bridle on your head, an a bit in your mouth, an a saddle on your back. den dey take off their skin an hang it up on de wall. den dey git on you an some nights dey like to ride you to death. you try to holler but you kaint, counta the iron bit in your mouth, an you feel like somebody holdin you down. den dey ride you back home an into your bed. when you hit de bed you jump an grab de kivers, an de witch be gone, like dat. but you know you been rid mighty hard, cause you all wet wid sweat, an you feel plum tired out. "some folks say you jus been dreamin, counta de blood stop circulatin in yaur back. shucks! dey ain never been rid by a witch, or dey ain sayin dat. "old witch docter, he want ten dollers for a piece of string, what he say some kinda charm words over. tells me to make a image o' dat old witch outa dough, an tie dat string roun its neck; den when i bake it in de oven, it swell up an de magic string shet off her breath. i didn't have no ten dollar, so he say ifen i git up five dollar he make me a hand--you know, what collored folks cals a jack. dat be a charm what will keep de witches away. i knows how to make em, but day doan do no good thout de magic words, an i doan know dem. you take a little pinch o' dried snake skin an some graveyard dirt, an some red pepper an a lock o' your hair wrapped roun some black rooster feathers. den you spit whiskey on em an wrap em in red flannel an sew if into a ball bout dat big. den you hang it under your right armpit, an ever week you give it a drink o' whiskey, to keep it strong an powful. "dat keep de witches fum ridin you; but nary one o' dese charms work wid dis old witch. i got a purty good idee who she is, an she got a charm powfuller dan both of dem. but she kaint git acrosst flaxseed, not till she count ever seed. you doan blieve dat? huh! i reckon i knows--i done tried it out. i gits me a lil bag o' pure fresh flaxseed, an i sprinkle it all roun de bed; den i put some on top of da mattress, an under de sheet. den i goes to bed an sleeps like a baby, an dat old witch doan bother me no more. "ony oncet. soon's i wake up, i light me a lamp an look on de floor an dere, side o' my bed was my dress, layin right over dat flaxseed, so's she could walk over on de dress, big as life. i snatch up de dress an throw it an de bed; den i go to sleep, an i ain _never_ been bothered no more. "some folks reads de bible backwards to keep witches fum ridin em, but dat doan do me no good, cause i kaint read. but flaxseed work so good i doan be studyin night-ridin witches no more." federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) rachel a. austin, field worker john a. simms, editor jacksonville, florida october , samuel simeon andrews for almost years edward waters college, an african methodist episcopal school, located on the north side of kings road in the western section of jacksonville, has employed as watchman, samuel simeon andrews (affectionately called "parson"), a former slave of a.j. lane of georgia, lewis ripley of beaufort, south carolina, ed tillman of dallas, texas, and john troy of union springs, alabama. "parson" was born november , in macon, georgia, at a place called tatum square, where slaves were held, housed and sold. "speculators" (persons who traveled from place to place with slaves for sale) had housed slaves there--many of whom were pregnant women. besides "parson," two other slave-children, ed jones who now lives in sparta, georgia, and george bailey were born in tatum square that night. the morning after their births, a woman was sent from the nearby a.j. lane plantation to take care of the three mothers; this nurse proved to be "parson's" grandmother. his mother told him afterwards that the meeting of mother and daughter was very jubilant, but silent and pathetic, because neither could with safety show her pleasure in finding the other. at the auction which was held a few days later, his mother, rachel, and her two sons, solomon augustus and her infant who was later to be known as "parson," were purchased by a.j. lane who had previously bought "parson's" father, willis, from a man named dolphus of albany, georgia; thus were husband and wife re-united. they were taken to lane's plantation three miles out of sparta, georgia, in hancock county. mr. lane owned slaves and was known to be very kind and considerate. "parson" lived on the lane plantation until he was eight years old, when he was sold to lewis ripley of beaufort, south carolina, with whom he lived for two years; he was then sold to ed tillman of dallas, texas; he stayed on the tillman plantation for about a year and until he was purchased by john troy of union springs, alabama--the richest slave-holder in union springs, alabama; he remained with him until emancipation. he recalls that during one of these sales about $ . was paid for him. he describes a.j. lane as being a kind slave-holder who fed his slaves well and whipped them but little. all of his other masters, he states, were nice to children, but lashed and whipped the grown-ups. mr. lane's family was comprised of his wife, fannie (who also was very kind to the slaves) five children, harriett ann, jennie, jeff, frankie and mae roxie, a brother (whose name he does not recall) who owned a few slaves but was kind to those that he did own. although very young during slavery, "parson" remembers many plantation activities and customs, among which are the following: that the master's children and those of the slaves on the plantation played together; the farm crops consisted of corn, cotton, peas, wheat and oats; that the food for the slaves was cooked in pots which were hung over a fire; that the iron ovens used by the slaves had tops for baking; how during the civil war, wheat, corn and dried potatoes were parched and used as substitutes for coffee; that his mother was given a peck of flour every two weeks; that a mixture of salt and sand was dug from the earthern floor of the smokehouse and water poured over it to get the salt drippings for seasoning; that most medicine consisted of boiled roots; when thread and cloth were dyed with the dye obtained from maple bark; when shoes were made on a wooden last and soles and uppers fastened together with maple pegs; when the white preachers preached "obey your masters"; that the first buggy that he saw was owned by his master, a.j. lane; it had a seat at the rear with rest which was usually occupied by a man who was called the "waiter"; there was no top to the seat and the "waiter" was exposed to the weather. he recalls when wooden slats and tightened ropes were used for bed springs; also the patience of "aunt letha" an old woman slave who took care of the children in the neighborhood while their parents worked, and how they enjoyed watching "uncle umphrey" tan cow and pig hides. "parson" describes himself as being very frisky as a boy and states that he did but very little work and got but very few whippings. twice he ran away to escape being whipped and hid in asparagus beds in sparta, georgia until nightfall; when he returned the master would not whip him because he was apprehensive that he might run away again and be stolen by poorer whites and thus cause trouble. the richer whites, he relates, were afraid of the poorer whites; if the latter were made angry they would round up the owners' sheep and turn them loose into their cotton fields and the sheep would eat the cotton, row by row. he compares the relationship between the rich and poor whites during slavery with that of the white and negro people of today. with a face full of frowns, "parson" tells of a white man persuading his mother to let him tie her to show that he was master, promising not to whip her, and she believed him. when he had placed her in a buck (hands tied on a stick so that the stick would turn her in any direction) he whipped her until the blood ran down her back. with changed expression he told of an incident during the civil war: slaves, he explained had to have passes to go from one plantation to another and if one were found without a pass the "patrollers" would pick him up, return him to his master and receive pay for their service. the "patrollers" were guards for runaway slaves. one night they came to aunt rhoda's house where a crowd of slaves had gathered and were going to return them to their masters; uncle umphrey the tanner, quickly spaded up some hot ashes and pitched it on them; all of the slaves escaped unharmed, while all of the "patrollers" were badly injured; no one ever told on uncle umphrey and when aunt rhoda was questioned by her master she stated that she knew nothing about it but told them that the "patrollers" had brought another "nigger" with them; her master took it for granted that she spoke the truth since none of the other negroes were hurt. he remembers seeing this but does not remember how he, as a little boy, was prevented from telling about it. asked about his remembrance or knowledge of the slaves' belief in magic and spells he said: "i remember this and can just see the dogs running around now. my mother's brother, "uncle dick" and "uncle july" swore they would not work longer for masters; so they ran away and lived in the woods. in winter they would put cotton seed in the fields to rot for fertilizer and lay in it for warmth. they would kill hogs and slip the meat to some slave to cook for food. when their owners looked for them, "bob amos" who raised "nigger hounds" (hounds raised solely to track negro slaves) was summoned and the dogs located them and surrounded them in their hide-out; one went one way and one the other and escaped in the swamps; they would run until they came to a fence--each kept some "graveyard dust and a few lightwood splinters" with which they smoked their feet and jumped the fence and the dogs turned back and could track no further. thus, they stayed in the woods until freedom, when they came out and worked for pay. now, you know "uncle dick" just died a few years ago in sparta, georgia." when the civil war came he remembers hearing one night "sherman is coming." it was said that wheeler's cavalry of the confederates was always "running and fighting." lane had moved the family to macon, georgia, and they lived on a place called "dunlap's hill." that night four preachers were preaching "fellow soldiers, the enemy is just here to bolden's brook, sixteen miles away and you may be carried into judgment; prepare to meet your god." while they were preaching, bombs began to fly because wheeler's cavalry was only six miles away instead of miles; women screamed and children ran. wheeler kept wagons ahead of him so that when one was crippled the other would replace it. he says he imagines he hears the voice of sherman now, saying: "tell wheeler to go on to south carolina; we will mow it down with grape shot and plow it in with bombshell." emancipation came and with it great rejoicing. he recalls that republicans were called "radicals" just after the close of the civil war. mr. lane was able to save all of his meat, silver, and other valuables during the war by having a cave dug in the hog pasture; the hogs trampled over it daily. "parson" states that among the papers in his trunk he has a piece of money called "shin plasters" which was used during the civil war. the slaves were not allowed to attend schools of any kind; and school facilities immediately following emancipation were very poor; when the first teacher, miss smith, a yankee, came to sparta, georgia and began teaching sunday school, all of the children were given testaments or catechisms which their parents were afraid for them to keep lest their masters whip them, but the teacher called on the parents and explained to them that they were as free as their former masters. "parson" states that when he was born, his master named him "monk." his grandfather, willis andrews, who was a free man of pittsburg, pennsylvania, purchased the freedom of his wife lizzie, but was never able to purchase their four children; his father, also named willis, died a slave, was driven in an ox-cart to a hole that had been dug, put in it and covered up; his mother nor children could stop work to attend the funeral, but after the emancipation, he and a brother returned, found "uncle bob" who helped bury him and located his grave. soon after he had been given his freedom, "parson" walked from union springs, alabama where his last master had taken him--back to macon, georgia, and rejoined his mother, rachel, his brothers, samuel augustus, san francisco, simon peter, lewis, carter, powell wendell and sisters, lizzie and ann; they all dropped the name of their master, lane, and took the name of their grandfather, andrews. "parson" possesses an almost uncanny memory and attributes it to his inability to write things down and therefore being entirely dependent upon his memory. he had passed years of age and had two children who could read and write before he could. his connection with edward waters college has given him a decided advantage for education and there are few things that he cannot discuss intelligently. he has come in contact with thousands of students and all of the ministers connected with the african methodist episcopal church in the state of florida and has attended all of the state and general conferences of this church for the past half century. he has lived to be years of age and says he will live until he is . this he will do because he claims: "your life is in your hand" and tells these narratives as proof: "in when the present atlantic coast line railroad was called the s.f.w. and i was coming from savannah to florida, some tramps intent upon robbery had removed spikes from the bridge and just as the alarm was given and the train about to be thrown from the track, i raised the window and jumped to safety. i then walked back two miles to report it. more than were killed who might have been saved had they jumped as i did. as a result, the s.f. and w. gave me a free pass for life with which i rode all over the united states and once into canada." he proudly displays this pass and states that he would like to travel over the united states again but that the school keeps him too close. "i had been very sick but took no medicine; my wife went out to visit sister nancy--shortly afterwards i heard what sounded like walking, and in my imagination saw death entering, push the door open and draw back to leap on me; i jumped through the window, my shirt hung, but i pulled it out. mr. hodges, a baptist preacher was hoeing in his garden next door, looked at me and laughed. a woman yelled 'there goes reverend andrews, and death is on him.' i said 'no he isn't on me but he's down there.' pretty soon news came that reverend hodges had dropped dead. death had come for someone and would not leave without them. i was weak and he tried me first. reverend hodges wasn't looking, so he slipped up on him." "parson" came to umatilla, florida, in from georgia with a mr. rogers brought him and six other men, their wives and children, to work on the railroad; he was made the section "boss" which job he held until a white man threatened to "dock" him because he was wearing a stiff shirt and "setting over a white man" when he should have a shovel. this was the opinion of a man in the vicinity, but another white friend, named javis warned him and advised him not to leave umatilla, but persuaded him to work for him cutting cord wood; although "parson" had never seen wood corded, he accepted the job and was soon given a pass to macon, georgia, to get other men; he brought men back and soon became their "boss" and bought a house and decided to do a little hunting. when he left this job he did some hotel work, cooked and served as train porter. in he was ordained to preach and has preached and pastored regularly from that time up to two years ago. he is of medium size and build and partially bald-headed; what little hair he has is very grey; he has keen eyes; his eyesight is very good; he has never had to wear glasses. he is as supple as one half his age; it is readily demonstrated as he runs, jumps and yells while attending the games of his favorite pastimes, baseball and football. wherever the edward waters college football team goes, there "parson" wants to go also. whenever the crowd at a game hears the scream "come on boys," everyone knows it is "parson" andrews. "parson" has had two wives, both of whom are dead, and is the father of eight children: willis (deceased) johnny, sebron reece of martin, tennessee, annie lee, of macon, georgia, hattie of jacksonville, ella (deceased) mary lou rivers of macon, georgia, and augustus somewhere-at-sea. "parson" does not believe in taking medicine, but makes a liniment with which he rubs himself. he attributes his long life to his sense of "having quitting sense" and not allowing death to catch him unawares. he asserts that if he reaches the bedside of a kindred in time, he will keep him from dying by telling him: "come on now, don't be crazy and die." he states that he enjoyed his slavery life and since that time life has been very sweet. he knows and remembers most of the incidents connected with members of the several conferences of the african methodist episcopal church in florida and can tell you in what minutes you may find any of the important happenings of the past or years. reference . personal interview with samuel simeon andrews in the dormitory of edward waters college kings road, jacksonville, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) martin richardson, field worker greenwood, florida march , bill austin bill austin--he says his name is not williams--is an ex-slave who gained his freedom because his mistress found it more advantageous to free him than to watch him. austin lives near greenwood, jackson county, florida, on a small farm that he and his children operate. he says that he does not know his age, does not remember ever having heard it. but he must be pretty old, he says, "'cause i was a right smart size when mistuh smith went off to fight." he thinks he may be over a hundred--and he looks it--but he is not sure. austin was born between greene and hancock counties, on the oconee river, in georgia. he uses the names of the counties interchangeably; he cannot be definite as to just which one was his birthplace. "the line between 'em was right there by us," he says. his father was jack; for want of a surname of his own he took that of his father and called himself jack smith. during a temporary shortage of funds on his master's part, jack and bill's mother was sold to a planter in the northern part of the state. it was not until long after his emancipation that bill ever saw either of them again. bill's father jack was regarded as a fairly good carpenter, mason and bricklayer; at times his master would let him do small jobs of repairing of building for neighboring planters. these jobs sometimes netted him hams, bits of cornmeal, cloth for dresses for his wife and children, and other small gifts; these he either used for his small family or bartered with the other slaves. sometimes he sold them to the slaves for money; cash was not altogether unknown among the slaves on the smith place. austin gives an interesting description of his master, thomas smith. he says that "sumptimes he was real rich and all of us had a good time. the wuk wasn't hard then, cause if we had big crops he would borrow some he'p from the other white folks. he used to give us meat every day, and plenty of other things. one time he bought all of us shoes, and on sunday night would let us go to wherever the preacher was holdin' meeting. he used to give my papa money sumptimes, too. "but they used to whisper that he would gamble a lot. we used to see a whole lot of men come up to the house sumptimes and stay up most of the night. sumptimes they would stay three or four days. and once in a while after one of these big doings mistuh smith would look worried, and we wouldn't get no meat and vary little of anything else for a long time. he would be crabby and beat us for any little thing. he used to tell my papa that he wouldn't have a d--- cent until he made some crops." a few years before he left to enter the war the slave owner came into possession of a store near his plantation. this store was in greensboro. either because the business paid or because of another of his economic 'bad spells', ownership of his plantation passed to a man named kimball and most of the slaves, with the exception of bill austin and one or two women--either transferred with the plantation or sold. bill was kept to do errands and general work around the store. bill learned much about the operation of the store, with the result that when mr. smith left with the southern army he left his wife and bill to continue its operation. by this time there used to be frequent stories whispered among the slaves in the neighborhood--and who came with their masters into the country store--of how this or that slave ran away, and with the white man-power of the section engaged in war, remained at large for long periods or escaped altogether. these stories always interested austin, with the result that one morning he was absent when mrs. smith opened the store. he remained away 'eight or nine days, i guess', before a friend of the smiths found him near macon and threatened that he would 'half kill him' if he didn't return immediately. either the threat--or the fact that in macon there were no readily available foodstuffs to be eaten all day as in the store--caused austin to return. he was roundly berated by his mistress, but finally forgiven by the worried woman who needed his help around the store more than she needed the contrite promises and effusive declarations that he would 'behave alright for the rest of his life.' and he did behave; for several whole months. but by this tine he was 'a great big boy', and he had caught sight of a young woman who took his fancy on his trip to macon. she was free herself; her father had bought her freedom with that of her mother a few years before, and did odd jobs for the white people in the city for a livelihood. bill had thoughts of going back to macon, marrying her, and bringing her back 'to work for missus with me.' he asked permission to go, and was refused on the grounds that his help was too badly needed at the store. shortly afterward he had again disappeared. 'missus', however, knew too much of his plans by this time, and it was no difficult task to have him apprehended in macon. bill may not have had such great objections to the apprehension, either, he says, because by this time he had learned that the young woman in macon had no slightest intention to give up her freedom to join him at greensboro. a relative of mrs. smith gave austin a sound beating on his return; for a time it had the desired effect, and he stayed at the store and gave no further trouble. mrs. smith, however, thought of a surer plan of keeping him in greensboro; she called him and told him he might have his freedom. bill never attempted to again leave the place--although he did not receive a cent for his work--until his master had died, the store passed into the hands of one of mr. smith's sons, and the emancipation of all the slaves was a matter of eight or ten years' history! when he finally left greene and hancock counties--about fifty-five years ago, austin settled in jackson county. he married and began the raising of a family. at present he has nineteen living children, more grandchildren than he can accurately tell, and is living with his third wife, a woman in her thirties. bibliography . henry harvey, old resident of jackson county; greenwood-malone road, about - / miles n.w. of greenwood, florida . interview with subject, near greenwood, florida, (rural route , sneads) federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) pearl randolph, field worker john a. simms, editor jacksonville, florida august , frank berry frank berry, living at west twenty-second street, jacksonville, florida, claims to be a grandson of osceola, last fighting chief of the seminole tribe. born in of a mother who was part of the human chattel belonging to one of the hearnses of alachua county in florida, he served variously during his life as a state and federal government contractor, united states marshal ( ), registration inspector ( ). being only eight years of age when the emancipation proclamation was issued, he remembers little of his life as a slave. the master was kind in an impersonal way but made no provision for his freedmen as did many other southerners--usually in the form of land grants--although he gave them their freedom as soon as the proclamation was issued. berry learned from his elders that their master was a noted duelist and owned several fine pistols some of which have very bloody histories. it was during the hectic days that followed the civil war that berry served in the afore-mentioned offices. he held his marshalship under a judge king of jacksonville, florida. as state and federal government contractor he built many public structures, a few of which are still in use, among them the jetties at mayport, florida which he helped to build and a jail at high springs, florida. it was during the war between the indians and settlers that berry's grandmother, serving as a nurse at tampa bay was captured by the indians and carried away to become the squaw of their chief; she was later re-captured by her owners. this was a common procedure, according to berry's statements. indians often captured slaves, particularly the women, or aided in their escape and almost always intermarried with them. the red men were credited with inciting many uprisings and wholesale escapes among the slaves. country frolics (dances) were quite often attended by indians, whose main reason for going was to obtain whiskey, for which they had a very strong fondness. berry describes an intoxicated indian as a "tornado mad man" and recalls a hair raising incident that ended in tragedy for the offender. a group of indians were attending one of these frolics at fort myers and everything went well until one of the number became intoxicated, terrorizing the negroes with bullying, and fighting anyone with whom he could "pick" a quarrel. "big charlie" an uncle of the narrator was present and when the red man challenged him to a fight made a quick end of him by breaking his neck at one blow. for two years he was hounded by revengeful indians, who had an uncanny way of ferreting out his whereabouts no matter where he went. often he sighted them while working in the fields and would be forced to flee to some other place. this continued with many hairbreadth escapes, until he was forced to move several states away. berry recalls the old days of black aristocracy when negroes held high political offices in the state of florida, when negro tradesmen and professionals competed successfully and unmolested with the whites. many fortunes were made by men who are now little more than beggars. to this group belongs the man who in spite of reduced circumstances manages still to make one think of top hats and state affairs. although small of stature and almost disabled by rheumatism, he has the fiery dignity and straight back that we associate with men who have ruled others. at the same time he might also be characterized as a sweet old person, with all the tender reminiscences of the old days and the and childish prejudices against all things new. as might be expected, he lives in the past and always is delighted whenever he is asked to tell about the only life that he has ever really lived. together with his aged wife he lives with his children and is known to local relief agencies who supplement the very small income he now derives from what is left of what was at one time a considerable fortune. reference personal interview with subject, frank berry, west twenty-second street, jacksonville, florida florida folklore slave customs and anecdotes mary minus biddie mary minus biddie, age one hundred five was born in pensacola, florida, , and raised in columbia county. she is married, and has several children. for her age she is exceptionally active, being able to wash and do her house work. with optimism she looks forward to many more years of life. her health is excellent. having spent thirty-two years of her life as a slave she relates vividly some of her experiences. her master lancaster jamison was a very kind man and never mistreated his slaves. he was a man of mediocre means, and instead of having a large plantation as was usual in those days, he ran a boarding house, the revenue therefrom furnishing him substance for a livelihood. he had a small farm from which fresh produce was obtained to supply the needs of his lodgers. mary's family were his only slaves. the family consisted of her mother, father, brother and a sister. the children called the old master "fa" and their father "pappy." the master never resented this appellation, and took it in good humor. many travelers stopped at his boarding house; mary's mother did the cooking, her father "tended" the farm, and mary, her brother and sister, did chores about the place. there was a large one-room house built in the yard in which the family lived. her father had a separate garden in which he raised his produce, also a smokehouse where the family meats were kept. meats were smoked in order to preserve them. during the day mary's father was kept so busy attending his master's farm that there was no time for him to attend to a little farm that he was allowed to have. he overcame this handicap, however, by setting up huge scaffolds in the field which he burned and from the flames that this fire emitted he could see well enough to do what was necessary to his farm. the master's first wife was a very kind woman; at her death mary's master moved from pensacola to columbia county. mary was very active with the plow, she could handle it with the agility of a man. this prowess gained her the title of "plow girl." cooking. stoves were unknown and cooking was done in a fireplace that was built of clay, a large iron rod was built in across the opening of the fireplace on which were hung pots that had special handles that fitted about the rod holding them in place over the blazing fire as the food cooking was done in a moveable oven which was placed in the fireplace over hot coals or corn cobs. potatoes were roasted in ashes. oft' times mary's father would sit in front of the fireplace until a late hour in the night and on arising in the morning the children would find in a corner a number of roasted potatoes which their father had thoughtfully roasted and which the children readily consumed. lighting system. matches were unknown; a flint rock and a file provided the fire. this occured by striking a file against a flint rock which threw off sparks that fell into a wad of dry cotton used for the purpose. this cotton, as a rule, readily caught fire. this was fire and all the fire needed to start any blaze. weaving. the white folk wove the cloth on regular looms which were made into dresses for the slaves. for various colors of cloth the thread was dyed. the dye was made by digging up red shank and wild indigo roots which were boiled. the substance obtained being some of the best dye to be found. beverages & food. bread was made from flour and wheat. the meat used was pork, beef, mutton and goat. for preservation it was smoked and kept in the smokehouse. coffee was used as a beverage and when this ran out as oft' times happened, parched peanuts were used for the purpose. mary and family arose before daybreak and prepared breakfast for the master and his family, after which they ate in the same dining room. when this was over the dishes were washed by mary, her brother and sister. the children then played about until meals were served again. washing and soap. washing was done in home-made wooden tubs, and boiling in iron pots similar to those of today. soap was made from fat and lye. amusements. the only amusement to be had was a big candy pulling, or hog killing and chicken cooking. the slaves from the surrounding plantations were allowed to come together on these occasions. a big time was had. church. the slaves went to the "white folks" church on sundays. they were seated in the rear of the church. the white minister would arise and exhort the slaves to 'mind your masters, you owe them your respect.' an old christian slave who perceived things differently could sometimes be heard to mumble, "yeah, wese jest as good as deys is only deys white and we's black, huh." she dare not let the whites hear this. at times meetin's were held in a slave cabin where some "inspired" slave led the services. in the course of years mr. jamison married again. his second wife was a veritable terror. she was always ready and anxious to whip a slave for the least misdemeanor. the master told mary and her mother that before he would take the chance of them running away on account of her meanness he would leave her. as soon as he would leave the house this was a signal for his wife to start on a slave. one day, with a kettle of hot water in her hand, she chased mary, who ran to another plantation and hid there until the good master returned. she then poured out her troubles to him. he was very indignant and remonstrated with his wife for being so cruel. she met her fate in later years; her son-in-law becoming angry at some of her doings in regard to him shot her, which resulted in her death. instead of mourning, everybody seemed to rejoice, for the menace to well being had been removed. twice a year mary's father and master went to cedar keys, florida to get salt. ocean water was obtained and boiled, salt resulting. they always returned with about three barrels of salt. the greatest event in the life of a slave was about to occur, and the most sorrowful in the life of a master, freedom was at hand. a negro was seen coming in the distance, mounted upon a mule, approaching mr. jamison who stood upon the porch. he told him of the liberation of the slaves. mr. jamison had never before been heard to curse, but this was one day that he let go a torrent of words that are unworthy to appear in print. he then broke down and cried like a slave who was being lashed by his cruel master. he called mary's mother and father, phyliss and sandy, "i ain't got no more to do with you, you are free," he said, "if you want to stay with me you may and i'll give you one-third of what you raise." they decided to stay. when the crop was harvested the master did not do as he had promised. he gave them nothing. mary slipped away, mounted the old mule "mustang" and galloped away at a mules snail speed to newnansville where she related what had happened to a union captain. he gave her a letter to give to mr. jamison. in it he reminded him that if he didn't give mary's family what he had promised he would be put in jail. without hesitation the old master complied with these pungent orders. after this incident mary and her family left the good old boss to seek a new abode in other parts. this was the first time that the master had in any way displayed any kind of unfairness toward them, perhaps it was the reaction to having to liberate them. marriage. there was no marriage during slavery according to civil or religious custom among the slaves. if a slave saw a woman whom he desired he told his master. if the woman in question belonged on another plantation, the master would consult her master: "one of my boys wants to marry one of your gals," he would say. as a rule it was agreeable that they should live together as man and wife. this was encouraged for it increased the slave population by new borns, hence, being an asset to the masters. the two slaves thus joined were allowed to see one another at intervals upon special permission from the master. he must have a pass to leave the plantation. any slave caught without one while off the plantation was subject to be caught by the "paderollers" (a low class of white who roved the country to molest a slave at the least opportunity. some of them were hired by the masters to guard against slaves running away or to apprehend them in the event that they did) who would beat them unmercifully, and send them back to the plantation from whence they came. as a result of this form of matrimony at emancipation there were no slaves lawfully married. orders were given that if they preferred to live together as man and wife they must marry according to law. they were given nine months to decide this question, after which if they continued to live together they were arrested for adultery. a mr. fryer, justice of the peace at gainesville, was assigned to deal with the situation around the plantation where mary and her family lived. a big supper was given, it was early, about twenty-five slave couples attended. there was gaiety and laughter. a barrel of lemonade was served. a big time was had by all, then those couples who desired to remain together were joined in wedlock according to civil custom. the party broke up in the early hours of the morning. mary biddie, cognizant of the progress that science and invention has made in the intervening years from emancipation and the present time, could not help but remark of the vast improvement of the lighting system of today and that of slavery. there were no lamps or kerosene. the first thread that shearer spun was for a wick to be used in a candle, the only means of light. beef tallow was used to make the candle; this was placed in a candle mould while hot. the wick was then placed in the center of the tallow as it rest in the mould; this was allowed to cool. when this chemical process occured there was a regular sized candle to be used for lighting. mary now past the century mark, her lean bronze body resting in a rocker, her head wrapped in a white 'kerchief, and puffing slowly on her clay pipe, expressed herself in regard to presidents: "roosevelt has don' mo' than any other president, why you know ever since freedom they been talkin' 'bout dis pension, talkin' 'bout it tha's all, but you see mr. roosevelt he don' com' an' gived it tu us. what? i'll say he's a good rightus man, an' um sho' go' vot' fo' him." residing in her little cabin in eatonville, florida, she is able to smile because she has some means of security, the old age pension. dade county, florida, folklore ex-slaves rev. eli boyd reverend eli boyd was born may , , four miles from somerville, south carolina on john murray's plantation. it was a large plantation with perhaps one hundred slaves and their families. as he was only a tiny baby when freedom came, he had no "recomembrance" of the real slavery days, but he lived on the same plantation for many years until his father and mother died in . "i worked on the plantation just like they did in the real slavery days, only i received a small wage. i picked cotton and thinned rice. i always did just what they told me to do and didn't ever get into any trouble, except once and that was my own fault. "you see it was this way. they gave me a bucket of thick clabber to take to the hogs. i was hungry and took the bucket and sat down behind the barn and ate every bit of it. i didn't know it would make me sick, but was i sick? i swelled up so that i all but bust. they had to doctor on me. they took soot out of the chimney and mixed it with salt and made me take that. i guess they saved my life, for i was awful sick. "i never learned to read until i was years old. that was after i left the plantation. i was staying at a place washing dishes for goodyear's at sapville, georgia, six miles from waycross. i found a webster's spelling book that had been thrown away, and i learned to read from that. "i wasn't converted until i went to work in a turpentine still and five years later i was called to preach. i am one of thirteen children and none of us has ever been arrested. we were taught right. "i kept on preaching until i came to miami. i have been assistant pastor at bethel african methodist church for the past ten years. "i belong to a class of negroes called geechees. my grandfather was brought directly from africa to port royal, south carolina. my grandmother used to hold up her hand and look at it and sing out of her hand. she'd make them up as she would look at her hand. she sang in geechee and also made rhymes and songs in english." federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) cora taylor frances h. miner, editor miami, florida rivana boynton [tr: also reported as riviana.] . where, and about when, were you born? some time in on john and mollie hoover's plantation between savannah and charleston near the georgia line. . if you were born on a plantation or farm, what sort of farming section was it in? they raised rice, corn wheat, and lots of cotton, raised everything they et--vegetables, taters and all that. . how did you pass the time as a child? what sort of chores did you do and what did you play? i had to thin cotton in the fields and mind the flies at the table. i chased them with a fly bush, sometimes a limb from a tree and sometimes wid a fancy bush. . was your master kind to you? yes, i was favored by being with my massy. . how many slaves were there on the same plantation and farm? i don't know. there was plenty o' dem up in de hundreds, i reckon. . do you remember what kind of cooking utensils your mother used? yes, dey had spiders an' big iron kettles that dey hung in de chimney by a long chain. when dey wanted to cook fast dey lowered de chain and when dey wanted to bake in the spiders, they's put them under de kettle can cover with coals until dey was hot. dey'd put de pones in does double concerned spiders and turn them around when dey was done on one side. . what were your main foods and how were they cooked? we had everything you could think of to eat. . do you remember making imitation or substitute coffee by grinding up corn or peanuts? no. we had real coffee. . do you remember ever having, when you were young, any other kind of bread besides corn bread? yes, batter and white bread. . do you remember evaporating sea water to get salt? [tr: word illegible] did hit dat way. . when you were a child, what sort of stove do you remember your mother having? did they have a hanging pot in the fire place, and did they make their candles of their own tallow? always had fireplaces or open fires on the plantation, but after a long time while my massy had hearth stoves to cook on. de would give us slaves pot liquor to cook green in sometimes. dey lit de fires with flint and steel, when it would go out. we all ate with wooden paddles for spoons. we made dem taller candles out of beef and mutton tallow, den we'd shoog 'em down into the candle sticks made of tin pans wid a handle on and a holder for the candle in the center. you know how. . did you use an open well or pump to get the water? we had a well with two buckets on a pulley to draw the water. . do you remember when you first saw ice in regular form? no. ice would freeze in winter in our place. . did your family work in the rice fields or in the cotton on the farm, or what sort of work did they do? they did all kinds of work in the fields. . if they worked in the house or about the place, what sort of work did they do? i was house maid and did everything they told me to do. sometimes i'd sweep and work around all the time. . do you remember ever helping tan and cure hides and pig hides? this was done on the plantation. i took no part in it. . as a young person what sort of work did you do? if you helped your mother around the house or cut firewood or swept the yard, say so. i helped do the housework and did what the mistress told me do. . when you were a child do you remember how people wove cloth, or spun thread, or picked out cotton seed, or weighed cotton or what sort of bag was used on the cotton bales? no. . do you remember what sort of soap they used? how did they get the lye for making the soap? yes, i'd help to make the ash lye and soft soap. never seed and cake soap until i came here. . what did they use for dyeing thread and cloth and how did they dye them? they used indigo for blue, copperas for yellow, and red oak chips for red. . did your mother use big, wooden washtubs with cut-out holes on each side for the fingers? yes, and dey had smaller wooden keels. never seed any tin tubs up there. . do you remember the way they made shoes by hand in the country? yes, they made all our shoes on the plantation. . do you remember saving the chicken feathers and goose feathers always for your featherbeds? yes. . do you remember when women wore hoop [tr: illegible] in their skirts and when they stopped wearing them and wore narrow skirts? yes. my missus, she made me a pair of hoops, or i guess she bought it, but some of the slaves took thin limbs from trees and made their hoops. others made them out of stiff paper and others would starch their skirts stiff with rice starch to make their skirts stand way out. we thought those hoops were just the thing for style. . do you remember when you first saw your first windmill? yes. they didn't have them there. . do you remember when you first saw bed springs instead of bed ropes? i slept in a gunny bunk. my missus had a rope bed and she covered the ropes with a cow hide. we made hay and corn shuck mattresses for her. we'd cut the hay and shucks up fine and stuff the ticks with them. the cow hides were placed on top of the mattresses to protect them. . when did you see the first buggy and what did it look like? it was a buggy like you see. . do you remember your grandparents? no. my mother was sold from me when i was small. i stayed in my uncle's shed at night. . do you remember the money called "shin-plasters"? no. . what interesting historical events happened during your youth, such as sherman's army passing through your section? did you witness the happenings and what was the reaction of the other negroes to them? i remember well when de war was on. i used to turn the big corn sheller and sack the shelled corn for the confederate soldiers. they used to sell some of the corn and they gave some of it to the soldiers. anyway the yankees got some and they did not expect them to get it. it was this way: the wheeler boys came through there ahead of sherman's army. now, we thought the wheeler boys were confederates. they came down the road as happy as could be, a-singin' "hurrah, hurrah, hurrah hurrah for the broke book boys hurrah for the broke brook boys of south carolina." so of course we thought they were our soldiers a-singin' our songs. well, they came an' tol' our boss that sherman's soldiers were coming' and we'd better hide all our food and valuable things, for they'd take everything they wanted. so we "hoped" our massy hide the tings. they dug holes and buried the potatoes and covered them with cotton seed and all that. then our ma say give dem food and thanked them for their kindness and he set out wid two of the girls to tote them to safety, but before he got back after the missus the yanks were on us. our missus had od[tr:?] led us together and told us what to say. "now you beg for me. if they ask you whether i've been good to you, you tell 'em 'yes'. if they ask you if we give you meat, you say 'yes'." now de res' didn't git any meat, but i did, 'cause i worked in the house. so i didn't tell a lie, for i did git meat. so we begged, an' we say, "our missus is good. don't you kill her. don't you take our meat away from us. don't you hurt her. don't you burn her house down." so they burned the stable and some of the other buildings, but they did not burn the house nor hurt us any. we saw the rest of the yanks comin'. they never stopped for nothin'. their horses would jump the worn rail fences and they come 'cross fields 'n everything. they bound our missus upstairs so she couldn't get away, then they came to the sheds and we begged and begged for her. then they loosed her, but they took some of us for refugees and some of the slaves went off with them of their own will. they took all the things that were buried all the hams and everything they wanted. but they did not burn the house and our missus was saved. . did you know any negroes who enlisted or joined the northern army? yes. . did you know any negroes who enlisted in the southern army? yes. . did your master join the confederacy? what do you remember of his return from the war? or was he wounded and killed? yes. two boys went. one was killed and one came back. . did you live in savannah when sherman and the northern forces marched through the state, and do you remember the excitement in your town or around the plantation where you lived? we lived north of savannah. i don't know how far it was, but it was in south carolina. . did your master's house get robbed or burned during the time of sherman's march? we were robbed, but the house was not burned. we saved it for them. . what kind of uniforms did they wear during the civil war? blue and gray . what sort of medicine was used in the days just after the war? describe a negro doctor of that period. she used to make tea out of the devil's shoe string that grew along on the ground. we used oil and turpentine. put turpentine on sores. . what do you remember about northern people or outside people moving into the community after the war? yes. mrs. dermont, she taught white folks. i didn't go to school. . how did your family's life compare after emancipation with it before? i had it better and so did the rest. . do you know anything about political meetings and clubs formed after the war? you had to have a ticket to go to church or the paddle rollers. . do you know anything regarding the letters and stories from negroes who migrated north after the war? no. . were there any negroes of your acquaintance who were skilled [tr: illegible] particular line of work? yes. in making shoes and furniture, they had to do most everything well or get paddled. federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) alfred farrell, field worker monticello, florida january , matilda brooks a governor's slaves matilda brooks, , who lives in monticello, fla., was once a slave of a south carolina governor. mrs. brooks was born in or in edgefield, s.c. her parents were hawkins and harriet knox, and at the time of the birth of their daughter were slaves on a large plantation belonging to governor frank pickens. on this plantation were raised cotton, corn, potatoes, tobacco, peas, wheat and truck products. as soon as matilda was large enough to go into the fields she helped her parents with the farming. the former slave describes governor pickens as being 'very good' to his slaves. he supervised them personally, although official duties often made this difficult. he saw to it that their quarters were comfortable and that they always had sufficient food. when they became ill he would himself doctor on them with pills, castor oil, turpentine other remedies. their diet consisted largely of potatoes, corn bread, syrup, greens, peas, and occasionally ham, fowl and other meats or poultry. their chief beverage was coffee made from parched corn. since there were no stoves during slavery, they cooked their foods in large iron pots suspended from racks built into the fireplaces. fried foods were prepared in iron 'spiders', large frying pans with legs. these pans were placed over hot coals, and the seasoning was done with salt which they secured from evaporated sea-water. after the food was fried and while the coals were still glowing the fat of oxen and sheep was melted to make candles. any grease left over was put into a large box, to be used later for soap-making. lye for the soap was obtained by putting oak ashes in a barrel and pouring water over them. after standing for several days--until the ashes had decayed--holes were drilled into the bottom of the barrell and the liquid drained off. this liquid was the lye, and it was then trickled into the pot into which the fat had been placed. the two were then boiled, and after cooling cut into squares of soap. water for cooking and other purposes was obtained from a well, which also served as a refrigerator at times. matilda does not recall seeing ice until many years later. in the evenings matilda's mother would weave cloth on her spinning-jenny and an improvised loom. this cloth was sometimes dyed in various colors: blue from the indigo plant; yellow from the crocus and brown from the bark of the red oak. other colors were obtained from berries and other plants. in seasons other than picking-time for the cotton the children were usually allowed to play in the evenings, when cotton crops were large, however, they spent their evenings picking out seeds from the cotton bolls, in order that their parents might work uninterruptedly in the fields during the day. the cotton, after being picked and separated, would be weighed in balances and packed tightly in 'crocus' bags. chicken and goose feathers were jealously saved during these days. they were used for the mattresses that rested on the beds of wooden slats that were built in corners against the walls. hoop skirts were worn at the time, but for how long afterward matilda does not remember. she only recalls that they were disappearing 'about the time i saw a windmill for the first time'. the coming of the yankee soldiers created much excitement among the slaves on the pickens plantation. the slaves were in ignorance of activities going on, and of their approach, but when the first one was sighted the news spread 'just like dry grass burning up a hill'. despite the kindness of governor pickens the slaves were happy to claim their new-found freedom. some of them even ran away to join the northern armies before they were officially freed. some attempted to show their loyalty to their old owners by joining the southern armies, but in this section they were not permitted to do so. after she was released from slavery matilda came with her parents to the monticello section, where the knoxes became paid house servants. the parents took an active part in politics in the section, and matilda was sent to school. white teachers operated the schools at first, and were later replaced by negro teachers. churches were opened with negro ministers in the pulpits, and other necessities of community life eventually came to the vicinity. matilda still lives in one of the earlier homes of her parents in the area, now described as 'rooster-town' by its residents. the section is in the eastern part of monticello. bibliography interview with subject, matilda brooks; "rooster-town", eastern part of city, monticello, jefferson county, fla. federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) alfred farrell, field worker john a. simms, editor titusville, florida september , titus i. bynes titus b. [tr: titus i. above] bynes, affectionately known as "daddy bynes", is reminiscent of harriet beecher stowe's immortal "uncle tom" and joel chandler harris' inimitable 'uncle remus' with his white beard and hair surrounding a smiling black face. he was born in november in what is now clarendon county, south carolina. both his father, cuffy, and mother, diana, belonged to gabriel flowden who owned or slaves and was noted for his kindness to them. bynes' father was a common laborer, and his mother acted in the capacity of chambermaid and spinner. they had children, seven boys--abraham, tutus[tr:?], reese, lawrence, thomas, billie, and hamlet--and five girls--charity, chrissy, fannie, charlotte, and violet. when titus was five or six years of age he was given to flowden's wife who groomed him for the job of houseboy. although he never received any education, bynes was quick to learn. he could tell the time of day and could distinguish one newspaper from another. he recalled an incident which happened when he was about eight years of age which led him to conceal his precociousness. one day while writing on the ground, he heard his mistress' little daughter tell her mother that he was writing about water. mistress flowden called him and told him that if he were caught writing again his right arm would be cut off. from then on his precociousness vanished. in regards to religion, bynes can recall the sunday services very vividly; and he tells how the negroes who were seated in the gallery first heard a sermon by the white minister and then after these services they would gather on the main floor and hear a sermon by a negro preacher. bynes served in the civil war with his boss, and he can remember the regiment camp between savannah, georgia and charleston, south carolina. his mistress would not permit bynes to accompany his master to virginia to join the hampton legion on the grounds that it was too cold for him. and thus ended his war days! when he was years of age, his father turned him loose. young bynes rented acres of land from arthur harven and began farming. in he left south carolina and came to florida. he settled in enterprise (now benson springs), velusia county where he worked for j.c. hayes, a farmer, for one year, after which he homesteaded. he next became a carpenter and, as he says himself, "a jack of all trades and master of none." he married shortly after coming to florida and is the father of three sons--"as my wife told me," he adds with a twinkle in his eyes. his wife is now dead. he was prevailed upon while very ill to enter the titusville poor farm where he has been for almost two years. ( ) della bess hilyard ("aunt bess") della bess hilyard, or "aunt bess" as she is better known, was born in darlington, south carolina in , the daughter of resier and zilphy hart, slaves of gus hiwards. both her parents were cotton pickers and as a little girl della often went with her parents into the fields. one day she stated that the yankees came through south carolina with knapsacks on their shoulders. it wasn't until later that she learned the reason. when asked if she received any educational training, "aunt bess" replied in the negative, but stated that the slaves on the hiwards plantation were permitted to pick up what education they could without fear of being molested. no one bothered, however, to teach them anything. in regards to religion, "aunt bess" said that the slaves were not told about heaven; they were told to honor their masters and mistresses and of the damnation which awaited them for disobedience. after slavery the hart family moved to georgia where della grew into womanhood and at an early age married caleb bess by whom she had two children. after the death of bess, about fifteen years ago, "aunt bess" moved to fort pierce, florida. while there she married lonny hilyard who brought her to titusville where she now resides, a relic of bygone days. ( ) taylor gilbert taylor gilbert was born in shellman, georgia, years ago, of a colored mother and a white father, "which is why i am so white", he adds. he has never been known to have passed as white, however, in spite of the fact that he could do so without detection. david ferguson bought jacob gilbert from dr. gilbert as a husband for emily, taylor's mother. emily had nine children, two by a white man, frances and taylor, and seven by jacob, only three of whom gilbert remembers--gettie, rena, and annis. two of these children were sent to school while the others were obliged to work on the plantation. emily, the mother, was the cook and washwoman while jacob was the butler. gilbert, a good sized lad when slavery was at its height, recalls vividly the cruel lashings and other punishments meted out to those who disobeyed their master or attempted to run away. it was the custom of slaves who wished to go from one plantation to another to carry passes in case they were stopped as suspected runaways. frequently slaves would visit without benefit of passes, and as result they suffered severe torturing. often the sons of the slaves' owners would go "nigger hunting" and nothing--not even murder was too horrible for them to do to slaves caught without passes. they justified their fiendish acts by saying the "nigger tried to run away when told to stop." gilbert cannot remember when he came to florida, but he claims that it was many years ago. like the majority of negroes after slavery, he became a farmer which occupation he still pursues. he married once but "my wife got to messin' around with another man so i sent her home to her mother." he can be found in miami, florida, where he may be seen daily hobbling around on his cane. ( ) references . personal interview of field worker with subject. . personal interview with subject. . personal interview with subject. . personal interview of field worker with subject. federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) james johnson, field worker monticello, florida december , patience campbell patience campbell, blind for years, was-born in jackson county, near marianna, florida about [tr: incorrect date?], on a farm of george bullock. her mother tempy, belonged to bullock, while her father arnold merritt, belonged to edward merritt, a large plantation owner. according to patience, her mother's owner was very kind, her father's very cruel. bullock had very few slaves, but merritt had a great many of them, not a few of whom he sold at the slave markets. patience spent most of her time playing in the sand when she was a child, while her parents toiled in the fields for their respective owners. her grandparents on her mother's side belonged to bullock, but of her father's people she knew nothing as "they didn't come to this country." when asked where they lived, she replied "in south carolina." since she lived with her mother, patience fared much better than had she lived with her father. her main foods included meats, greens, rice, corn bread which was replaced by biscuits on sunday morning. coffee was made from parched corn or meal and was the chief drink. the food was cooked in large iron pots and pans in an open fireplace and seasoned with salt obtained by evaporating sea water. water for all purposes was drawn from a well. in order to get soap to wash with, the cook would save all the grease left from the cooking. lye was obtained by mixing oak ashes with water and allowing them to decay; tubs were made from large barrels. when she was about seven or eight, patience assisted other children about her age and older in picking out cotton seeds from the picked cotton. after the cotton was weighed on improved scales, it was bound in bags made of hemp. spinning and weaving were taught patience when she was about ten. although the cloth and thread were dyed various colors, she knows only how blue was obtained by allowing the indigo plant to rot in water and straining the result. patience's father was not only a capable field worker but also a finished shoemaker. after tanning and curing his hides by placing them in water with oak bark for several days and then exposing them to the sun to dry, he would cut out the uppers and the soles after measuring the foot to be shod. there would be an inside sole as well as an outside sole tacked together by means of small tacks made of maple wood. sewing was done on the shoes by means of flax thread. patience remembers saving the feathers from all the fowl to make feather beds. she doesn't remember when women stopped wearing hoops in their skirts nor when bed springs replaced bed ropes. she does remember, however, that these things were used. she saw her first windmill about years ago, ten years before she went blind. she remembers seeing buggies during slavery time, little light carriages, some with two wheels and some with four. she never heard of any money called "shin-plasters," and she became money-conscious during the war when confederate currency was introduced. when the slaves were sick, they were given castor oil, turpentine and medicines made from various roots and herbs. patience's master joined the confederacy, but her father's master did not. [although negroes could enlist in the southern army if they desired,] none of them wished to do so but preferred to join northern forces and fight for the thing they desired most, freedom. when freedom was no longer a dream, but a reality, the merritts started life on their own as farmers. twelve-year old patience entered one of the schools established by the freedmen's bureau. she recalls the gradual growth of negro settlements, the churches and the rise and fall of the negroes politically. reference . personal interview with patience campbell, cherry street, monticello, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) rachel a. austin, field worker jacksonville, florida november , florida clayton the life of florida clayton is interesting in that it illustrates the miscegenation prevalent during the days of slavery. interesting also is the fact that florida was not a slave even though she was a product of those turbulent days. many years before her birth--march , --florida's great grandfather, a white man, came to tallahassee, florida from washington, district of columbia, with his children whom he had by his negro slave. on coming to florida, he set all of his children free except one boy, amos, who was sold to a major ward. for what reason this was done, no one knew. florida, named for the state in which she was born, was one of seven children born to charlotte morris (colored) whose father was a white man and david clayton (white). florida, in a retrogressive mood, can recall the "nigger hunters" and "nigger stealers" of her childhood days. mr. nimrod and mr. shehee, both white, specialized in catching runaway slaves with their trained bloodhounds. her parents always warned her and her brothers and sisters to go in someone's yard whenever they saw these men with their dogs lest the ferocious animals tear them to pieces. in regards to the "nigger stealers," florida tells of a covered wagon which used to come to tallahassee at regular intervals and camp in some secluded spot. the children, attracted by the old wagon, would be eager to go near it, but they were always told that "dry head and bloody bones," a ghost who didn't like children, was in that wagon. it was not until later years that florida and the other children learned that the driver of the wagon was a "nigger stealer" who stole children and took them to georgia to sell at the slave markets. when she was years old, florida saw the surrender of tallahassee to the yankees. three years later she came to jacksonville to live with her sister. she married but is now divorced after years of marriage. three years ago she entered the old folks home at franklin street to live. . personal interview with florida clayton, franklin street, jacksonville, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) viola b. muse, field worker jacksonville, florida december , "father" charles coates "father" charles coates, as he is called by all who know him, was born a slave, years ago at richmond, virginia, on the plantation of a man named l'angle. his early boyhood days was spent on the l'angle place filled with duties such as minding hogs, cows, bringing in wood and such light work. his wearing apparel consisted of one garment, a shirt made to reach below the knees and with three-quarter sleeves. he wore no shoes until he was a man past years of age. the single garment was worn summer and winter alike and the change in the weather did not cause an extra amount of clothes to be furnished for the slaves. they were required to move about so fast at work that the heat from the body was sufficient to keep them warm. when charles was still a young man mr. l'angle sold him on time payment to w.b. hall; who several years before the civil war moved from richmond to washington county, georgia, carrying grown slaves and many children. mr. hall made charles his carriage driver, which kept him from hard labor. other slaves on the plantation performed such duties as rail splitting, digging up trees by the roots and other hard work. charles coates remembers vividly the cruelties practiced on the hall plantation. his duty was to see that all the slaves reported to work on time. the bell was rung at : a.m. by one of the slaves. charles had the ringing of the bell for three years; this was in addition to the carriage driving. he tells with laughter how the slaves would "grab a piece of meat and bread and run to the field" as no time was allowed to sit and eat breakfast. this was a very different way from that of the master he had before, as mr. l'angle was much better to his slaves. mr. hall was different in many ways from mr. l'angle, "he was always pretending" says charles that he did not want his slaves beaten unmercifully. charles being close to mr. hall during work hours had opportunity to see and hear much about what was going on at the plantation. and he believes that mr. hall knew just how the overseer dealt with the slaves. on the hall plantation there was a contraption, similar to a gallows, where the slaves were suspended and whipped. at the top of this device were blocks of wood with chains run through holes and high enough that a slave when tied to the chains by his fingers would barely touch the ground with his toes. this was done so that the slave could not shout or twist his body while being whipped. the whipping was prolonged until the body of the slave covered with welts and blood trickled down his naked body. women were treated in the same manner, and a pregnant woman received no more leniency than did a man. very often after a severe flogging a slave's body was treated to a bath of water containing salt and pepper so that the pain would be more lasting and aggravated. the whipping was done with sticks and a whip called the "cat o' nine tails," meaning every lick meant nine. the "cat o' nine tails" was a whip of nine straps attached to a stick; the straps were perforated so that everywhere the hole in the strap fell on the flesh a blister was left. the treatment given by the overseer was very terrifying. he relates how a slave was put in a room and locked up for two and three days at a time without water or food, because the overseer thought he hadn't done enough work in a given time. another offense which brought forth severe punishment was that of crossing the road to another plantation. a whipping was given and very often a slave was put on starvation for a few days. one privilege given slaves on the plantation was appreciated by all and that was the opportunity to hear the word of god. the white people gathered in log and sometimes frame churches and the slaves were permitted to sit about the church yard on wagons and on the ground and listen to the preaching. when the slaves wanted to hold church they had to get special permission from the master, and at that time a slave hut was used. a white preacher was called in and he would preach to them not to steal, lie or run away and "be sure and git all dem weeds outen dat corn in de field and your master will think a heap of you." charles does not remember anything else the preacher told them about god. they learned more about god when they sat outside the church waiting to drive their masters and family back home. charles relates an incident of a slave named sambo who thought himself very smart and who courted the favor of the master. the neighboring slaves screamed so loudly while being whipped that sambo told his master that he knew how to make a contraption which, if a slave was put into while being whipped would prevent him from making a noise. the device was made of two blocks of wood cut to fit the head and could be fastened around the neck tightly. when the head was put in, the upper and lower parts were clamped together around the neck so that the slave could not scream. the same effect as choking. the stomach of the victim was placed over a barrel which allowed freedom of movement. when the lash was administered and the slave wiggled, the barrel moved. now it so happened that sambo was the first to be put into his own invention for a whipping. the overseer applied the lash rather heavily, and sambo was compelled to wiggle his body to relieve his feelings. in wiggling the barrel under his stomach rolled a bit straining sambo's neck and breaking it. after sambo died from his neck being broken the master discontinued the use of the device, as he saw the loss of property in the death of slaves. charles was still a carriage driver when freedom came. he had opportunity to see and hear many things about the master's private life. when the news of the advance of the union army came, mr. hall carried his money to a secluded spot and buried it in an iron pot so that the soldiers who were confiscating all the property and money they could, would not get his money. the slave owners were required to notify the slaves that they were free so mr. hall sent his son sherard to the cabins to notify all the slaves to come into his presence and there he had his son to tell them that they were free. the union soldiers took much of the slave owners' property and gave to the slaves telling them that if the owners' took the property back to write and tell them about it; the owners only laughed because they knew the slaves could not read nor write. after the soldiers had gone the timid and scared slaves gave up most of the land; some few however, fenced in a bit of land while the soldiers remained in the vicinity and they managed to keep a little of the land. many of the slaves remained with the owners. there they worked for small monthly wages and took whatever was left of cast off clothing and food and whatever the "old missus" gave them. a pair of old pants of the master was highly prized by them. charles coates was glad to be free. he had been well taken care of and looked younger than years of age at the close of slavery. he had not been married; had been put upon the block twice to be sold after belonging to mr. hall. each time he was offered for sale, his master wanted so much for him, and refusing to sell him on time payments, he was always left on his master's hands. his master said "being tall, healthy and robust, he was well worth much money." after slavery, charles was rated as a good worker. he at once began working and saving his money and in a short time he had accumulated "around $ ." the first sight of a certain young woman caused him to fall in love. he says the love was mutual and after a courtship of three weeks they were married. the girl's mother told charles that she had always been very frail, but he did not know that she had consumption. within three days after they were married she died and her death caused much grief for charles. he was reluctant to bury her and wanted to continue to stand and look at her face. a white doctor and a school teacher whose names he does not remember, told him to put his wife's body in alcohol to preserve it and he could look at it all the time. at that time white people who had plenty of money and wanted to see the faces of their deceased used this method. a glass casket was used and the dressed body of the deceased was placed in alcohol inside the casket. another casket made of wood held the glass casket and the whole was placed in a vault made of stone or brick. the walls of the vault were left about four feet above the ground and a window and ledge were placed in front, so when the casket was placed inside of the vault the bereaved could lean upon the ledge and look in at the face of the deceased. the wooden casket was provided with a glass top part of the way so that the face could easily be seen. although the process of preserving the body in alcohol cost $ , charles did not regret the expense saying, "i had plenty of money at that time." after the death of his wife, charles left with his mother and father, henrietta and spencer coates and went to savannah, georgia. he said they were so glad to go, that they walked to within miles of savannah, when they saw a man driving a horse and wagon who picked them up and carried them into savannah. it was in that city that he met his present wife, irene, and they were married about . there are nine grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren living and in march of , when a party was given in honor of father coates' th birthday, one of each of the four generations of his family were present. the party was given at the clara white mission, west ashley street by ertha m.m. white. father coates and his wife were very much honored and each spoke encouraging words to those present. on the occasion he said that the cause for his long life was due to living close to nature, rising early, going to bed early and not dissipating in any way. he can "shout" (jumping about a foot and a half from the floor and knocking his heels together.) he does chores about his yard; looks years younger than he really is and enjoys good health. his hair is partly white; his memory very good and his chief delight is talking about god and his goodness. he has preached the gospel in his humble way for a number of years, thereby gaining the name of "father" coates. reference . personal interview with charles coates-- windle street, jacksonville, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) viola b. muse, field worker jacksonville, florida december , irene coates immediately after slavery in the united states, the southern white people found themselves without servants. women who were accustomed to having a nurse, maid, cook and laundress found themselves without sufficient money to pay wages to all these. there was a great amount of work to be done and the great problem confronting married women who had not been taught to work and who thought it beneath their standing to soil their hands, found it very difficult. there were on the other hand many negro women who needed work and young girls who needed guidance and training. the home and guidance of the aristocratic white people offered the best opportunity for the dependent un-schooled freed women; and it was in this kind of home that the ex-slave child of this story was reared. irene coates of windle street, jacksonville, florida, was born in georgia about . she was close to six years of age when freedom was declared. she was one among the many negro children who had the advantage of living under the direct supervision of kind whites and receiving the care which could only be excelled by an educated mother. jimmie and lou bedell were the names of the man and wife who saw the need of having a negro girl come into their home as one in the family and at the same time be assured of a good and efficient servant in years to come. when irene was old enough, she became the nurse of the bedell baby and when the family left savannah, georgia to come to jacksonville, they brought irene with them. although irene was just about six years old when the civil war ended, she has vivid recollection of happenings during slavery. some of the incidents which happened were told her by her slave associates after slavery ended and some of them she remembers herself. two incidents which she considers caused respect for slaves by their masters and finally the emancipation by abraham lincoln she tells in this order. the first event tells of a young, strong healthy negro woman who knew her work and did it well. "she would grab up two bags of guana (fertilizer) and tote 'em at one time," said irene, and was never found shirking her work. the overseer on the plantation, was very hard on the slaves and practiced striking them across the back with a whip when he wanted to spur them on to do more work. irene says, one day a crowd of women were hoeing in the field and the overseer rode along and struck one of the women across the back with the whip, and the one nearest her spoke and said that if he ever struck her like that, it would be the day he or she would die. the overseer heard the remark and the first opportunity he got, he rode by the woman and struck her with the whip and started to ride on. the woman was hoeing at the time, she whirled around, struck the overseer on his head with the hoe, knocking him from his horse, she then pounced upon him and chopped his head off. she went mad for a few seconds and proceeded to chop and mutilate his body; that done to her satisfaction, she then killed his horse. she then calmly went to tell the master of the murder, saying "i've done killed de overseer," the master replied--"do you mean to say you've killed the overseer?" she answered yes, and that she had killed the horse also. without hesitating, the master pointing to one of his small cabins on the plantation said--"you see that house over there?" she answered yes--at the same time looking--"well" said he, "take all your belongings and move into that house and you are free from this day and if the mistress wants you to do anything for her, do it if you want to." irene related with much warmth the effect that incident had upon the future treatment of the slaves. the other incident occured in virginia. it was upon an occasion when mrs. abraham lincoln was visiting in richmond. a woman slaveowner had one of her slaves whipped in the presence of mrs. lincoln. it was easily noticed that the woman was an expectant mother. mrs. lincoln was horrified at the situation and expressed herself as being so, saying that she was going to tell the president as soon as she returned to the white house. whether this incident had any bearing upon mr. lincoln's actions or not, those slaves who were present and irene says that they all believed it to be the beginning of the president's activities to end slavery. besides these incidents, irene remembers that women who were not strong and robust were given such work as sewing, weaving and minding babies. the cloth from which the sunday clothes of the slaves was made was called _ausenburg_ and the slave women were very proud of this. the older women were required to do most of the weaving of cloth and making shirts for the male slaves. when an old woman who had been sick, regained her strength, she was sent to the fields the same as the younger ones. the ones who could cook and tickle the palates of her mistress and master were highly prized and were seldon if ever offered for sale at the auction block. the slaves were given fat meat and bread made of husk of corn and wheat. this caused them to steal food and when caught they were severely whipped. irene recalls the practice of blowing a horn whenever a sudden rain came. the overseer had a certain negro to blow three times and if shelter could be found, the slaves were expected to seek it until the rain ceased. the master had sheds built at intervals on the plantation. these accomodated a goodly number; if no shed was available the slaves stood under trees. if neither was handy and the slaves got wet, they could not go to the cabins to change clothes for fear of losing time from work. this was often the case; she says that slaves were more neglected than the cattle. another custom which impressed the child-mind of irene was the tieing of slaves by their thumbs to a tree limb and whipping them. women and young girls were treated the same as were men. after the bedells took irene to live in their home they traveled a deal. after bringing her to jacksonville, when jacksonville was only a small port, they then went to camden county, georgia. irene married while in georgia and came back to jacksonville with her husband charles, the year of the earthquake at charleston, south carolina, about . irene and charles coates have lived in jacksonville since that time. she relates many tales of happenings during the time that this city grew from a town of about four acres to its present status. irene is the mother of five children. she has nine grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren. her health is fair, but her eyesight is poor. it is her delight to entertain visitors and is conversant upon matters pertaining to slavery and reconstruction days. reference . irene coates, windle street, jacksonville, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) martin d. richardson, field worker grandin, florida neil coker interesting tales of the changes that came to the section of florida that is situated along the putnam-clay county lines are told by neil coker, old former slave who lives two miles south of mcrae on the road grandin. coker is the son of a slave mother and a half-negro. his father, he states, was senator john wall, who held a seat in the senate for sixteen years. he was born in virginia, and received his family name from an old family bearing the same in that state. he was born, as nearly as he can remember, about . one of coker's first reminiscences is of the road on which he still lives. during his childhood it was known as the 'bellamy road,' so called because it was built, some years ago, by a man of that name who hailed from west florida. the 'bellamy road' was at one time the main route of traffic between tallahassee and st. augustine. (interestingly enough, the road is at least miles southwest of st. augustine where it passes through grandin; the reason for cutting it in such a wide circle, coker says was because of the ferocity of the seminoles in the swamps north and west of st. augustine.) wagons, carriages and stages passed along this road in the days before the war between the states, coker says. in addition to these he claims to have seen many travellers by foot, and not infrequently furtive escaped slaves, the latter usually under cover of an appropriate background of darkness. the road again came into considerable use during the late days of the war. it was during these days that the federal troops, both whites and negroes, passed in seemingly endless procession on their way to or from encounters. on one occasion the former slave recounts having seen a procession of soldiers that took nearly two days to pass; they travelled on horse and afoot. several amusing incidents are related by the ex-slave of the events of this period. dozens of the negro soldiers, he says, discarded their uniforms for the gaudier clothing that had belonged to their masters in former days, and could be identified as soldiers as they passed only with difficulty. others would pause on their trip at some plantation, ascertain the name of the 'meanest' overseer on the place, then tie him backward on a horse and force him to accompany them. particularly retributive were the punishments visited upon messrs. mays and prevatt--generally recognized as the most vicious slave drivers of the section. bellamy, coker says built the road with slave labor and as an investment, realizing much money on tolls on it for many years. a remarkable feature of the road is that despite its age and the fact that county authorities have permitted its former good grading to deterierate to an almost impassable sand at some seasons, there is no mistaking the fact that this was once a major thoroughfare. the region that stretches from green cove springs in the northeast to grandin in the southwest, the former slave claims, was once dotted with lakes, creeks, and even a river; few of the lakes and none of the other bodies still exist, however. among the more notable of the bodies of water was a stream--he does not now remember its name--that ran for about miles in an easterly direction from starke. this stream was one of the fastest that the former slave can remember having seen in florida; its power was utilised for the turning of a power mill which he believes ground corn or other grain. the falls in the river that turned the water mill, he states, was at least five or six feet high, and at one point under the falls a man named (or possibly nicknamed) "yankee" operated a sawmill. coker believes that this mill, too, derived its power from the little stream. he says that the stream has been extinct since he reached manhood. it ended in 'scrub pond,' beyond grandin and starke. some of the names of the old lakes of the section were these: "brooklyn lake; magnolia lake; soldier pond (near keystone); half-moon pond, near putnam hall; hick's lake" and others. on one of them was the large grist mill of dr. mccray; coker suggests that this might be the origin of the town of mcrae of the present period. to add to its natural water facilities, coker points out, bradford county also had a canal. this canal ran from the interior of the county to the st. john's river near green cove springs, and with mandarin on the other side of the river still a major shipping point, the canal handled much of the commerce of bradford and clay counties. coker recalls vividly the indians of the area in the days before . these, he claims to have been friendly, but reserved, fellows; he does not recall any of the indian women. negro slaves from the region around st. augustine and what is now hastings used to escape and use bellamy's road on their way to the area about micanopy. it was considered equivalent to freedom to reach that section, with its friendly indians and impenetrable forests and swamps. the little town of melrose probably had the most unusual name of all the strange ones prevalent at the time. it was call, very simply, "shake-rag." coker makes no effort to explain the appelation. references . interview with subject, neil coker, grandin, putnam county federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) rachel austin, field worker jacksonville, florida young winston davis young winston davis states that he was born in ozark, alabama, june , on the plantation of charles davis who owned about seven hundred slaves and was considered very wealthy. kindness and consideration for his slaves, made them love him. reverend davis was rather young during his years in slavery but when he was asked to tell something about the days of slavery, replied: "i remember many things about slavery, but know they will not come to me now; anyway, i'll tell what i can think of." he tells of the use of iron pots, fireplaces with rods used to hold the pots above the fire for cooking peas, rice, vegetables, meats, etc.; the home-made coffee from meal, spring and well water, tanning rawhide for leather, spinning of thread from cotton and the weaving looms. "there was no difference," he states, "in the treatment of men and women for work; my parents worked very hard and women did some jobs that we would think them crazy for trying now; why my mother helped build a railroad before she was married to my father. my mother's first husband was sold away from her; shucks, some of the masters didn't care how they treated husbands, wives, parents and children; any of them might be separated from the other. a good price for a 'nigger' was $ on down and if one was what was called a stallion (healthy), able to get plenty children he would bring about $ . "they had what was called legal money--i did have some of it but guess it was burned when i lost my house by fire a few years ago. "now, my master had three boys and two girls; his wife, elizabeth, was about like the ordinary missus; master davis was good, but positive; he didn't allow other whites to bother his slaves. "when the war came, his two boys went first, finally master davis went; he and one son never returned. "the yankees killed cows, etc., as they went along but did not destroy any property 'round where i was. "we had preachers and doctors, but no schools; the white preachers told us to obey and would read the bible (which we could not understand) and told us not to steal eggs. most of the doctors used herbs from the woods and "aunt jane" and "uncle bob" were known for using "samson's snake root," "devil's shoe-string" for stomach troubles and "low-bud myrtle" for fevers; that's good now, chile, if you can get it. "the 'nigger' didn't have a chance to git in politics during slavery, but after emancipation, he went immediately into the republican party; a few into the democratic party; there were many other parties, too. "the religions were methodist and baptist; my master was baptist and that's what i am; we could attend church but dare not try to get any education, less we punished with straps. "there are many things i remember just like it was yesterday--the general punishment was with straps--some of the slaves suffered terribly on the plantations; if the master was poor and had few slaves he was mean--the more wealthy or more slaves he had, the better he was. in some cases it was the general law that made some of the masters as they were; as, the law required them to have an overseer or foreman (he was called "boss man") by the 'niggers' and usually came from the lower or poorer classes of whites; he didn't like 'niggers' usually, and took authority to do as he pleased with them at times. some plantations preferred and did have 'nigger riders' that were next to the overseer or foreman, but they were liked better than the foreman and in many instances were treated like foremen but the law would not let them be called "foremen." some of the masters stood between the 'nigger riders' and foremen and some cases, the 'nigger' was really boss. "the punishments, as i said were cruel--some masters would hang the slaves up by both thumbs so that their toes just touched the floor, women and men, alike. many slaves ran away; others were forced by their treatment to do all kinds of mean things. some slaves would dig deep holes along the route of the "patrollers" and their horses would fall in sometimes breaking the leg of the horse, arm or leg of the rider; some slaves took advantage of the protection their masters would give them with the overseer or other plantation owners, would do their devilment and "fly" to their masters who did not allow a man from another plantation to bother his slaves. i have known pregnant women to go ten miles to help do some devilment. my mother was a very strong woman (as i told you she helped build a railroad), and felt that she could whip any ordinary man, would not get a passport unless she felt like it; once when caught on another plantation without a passport, she had all of us with her, made all of the children run, but wouldn't run herself--somehow she went upstream, one of the men's horse's legs was broken and she told him "come and get me" but she knew the master allowed no one to come on his place to punish his slaves. "my father was a blacksmith and made the chains used for stocks, (like handcuffs), used on legs and hands. the slaves were forced to lay flat on their backs and were chained down to the board made for that purpose; they were left there for hours, sometimes through rain and cold; he might 'holler' and groan but that did not always get him released. "the race became badly mixed then; some negro women were forced into association, some were beaten almost to death because they refused. the negro men dare not bother or even speak to some of their women. "in one instance an owner of a plantation threatened a negro rider's sweetheart; she told him and he went crying to this owner who in turned threatened him and probably did hit the woman; straight to his master this sweetheart went and when he finished his story, his master immediately took his team and drove to the other plantation--drove so fast that one of his horses' dropped dead; when the owner came out he levelled his double-barrel shotgun at him and shot him dead. no, suh; some masters did not allow you to bother their slaves. "a peculiar case was that of old jim who lived on another plantation was left to look out for the fires and do other chores around the house while 'marster' was at war. a bad rumor spread, and do you know those mean devils, overseers of nearby plantations came out and got her dug a deep hole, and despite her cries, buried her up to her neck--nothing was left out but her head and hair. a crowd of young 'nigger boys' saw it all and i was one among the crowd that helped dig her out. "oh, there's a lots more i know but just cant get it together. my mother's name was caroline and my father patrick; all took the name of davis from our master. there were thirteen children--i am the only one alive." mr. davis appears well preserved for his age; he has most of his teeth and is slightly gray; his health seems to be good, although he is a cripple and uses a cane for walking always; this condition he believes is the result of an attack of rheumatism. he is a preacher and has pastored in alabama, texas and florida. he has had several years of training in public schools and under ministers. he has lived in jacksonville since coming here from waycross, georgia. he was married for the first and only time during his years of life to mrs. lizzie p. brown, november , . there are no children. he gives no reason for remaining single, but his reason for marrying was "to give some lady the privilege and see how it feels to be called husband." references . interview with young winston davis, w. th street, jacksonville, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) james johnson, field worker south jacksonville, florida january , douglas dorsey in south jacksonville, on the spring glen road lives douglas dorsey, an ex-slave, born in suwannee county, florida in , fourteen years prior to freedom. his parents charlie and anna dorsey were natives of maryland and free people. in those days, dorsey relates there were people known as "nigger traders" who used any subterfuge to catch negroes and sell them into slavery. there was one jeff davis who was known as a professional "nigger trader," his slave boat docked in the slip at maryland and jeff davis and his henchmen went out looking for their victims. unfortunately, his mother anna and his father were caught one night and were bound and gagged and taken to jeff davis' boat which was waiting in the harbor, and there they were put into stocks. the boat stayed in port until it was loaded with negroes, then sailed for florida where davis disposed of his human cargo. douglas dorsey's parents were sold to colonel louis matair, who had a large plantation that was cultivated by slaves. colonel matair's house was of the pretentious southern colonial type which was quite prevalent during that period. the colonel had won his title because of his participation in the indian war in florida. he was the typical wealthy southern gentleman, and was very kind to his slaves. his wife, however was just the opposite. she was exceedingly mean and could easily be termed a tyrant. there were several children in the matair family and their home and plantation were located in suwannee county, florida. douglas' parents were assigned to their tasks, his mother was house-maid and his father was the mechanic, having learned this trade in maryland as a free man. charlie and anna had several children and douglas was among them. when he became large enough he was kept in the matair home to build fires, assist in serving meals and other chores. mrs. matair being a very cruel woman, would whip the slaves herself for any misdemeanor. dorsey recalls an incident that is hard to obliterate from his mind, it is as follows: dorsey's mother was called by mrs. matair, not hearing her, she continued with her duties, suddenly mrs. matair burst out in a frenzy of anger over the woman not answering. anna explained that she did not hear her call, thereupon mrs. matair seized a large butcher knife and struck at anna, attempting to ward off the blow, anna received a long gash on the arm that laid her up for for some time. young douglas was a witness to this brutal treatment of his mother and he at that moment made up his mind to kill his mistress. he intended to put strychnine that was used to kill rats into her coffee that he usually served her. fortunately freedom came and saved him of this act which would have resulted in his death. he relates another incident in regard to his mistress as follows: to his mother and father was born a little baby boy, whose complexion was rather light. mrs. matair at once began accusing colonel matair as being the father of the child. naturally the colonel denied, but mrs. matair kept harassing him about it until he finally agreed to his wife's desire and sold the child. it was taken from its mother's breast at the age of eight months and auctioned off on the first day of january to the highest bidder. the child was bought by a captain ross and taken across the suwannee river into hamilton county. twenty years later he was located by his family, he was a grown man, married and farming. young douglas had the task each morning of carrying the matair children's books to school. willie, a boy of eight would teach douglas what he learned in school, finally douglas learned the alphabet and numbers. in some way mrs. matair learned that douglas was learning to read and write. one morning after breakfast she called her son willie to the dining room where she was seated and then sent for douglas to come there too. she then took a quill pen the kind used at that time, and began writing the alphabet and numerals as far as ten. holding the paper up to douglas, she asked him if he knew what they were; he proudly answered in the affirmative, not suspecting anything. she then asked him to name the letters and numerals, which he did, she then asked him to write them, which he did. when he reached the number ten, very proud of his learning, she struck him a heavy blow across the face, saying to him "if i ever catch you making another figure anywhere i'll cut off your right arm." naturally douglas and also her son willie were much surprised as each thought what had been done was quite an achievement. she then called mariah, the cook to bring a rope and tying the two of them to the old colonial post on the front porch, she took a chair and sat between the two, whipping them on their naked backs for such a time, that for two weeks their clothes stuck to their backs on the lacerated flesh. to ease the soreness, willie would steal grease from the house and together they would slip into the barn and grease each other's backs. as to plantation life, dorsey said that the slaves lived in quarters especially built for them on the plantation. they would leave for the fields at "sun up" and remain until "sun-down," stopping only for a meal which they took along with them. instead of having an overseer they had what was called a "driver" by the name of januray[tr:?]. his duties were to get the slaves together in the morning and see that they went to the fields and assigned them to their tasks. he worked as the other slaves, though, he had more priveliges. he would stop work at any time he pleased and go around to inspect the work of the others, and thus rest himself. most of the orders from the master were issued to him. the crops consisted of cotton, corn, cane and peas, which was raised in abundance. when the slaves left the fields, they returned to their cabins and after preparing and eating of their evening meal they gathered around a cabin to sing and moan songs seasoned with african melody. then to the tune of an old fiddle they danced a dance called the "green corn dance" and "cut the pigeon wing." sometimes the young men on the plantation would slip away to visit a girl on another plantation. if they were caught by the "patrols" while on these visits they would be lashed on the bare backs as a penalty for this offense. a whipping post was used for this purpose. as soon as one slave was whipped, he was given the whip to whip his brother slave. very often the lashes would bring blood very soon from the already lacerated skin, but this did not stop the lashing until one had received their due number of lashes. occasionally the slaves were ordered to church to hear a white minister, they were seated in the front pews of the master's church, while the whites sat in the rear. the minister's admonition to them to honor their masters and mistresses, and to have no other god but them, as "we cannot see the other god, but you can see your master and mistress." after the services the driver's wife who could read and write a little would tell them that what the minister said "was all lies." douglas says that he will never forget when he was a lad years of age, when one evening he was told to go and tell the driver to have all the slaves come up to the house; soon the entire host of about slaves were gathered there all sitting around on stumps, some standing. the colonel's son was visibly moved as he told them they were free. saying they could go anywhere they wanted to for he had no more to do with them, or that they could remain with him and have half of what was raised on the plantation. the slaves were happy at this news, as they had hardly been aware that there had been a war going on. none of them accepted the offer of the colonel to remain, as they were only too glad to leaver the cruelties of the matair plantation. dorsey's father got a job with judge carraway of suwannee where he worked for one year. he later homesteaded acres of land that he received from the government and began farming. dorsey's father died in suwannee county, florida when douglas was a young man and then he and his mother moved to arlington, florida. his mother died several years ago at a ripe old age. douglas dorsey, aged but with a clear mind lives with his daughter in spring glen. reference . interview with douglas dorsey, living on spring glen road, south jacksonville, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) martin d. richardson, field worker brooksville, florida ambrose douglass in , when he was years old, ambrose hilliard douglass was given a sound beating by his north carolina master because he attempted to refuse the mate that had been given to him--with the instructions to produce a healthy boy-child by her--and a long argument on the value of having good, strong, healthy children. in , at the age of , ambrose douglass welcomed his th child into the world. the near-centenarian lives near brooksville, in hernando county, on a run-down farm that he no longer attempts to tend now that most of his children have deserted the farm for the more lucrative employment of the cities of the phosphate camps. douglass was born free in detroit in . his parents returned south to visit relatives still in slavery, and were soon reenslaved themselves, with their children. ambrose was one of these. for years he remained in slavery; sometimes at the plantation of his original master in north carolina, sometimes in other sections after he had been sold to different masters. "yassuh, i been sold a lot of times", the old man states. "our master didn't believe in keeping a house, a horse or a darky after he had a chance to make some money on him. mostly, though, i was sold when i cut up". "i was a young man", he continues, "and didn't see why i should be anybody's slave. i'd run away every chance i got. sometimes they near killed me, but mostly they just sold me. i guess i was pretty husky, at that." "they never did get their money's worth out of me, though. i worked as long as they stood over me, then i ran around with the gals or sneaked off to the woods. sometimes they used to put dogs on me to get me back. "when they finally sold me to a man up in suwannee county--his name was harris--i thought it would be the end of the world. we had heard about him all the way up in virginia. they said he beat you, starved you and tied you up when you didn't work, and killed you if you ran away. "but i never had a better master. he never beat me, and always fed all of us. 'course, we didn't get too much to eat; corn meal, a little piece of fat meat now and then, cabbages, greens, potatoes, and plenty of molasses. when i worked up at 'the house' i et just what the master et; sometimes he would give it to me his-self. when he didn't, i et it anyway. "he was so good, and i was so scared of him, till i didn't ever run away from his place", ambrose reminisces; "i had somebody there that i liked, anyway. when he finally went to the war, he sold me back to a man in north carolina, in hornett county. but the war was near over then; i soon was as free as i am now. "i guess we musta celebrated 'mancipation about twelve times in hornett county. every time a bunch of no'thern sojers would come through they would tell us we was free and we'd begin celebratin'. before we would get through somebody else would tell us to go back to work, and we would go. some of us wanted to jine up with the army, but didn't know who was goin' to win and didn't take no chances. "i was when freedom finally came, and that time i didn't take no chances on 'em taking it back again. i lit out for florida and wound up in madison county. i had a nice time there; i got married, got a plenty of work, and made me a little money. i fixed houses, built 'em, worked around the yards, and did everything. my first child was already born; i didn't know there was goin' to be more, though. i guess i would have stopped right there.... "i stayed in madison county until they started to working concrete rock down here. i heard about it and thought that would be a good way for me to feed all them two dozen children i had. so i came down this side. that was about years ago. "i got married again after i got here; right soon after. my wife now is years old; we already had children together. (his wife is a slight, girlish-looking woman; she says she was when she married douglass, had her first child that year. eleven of her thirteen are still living.) "yossuh, i ain't long stopped work. i worked here in the phosphate mine until last year, when they started to paying pensions. i thought i would get one, but all i got was some pwa work, and this year they told me i was too old for that. i told 'em i wasn't but , but they didn't give nothin' else. i guess i'll get my pension soon, though. my oldest boy ought to get it, too; he's sixty-five." folk stuff, florida jules a. frost tampa, florida may , "mama duck" "who is the oldest person, white or colored, that you know of in tampa?" "see mama duck," the grinning negro elevator boy told me. "she bout a hunnert years old." so down into the "scrub" i went and found the old woman hustling about from washpot to pump. "i'm mighty busy now, cookin breakfast," she said, "but if you come back in bout an hour i'll tell you what i can bout old times in tampa." on the return visit, her skinny dog met me with elaborate demonstrations of welcome. "guan way fum here spot. dat gemmen ain gwine feed you nothin. you keep your dirty paws offen his clothes." mama duck sat down on a rickety box, motioning me to another one on the shaky old porch. "take keer you doan fall thoo dat old floor," she cautioned. "it's bout ready to fall to pieces, but i way behind in the rent, so i kaint ask em to have it fixed." "i see you have no glass in the windows--doesn't it get you wet when it rains?" "not me. i gits over on de other side of de room. it didn't have no door neither when i moved in. de young folks frum here useta use it for a courtin-house." "a what?" "courtin-house. dey kept a-comin after i moved in, an i had to shoo em away. dat young rascal comin yonder--he one of em. i clare to goodness--" and mama duck raised her voice for the trespasser's benefit, "i wisht i had me a fence to keep folks outa my yard." "qua-a-ck, quack, quack," the young negro mocked, and passed on grinning. "dat doan worry me none; i doan let _nothin_ worry me. worry makes folks gray-headed." she scratched her head where three gray braids, about the length and thickness of a flapper's eyebrow, stuck out at odd angles. "i sho got plenty chancet to worry ifen i wants to," she mused, as she sipped water from a fruit-jar foul with fingermarks. "relief folks got me on dey black list. dey won't give me rations--dey give rations to young folks whas workin, but won't give me nary a mouthful." "why is that?" "well, dey wanted me to go to de poor house. i was willin to go, but i wanted to take my trunk along an dey wouldn't let me. i got some things in dere i been havin nigh onta a hunnert years. got my old blue-back webster, onliest book i ever had, scusin my bible. think i wanna throw dat stuff away? no-o, suh!" mama duck pushed the dog away from a cracked pitcher on the floor and refilled her fruit-jar. "so day black list me, cause i won't kiss dey feets. i ain kissin _nobody's_ feets--wouldn't kiss my own mammy's." "well, we'd all do lots of things for our mothers that we wouldn't do for anyone else." "maybe you would, but not me. my mammy put me in a hickry basket when i was a day an a half old, with nothin on but my belly band an diaper. took me down in de cotton patch an sot me on a stump in de bilin sun." "what in the world did she do that for?" "cause i was black. all de other younguns was bright. my granmammy done hear me bawlin an go fotch me to my mammy's house. 'dat you mammy?' she ask, sweet as pie, when granmammy pound on de door. "'doan you never call me mammy no more,' granmammy say. 'any woman what'd leave a poor lil mite like dis to perish to death ain fitten to be no datter o' mine.' "so granmammy took me to raise. i ain never seen my mammy sincet, an i ain never wanted to." "what did your father think of the way she treated you?" "never knew who my daddy was, an i reckon she didn't either." "do you remember anything about the civil war?" "what dat?" "the civil war, when they set the slaves free." "oh, you mean de fust war. i reckon i does--had three chillern, boys, borned fore de war. when i was old enough to work i was taken to pelman, jawja. dey let me nust de chillern. den i got married. we jus got married in de kitchen and went to our log house. "i never got no beatins fum my master when i was a slave. but i seen collored men on de bradley plantation git frammed out plenty. de whippin boss was joe sylvester. he had pets amongst de women folks, an let some of em off light when they deserved good beatins." "how did he punish his 'pets'?" "sometimes he jus bop em crosst de ear wid a battlin stick." "a what?" "battlin stick, like dis. you doan know what a battlin stick is? well, dis here is one. use it for washin clothes. you lift em outa de wash pot wid de battlin stick; den you lay em on de battlin block, dis here stump. den you beat de dirt out wid de battlin stick." "a stick like that would knock a horse down!" "wan't nigh as bad as what some of de others got. some of his pets amongst de mens got it wusser dan de womens. he strap em crosst de sharp side of a barrel an give em a few right smart licks wid a bull whip." "and what did he do to the bad ones?" "he make em cross dere hands, den he tie a rope roun dey wrists an throw it over a tree limb. den he pull em up so dey toes jus touch de ground an smack em on da back an rump wid a heavy wooden paddle, fixed full o' holes. den he make em lie down on de ground while he bust all dem blisters wid a raw-hide whip." "didn't that kill them?" "some couldn't work for a day or two. sometimes dey throw salt brine on dey backs, or smear on turputine to make it git well quicker." "i suppose you're glad those days are over." "not me. i was a heap better off den as i is now. allus had sumpun to eat an a place to stay. no sich thing as gittin on a black list. mighty hard on a pusson old as me not to git no rations an not have no reglar job." "how old are you?" "i doun know, zackly. wait a minnit, i didn't show you my pitcher what was in de paper, did i? i kaint read, but somebody say dey put how old i is under my pitcher in dat paper." mama duck rummaged through a cigar box and brought out a page of a pittsburgh newspaper, dated in . it was so badly worn that it was almost illegible, but it showed a picture of mama duck and below it was given her age, . florida folklore jules abner frost may , "mama duck" . name and address of informant, mama duck, governor & india sts., tampa, florida. . date and time of interview, may , , : a.m. . place of interview, her home, above address. . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant, j.d. davis (elevator operator), jefferson st., tampa, florida. . name and address of person, if any accompanying you (none). . description of room, house, surroundings, etc. two-room unpainted shack, leaky roof, most window panes missing, porch dangerous to walk on. house standing high on concrete blocks. located in alley, behind other negro shacks. note: letter of feb. , , from mr. b.a. botkin to dr. corse states that my ex-slave story, "mama duck" is marred by use of the question and answer method. in order to make this material of use as american folk stuff material, i have rewritten it, using the first person, as related by the informant. personal history of informant [tr: repetitive information removed.] . ancestry: negro. . place and date of birth: richard (probably richmond), va., about . . family: unknown. . places lived in, with dates: has lived in tampa since about . . education, with dates: illiterate. . occupations and accomplishments, with dates: none. informant was a slave, and has always performed common labor. . special skills and interests: none. . community and religious activities: none. . description of informant: small, emaciated, slightly graying, very thin kinky hair, tightly braided in small pigtails. somewhat wrinkled, toothless. active for her age, does washing for a living. . other points gained in interview: strange inability of local old age pension officials to establish right of claimants to benefits. inexplainable causes of refusal of direct relief. mama duck gwan away f'm here, po'-boy; dat gemmen ain't gwine feed you nuthin. you keep yo' dirty paws offen his close. come in, suh. take care you don't fall thoo dat ol' po'ch flo'; hit 'bout ready to go t' pieces, but i 'way behind on rent, so i cain't ask 'em to have hit fixed. dis ol' house aint fitten fer nobody t' live in; winder glass gone an' roof leaks. young folks in dese parts done be'n usin' it fer a co't house 'fore i come; you know--a place to do dey courtin' in. kep' a-comin' atter i done move in, an' i had to shoo 'em away. dat young rascal comin' yondah, he one of 'em. i claiah to goodness, i wisht i had a fence to keep folks outa my yahd. reckon you don't know what he be quackin' lak dat fer. dat's 'cause my name's "mama duck." he doin' it jus' t' pester me. but dat don't worry me none; i done quit worryin'. i sho' had plenty chance to worry, though. relief folks got me on dey black list. dey give rashuns to young folks what's wukkin' an' don't give me nary a mouthful. reason fer dat be 'cause dey wanted me t' go t' de porehouse. i wanted t' take my trunk 'long, an' dey wouldn't lemme. i got some things in dere i be'n havin' nigh onto a hunnert years. got my ol' blue-back webster, onliest book i evah had, 'scusin' mah bible. think i wanna th'ow dat away? no-o suh! so dey black-list me, 'cause i won't kiss dey feets. i ain't kissin _nobody's_, wouldn't kiss my own mammy's. i nevah see my mammy. she put me in a hick'ry basket when i on'y a day and a half old, with nuthin' on but mah belly band an' di'per. took me down in de cotton patch an' sot de basket on a stump in de bilin sun. didn't want me, 'cause i be black. all de otha youngins o' hers be bright. gran'mammy done tol' me, many a time, how she heah me bawlin' an' go an' git me, an' fotch me to mammy's house; but my own mammy, she say, tu'n me down cold. "dat you, mammy" she say, sweet as pie, when gran'mammy knock on de do'. "dont you _nevah_ call me 'mammy' no mo'," gran'mammy tol' 'er. "any woman what'd leave a po' li'l mite lak dat to perish to death ain't fitten t' be no dotter o' mine." so gran'mammy tuk me to raise, an' i ain't nevah wanted no mammy but her. nevah knowed who my daddy was, an' i reckon my mammy didn't know, neithah. i bawn at richard, vahjinny. my sistah an' brothah be'n dead too many years to count; i de las' o' de fam'ly. i kin remember 'fore de fust war start. i had three chillen, boys, taller'n me when freedom come. mah fust mastah didn't make de li'l chillen wuk none. all i done was play. w'en i be ol' enough t' wuk, dey tuk us to pelman, jawjah. i never wukked in de fiel's none, not den. dey allus le me nuss de chillens. den i got married. hit wa'nt no church weddin'; we got married in gran'mammy's kitchen, den we go to our own log house. by an' by mah mahster sol' me an' mah baby to de man what had de plantation nex' to ours. his name was john lee. he was good to me, an' let me see my chillens. i nevah got no beatin's. onliest thing i evah got was a li'l slap on de han', lak dat. didn't hurt none. but i'se seen cullud men on de bradley plantation git tur'ble beatin's. de whippin' boss was joe sylvester, a white man. he had pets mongst de wimmen folks, an' used t' let 'em off easy, w'en dey desarved a good beatin'. sometimes 'e jes' bop 'em crost de ear wid a battlin' stick, or kick 'em in de beehind. you don't know what's a battlin' stick? well, dis here be one. you use it fer washin' close. you lif's de close outa de wash pot wid dis here battlin' stick; den you tote 'em to de battlin' block--dis here stump. den you beat de dirt out wid de battlin' stick. de whippin' boss got pets 'mongst de mens, too, but dey got it a li'l wusser'n de wimmens. effen dey wan't _too_ mean, he jes' strap 'em 'crost de sharp side of a bar'l an' give 'em a few right smaht licks wid a bull whip. but dey be some niggahs he whip good an' hard. if dey sass back, er try t' run away, he mek 'em cross dey han's lak dis; den he pull 'em up, so dey toes jes' tetch de ground'; den he smack 'em crost de back an' rump wid a big wood paddle, fixed full o' holes. know what dem holes be for? ev'y hole mek a blister. den he mek 'em lay down on de groun', whilst he bus' all dem blisters wid a rawhide whip. i nevah heard o' nobody dyin' f'm gittin' a beatin'. some couldn't wuk fer a day or so. sometimes de whippin' boss th'ow salt brine on dey backs, or smear on turpentine, to mek it well quicker. i don't know, 'zackly, how old i is. mebbe--wait a minute, i didn't show you my pitcher what was in de paper. i cain't read, but somebody say dey put down how old i is undah mah pitcher. dar hit--don't dat say a hunndrt an' nine? i reckon dat be right, seein' i had three growed-up boys when freedom come. dey be on'y one sto' here when i come to tampa. hit b'long t' ol' man mugge. dey be a big cotton patch where plant city is now. i picked some cotton dere, den i come to tampa, an' atter a while i got a job nussin' mister perry wall's chillen. cullud folks jes' mek out de bes' dey could. some of 'em lived in tents, till dey c'd cut logs an' build houses wid stick-an'-dirt chimbleys. lotta folks ask me how i come to be called "mama duck." dat be jes' a devil-ment o' mine. i named my own se'f dat. one day when i be 'bout twelve year old, i come home an' say, "well, gran'mammy, here come yo' li'l ducky home again." she hug me an' say, "bress mah li'l ducky." den she keep on callin' me dat, an' when i growed up, folks jes' put de "mama" on. i reckon i a heap bettah off dem days as i is now. allus had sumpin t' eat an' a place t' stay. no sech thing ez gittin' on a black list dem days. mighty hard on a pusson ol' az me not t' git no rashuns an' not have no reg'lar job. federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) pearl randolph, field worker madison, florida january , willis dukes born in brooks county, georgia, years ago on february th, willie[tr:?] dukes jovially declares that he is "on the high road to livin' a hund'ed years." he was one of slaves belonging to one john dukes, who was only in moderate circumstances. his parents were amos and mariah dukes, both born on this plantation, he thinks. as they were a healthy pair they were required to work long hours in the fields, although the master was not actually cruel to them. on this plantation a variety of products was grown, cotton, corn, potatoes, peas, rice and sugar cane. nothing was thrown away and the slaves had only coarse foods such as corn bread, collard greens, peas and occasionally a little rice or white bread. even the potatoes were reserved for the white folk and "house niggers." as a child willis was required to "tote water and wood, help at milking time and run errands." his clothing consisted of only a homespun shirt that was made on the plantation. nearly everything used was grown or manufactured on the plantation. candles were made in the big house by the cook and a batch of slaves from the quarters, all of them being required to bring fat and tallow that had been saved for this purpose. these candles were for the use of the master and mistress, as the slaves used fat lightwood torches for lighting purposes. cotton was used for making clothes, and it was spun and woven into cloth by the slave women, then stored in the commisary for future use. broggan shoes were made of tanned leather held together by tacks made of maple wood. lye soap was made in large pots, cut into chunks and issued from the smoke house. potash was secured from the ashes of burnt oak wood and allowed to set in a quantity of grease that had also been saved for the purpose, then boiled into soap. the cotton was gathered in bags of bear grass and deposited in baskets woven with strips of white oak that had been dried in the sun. willis remembers the time when a slave on the plantation escaped and went north to live. this man managed to communicate with his family somehow, and it was whispered about that he was "living very high" and actually saving money with which to buy his family. he was even going to school. this fired all the slaves with an ambition to go north and this made them more than usually interested in the outcome of the war between the states. he was too young to fully understand the meaning of freedom but wanted very much to go away to some place where he could earn enough money to buy his mother a real silk dress. he confided this information to her and she was very proud of him but gave him a good spanking for fear he expressed this desire for freedom to his young master or mistress. prayer meetings were very frequent during the days of the war and very often the slaves were called in from the fields and excused from their labors so they could hold these prayer meetings, always praying god for the safe return of their master. the master did not return after the war and when the soldiers in blue came through that section the frightened women were greatly dependent upon their slaves for protection and livelihood. many of these black man chose loyalty to their dead masters to freedom and shouldered the burden of the support of their former mistresses cheerfully. after the war willis' father was one of those to remain with his widowed mistress. other members of his family left as soon as they were freed, even his wife. they thus remained separated until her death. willis saw his first bedspring about years ago and he still thinks a feather mattress superior to the store-bought variety. he recalls a humorous incident which occurred when he was a child and had been introduced for the first time to the task of picking a goose. after demonstrating how it was done to a group of slave children, the person in charge had gone about his way leaving them busily engaged in picking the goose. they had been told that the one gathering the most feathers would receive a piece of money. sometimes later the overseer returned to find a dozen geese that had been stripped of all the feathers. they had been told to pick only the pin feathers beneath the wings and about the bodies of the geese. need we guess what happened to the over ambitious children? he had heard of ice long before he looked upon it and he only thought of it as another wild experiment. why buy ice, when watermelons and butter could be ley down into the well to keep cool? one of willis' happiest moments was when he earned enough money to buy his first pair of patern leather shoes. to possess a paid of store bought shoes had been his ambition since he was a child, when he had to shine the shoes of his master and those of the master's children. he next owned a horse and buggy of which he was very proud. this increased his popularity with the girls and bye and bye he was married to mary, a girl with whom he had been reared. nobody was surprised but mary, explained mr. dukes. "me and everybody else knowed us ud get married some day. we didn't jump over no broom neither. we was married like white folks wid flowers and cake and everything." willis dukes has been in florida for "lawd knows how long" and prefers this state to his home state. he still has a few relatives there but has never returned since leaving so long ago. reference . personal interview with willis dukes, valdosta road, near jeslamb church, madison, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) pearl randolph, field worker john a. simms, editor mulberry, florida october , sam and louisa everett sam and louise everett, and years of age respectively, have weathered together some of the worst experiences of slavery, and as they look back over the years, can relate these experiences as clearly as if they had happened only yesterday. both were born near norfolk, virginia and sold as slaves several times on nearby plantations. it was on the plantation of "big jim" mcclain that they met as slave-children and departed after emancipation to live the lives of free people. sam was the son of peter and betsy everett, field hands who spent long back-breaking hours in the cotton fields and came home at nightfall to cultivate their small garden. they lived in constant fear that their master would confiscate most of their vegetables; he so often did. louisa remembers little about her parents and thinks that she was sold at an early age to a separate master. her name as nearly as she could remember was norfolk virginia. everyone called her "nor." it was not until after she was freed and had sent her children to school that she changed her name to louisa. sam and norfolk spent part of their childhood on the plantation of "big jim" who was very cruel; often he would whip his slaves into insensibility for minor offences. he sometimes hung them up by their thumbs whenever they were caught attempting to escape--"er fer no reason atall." on this plantation were more than slaves who were mated indiscriminately and without any regard for family unions. if their master thought that a certain man and woman might have strong, healthy offspring, he forced them to have sexual relation, even though they were married to other slaves. if there seemed to be any slight reluctance on the part of either of the unfortunate ones "big jim" would make them consummate this relationship in his presence. he used the same procedure if he thought a certain couple was not producing children fast enough. he enjoyed these orgies very much and often entertained his friends in this manner; quite often he and his guests would engage in these debaucheries, choosing for themselves the prettiest of the young women. sometimes they forced the unhappy husbands and lovers of their victims to look on. louisa and sam were married in a very revolting manner. to quote the woman: "marse jim called me and sam ter him and ordered sam to pull off his shirt--that was all the mcclain niggers wore--and he said to me: 'nor, do you think you can stand this big nigger?' he had that old bull whip flung acrost his shoulder, and lawd, that man could hit so hard! so i jes said 'yassur, i guess so,' and tried to hide my face so i couldn't see sam's nakedness, but he made me look at him anyhow." "well, he told us what we must git busy and do in his presence, and we had to do it. after that we were considered man and wife. me and sam was a healthy pair and had fine, big babies, so i never had another man forced on me, thank god. sam was kind to me and i learnt to love him." life on the mcclain plantation was a steady grind of work from morning until night. slaves had to rise in the dark of the morning at the ringing of the "big house" bell. after eating a hasty breakfast of fried fat pork and corn pone, they worked in the fields until the bell rang again at noon; at which time they ate boiled vegetables, roasted sweet potatoes and black molasses. this food was cooked in iron pots which had legs attached to their bottoms in order to keep them from resting directly on the fire. these utensils were either hung over a fire or set atop a mound of hot coals. biscuits were a luxury but whenever they had white bread it was cooked in another thick pan called a "spider". this pan had a top which was covered with hot embers to insure the browning of the bread on top. slave women had no time for their children. these were cared for by an old woman who called them twice a day and fed them "pot likker" (vegetable broth) and skimmed milk. each child was provided with a wooden laddle which he dipped into a wooden trough and fed himself. the older children fed those who were too young to hold a laddle. so exacting was "big jim" that slaves were forced to work even when sick. expectant mothers toiled in the fields until they felt their labor pains. it was not uncommon for babies to be born in the fields. there was little time for play on his plantation. even the very small children were assigned tasks. they hunted hen's eggs, gathered poke berries for dyeing, shelled corn and drove the cows home in the evening. little girls knitted stockings. there was no church on this plantation and itinerant ministers avoided going there because of the owner's cruelty. very seldom were the slaves allowed to attend neighboring churches and still rarer were the opportunities to hold meetings among themselves. often when they were in the middle of a song or prayer they would be forced to halt and run to the "big house." woe to any slave who ignored the ringing of the bell that summoned him to work and told him when he might "knock off" from his labors. louisa and sam last heard the ringing of this bell in the fall of . all the slaves gathered in front of the "big house" to be told that they were free for the time being. they had heard whisperings of the war but did not understand the meaning of it all. now "big jim" stood weeping on the piazza and cursing the fate that had been so cruel to him by robbing him of all his "niggers." he inquired if any wanted to remain until all the crops were harvested and when no one consented to do so, he flew into a rage; seizing his pistol, he began firing into the crowd of frightened negroes. some were _killed_ outright and others were maimed for life. finally he was prevailed upon to stop. he then attempted to take his own life. a few frightened slaves promised to remain with him another year; this placated him. it was necessary for union soldiers to make another visit to the plantation before "big jim" would allow his former slaves to depart. sam and louisa moved to boston, georgia, where they sharecropped for several years; they later bought a small farm when their two sons became old enough to help. they continued to live on this homestead until a few years ago, when their advancing ages made it necessary that they live with the children. both of the children had settled in florida several years previous and wanted their parents to come to them. they now live in mulberry, florida with the younger son. both are pitifully infirm but can still remember the horrors they experienced under very cruel owners. it was with difficulty that they were prevailed upon to relate some of the gruesome details recorded here. references . personal interview with sam and louisa everett, p.o. box c/o e.p.j. everett, mulberry, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) pearl randolph, field worker madison, florida november , duncan gaines duncan gaines, the son of george and martha gaines was born on a plantation in virginia on march , . he was one of four children, all fortunate enough to remain with their parents until maturity. they were sold many times, but duncan gaines best remembers the master who was known as "old man beever." on this plantation were about slaves, who toiled all day in the cotton and tobacco fields and came home at dusk to cook their meals of corn pone, collards and sweet potatoes on the hearths of their one room cabins. biscuits were baked on special occasions by placing hot coals atop the iron tops of long legged frying pans called spiders, and the potatoes were roasted in the ashes, likewise the corn pone. their masters being more or less kind, there was pork, chicken, syrup and other foodstuffs that they were allowed to raise as their own on a small scale. this work was often done by the light of a torch at night as they had little time of their own. in this way slaves earned money for small luxuries and the more ambitious sometimes saved enough money to buy their freedom, although this was not encouraged very much. the early life of duncan was carefree and happy. with the exception of carrying water to the laborers and running errands, he had little to do. most of the time of the slave children was spent in playing ball and wrestling and foraging the woods for berries and fruits and playing games as other children. they were often joined in their play by the master's children, who taught them to read and write and fired duncan with the ambition to be free, so that he could "wear a frill on his colar and own a pair of shoes that did not have brass caps on the toes" and require the application of fat to make them shine. wearing his shoes shined as explained above and a coarse homespun suit dyed with oak bark, indigo or poke berries, he went to church on sunday afternoons after the whites had had their services and listened to sermons delivered by white ministers who taught obedience to their masters. after the services, most of the slaves would remove their shoes and carry them in their hands, as they were unaccustomed to wearing shoes except in winter. the women were given saturday afternoons off to launder their clothes and prepare for sunday's services. all slaves were required to appear on monday mornings as clean as possible with their clothing mended and heads combed. lye soap was used both for laundering and bathing. it was made from fragments of fat meat and skins that were carefully saved for that purpose. potash was secured from oak ashes. this mixture was allowed to set for a certain period of time, then cooked to a jelly-like consistency. after cooling, the soap was cut into square bars and "lowanced out" (allowance) to the slaves according to the number in each family. once duncan was given a bar of "sweet" soap by his mistress for doing a particularly nice piece of work of polishing the harness of her favorite mare and so proud was he of the gift that he put it among his sunday clothes to make them smell sweet. it was the first piece of toilet sopa that he had ever seen; and it caused quite a bit of envy among the other slave children. duncan gaines does not remember his grandparents but thinks they were both living on some nearby plantation. his father was the plantation blacksmith and duncan liked to look on as plowshares, single trees, horse shoes, etc were turned out or sharpened. his mother was strong and healthy, so she toiled all day in the fields. duncan always listened for his mother's return from the field, which was heraled by a song, no matter how tired she was. she was very fond of her children and did not share the attitude of many slave mother who thought of their children as belonging solely to the masters. she lived in constant fear that "old marse seever" would meet with some adversity and be forced to sell them separately. she always whispered to them about "de war" and fanned to a flame their desire to be free. at that time negro children listened to the tales of _raw head and bloody bones_, various animal stories and such childish ditties as: "little boy, little boy who made your breeches? mamma cut 'em out and pappa sewed de stitches." children were told that babies were dug out of tree stumps and were generally made to "shut up" if they questioned their elders about such matters. children with long or large heads were thought to be marked to become "wise men." everyone believed in ghosts and entertained all the superstitions that have been handed down to the present generation. there was much talk of "hoodooism" and anyone ill for a long time without getting relief from herb medicines was thought to be "fixed" or suffering from some sin that his father had committed. duncan was years of age when freedom was declared and remembers the hectic times which followed. he and other slave children attended schools provided by the freedmen' aid and other social organizations fostered by northerners. most of the instructors were whites sent to the south for that purpose. the gaines were industrious and soon owned a prosperous farm. they seldom had any money but had plenty of foodstuffs and clothing and a fairly comfortable home. all of the children secured enough learning to enable them to read and write, which was regarded as very unusual in those days. slaves had been taught that their brain was inferior to the whites who owned them and for this reason, many parents refused to send their children to school, thinking it a waste of time and that too much learning might cause some injury to the brain of their supposedly weak-minded children. of the various changes, duncan remembers very little, so gradual did they occur in his section. water was secured from the spring or well. perishable foodstuffs were let down into the well to keep cool. shoes were made from leather tanned by setting in a solution of red oak bark and water; laundering was done in wooden tubs, made from barrels cut in halves. candles were used for lighting and were made from sheep and beef tallow. lightwood torches were used by those not able to afford candles. stockings were knitted by the women during cold or rainy weather. weaving and spinning done by special slave women who were too old to work in the fields; others made the cloth into garments. everything was done by hand except the luxuries imported by the wealthy. duncan gaines is now a widower and fast becoming infirm. he looks upon this "new fangled" age with bare tolerance and feels that the happiest age of mankind has passed with the discarding of the simple, old fashioned way of doing things. reference . personal interview with duncan gaines, second street near madison training school for negroes, madison, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) rachel austin, secretary jacksonville, florida april , clayborn gantling clayborn gantling was born in dawson, georgia, terrell county, january , on the plantation of judge williams. judge williams owned heads of slaves and was known to be "tolable nice to 'em in some way and pretty rough on 'em in other ways" says mr. gantling. "he would'nt gi' us no coffee, 'cept on sunday mornings when we would have shorts or seconds of wheat, which is de leavins' of flour at mills, yu' know, but we had plenty bacon, corn bread, taters and peas. "as a child i uster have to tote water to de old people on de farm and tend de cows an' feed de sheep. now, i can' say right 'zackly how things wuz during slavery 'cause its been a long time ago but we had cotton and corn fields and de hands plowed hard, picked cotton grabbled penders, gathered peas and done all the other hard work to be done on de plantations. i wuz not big 'nuff to do all of dem things but i seed plenty of it done. "dey made lye soap on de farms and used indigo from wood for dye. we niggers slept on hay piled on top of planks but de white folks had better beds. "i don't 'member my grandparents but my mas was called harriet williams and my pa was called henry williams; dey wuz called williams after my master. my mas and pa worked very hard and got some beatings but i don't know what for. dey wuz all kinds of money, five and ten dollar bills, and so on then, but i didn't ever see them with any. "when war came along and sherman came through the old people wuz very skeered on account of the white owners but there was no fighting close to me. my master's sons leo and fletcher joined the army and lots of de other masters went; de servants wuz sent along to wait on de young white men. guess you'd like to know if any were killed. 'i should smile,' two i know were killed. "during those days for medicine, the old people used such things as butterfly root and butterfly tea, sage tea, red oak bark, hippecat--something that grow--was used for fevers and bathing children. they wuz white doctors and plenty of colored grannies. "when de yankees came they acted diffunt and was naturally better to servants than our masters had been; we colored folks done the best we could but that was not so good right after freedom. still it growed on and growed on getting better. "before freedom we always went to white churches on sundays with passes but they never mentioned god; they always told us to be "good niggers and mind our missus and masters". "judge williams had ten or twelve heads of children but i can' 'member the names of 'em now; his wife was called mis' 'manda and she was jes' 'bout lak marse williams. i had 'bout eighteen head of boys and five girls myself; dere was so many, i can' 'member all of dem." mr. gantling was asked to relate some incidents that he could remember of the lives of slaves, and he continued: "well the horn would blow every morning for you to git up and go right to work; when the sun ris' if you were not in the field working, you would be whipped with whips and leather strops. i 'member aunt beaty was beat until she could hardly get along but i can' 'member what for but do you know she had to work along till she got better. my ma had to work pretty hard but my oldest sister, judy, was too young to work much. "a heap of de slaves would run away and hide in de woods to keep from working so hard but the white folks to keep them from running away so that they could not ketch 'em would put a chain around the neck which would hang down the back and be fastened on to another 'round the waist and another 'round the feet so they could not run, still they had to work and sleep in 'em, too; sometimes they would wear these chains for three or four months. "when a slave would die they had wooden boxes to put 'em in and dug holes and just put then in. a slave might go to a sister or brother's funeral. "my recollection is very bad and so much is forgotten, but i have seen slaves sold in droves like cows; they called 'em 'ruffigees,' and white men wuz drivin' 'em like hogs and cows for sale. mothers and fathers were sold and parted from their chillun; they wuz sold to white people in diffunt states. i tell you chile, it was pitiful, but god did not let it last always. i have heard slaves morning and night pray for deliverance. some of 'em would stand up in de fields or bend over cotton and corn and pray out loud for god to help 'em and in time you see, he did. "they had whut you call "pattyrollers" who would catch you from home and 'wear you out' and send you back to your master. if a master had slaves he jes' could not rule (some of 'em wuz hard and jes' would not mind de boss), he would ask him if he wanted to go to another plantation and if he said he did, then, he would give him a pass and that pass would read: "give this nigger hell." of course whan the "pattyrollers" or other plantation boss would read the pass he would beat him nearly to death and send him back. of course the nigger could not read and did not know what the pass said. you see, day did not 'low no nigger to have a book or piece of paper of any kind and you know dey wuz not go teach any of 'em to read. "de women had it hard too; women with little babies would have to go to work in de mornings with the rest, come back, nurse their chillun and go back to the field, stay two or three hours then go back and eat dinner; after dinner dey would have to go to de field and stay two or three more hours then go and nurse the chillun again, go back to the field and stay till night. one or maybe two old women would stay in a big house and keep all de chillun while their mothers worked in de fields. "now dey is a heap more i could tell maybe but i don't think of no more now." mr. gantling came to florida to jennings plantation near lake park and stayed two years, then went to everett's plantation and stayed one year. from there he went to a place called high hill and stayed two or three years. he left there and went to jasper, farmed and stayed until he moved his family to jacksonville. here he worked on public works until he started raising hogs and chickens which he continued up to about fourteen years ago. now, he is too old to do anything but just "sit around and talk and eat." he lives with his daughter, mrs. minnie holly and her husband, mr. dany holly on lee street. mr. gantling cannot read or write, but is very interesting. he has been a member of the african methodist episcopal church for more than fifty years. he has a very good appetite and although has lost his teeth, he has never worn a plate or had any dental work done. he is never sick and has had but little medical attention during his lifetime. his form is bent and he walks with a cane; although his going is confined to his home, it is from choice as he seldom wears shoes on account of bad feet. his eyesight is very good and his hobby is sewing. he threads his own needles without assistance of glasses as he has never worn them. mr. gantling celebrated his th birthday on the th day of november . he is very small, also very short; quite active for his age and of a very genial disposition, always smiling. reference . interview with mr. clayborn gantling, lee street, jacksonville, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) martin richardson, field worker eatonville, florida arnold gragston (verbatim interview with arnold gragston, -year-old ex-slave whose early life was spent helping slaves to freedom across the ohio river, while he, himself, remained in bondage. as he puts it, he guesses he could be called a 'conductor' on the underground railway, "only we didn't call it that then. i don't know as we called it anything--we just knew there was a lot of slaves always a-wantin' to get free, and i had to help 'em.") "most of the slaves didn't know when they was born, but i did. you see, i was born on a christmas mornin'--it was in ; i was a full grown man when i finally got my freedom." "before i got it, though, i helped a lot of others get theirs. lawd only knows how many; might have been as much as two-three hundred. it was 'way more than a hundred, i know. "but that all came after i was a young man--'grown' enough to know a pretty girl when i saw one, and to go chasing after her, too. i was born on a plantation that b'longed to mr. jack tabb in mason county, just across the river in kentucky." "mr. tabb was a pretty good man. he used to beat us, sure; but not nearly so much as others did, some of his own kin people, even. but he was kinda funny sometimes; he used to have a special slave who didn't have nothin' to do but teach the rest of us--we had about ten on the plantation, and a lot on the other plantations near us--how to read and write and figger. mr. tabb liked us to know how to figger. but sometimes when he would send for us and we would be a long time comin', he would ask us where we had been. if we told him we had been learnin' to read, he would near beat the daylights out of us--after gettin' somebody to teach us; i think he did some of that so that the other owners wouldn't say he was spoilin' his slaves." "he was funny about us marryin', too. he would let us go a-courtin' on the other plantations near anytime we liked, if we were good, and if we found somebody we wanted to marry, and she was on a plantation that b'longed to one of his kin folks or a friend, he would swap a slave so that the husband and wife could be together. sometimes, when he couldn't do this, he would let a slave work all day on his plantation, and live with his wife at night on her plantation. some of the other owners was always talking about his spoilin' us." "he wasn't a dimmacrat like the rest of 'em in the county; he belonged to the 'know-nothin' party' and he was a real leader in it. he used to always be makin' speeches, and sometimes his best friends wouldn't be speaking to him for days at a time." "mr. tabb was always specially good to me. he used to let me go all about--i guess he had to; couldn't get too much work out of me even when he kept me right under his eyes. i learned fast, too, and i think he kinda liked that. he used to call sandy davis, the slave who taught me, 'the smartest nigger in kentucky.' "it was 'cause he used to let me go around in the day and night so much that i came to be the one who carried the runnin' away slaves over the river. it was funny the way i started it too." "i didn't have no idea of ever gettin' mixed up in any sort of business like that until one special night. i hadn't even thought of rowing across the river myself." "but one night i had gone on another plantation 'courtin,' and the old woman whose house i went to told me she had a real pretty girl there who wanted to go across the river and would i take her? i was scared and backed out in a hurry. but then i saw the girl, and she was such a pretty little thing, brown-skinned and kinda rosy, and looking as scared as i was feelin', so it wasn't long before i was listenin' to the old woman tell me when to take her and where to leave her on the other side." "i didn't have nerve enough to do it that night, though, and i told them to wait for me until tomorrow night. all the next day i kept seeing mister tabb laying a rawhide across my back, or shootin' me, and kept seeing that scared little brown girl back at the house, looking at me with her big eyes and asking me if i wouldn't just row her across to ripley. me and mr. tabb lost, and soon as dust settled that night, i was at the old lady's house." "i don't know how i ever rowed the boat across the river the current was strong and i was trembling. i couldn't see a thing there in the dark, but i felt that girl's eyes. we didn't dare to whisper, so i couldn't tell her how sure i was that mr. tabb or some of the others owners would 'tear me up' when they found out what i had done. i just knew they would find out." "i was worried, too, about where to put her out of the boat. i couldn't ride her across the river all night, and i didn't know a thing about the other side. i had heard a lot about it from other slaves but i thought it was just about like mason county, with slaves and masters, overseers and rawhides; and so, i just knew that if i pulled the boat up and went to asking people where to take her i would get a beating or get killed." "i don't know whether it seemed like a long time or a short time, now--it's so long ago; i know it was a long time rowing there in the cold and worryin'. but it was short, too, 'cause as soon as i did get on the other side the big-eyed, brown-skin girl would be gone. well, pretty soon i saw a tall light and i remembered what the old lady had told me about looking for that light and rowing to it. i did; and when i got up to it, two men reached down and grabbed her; i started tremblin' all over again, and prayin'. then, one of the men took my arm and i just felt down inside of me that the lord had got ready for me. 'you hungry, boy?' is what he asked me, and if he hadn't been holdin' me i think i would have fell backward into the river." "that was my first trip; it took me a long time to get over my scared feelin', but i finally did, and i soon found myself goin' back across the river, with two and three people, and sometimes a whole boatload. i got so i used to make three and four trips a month. "what did my passengers look like? i can't tell you any more about it than you can, and you wasn't there. after that first girl--no, i never did see her again--i never saw my passengers. i would have to be the "black nights" of the moon when i would carry them, and i would meet 'em out in the open or in a house without a single light. the only way i knew who they were was to ask them; "what you say?" and they would answer, "menare." i don't know what that word meant--it came from the bible. i only know that that was the password i used, and all of them that i took over told it to me before i took them. "i guess you wonder what i did with them after i got them over the river. well, there in ripley was a man named mr. rankins; i think the rest of his name was john. he had a regular station there on his place for escaping slaves. you see, ohio was a free state and once they got over the river from kentucky or virginia. mr. rankins could strut them all around town, and nobody would bother 'em. the only reason we used to land quietly at night was so that whoever brought 'em could go back for more, and because we had to be careful that none of the owners had followed us. every once in a while they would follow a boat and catch their slaves back. sometimes they would shoot at whoever was trying to save the poor devils. "mr. rankins had a regular 'station' for the slaves. he had a big lighthouse in his yard, about thirty feet high and he kept it burnin' all night. it always meant freedom for slave if he could get to this light. "sometimes mr. rankins would have twenty or thirty slaves that had run away on his place at the time. it must have cost him a whole lots to keep them and feed 'em, but i think some of his friends helped him. "those who wanted to stay around that part of ohio could stay, but didn't many of 'em do it, because there was too much danger that you would be walking along free one night, feel a hand over your mouth, and be back across the river and in slavery again in the morning. and nobody in the world ever got a chance to know as much misery as a slave that had escaped and been caught. "so a whole lot of 'em went on north to other parts of ohio, or to new york, chicago or canada; canada was popular then because all of the slaves thought it was the last gate before you got all the way _inside_ of heaven. i don't think there was much chance for a slave to make a living in canada, but didn't many of 'em come back. they seem like they rather starve up there in the cold than to be back in slavery. "the army soon started taking a lot of 'em, too. they could enlist in the union army and get good wages, more food than they ever had, and have all the little gals wavin' at 'em when they passed. them blue uniforms was a nice change, too. "no, i never got anything from a single one of the people i carried over the river to freedom. i didn't want anything; after had made a few trips i got to like it, and even though i could have been free any night myself, i figgered i wasn't getting along so bad so i would stay on mr. tabb's place and help the others get free. i did it for four years. "i don't know to this day how he never knew what i was doing; i used to take some awful chances, and he knew i must have been up to something; i wouldn't do much work in the day, would never be in my house at night, and when he would happen to visit the plantation where i had said i was goin' i wouldn't be there. sometimes i think he did know and wanted me to get the slaves away that way so he wouldn't have to cause hard feelins' by freein 'em. "i think mr. tabb used to talk a lot to mr. john fee; mr. fee was a man who lived in kentucky, but lord! how that man hated slavery! he used to always tell us (we never let our owners see us listenin' to him, though) that god didn't intend for some men to be free and some men be in slavery. he used to talk to the owners, too, when they would listen to him, but mostly they hated the sight of john fee. "in the night, though, he was a different man, for every slave who came through his place going across the river he had a good word, something to eat and some kind of rags, too, if it was cold. he always knew just what to tell you to do if anything went wrong, and sometimes i think he kept slaves there on his place 'till they could be rowed across the river. helped us a lot. "i almost ran the business in the ground after i had been carrying the slaves across for nearly four years. it was in , and one night i carried across about twelve on the same night. somebody must have seen us, because they set out after me as soon as i stepped out of the boat back on the kentucky side; from that time on they were after me. sometimes they would almost catch me; i had to run away from mr. tabb's plantation and live in the fields and in the woods. i didn't know what a bed was from one week to another. i would sleep in a cornfield tonight, up in the branches of a tree tomorrow night, and buried in a haypile the next night; the river, where i had carried so many across myself, was no good to me; it was watched too close. "finally, i saw that i could never do any more good in mason county, so i decided to take my freedom, too. i had a wife by this time, and one night we quietly slipped across and headed for mr. rankin's bell and light. it looked like we had to go almost to china to get across that river: i could hear the bell and see the light on mr. rankin's place, but the harder i rowed, the farther away it got, and i knew if i didn't make it i'd get killed. but finally, i pulled up by the lighthouse, and went on to my freedom--just a few months before all of the slaves got their's. i didn't stay in ripley, though; i wasn't taking no chances. i went on to detroit and still live there with most of children and grandchildren. "the bigger ones don't care so much about hearin' it now, but the little ones never get tired of hearin' how their grandpa brought emancipation to loads of slaves he could touch and feel, but never could see." references . interview with subject, arnold gragston, present address, robert hungerford college campus, eatonville (p.o. maitland) florida (subject is relative of president of hungerford college and stays several months in eatonville at frequent intervals. his home is detroit, michigan). federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) pearl randolph, field worker jacksonville, florida december , harriett gresham born on december , , harriett gresham can recall quite clearly the major events of her life as a slave, also the civil war as it affected the slaves of charleston and barnwell, south carolina. she was one of a, group of mulattoes belonging to edmond bellinger, a wealthy plantation owner of barnwell. with her mother, the plantation seamstress and her father, a driver, she lived in the "big house" quarters, and was known as a "house nigger." she played with the children of her mistress and seldom mixed with the other slaves on the plantation. to quote some of her quaint expressions: "honey i aint know i was any diffrunt fum de chillen o' me mistress twel atter de war. we played and et and fit togetter lak chillen is bound ter do all over der world. somethin allus happened though to remind me dat i was jist a piece of property." "i heard der gun aboomin' away at fort sumpter and fer de firs' time in my life i knowed what it was ter fear anythin' cept a sperrit. no, i aint never seed one myself but--" "by der goodness o'god i done lived ter waltz on der citadel green and march down a ile o' soldiers in blue, in der arms o' me husban', and over me haid de bay'nets shined." "i done lived up all my days and some o' dem whut mighta b'longed ter somebody else is dey'd done right in der sight o' god." "how i know i so old?" "i got documents ter prove it." the documents is a yellow sheet of paper that appears to be stationery that is crudely decorated at the top with crissed crossed lines done in ink. its contents in ink are as follows: harriett pinckney, born september , . adeline, her daughter, born october , . betsy, her daughter, born september , . belinda, her daughter, born october , . deborah, her daughter, born december , . stephen, her son, born september , . harriett's grandchildren bella, the daughter of adeline born july , . albert, son of belinda born august , . laurence, son of betsy born march , . sarah ann elizabeth, daughter of belinda born january , . harriett, daughter of belinda born december , . (this record was given harriett by mrs. harriett bellinger, her mistress. each slave received a similar one on being freed.) as a child harriett played about the premises of the bellinger estate, leading a very carefree life as did all the slave children belonging to edmond bellinger. when she was about twelve years old she was given small tasks to do such as knitting a pair of stockings or dusting the furniture and ample time was given for each of these assignments. this was a very large plantation and there was always something for the score of slaves to do. there were the wide acres of cotton that must be planted, hoed and gathered by hand. a special batch of slave women did the spinning and weaving, while those who had been taught to sew, made most of the clothing worn by slaves at that time. other products grown here were rice, corn, sugarcane, fruits and vegetables. much of the food grown on the plantation was reserved to feed the slaves. while they must work hard to complete their tasks in a given time, no one was allowed to go hungry or forced to work if the least ill. very little had to be bought here. candles ware made in the kitchen of the "big house," usually by the cook who was helped by other slaves. these were made of beeswax gathered on the plantation. shoes were made of tanned dried leather and re-inforced with brass caps; the large herds of cattle, hogs and poultry furnished sufficient meat. syrup and sugar were made from the cane that was carried to a neighboring mill. harriett remembers her master as being exceptionally kind but very severe when his patience was tried too far. mrs. bellinger was dearly loved by all her slaves because she was very thoughtful of them. whenever there was a wedding, frolic or holiday or quilting bee, she was sure to provide some extra "goody" and so dear to the hearts of the women were the cast off clothes she so often bestowed upon them on these occasions. the slaves were free to invite those from the neighboring plantations to join in their social gatherings. a negro preacher delivered sermons on the plantation. services being held in the church used by whites after their services on sunday. the preacher must always act as a peacemaker and mouthpiece for the master, so they were told to be subservient to their masters in order to enter the kingdom of god. but the slaves held secret meetings and had praying grounds where they met a few at a time to pray for better things. harriett remembers little about the selling of slaves because this was never done on the bellinger plantation. all slaves were considered a part of the estate and to sell one, meant that it was no longer intact. there were rumors of the war but the slaves on the bellinger place did not grasp the import of the war until their master went to fight on the side of the rebel army. many of them gathered about their mistress and wept as he left the home to which he would never return. soon after that it was whispered among the slaves that they would be free, but no one ran away. after living in plenty all their lives, they were forced to do without coffee, sugar salt and beef. everything available was bundled off to the army by mrs. bellinger who shared the popular belief that the soldiers must have the best in the way of food and clothing. harriett still remembers very clearly the storming of fort sumpter. the whole countryside was thrown into confusion and many slaves were mad with fear. there were few men left to establish order and many women loaded their slaves into wagons and gathered such belongings as they could and fled. mrs. bellinger was one of those who held their ground. when the union soldiers visited her plantation they found the plantation in perfect order. the slaves going about their tasks as if nothing unusual had happened. it was necessary to summon them from the fields to give them the message of their freedom. harriett recalls that her mistress was very frightened but walked upright and held a trembling lip between her teeth as they waited for her to sound for the last time the horn that had summoned several generations of human chattel to and from work. some left the plantation; others remained to harvest the crops. one and all they remembered to thank god for their freedom. they immediately began to hold meetings, singing soul stirring spirituals. harriett recalls one of these songs. it is as follows: t'ank ye marster jesus, t'ank ye, t'ank ye marster jesus, t'ank ye, t'ank ye marster jesus, t'ank ye da heben gwinter be my home. no slav'ry chains to tie me down, and no mo' driver's ho'n to blow fer me no mo' stocks to fasten me down jesus break slav'ry chain, lord break slav'ry chain lord, break slav'ry chain lord, da heben gwinter be my home. harriett's parents remained with the widowed woman for a while. had they not remained, she might not have met gaylord jeannette, the knight in blue, who later became her husband. he was a member of company "i", th regiment. she is still a bit breathless when she relates the details of the military wedding that followed a whirlwind courtship which had its beginning on the citadel green, where the soldiers stationed there held their dress parade. after these parades there was dancing by the soldiers and belles who had bedecked themselves in their sunday best and come out to be wooed by a soldier in blue. music was furnished by the military band which offered many patriotic numbers that awakened in the newly freed negroes that had long been dead--patriotism. harriett recalls snatches of one of these songs to which she danced when she was years of age. it is as follows: don't you see the lightning flashing in the cane brakes, looks like we gonna have a storm although you're mistaken its the yankee soldiers going to fight for uncle sam. old master was a colonel in the rebel army just before he had to run away-- look out the battle is a-falling the darkies gonna occupy the land. harriett believes the two officers who tendered congratulations shortly after her marriage to have been generals gates and beecher. this was an added thrill to her. as she lived a rather secluded life, harriett gresham can tell very little about the superstitions of her people during slavery, but knew them to be very reverent of various signs and omens. in one she places much credence herself. prior to the civil war, there were hordes of ants and everyone said this was an omen of war, and there was a war. she was married when schools were set up for negroes, but had no time for school. her master was adamant on one point and that was the danger of teaching a slave to read and write, so harriett received little "book learning." harriett gresham is the mother of several children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. many of them are dead. she lives at west st street, jacksonville, florida with a grand daughter. her second husband is also dead. she sits on the porch of her shabby cottage and sews the stitches that were taught her by her mistress, who is also dead. she embroiders, crochets, knits and quilts without the aid of glasses. she likes to show her handiwork to passersby who will find themselves listening to some of her reminiscences if they linger long enough to engage her in conversation--for she loves to talk of the past. she still corresponds with one of the children of her mistress, now an old woman living on what is left of a once vast estate at barnwell, south carolina. the two old women are very much attached to each other and each in her letters helps to keep alive the memories of the life they shared together as mistress and slave. reference . personal interview with harriett gresham, west st, street, jacksonville, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) alfred farrell, field worker john a. simms, editor dive oak, florida august , bolden hall bolden hall was born in walkino, florida, a little town in jefferson county, on february , , the son of alfred and tina hall. the halls who were the slaves of thomas lenton, owner of seventy-five or a hundred slaves, were the parents of twenty-one children. the halls, who were born before slavery worked on the large plantation of lenton which was devoted primarily to the growing of cotton and corn and secondarily to the growing of tobacco and pumpkins. lenton was very good to his slaves and never whipped them unless it was absolutely necessary--which was seldom! he provided them with plenty of food and clothing, and always saw to it that their cabins were liveable. he was careful, however, to see that they received no educational training, but did not interfere with their religious quest. the slaves were permitted to attend church with their masters to hear the white preacher, and occasionally the master--supposedly un-beknown to the slaves--would have an itinerant colored minister preach to the slaves, instructing them to obey their master and mistress at all times. although freedom came to the slaves in january, master lenton kept them until may in order to help him with his crops. when actual freedom was granted to the slaves, only a few of the young ones left the lenton plantation. in bolden hall came to live oak where he has resided ever since. he married but his wife is now dead, and to that union one child was born. charlotte martin charlotte mitchell martin, one of twenty children born to shepherd and lucinda mitchell, eighty-two years ago, was a slave of judge wilkerson on a large plantation in sixteen, florida, a little town near madison. shepherd mitchell was a wagoner who hauled whiskey from newport news, virginia for his owner. wilkerson was very cruel and held them in constant fear of him. he would not permit them to hold religious meetings or any other kinds of meetings, but they frequently met in secret to conduct religious services. when they were caught, the "instigators"--known or suspected--were severely flogged. charlotte recalls how her oldest brother was whipped to death for taking part in one of the religious ceremonies. this cruel act halted the secret religious services. wilkerson found it very profitable to raise and sell slaves. he selected the strongest and best male and female slaves and mated them exclusively for breeding. the huskiest babies were given the best of attention in order that they might grow into sturdy youths, for it was those who brought the highest prices at the slave markets. sometimes the master himself had sexual relations with his female slaves, for the products of miscegenation were very remunerative. these offsprings were in demand as house servants. after slavery the mitchells began to separate. a few of the children remained with their parents and eked out their living from the soil. during this period charlotte began to attract attention with her herb cures. doctors sought her out when they were stumped by difficult cases. she came to live oak to care for an old colored woman and upon whose death she was given the woman's house and property. for many years she has resided in the old shack, farming, making quilts, and practicing her herb doctoring. she has outlived her husband for whom she bore two children. her daughter is feebleminded--her herb remedies can't cure her! sarah ross born in benton county, mississippi nearly eighty years ago, sarah is the daughter of harriet elmore and william donaldson, her white owner. donaldson was a very cruel man and frequently beat sarah's mother because she would not have sexual relations with the overseer, a colored man by the name of randall. sarah relates that the slaves did not marry, but were forced--in many cases against their will--to live together as man and wife. it was not until after slavery that they learned about the holy bonds of matrimony, and many of them actually married. cotton, corn, and rice were the chief products grown on the donaldson plantation. okra also was grown, and from this product coffee was made. the slaves arose with the sun to begin their tasks in the fields and worked until dusk. they were beaten by the overseer if they dared to rest themselves. no kind of punishment was too cruel or severe to be inflicted upon these souls in bondage. frequently the thighs of the male slaves were gashed with a saw and salt put in the wound as a means of punishment for some misdemeanor. the female slaves often had their hair cut off, especially those who had long beautiful hair. if a female slave was pregnant and had to be punished, she was whipped about the shoulders, not so much in pity as for the protection of the unborn child. donaldson's wife committed suicide because of the cruelty not only to the slaves but to her as well. the slaves were not permitted to hold any sort of meeting, not even to worship god. their work consumed so much of their time that they had little opportunity to congregate. they had to wash their clothes on sunday, the only day which they could call their own. on sunday afternoon some of the slaves were sent for to entertain the family and its guests. sarah remembers the coming of the yankees and the destruction wrought by their appearance. the soldiers stripped the plantation owners of their meats, vegetables, poultry and the like. many plantation owners took their own lives in desperation. donaldson kept his slaves several months after liberation and defied them to mention freedom to him. when he did give them freedom, they lost no time in leaving his plantation which held for them only unpleasant memories. sarah came to florida thirty-five years ago. she has been married twice, and is the mother of ten children, eight of whom are living. references . personal interview with bolden hall, living near the masonic hall, in the eastern section of live oak, florida . personal interview with charlotte martin, living near greater bethel african methodist episcopal church, in the eastern section of live oak, florida . sarah ross, living near greater bethel african methodist episcopal church, live oak, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) pearl randolph, field worker lake city, florida january , rebecca hooks rebecca hooks, age years, is one of the few among the fast-thinning ranks of ex-slaves who can give a clear picture of life "befo' de wah." she was born in jones county, georgia of martha and pleasant lowe, who were slaves of william lowe. the mother was the mulatto offspring of william lowe and a slave woman who was half cherokee. the father was also a mulatto, purchased from a nearby plantation. because of this blood mixture rebecca's parents were known as "house niggers," and lived on quarters located in the rear of the "big house." a "house nigger" was a servant whose duties consisted of chores around the big house, such as butler, maid, cook, stableman, gardner and personal attendant to the man who owned him. these slaves were often held in high esteem by their masters and of course fared much better than the other slaves on the plantation. quite often they were mulattoes as in the case of rebecca's parents. there seemed to be a general belief among slave owners that mulattoes could not stand as much laborious work as pure blooded negro slaves. this accounts probably for the fact that the majority of ex-slaves now alive are mulattoes. the lowes were originally of virginia and did not own as much property in georgia as they had in virginia. rebecca estimates the number of slaves on this plantation as numbering no more than . they were treated kindly and cruelly by turns, according to the whims of a master and mistress who were none too stable in their dispositions. there was no "driver" or overseer on this plantation, as "old tom was devil enough himself when he wanted to be," observes rebecca. while she never felt the full force of his cruelties, she often felt sorry for the other slaves who were given a task too heavy to be completed in the given time; this deliberately, so that the master might have some excuse to vent his pentup feelings. punishment was always in the form of a severe whipping or revocation of a slave's privilege, such as visiting other plantations etc. the lowes were not wealthy and it was necessary for them to raise and manufacture as many things on the plantation as possible. slaves toiled from early morning until night in the corn, cotton sugar cane and tobacco fields. others tended the large herds of cattle from which milk, butter, meat and leather was produced. the leather was tanned and made into crude shoes for the slaves for the short winter months. no one wore shoes except during cold weather and on sundays. fruit orchards and vegetables were also grown, but not given as much attention as the cotton and corn, as these were the main money crops. as a child rebecca learned to ape the ways of her mistress. at first this was considered very amusing. whenever she had not knitted her required number of socks during the week, she simply informed them that she had not done it because she had not wanted to--besides she was not a "nigger." this stubbornness accompanied by hysterical tantrums continued to cause rebecca to receive many stiff punishments that might have been avoided. her master had given orders that no one was ever to whip her, so devious methods were employed to punish her, such as marching her down the road with hands tied behind her back, or locking her in a dark room for several hours with only bread and water. rebecca resembled very much a daughter of william lowe. the girl was really her aunt, and very conscious of the resemblance. both had brown eyes and long dark hair. they were about the same height and the clothes of the young mistress fitted rebecca "like a glove." to offset this likeness, rebecca's hair was always cut very short. finally rebecca rebelled at having her hair all cut off and blankly refused to submit to the treatment any longer. after this happening, the girls formed a dislike for each other, and rebecca was guilty of doing every mean act of which she was capable to torment the white girl. rebecca's mother aided and abetted her in this, often telling her things to do. rebecca did not fear the form of punishment administered her and she had the cunning to keep "on the good side of the master" who had a fondness for her "because she was so much like the lowes." the mistress' demand that she be sold or beaten was always turned aside with "dear, you know the child can't help it; its that cursed cherokee blood in her." there seemed to be no very strong opposition to a slave's learning to read and write on the plantation, so rebecca learned along with the white children. her father purchased books for her with money he was allowed to earn from the sale of corn whiskey which he made, or from work done on some other plantation during his time off. he was not permitted to buy his freedom, however. on sundays rebecca attended church along with the other slaves. services were held in the white churches after their services were over. they were taught to obey their masters and work hard, and that they should be very thankful for the institution of slavery which brought them from darkest africa. on the plantation, the doctor was not nearly as popular as the "granny" or midwife, who brewed medicines for every ailment. each plantation had its own "granny" who also served the mistress during confinement. some of her remedies follows: for colds: horehound tea, pinetop tea, lightwood drippings on sugar. for fever: a tea made of pomegranate seeds and crushed mint. for whooping cough: a tea made of sheep shandy (manure); catnip tea. for spasms: garlic; burning a garment next to the skin of the patient having the fit. shortly before the war, rebecca was married to solomon, her husband. this ceremony consisted of simply jumping over a broom and having some one read a few words from a book, which may or may not have been the bible. after the war, many couples were remarried because of this irregularity. rebecca had learned of the war long before it ended and knew its import. she had confided this information to other slaves who could read and write. she read the small newspaper that her master received at irregular intervals. the two sons of william lowe had gone to fight with the confederate soldiers (one never returned) and everywhere was felt the tension caused by wild speculation as to the outcome of the war. certain commodities were very scarce rebecca remembers drinking coffee made of okra seed, that had been dried and parched. there was no silk, except that secured by "running the blockade," and this was very expensive. the smokehouse floors were carefully scraped for any morsel of salt that might be gotten. salt had to be evaporated from sea water and this was a slow process. there were no disorders in that section as far as rebecca remembers, but she thinks that the slaves were kept on the lowe plantation a long time after they had been freed. it was only when rumors came that union soldiers were patrolling the countryside for such offenders, that they were hastily told of their freedom. their former master predicted that they would fare much worse as freemen, and so many of them were afraid to venture into the world for themselves, remaining in virtual slavery for many years afterward. rebecca and her husband were among those who left the plantation. they share-cropped on various plantations until they came to florida, which is more than fifty years ago. rebecca's husband died several years ago and she now lives with two daughters, who are very proud of her. reference personal interview with rebecca hooks, north marion street, lake city, florida. federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) samuel johnson september , rev. squires jackson lying comfortably in a bed encased with white sheets, rev. squires jackson, former slave and minister of the gospel living at third street cheerfully related the story of his life. born in a weather-beaten shanty in madison, fla. september , of a large family, he moved to jacksonville at the age of three with the "master" and his mother. very devoted to his mother, he would follow her into the cotton field as she picked or hoed cotton, urged by the thrashing of the overseer's lash. his master, a prominent political figure of that time was very kind to his slaves, but would not permit them to read and write. relating an incident after having learned to read and write, one day as he was reading a newspaper, the master walked upon him unexpectingly and demanded to know what he was doing with a newspaper. he immediately turned the paper upside down and declared "confederates done won the war." the master laughed and walked away without punishing him. it la interesting to know that slaves on this plantation were not allowed to sing when they were at work, but with all the vigilance of the overseers, nothing could stop those silent songs of labor and prayers for freedom. on sundays the boys on the plantation would play home ball and shoot marbles until church time. after church a hearty meal consisting of rice and salt picked pork was the usual sunday fare cooked in large iron pots hung over indoor hearths. sometimes coffee, made out of parched corn meal, was added as an extra treat. he remembers the start of the civil war with the laying of the atlantic cable by the "great eastern" being nineteen years of age at the time. hearing threats of the war which was about to begin, he ran away with his brother to lake city, many times hiding in trees and groves from the posse that was looking for him. at night he would cover up his face and body with spanish moss to sleep. one night he hid in a tree near a creek, over-slept himself, in the morning a group of white women fishing near the creek saw him and ran to tell the men, fortunately however he escaped. after four days of wearied travelling being guided by the north star and the indian instinct inherited from his indian grandmother, he finally reached lake city. later reporting to general scott, he was informed that he was to act as orderly until further ordered. on saturday morning, february , , general scott called him to his tent and said "squire; i have just had you appraised for $ and you are to report to col. guist in alachua county for service immediately." that very night he ran away to wellborn where the federals were camping. there in a horse stable were wounded colored soldiers stretched out on the filthy ground. the sight of these wounded men and the feeble medical attention given them by the federals was so repulsive to him, that he decided that he didn't want to join the federal army. in the silent hours of the evening he stole away to tallahassee, throughly convinced that war wasn't the place for him. while in the horse shed make-shift hospital, a white soldier asked one of the wounded colored soldiers to what regiment he belonged, the negro replied " th regiment, massachusetts." at that time, the only railroad was between lake city and tallahassee which he had worked on for awhile. at the close of the war he returned to jacksonville to begin work as a bricklayer. during this period, negro skilled help was very much in demand. the first time he saw ice was in when a ship brought some into this port. mr. moody, a white man, opened an icehouse at the foot of julia street. this was the only icehouse in the city at that time. on sundays he would attend church. one day he thought he heard the call of god beseeching him to preach. he began to preach in , and was ordained an elder in . some of the interesting facts obtained from this slave of the fourth generation were: ( ) salt was obtained by evaporating sea water, ( ) there were no regular stoves, ( ) cooking was done by hanging iron pots on rails in the fireplaces, ( ) an open well was used to obtain water, ( ) flour was sold at $ . a barrell, ( ) "shin-plasters" was used for money, ( ) the first buggy was called "rockaways" due to the elasticity of the leather-springs, ( ) rev. jackson saw his first buggy as described, in . during the civil war, cloth as well as all other commodities were very high. slaves were required to weave the cloth. the women would delight in dancing as they marched to and fro in weaving the cloth by hand. this was one kind of work the slaves enjoyed doing. even cotton seeds was picked by hand, hulling the seeds out with the fingers, there was no way of ginning it by machine at that time. rev. jackson vividly recalls the croker-sacks being used around bales of the finer cotton, known as short cotton. during this same period he made all of the shoes he wore by hand from cow hides. the women slaves at that time wore grass shirts woven very closely with hoops around on the inside to keep from contacting the body. gleefully he told of the saturday night baths in big wooden washtubs with cut out holes for the fingers during his boyhood, of the castor oil, old fashion paragoric, calomel, and burmo chops used for medicine at that time. the herb doctors went from home to home during times of illness. until many years after the civil war there were no practicing negro physicians. soap was made by mixing bones and lard together, heating and then straining into a bucket containing alum, turpentine, and rosin. lye soap was made by placing burnt ashes into straw with corn shucks placed into harper, water is poured over this mixture and a trough is used to sieze the liquid that drips into the tub and let stand for a day. very little moss was used for mattresses, chicken feathers and goose feathers were the principal constituents during his boyhood. soot mixed with water was the best medicine one could use for the stomach ache at that time. rev. jackson married in and has seven sons and seven daughters. owns his own home and plenty of other property around the neighborhood. ninety-six years of age and still feels as spry as a man of fifty, keen of wit, with a memory as good can be expected. this handsome bronze piece of humanity with snow-white beard over his beaming face ended the interview saying, "i am waiting now to hear the call of god to the promise land." he once was considered as a candidate for senator after the civil war but declined to run. he says that the treatment during the time of slavery was very tough at times, but gathering himself up he said, "no storm lasts forever" and i had the faith and courage of jesus to carry me on, continuing, "even the best masters in slavery couldn't be as good as the worst person in freedom, oh, god, it is good to be free, and i am thankful." reference personal interview with subject, rev. squires jackson, third street, jacksonville, florida. federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) l. rebecca baker, field worker daytona beach, florida january , "prophet" john henry kemp a long grey beard, a pair of piercing owl-like eyes and large bare feet, mark "prophet" kemp among the citizenry of daytona beach, florida. the "prophet", christened john henry--as nearly as he can remember--is an year old ex-slave whose remininiscences of the past, delight all those who can prevail upon him to talk of his early life on the plantation of the section. "prophet" kemp does not talk only of the past, however, his conversation turns to the future; he believes himself to be equally competent to talk of the future, and talks more of the latter if permitted. oketibbeha county, mississippi was the birthplace of the "prophet". the first master he can remember was john gay, owner of a plantation of some , acres and over slaves and a heavy drinker. the "prophet" calls gay "father", and becomes very vague when asked if this title is a blood tie or a name of which he is generally known. according to kemp--gay was one of the meanest plantation owners in the entire section, and frequently voiced his pride in being able to employ the cruelest overseers that could be found in all mississippi. among these were such men as g.t. turner, nels t. thompson, billy hole, andrew winston and other men with statewide reputations for brutality. when all of the cruelties of one overseer had been felt by the slaves on the gay plantation and another meaner man's reputation was heard of on the gay plantation, the master would delight in telling his slaves that if they did not behave, he would send for this man. "behaving"--the "prophet" says, meant living on less food than one should have; mating only at his command and for purposes purely of breeding more and stronger slaves on his plantation for sale. in some cases with women--subjecting to his every demand if they would escape hanging by the wrists for half a day or being beaten with a cowhide whip. about these whippings, the "prophet" tells many a blood-curdling tale. "one day when an old woman was plowing in the field, an overseer came by and reprimanded her for being so slow--she gave him some back talk, he took out a long closely woven whip and lashed her severely. the woman became sore and took her hoe and chopped him right across his head, and child you should have seen how she chopped this man to a bloody death." "prophet" kemp will tell you that he hates to tell these things to any investigator, because he hates for people to know just how mean his "fahter" really was. so great was the fear in which gay was held that when kemp's mother, arnette young, complained to mrs. gay, that her husband was constantly seeking her for a mistress and threatening her with death if she did not submit, even mrs. gay had to advise the slaves to do as gay demanded, saying--"my husband is a dirty man and will find some reason to kill you if you don't." "i can't do a thing with him." since arnette worked at the "big house" there was no alternative, and it was believed that out of the union with her master, henry was born. a young slave by the name of broxton kemp was given to the woman as husband at the time john kemp was born, it is from this man that "prophet" took his name. life on the plantation held nothing but misery for the slaves of john gay. a week's allowance of groceries for the average small family consisted of a package of about ten pounds containing crudely ground meal, a slab of bacon--called side-meat and from a pint to a quart of syrup made from sorghum, depending upon the season. all slaves reported for work a o'clock in the morning, except those who cared for the overseer, who began their work an hour earlier to enable the overseer to be present at the morning checkup. this checkup determined which slaves were late or who had committed some offense late on the day before or during the night. these were singled out and before the rest of the slaves began their work they were treated to the sight of these delinquents being stripped and beaten until blood flowed; women were no exception to the rule. the possible loss of his slaves upon the declaration of freedom on january , caused gay considerable concern. his liquor-ridden mind was not long in finding a solution, however, he barred all visitors from his plantation and insisted that his overseers see to the carrying out of this detail. they did, with such efficiency that it was not until may , when the government finally learned of the condition and sent a marshall to the plantation, that freedom came to gay's slaves. may , is still celebrated in this section of mississippi, as the official emancipation day. relief for the hundreds of slaves of gay came at last with the declaration of freedom for them. the government officials divided the grown and growing crops; and some land was parcelled out to the former slaves. kemp may have gained the name "prophet" from his constant reference to the future and to his religion. he says he believes on one faith, one lord and one religion, and preaches this belief constantly. he claims to have turned his back on all religions that "do not do as the lord says." in keeping this belief he says he represents the "true primitive baptist church", but does not have any connection with that church, because he believes it has not lived exactly up to what the lord expects of him. kemp claims the ability to read the future with ease; even to help determine what it will bring in some cases. he reads it in the palms of those who will believe in him; he determines the good and bad luck; freedom from sickness; success in love and other benefits it will bring from the use of charms, roots, herbs and magical incantations and formulae. he has recently celebrated what he believes to be his th birthday, and says he expects to live at least another quarter of a century. reference . personal interview with john henry kemp, daytona beach, florida barbara darsey slave interview with cindy kinsey, former slave about years of age "yes maam, chile, i aint suah ezackly, but i think i bout mebby yeah old. yes maam, i wus suah bahn in de slavery times, an i bahn right neah de little rock in arkansas, an dere i stay twell i comed right from dere to heah in floridy bout foah yeah gone. "yes maam, my people de liv on a big plantation neah de little rock an we all hoe cotton. my ma? lawzy me, chile, she name zola young an my pappy he name nelson young. i had broddehs danel, freeman, george, will, and henry. yes maam, freeman he de younges an bahn after we done got free. an i had sistehs by de name ob isabella, mary, nora,--dat aint all yet, you want i should name em all? well then they was too celie, sally, and me cindy but i aint my own sisteh is i, hee, hee, hee. "my ole massa, he name marse louis stuart, an my ole missy, dat de real ole one you know, she name,--now--let-me-see, does--i--ricollek, lawzy me, chile, i suah fin it hard to member some things. o! yes,--her name hit war missy nancy, an her chilluns dey name little marse sammie an little missy fanny. i don know huccum my pappy he go by de name young when ole massa he name marse stuart lessen my pappy he be raised by nother massa fore marse louis got him, but i disrememba does i eber heerd him say. "yes maam, chile i suah like dem days. we had lot ob fun an nothin to worrify about, suah wish dem days wus now, chile, us niggahs heaps better off den as now. us always had plenty eat and plenty wearin close too, which us aint nevah got no more. we had plenty cahn pone, baked in de ashes too, hee, hee, hee, it shore wus good, an we had side meat, an we had other eatin too, what ever de ole marse had, but i like de side meat bes. i had a good dress for sunday too but aint got none dese days, jes looky, chile, dese ole rags de bes i got. my sunday dress? lawzy me, chile, hit were alway a bright red cotton. i suah member dat color, us dye de cotton right on de plantation mostly. other close i dont ezackly ricollek, but de mostly dark, no colahs. "my ma, she boss all de funerls ob de niggahs on de plantation an she got a long white veil for wearin, lawzy me, chile, she suah look bootiful, jes lak a bride she did when she boss dem funerls in dat veil. she not much skeered nether fo dat veil hit suah keep de hants away. wisht i had me dat veil right now, mout hep cure dis remutizics in ma knee what ailin me so bad. i disrememba, but i sposen she got buried in dat veil, chile. she hoe de cotton so ole marse louis he always let her off fo de buryings cause she know how to manage de other niggahs and keep dem quiet at de funerls. "no maam, chile, we didn't hab no preacher-mans much, hit too fah away to git one when de niggah die. we sung songs and my ma she say a bible vurs what ole missy don lernt her. be vurs, lawsy me, chile, suah wish i could member hit for you. dem songs? i don jes recollek, but hit seem lak de called 'gimme dem golden slippahs', an a nother one hit wah 'ise goin to heben in de charot ob fiah', suah do wish i could recollek de words an sing em foh you, chile, but i caint no more, my min, hit aint no good lak what it uster be. "yes maam, chile, i suah heerd ob mr. lincoln but not so much. what dat mans wanter free us niggahs when we so happy an not nothin to worrify us. no, maam, i didn't see none dem yankee sojers but i heerd od[tr: of?] dem an we alwy skeerd dey come. us all cotch us rabbits an weah de lef hine foots roun our nek wif a bag ob akkerfedity, yessum i guess dat what i mean, an hit shore smell bad an hit keep off de fevah too, an if a yankee cotch you wif dat rabbit foots an dat akkerfedity bag roun youh nek, he suah turn you loose right now. "yes maam, chile, ise a baptis and sho proud ob it. praise de lord and go to church, dat de onliest way to keep de debbil offen youh trail and den sometime he almos kotch up wif you. lawsy me, chile, when de preacher-mans baptiz me he had duck me under de wateh twell i mos dron, de debbil he got such a holt on me an jes wont let go, but de preacher-mans he kep a duckin me an he finaly shuck de debbil loose an he aint bother me much sence, dat is not very much, an dat am a long time ago. "yes maam, chile, some ob de niggahs dey run off from ole marse louis, but de alway come back bout stahved, hee, hee, hee, an do dey eat, an ole marse, he alway take em back an give em plenty eatins. yes maam, he alway good to us and he suah give us niggahs plenty eatins all de time. when crismus come, you know chile, hit be so cole, and old marse, he let us make a big fiah, a big big fiah in de yahd roun which us live, an us all dance rounde fiah, and ole missy she brang us crismus giff. what war de giff? lawzy me, chile, de mostly red woolen stockings and some times a pair of shoeses, an my wus we proud. an ole marse louis, he giv de real old niggahs, both de mens an de owmans, a hot toddy, hee, hee, hee. lawzy me, chile, dem wus de good days, who give an ole niggah like me a hot toddy dese days? an talkin you bout dem days, chile, sho mek me wish dey was now." federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) viola b. muse, field worker palatka, florida randall lee randall lee of branson street, palatka, florida, was born at camden, south carolina about seventy-seven years ago, maybe longer. he was the son of robert and delhia lee, who during slavery were robert and delhia miller, taking the name of their master, as was the custom. his master was doctor miller and his mistress was mrs. camilla miller. he does not know his master's given name as no other name was ever heard around the plantation except doctor miller. randall was a small boy when the war between the states broke out, but judging from what he remembers he must have been a boy around six or seven years of age. during the few years he spent in slavery, randall had many experiences which made such deep impressions upon his brain that the memory of them still remains clear. the one thing that causes one to believe that he must have been around seven years of age is the statement that he was not old enough to have tasks of any importance placed upon him, yet he was trusted along with another boy about his own age, to carry butter from the plantation dairy two miles to the 'big house.' no one would trust a child younger than six years of age to handle butter for fear of it being dropped into the dirt. he must have at least reached the age when he was sent two miles with a package and was expected to deliver the package intact. he must have understood the necessity of not playing on the way. he stated that he knew not to stop on the two-mile journey and not to let the butter get dirty. randall had the pleasure of catching the pig for his father for doctor miller gave each of his best negro men a pig to raise for himself and family. he was allowed to build a pen for it and raise and fatten it for killing. when killing time came he was given time to butcher it and grind all the sausage he could make to feed his family. by that method it helped to solve the feeding problem and also satisfied the slaves. it was more like so many families living around a big house with a boss looking over them, for they were allowed a privilege that very few masters gave their slaves. on the miller plantation there was a cotton gin. doctor miller owned the gin and it was operated by his slaves. he grew the cotton, picked it, ginned it and wove it right there. he also had a baler and made the bagging to bale it with. he only had to buy the iron bands that held the bales intact. doctor miller was a rich man and had a far reaching sight into how to work slaves to the best advantage. he was kind to them and knew that the best way to get the best out of men was to keep them well and happy. his arrangement was very much the general way in that he allowed the young men and women to work in the fields and the old women and a few old men to work around the house, in the gin and at the loom. the old women mostly did the spinning of thread and weaving of cloth although in some instances doctor miller found a man who was better adapted to weaving than any of his women slaves. everyone kept his plantation under fence and men who were old but strong and who had some knowledge of carpentry were sent out to keep the fence in repair and often to build new ones. the fences were not like those of today. they were built of horizontal rails about six or seven feet long, running zig-zag fashion. instead of having straight line fences and posts at regular points they did not use posts at all. the bottom rails rested upon the ground and the zig-zag fashion in which they were laid gave strength to the fence. no nails were used to hold the rails in place. if stock was to be let in or out of the places the planks were unlocked so to speak, and the stock allowed to enter after which they were laid back as before. boys and girls under ten years of age were never sent into the field to work on the miller plantation but were required to mind the smaller children of the family and do chores around the "big house" for the mistress and her children. such work as mending was taught the domestic-minded children and tending food on the pots was alloted others with inborn ability to cook. they were treated well and taught 'manners' and later was used as dining room girls and nurses. randall's father and mother were considered lucky. his father was overseer and his mother was a waitress. doctor miller was a kind and considerate owner; never believed in punishing slaves unless in extreme cases. no overseer, white or colored could whip his slaves without first bringing the slave before him and having a full understanding as to what the offense was. if it warranted whipping them it had to be given in his presence so he could see that it was not given unmercifully. he indeed was a doctor and practised his profession in the keeping of his slaves from bodily harm as well as keeping them well. he gave them medicine when they did not feel well and saw to it that they took needed rest if they were sick and tired. now, robert lee, randall's father, was brought from virginia and sold to doctor miller when he was a young man. the one who sold him told doctor miller, "here's a nigger who wont take a whipping. he knows his work and will do it and all you will need to do is tell him what you want and its as good as done." robert lee never varied from the recommendation his former master gave when he sold him. the old tale of corn bread baked on the hearth covered with ashes and sweet potatoes cooked in like manner are vivid memories upon the mind of randall. syrup water and plenty of sweet and butter milk, rice and crackling bread are other foods which were plentiful around the cabin of randall's parents. cows were numerous and the family of doctor miller did not need much for their consumption. while they sold milk to neighboring plantations, the negroes were not denied the amount necessary to keep all strong and healthy. none of the children on the plantation were thin and scrawny nor did they ever complain of being hungry. the tanning yard was not far from the house doctor miller. his own butcher shop was nearby. he had his cows butchered at intervals and when one died of unnatural causes it was skinned and the hide tanned on the place. randall as a child delighted in stopping around the tanning yard and watching the men salt the hide. they, after salting it dug holes and buried it for a number of days. after the salting process was finished it was treated with a solution of water and oak bark. when the oak bark solution had done its work it was ready for use. shoes made of leather were not dyed at that time but the natural color of the finished hide was thought very beautiful and those who were lucky enough to possess a pair were glad to get them in their natural color. to dye shoes various colors is a new thing when the number of years leather has been dyed is compared with the hundreds of years people knew nothing about it, especially american people. randall's paternal grandparents were also owned by doctor miller and were not sold after he bought them. levi lee was his grandfather's name. he was a fine worker in the field but was taken out of it to be taught the shoe-makers trade. the master placed him under a white shoemaker who taught him all the fine points. if there were any, he knew about the trade. dr. miller had an eye for business who could make shoes was a great saving to him. levi made all the shoes and boots the master, mistress and the miller family wore. besides, he made shoes for the slaves who wore them. not all slaves owned a pair of shoes. boys and girls under eighteen went bare-footed except in winter. doctor miller had compassion for them and did not allow them to suffer from the cold by going bare-footed in winter. another good thing to be remembered was the large number of chickens, ducks and geese which the slaves raised for the doctor. every slave family could rest his tired body upon a feather bed for it was allowed him after the members of the master's family were supplied. moss mattresses also were used under the feather beds and slaves did not need to have as thick a feather bed on that account. they were comfortable though and randall remembers how he and the other children used to fall down in the middle of the bed and become hidden from view, so soft was the feather mattress. it was especially good to get in bed in winter but not so pleasant to get up unless 'pappy' had made the fire early enough for the large one-room cabin to get warm. the children called their own parents 'pappy' and 'mammy' in slavery time. randall remembers how after a foot-washing in the old wooden tub, (which, by the way, was simply a barrel cut in half and holes cut in the two sides for fingers to catch a hold) he would sit a few minutes with his feet held to the fire so they could dry. he also said his 'mammy' would rub grease under the soles of his feet to keep him from taking cold. it seemed to the child that he had just gone to bed when the old tallow candle was lighted and his 'pappy' arose and fell upon his knees and prayed aloud for god's blessings and thanked him for another day. the field hands were to be in the field by five o'clock and it meant to rise before day, summer and winter. not so bad in summer for it was soon day but in winter the weather was cold and darkness was longer passing away. when daylight came field hands had been working an hour or more. robert lee, randall's father was an overseer and it meant for him to be up and out with the rest of the men so he could see if things were going allright. the randall children were not forced up early because they did not eat breakfast with their 'pappy'. their mother was dining-room girl in her mistress' house, so fed the children right from the miller table. there was no objection offered to this. doctor miller was kind but he did not want his slaves enlightened too much. therefore, he did not allow much preaching in the church. they could have prayer meeting all they wanted to, but instructions from the bible were thought dangerous for the slaves. he did not wish them to become too wise and get it into their heads to ran away and get free. there was talk about freedom and doctor miller knew it would be only a matter of time when he would loose all his slaves. he said to randall's mother one day, "delhia you'll soon be as free as i am." she said. "sho' nuf massy?" and he answered. "you sure will." nothing more was said to any of the slaves until sherman's army came through notifying the slaves they were free. the presence of the soldiers caused such a comotion around the plantation that randall's mind was indelibly impressed with their doings. the northern soldiers took all the food they could get their hands on and took possession of the cattle and horses and mules. levi, the brother of randall, and who was named after his paternal grandfather, was put on a mule and the mule loaded with provisions and sent two miles to the soldier's camp. levi liked that, for beside being well treated he received several pieces of money. the federal soldiers played with him and gave him all the food he wanted, although the miller slaves and their children were fed and there was no reason for the child to be hungry. levi lee, the grandfather of young levi and randall, had a dream while the soldiers were encamped round about the place. he dreamed that a pot of money was buried in a certain place; the person who showed it to him told him to go dig for it on the first rainy night. he kept the dream a secret and on the first rainy night he went, dug, and found the pot of money right where his dream had told him it would be. he took the pot of money to his cabin and told no one anything about it. he hid it as securely as possible, but when the soldiers were searching for gold and silver money they did not leave the negro's cabin out of the search. when they found the money they thought levi's master had given him the money to hide as they took it from him. levi mourned a long time about the loss of his money and often told his grandchildren that he would have been well fixed when freedom came if he had not been robbed of his money. "paddyroles" as the men were called who were sent by the rebels to watch the slaves to prevent their escaping during war times, were very active after freedom. they intimidated the negroes and threatened them with loss of life if they did not stay and work for their former masters. doctor miller did not want any of his slaves treated in such manner. he told them they were free and could take whatever name they desired. robert lee, during slavery was robert miller, as were all of the doctor's slaves. after slavery was ended he chose the name lee. his brother aaron took the name alexander not thinking how it looked for two brothers of the same parents to have different surnames. there are sons of each brother living in palatka now, one set lees and the others, alexander. randall, as was formerly stated, spent a very little time in slavery. most of his knowledge concerning customs which long ago have been abandoned and replaced by more modern ones, is of early reconstruction days. just after the civil war, when his father began farming on his own plantation, his mother remained home and cared for her house and children. she was of fair complexion, having been the daughter of a half-breed indian and negro mother. her father was white. her native state was virginia and she bore some of the aristocratic traits so common among those born in that state of such parentage. she often boasted of her "blue blood virginia stock." robert lee, randall's father was very prosperous in early reconstruction days. he owned horses, mules and a plow. the plow was made of point iron with a wooden handle, not like plows of today for they are of cast iron and steel. chickens, ducks and geese were raised in abundance and money began accumulating rapidly for robert and delhia lee. they began improving their property and trying to give their children some education. it was very hard for those living in small towns and out in the country to go to school even though they had money to pay for their education. the north sent teachers down but not every hamlet was favored with such. ( ) randall was taught to farm and he learned well. he saved his money as he worked and grew to manhood. years after freedom he left south carolina and went to palatka, florida, where he is today. he bought some land and although most of it is hammock land and not much good he has at intervals been offered good prices for it. some white people during the "boom" of - offered him a few dollars an acre for it but he refused to sell thinking a better price would be offered if he held on. ( ) today finds randall lee, an old man with fairly good health; he stated that he had not had a doctor for years and his thinking faculties are in good order. his eyesight is failing but he does not allow that to handicap him in getting about. he talks fluently about what he remembers concerning slavery and that which his parents told him. he is between a mulatto and brown skin with good, mixed gray and black hair. his features are regular, not showing much negro blood. he is tall and looks to weigh about one hundred and sixty-five pounds. his wife lives with him in their two-story frame house which shows that they have had better days financially. the man and wife both show interest in the progress of the negro race and possess some books about the history of the negro. one book of particular interest, and of which the wife of randall lee thinks a great deal, was written, according to her story, by john brown. it is called "the history of the colored race in america." she could not find but a few pages of it when interviewed but declared she had owned the entire book for years. the pages she had and showed with such pride were to inclusive. the book was written in the year and the few pages produced by her gave information concerning the negro, lovejoy of st. louis, missouri. it is the same man for whom the city of lovejoy, illinois is named. the other book she holds with pride and guards jealously is "the college of life" by henry davenport northrop d.d., honorable joseph r. gay and professor i. garland penn. it was entered, according to the act of congress in the year by horace c. fry, in the office of the librarian of congress at washington, d.c. ( ) references . randall lee, brunson street, palatka, florida . mrs. bessie bates, south eleventh street, palatka, florida . observation of field worker federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) pearl randolph, field worker jacksonville, florida december , edward lycurgas "pap tell us 'nother story 'bout do war--and 'bout de fust time you saw mamma." it has been almost years since a group of children gathered about their father's knee, clamoring for another story. they listened round-eyed to stories they already knew because "pap" had told them so many times before. these narratives along with the great changes he has seen, were carefully recorded in the mind of edward, the only one of this group now alive. "pap" was always ready to oblige with the story they never tired of. he could always be depended upon to begin at the beginning, for he loved to tell it. "it all begun with our ship being took off the coast of newport news, virginia. we wuz runnin' the blockade--sellin' guns and what-not to them northerners. we aint had nothin' to do wid de war, unnerstand, we english folks was at'ter de money. whose war? the north and south's, of course. i hear my captain say many a time as how they was playin' ball wid the poor niggers. one side says 'you can't keep your niggers lessen you pay em and treat em like other folks.' mind you dat wasn't de rale reason, they was mad at de south but it was one of de ways dey could be hurted--to free de niggers." "de south says 'dese is our niggers and we'll do dum as we please,' and so de rumpus got wuss dan it was afore. the north had all do money, and called itself de gov'ment. the south aint had nothin', but a termination not to be out-did, so we dealt wid de north. de south was called de rebels." "so when dey see a ship off they coast, they hailed it and when we kep goin', they fired at us. 'twan't long afore we was being unloaded and marched off to the lousiest jail i ever been in. my captain kep tellin' em we was english subjects and could not be helt. me, i was a scairt man, cause i was always free, and over here dey took it for granted dat all black men should be slaves." "the jailer felt of my muscles one day, when he had marched me out at the point of his musket to fill de watering troughs for de horses. he wanted to know who i blong ter, and offered to buy me. when nobody claimed me, they was forced to let me go long wid de other britishers and as our ship had been destroyed, we had to git back home best we could. dey didn't dare hold us no longer." "as de war was still being fit, we was forced to separate, cause a lot of us would cause spicion, traipsing 'bout do country. me--i took off southward and way from de war belt, traveling as far as saint augustine. it was a dangerous journey, as anybody was liable to pick me off for a runaway slave. i was forced to hide in de day time if i was near a settlement and travel at night. i met many runaway slaves. some was trying to get north and fight for de freeing of they people; others was jes runnin' way cause dey could. many of dem didn't had no idea where dey was goin' and told of havin' good marsters. but one and all dey had a good strong notion ter see what it was like to own your own body." "i felt worlds better when i reached saint augustine. many ships landed there and i knowed i could get my way back at least to de west indies, where i come frum. i showed my papers to everybody dat mounted ter anything and dey knowed i was a free nigger. i had plenty of money on me and i made a big ter do mong de other free men i met. one day i went to the slave market and watched em barter off po niggers lake dey was hogs. whole families sold together and some was split--mother gone to one marster and father and children gone to others." "they'd bring a slave out on the flatform and open his mouth, pound his chest, make him harden his muscles so the buyer could see what he was gittin'. young men was called 'bucks' and young women 'wenches'. the person that offered the best price was de buyer. and dey shore did git rid uf some pretty gals. dey always looked so shame and pitiful up on dat stand wid all dem men standin' dere lookin' at em wid what dey had on dey minds shinin' in they eyes one little gal walked up and left her mammy mourning so pitiful cause she had to be sold. seems like dey all belong in a family where nobody ever was sold. my she was a pretty gal." "and dats why your mamma's named julia stead of mary jane or hannah or somethin' else--she cost me $ . and den my own freedom. but she was worth it--every bit of it!" "after that i put off my trip back home and made her home my home for three years. den with our two young children we left floridy and went to the west indies to live. we traveled bout a bit gettin as far as england. we got letters from your ma's folks and dey jes had to see her or else somebody would'er died, so we sailed back into de war." "freedom was declared soon after we got back to dis country and de whole country was turned upside down. de po niggers went mad. some refused to work and dey didn't stay in one place long 'nough to do a thing. de crops suffered and soon we had starvation times for 'bout two years. after dat everybody lernt to think of a rainy day and things got better." edward recalls of hearing his father tell of eating wild hog salad and cabbage palms. it was a common occurence to see whole families subsisting on any wild plant not known to be poisonous if it contained the least food value. the freedmen helped those who were newly liberated to gain a footing. prior to emancipation they had not been allowed to associate with slaves for fear they might engender in them the desire to be free. the freedmen bore the brunt of the white man's suspicion whenever there was a slave uprising. they were always accusing them of being instigators. edward often heard his mother tell of the "patter-rollers", a group of white men who caught and administered severe whippings to these unfortunate slaves. they also corraled slaves back to their masters if they were caught out after nine o'clock at night without a pass from their masters. george lycurgas was born at liverpool, england and became a seaman at an early age. edward thinks he might have had a fair education if he had had the chance. the mother, julia gray, lycurgas, was the daughter of barbara and david gray, slaves of the flemings of clay county, florida. these slaves were inherited from generation to generation and no one ever thought to sell one except for punishment or in dire necessity. they were treated kindly and like most slaves of the wealthy, had no knowledge of the real cruelties of slavery, but upon the death of their owner it became necessary to parcel the slaves out to different heirs, some of whom did not believe in holding these unfortunates. these would-be abolitionists were not averse to placing at auction their share of the slaves, however. it was on this occasion that george lycurgas saw and bought the girl who was to become his wife. both are now dead, also all of the several children except edward who tells their story here. edward lycurgas was born on october , , at saint augustine, florida shortly after the return of the family from the west indies. he lived on his father's farm sharing at an early age the hard work that seemed always in abundance, and listening in awe to the stories of the recent war. he heard his elders give thanks for their freedom when they attended church and wondered what it was all about. no one failed to attend church on sundays and all work ceased in a vicinity where a camp meeting was held. farmers flocked to the meeting from all parts of saint johns county. they brought food in their large baskets. some owned buggies but most of them hauled their families in wagons or walked. the camp meetings would sometimes last for several days according to the spiritual fervor exhibited by those attending. lycurgas recalls the stirring sermons and spirituals that rang through the woods and could be heard for several miles on a clear day. and the river baptisms! these climaxed the meetings and were attended by large crowds of whites in the neighborhood. all candidates were dressed in white gowns, stockings and towels would about their heads bandana fashion. tow by two they marched to the river from the spot where they had dressed. there was always some stiring song to accompany their slow march to the river. "take me to the water to be baptized" was the favorite spiritual for this occasion. as in all things, some attended camp meetings for the opportunity it afforded them to indulge in illicit love making. others went to show their finery and there was plenty of it according to lycurgas' statement. there seemed to be beautiful clothing, fine teams and buggies everywhere--a sort of reaction from the restraint upon them in slavery. many wore clothing they could not afford. there seemed to be a deeper interest in politics during these times. mass meetings, engineered by "carpet baggers" were often held and largely attended, although the father of edward did not hold with these activities very much. he often heard the preacher point out negroes who attended the meetings and attained prominence in politics as an example for members of his flock to follow. he believes he recalls hearing the name of joseph gibbs. next to the preacher, the negro school teacher was held in greatest respect. until the year of the "shake" (earthquake of ) there were no negro school teachers on saint john's county and no school buildings. they attended classes at the fort and were taught by a white woman who had come from "up nawth" for this purpose. edward was able to learn very little from his blue back webster because his help was needed on the farm. he was a lover of home, very shy and did not care much for courting. he remained with his parents until their deaths and did not leave the vicinity for many years. he is still unmarried and resides at the clara white mission, jacksonville, florida, where he receives a email salary for the piddling jobs about the place that he is able to do. reference . personal interview with edward lycurgas, west ashley street, jacksonville, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) pearl randolph, field worker madison, florida november , amanda mccray mrs. mccray was sitting on her porch crooning softly to herself and rocking so gently that one might easily have thought the wind was swaying her chair. her eyes were closed, her hands incredibly old and workworn were slowly folding and unfolding on her lap. she listened quietly to the interviewer's request for some of the "high lights" of her life and finally exclaimed: "chile, why'ny you look among the living fer the high lights?" there was nothing resentful in this expression; only the patient weariness of one who has been dragged through the boundaries of a yesterday from which he was inseparable and catapulted into a present with which he has nothing in common. after being assured that her life story was of real interest to some one she warmed up and talked quite freely of the life and times as they existed in her day. how old was she? she confessed quite frankly that she never "knowed" her age. she was a grownup during the civil war when she was commandered by union soldiers invading the country and employed as a cook. her owner, one redding pamell, possessed a hundred or more slaves and was, according to her statement very kind to them. it was on his plantation that she was born. amanda mccray is one of several children born to jacob and mary williams, the latter being blind since amanda could remember. children on the pamell plantation led a carefree existence until they were about years of age, when they were put to light chores like carrying water and food, picking seed from cotton lint (there were no cotton gins), and minding the smaller children. they were duly schooled in all the current superstitions and listened to the tales of ghosts and animals that talked and reasoned, tales common to the negro today. little mandy believes to this day that hogs can see the wind and that all animals talk like men on christmas morning at a certain time. children wore moles feet and pearl buttons around their necks to insure easy teething and had their legs bathed in a concoction of wasp nest and vinegar if they were slow about learning to walk. this was supposed to strengthen the weak limbs. it was a common occurence to see a child of two or three years still nursing at the mother's breast. their masters encouraged the slaves to do this, thinking it made strong bones and teeth. at christmas time the slave children all trouped to "de big house" and stood outside crying "christmas gift" to their master and mistress. they were never disappointed. gifts consisted mostly of candies, nuts and fruits but there was always some useful article of clothing included, something they were not accustomed to having. once little mandy received a beautiful silk dress from her young mistress, who knew how much she liked beautiful clothes. she was a very happy child and loved the dress so much that she never wore it except on some special occasion. amanda was trained to be a house servant, learning to cook and knit from the blind mother who refused to let this handicap affect her usefulness. she liked best to sew the fine muslins and silks of her mistress, making beautiful hooped dresses that required eight and ten yards of cloth and sometimes as many as seven petticoats to enhance their fullness. hoops for these dresses were made of grape-vines that were shaped while green and cured in the sun before using. beautiful imported laces were used to trim the petticoats and pantaloons of the wealthy. the pamell slaves had a negro minister who could hold services any time he chose, so long as he did not interfere with the work of the other slaves. he was not obliged to do hard menial labors and went about the plantation "all dressed up" in a frock coat and store-bought shoes. he was more than a little conscious of this and was held in awe by the others. he often visited neighboring plantations to hold his services. it was from this minister that they first heard of the civil war. he held whispered prayers for the success of the union soldiers, not because freedom was so desirable to them, but for other slaves who were treated so cruelly. there was a praying ground where "the grass never had a chancet ter grow fer the troubled knees that kept it crushed down." amanda was an exceptionally good cook and so widespread was this knowledge that the union soldiers employed her as a cook in their camp for a short while. she does not remember any of their officers and thinks they were no better nor worse than the others. these soldiers committed no depredations in her section except to confiscate whatever they wanted in the way of food and clothing. some married southern girls. mr. pamell made land grants to all slaves who wanted to remain with him; few left, so kind had he been to them all. life went on in much the same manner for amanda's family except that the children attended school where a white teacher instructed them from a "blue back webster." amanda was a young woman but she managed to learn to read a little. later they had colored teachers who followed much the same routine as the whites had. they were held in awe by the other negroes and every little girl yearned to be a teacher, as this was about the only professional field open to negro women at that time. "after de war negroes blossomed out with fine phaetons (buggies) and ceiled houses, and clothes--oh my!" mrs. mccray did not keep up with the politics of her time but remembers hearing about joe gibbs, member of the florida legislature. there was much talk then of booker t. washington, and many thought him a fool for trying to start a school in alabama for negroes. she recalls the negro post master who served two or three terms at madison. she could not give his name. there have been three widespread "panics" (depressions) during her lifetime but mrs. mccray thinks this is the worst one. during the civil war, coffee was so dear that meal was parched and used as a substitute but now, she remarked, "you can't hardly git the meal for the bread." her husband and children are all dead and she lives with a niece who is no longer young herself. circumstances are poor here. the niece earns her living as laundress and domestic worker, receiving a very poor wage. mrs. mccray is now quite infirm and almost blind. she seems happiest talking of the past that was a bit kinder to her. at present she lives on the northeast corner of first and macon streets. the postoffice address is # , madison, florida. reference . personal interview with amanda mccray, first and macon streets, madison, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) alfred farrell, field worker john a. simms, editor titusville, florida september , henry maxwell "up from slavery" might well be called this short biographical sketch of henry maxwell, who first saw the light of day on october , in lownes county, georgia. his mother ann, was born in virginia, and his father, robert, was born in south carolina. captain peters, ann's owner, bought robert maxwell from charles howell as a husband for ann. to this union were born seven children, two girls--elizabeth and rosetta--and five boys--richard, henry, simms, solomon and sonnie. after the death of captain peters in , elizabeth and richard were sold to the gaines family. rosetta and robert (the father) were purchased from the peters' estate by isham peters, captain peters' son, and henry and simms were bought by james bamburg, husband of izzy peters, daughter of captain peters. (solomon and sonnie were born after slavery.) just a tot when the civil war gave him and his people freedom, maxwell's memories of bondage-days are vivid through the experiences related by older negroes. he relates the story of the plantation owner who trained his dogs to hunt escaped slaves. he had a negro youth hide in a tree some distance away, and then he turned the pack loose to follow him. one day he released the bloodhounds too soon, and they soon overtook the boy and tore him to pieces. when the youth's mother heard of the atrocity, she burst into tears which were only silenced by the threats of her owner to set the dogs on her. maxwell also relates tales of the terrible beatings that the slaves received for being caught with a book or for trying to run away. after the civil war the maxwell family was united for a short while, and later they drifted apart to go their various ways. henry and his parents resided for a while longer in lownes county, and in they came to titusville, with the two younger children, solomon and sonnie. here henry secured work with a farmer for whom he worked for $ a month. in he purchased a small orange grove and began to cultivate oranges. today he owns over acres of orange groves and controls nearly more acres. he is said to be worth around $ , and is titusville's most influential and respected colored citizen. he is married but has no children. [tr: interview of titus bynes, including sections about della bess hilyard ("aunt bess") and taylor gilbert repeated here. references to them deleted below.] references . personal interview of field worker with subject federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) martin richardson, field worker saint augustine, florida november , christine mitchell an interesting description of the slave days just prior to the war between the states is given by christine mitchell, of saint augustine. christine was born in slavery at saint augustine, remaining on the plantation until she was about years old. during her slave days she knew many of the slaves on plantations in the saint augustine vicinity. several of these plantations, she says, were very large, and some of them had as many as slaves. the ex-slave, who is now years old, recalls that at least three of the plantations in the vicinity were owned or operated by minorcans. she says that the minorcans were popularly referred to in the section as "turnbull's darkies," a name they apparently resented. this caused many of them, she claims, to drop or change their names to spanish or american surnames. christine moved to fernandina a few years after her freedom, and there lived near the southern tip of amelia island, where negro ex-slaves lived in a small settlement all their own. this settlement still exists, although many of its former residents are either dead or have moved away. christine describes the little amelia island community as practically self-sustaining, its residents raising their own food, meats, and other commodities. fishing was a favorite vocation with them, and some of then established themselves as small merchants of sea foods. several of the families of amelia island, according to the ex-slave, were large ones, and her own relatives, the drummonds, were among the largest of these. christine mitchell regards herself as one of the oldest remaining ex-slaves in the saint augustine section, and is very well known in the neighborhood of her home at st. francis and oneida streets. references . interview with subject, christine drummond mitchell, oneida street corner saint francis, saint augustine, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro unit) martin richardson, field worker palatka, florida january , lindsey moore an ex-slave who was resourceful in a little blacksmith shop at madison street, palatka, is a busy little horse-shoer who was born in slavery eighty-seven years ago. _lindsey moore_, blacksmith, leather-tanner ex-marble shooting champion and a number of other things, represents one of the most resourceful former slaves yet found in the state. moore was born in on the plantation of john b. overtree, in forsythe county, georgia. he was one of the six children of eliza moore; all of them remained the property of overtree until freed. on the overtree plantation the slave children were allowed considerable time for play until their tenth or twelfth years; lindsey took full advantage of this opportunity and became very skillful at marble-shooting. it was here that he first learned to utilize his talents profitably. 'massa overtree' discovered the ability of lindsey and another urchin to shoot marbles, and began taking them into town to compete with the little slaves of other owners. there would be betting on the winners. mr. overtree won some money in this manner, lindsey and his companion being consistent winners. but lindsey saw possibilities other than the glory of his victories in this new game; with pennies that some of the spectators tossed him he began making small wagers of his own with his competitors, and soon had amassed quite a small pile of silver for those days. although shoes were unheard-of in lindsey's youth, he used to watch carefully whenever a cow was skinned and its hide tanned to make shoes for the women and the 'folks in the big house'. through his attention to the tanning operations he learned everything about tanning except one solution that he could not discover. it was not until years later that he learned that the jealously-guarded ingredient was plain salt and water. by the time he had learned it, however, he had so mastered the tanning operations that he at once added it to his sources of livelihood. lindsey escaped much of the farm work on the overtree place by learning to skillfully assist the women who made cloth out of the cotton from the fields. he grew very fast at cleaning 'rods', clearing the looms and other operations; when, at thirteen, it became time for him to pick cotton he had become so fast at helping with spinning and weighing the cotton that others had picked that he almost entirely escaped the picking himself. soap-making was another of the plantation arts that lindsey mastered early. his ability to save every possible ounce of grease from the meats he cooked added many choice bits of pork to his otherwise meatless fare; he was able to spend many hours in the shade pouring water over oak ashes that other young slaves were passing picking cotton or hoeing potatoes in the burning sun. lindsey's first knowledge of the approach of freedom came when he heard a loud brass band coming down the road toward the plantation playing a strange, lively tune while a number of soldiers in blue uniforms marched behind. he ran to the front gate and was ordered to take charge of the horse of one of the officers in such an abrupt tone until he 'begin to shaking in my bare feet! there followed much talk between the officers and lindsey's mistress, with the soldiers finally going into encampment a short distance away from the plantation. the soldiers took command of the spring that was used for a water supply for the plantation, giving lindsey another opportunity to make money. he would be sent from the plantation to the spring for water, and on the way back would pass through the camp of the soldiers. these would be happy to pay a few pennies for a cup of water rather than take the long hike to the spring themselves; lindsey would empty bucket after bucket before finally returning to the plantation. out of his profits he bought his first pair of shoes--though nearly a grown man. the soldiers finally departed, with all but five of the overtree slaves joyously trooping behind them. before leaving, however, they tore up the railroad and its station, burning the ties and heating the rails until red then twisting them around tree-trunks. wheat fields were trampled by their horses, and devastation left on all sides. lindsey and his mother were among those who stayed at the plantation. when freedom became general his father began farming on a tract that was later turned over to lindsey. lindsey operated the farm for a while, but later desired to learn horseshoeing, and apprenticed himself to a blacksmith. at the end of three years he had become so proficient that his former master rewarded him with a five-dollar bonus for shoeing one horse. possessing now the trades of blacksmithing, tanning and weaving-and-spinning, lindsey was tempted to follow some of his former associates to the north, but was discouraged from doing so by a few who returned, complaining bitterly about the unaccustomed cold and the difficulty of making a living. he moved south instead and settled in the area around palatka. he is still in the section, being recognized as an excellent blacksmith despite his more than four-score years. bibliography interview with subject, lindsey moore, madison street, palatka, fla. federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) j.m. johnson, field worker john a. simms, editor jacksonville, florida september , mack mullen mack mullen, a former slave who now lives at w. first street, jacksonville, florida, was born in americus, georgia in , eight years before emancipation, on a plantation which covered an area of approximately five miles. upon this expansive plantation about slaves lived and labored. at its main entrance stood a large white colonial mansion. in this abode lived dick snellings, the master, and his family. the snellings plantation produced cotton, corn, oats, wheat, peanuts, potatoes, cane and other commodities. the live stock consisted primarily of hogs and cattle. there was on the plantation what was known as a "crib," where oats, corn and wheat were stored, and a "smoke house" for pork and beef. the slaves received their rations weekly, it was apportioned according to the number in the family. mack mullen's mother was named ellen and his father sam. ellen was "house woman" and sam did the blacksmithing, ellen personally attended mrs. snellings, the master's wife. mack being quite young did not have any particular duties assigned to him, but stayed around the snellings mansion and played. sometimes "marster" snellings would take him on his knee and talk to him. mack remembers that he often told him that some day he was going to be a noble man. he said that he was going to make him the head overseer. he would often give him candy and money and take him in his buggy for a ride. plantation life: the slaves lived in cabins called quarters, which were constructed of lumber and logs. a white man was their overseer, he assigned the slaves their respective tasks. there was also a slave known as a "caller." he came around to the slave cabins every morning at four o'clock and blew a "cow-horn" which was the signal for the slaves to get up and prepare themselves for work in the fields. all of them on hearing this horn would arise and prepare their meal; by six o'clock they were on their way to the fields. they would work all day, stopping only for a brief period at midday to eat. mack mullen says that some of the most beautiful spirituals were sung while they labored. the women wore towels wrapped around their heads for protection from the sun, and most of them smoked pipes. the overseer often took mack with him astride his horse as he made his "rounds" to inspect the work being done. about sundown, the "cow-horn" of the caller was blown and all hands stopped work, and made their way back to their cabins. one behind the other they marched singing "i'm gonna wait 'til jesus comes." after arriving at their cabins they would prepare their meals; after eating they would sometimes gather in front of a cabin and dance to the tunes played on the fiddle and the drum. the popular dance at that time was known as the "figure dance." at nine p.m. the overseer would come around; everything was supposed to be quiet at that hour. some of the slaves would "turn in" for the night while others would remain up as long as they wished or as long as they were quiet. the slaves were sometimes given special holidays and on those days they would give "quilting" parties (quilt making) and dances. these parties were sometimes held on their own plantation and sometimes on a neighboring one. slaves who ordinarily wanted to visit another plantation had to get a permit from the master. if they were caught going off the plantation without a permit, they were severely whipped by the "patrolmen" (white men especially assigned to patrol duty around the plantation to prevent promiscuous wandering from plantations and "runaways.") whipping: there was a white man assigned only to whip the slaves when they were insubordinate; however, they were not allowed to whip them too severely as "marster" snellings would not permit it. he would say "a slave is of no use to me beaten to death." marriage: when one slave fell in love with another and wanted to marry they were given a license and the matrimony was "sealed." there was no marriage ceremony performed. a license was all that was necessary to be considered married. in the event that the lovers lived on separate plantations the master of one of them would buy the other lover or wedded one so that they would be together. when this could not be arranged they would have to visit one another, but live on their respective plantations. religion: the slaves had a regular church house, which was a small size building constructed of boards. preaching was conducted by a colored minister especially assigned to this duty. on tuesday evenings prayer meeting was held; on thursday evenings, preaching; and on sundays both morning and evening preaching. at these services the slaves would "get happy" and shout excitedly. those desiring to accept christ were admitted for baptism. baptism: on baptismal day, the candidates attired in white robes which they had made, marched down to the river where they were immersed by the minister. slaves from neighboring plantations would come to witness this sacred ceremony. mack mullen recalls that many times his "marster" on going to view a baptism took him along in his buggy. it was a happy scene, he relates. the slaves would be there in great numbers scattered about over the banks of the river. much shouting and singing went on. some of the "sisters" and "brothers" would get so "happy" that they would lose control of themselves and "fall out." it was then said that the holy ghost had "struck 'em." the other slaves would view this phenomena with awe and reverence, and wait for them to "come out of it." "those were happy days and that was real religion," mack mullen said. education: the slaves were not given any formal education, however, mullen's master was not as rigid as some of the slave-holders in prohibiting the slaves from learning to read and write. mrs. snellings, the mistress, taught mack's mother to read and write a little, and mr. snellings also taught mack's father how to read, write and figure. having learned a little they would in turn impart their knowledge to their fellow slaves. freedom: mullen vividly recalls the day that they heard of their emancipation; loud reports from guns were heard echoing through the woods and plantations; after awhile "yankee" soldiers came and informed them that they were free. mr. snellings showed no resistance and he was not harmed. the slaves on hearing this good news of freedom burst out in song and praises to god: it was a gala day. no work was done for a week; the time was spent in celebrating. the master told his slaves that they were free and could go wherever they wanted to, or they could remain with him if they wished. most of his slaves refused to leave him because he was considered a good master. they were thereafter given individual farms, mules and farm implements with which to cultivate the land; their former master got a share out of what was raised. there was no more whipping, no more forced labor and hours were less drastic. mack mullen's parents were among those slaves who remained; they lived there until mr. snellings died, and then moved to isonvillen, near americus, georgia, where his father opened a black-smith shop, and made enough money to buy some property. another child was added to the family, a girl named mariah. by this time mack had become a young man with a strong desire to travel, so he bade his parents farewell and headed for tampa, florida. after living there awhile he came to jacksonville, florida. at the time of his arrival in jacksonville, bay street was paved with blocks and there were no hard surfaced streets in the city. he was one of the construction, foremen of the windsor hotel. mack mullen is tall, grey haired, sharp featured and of caucasian strain (his mother was a mulatto) with a keen mind and an appearance that belies his years. he laments that he was freed because his master was good to his slaves; he says "we had everything we wanted; never did i think i'd come to this--got to get relief." ( ) reference . from an interview with mack mullen, a former slave at his residence, west first street, jacksonville, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) j.m. johnson, field worker jacksonville, florida november , louis napoleon about three miles from south jacksonville proper down the old saint augustine road lives one louis napoleon an ex-slave, born in tallahassee, florida about , eight years prior to emancipation. his parents were scipio and edith napoleon, being originally owned by colonel john s. sammis of arlington, florida and the floyd family of saint marys, georgia, respectively. scipio and edith were sold to arthur randolph, a physician and large plantation owner of fort louis, about five miles from the capital at tallahassee. on this large plantation that covered and area of about eight miles and composed approximately of slaves is where louis napoleon first saw the light of day. louis' father was known as the wagoner. his duties were to haul the commodities raised on the plantation and other things that required a wagon. his mother edith, was known as a "breeder" and was kept in the palatial randolph mansion to loom cloth for the randolph family and slaves. the cloth was made from the cotton raised on the plantation's fertile fields. as louis was so young, he had no particular duties, only to look for hen nests, gather eggs and play with the master's three young boys. there were seven children in the randolph family, three young boys, two "missy" girls and two grown sons. louis would go fishing and hunting with the three younger boys and otherwise engage with them in their childish pranks. he says that his master and mistress were very kind to the slaves and would never whip them, nor would he allow the "driver" who was a white man named barton to do so. barton lived in a home especially built for him on the plantation. if the "driver" whipped any of them, all that was necessary for the slave who had been whipped was to report it to the master and the "driver" was dismissed, as he was a salaried man. plantation life. the slaves lived in log cabins especially built for them. they were ceiled and arranged in such a manner as to retain the heat in winter from the large fireplaces constructed therein. just before the dawn of day, the slaves were aroused from their slumber by a loud blast from a cow-horn that was blown by the "driver" as a signal to prepare themselves for the fields. the plantation being so expansive, those who had to go a long distance to the area where they worked, were taken in wagons, those working nearby walked. they took their meals along with them and had their breakfast and dinner on the fields. an hour was allowed for this purpose. the slaves worked while they sang spirituals to break the monotony of long hours of work. at the setting of the sun, with their day's work all done, they returned to their cabins and prepared their evening's meal. having finished this, the religious among them would gather at one of the cabin doors and give thanks to god in the form of long supplications and old fashioned songs. many of them being highly emotional would respond in shouts of hallelujahs sometimes causing the entire group to become "happy" concluding in shouting and praise to god. the wicked slaves expended their pent up emotions in song and dance. gathering at one of the cabin doors they would sing and dance to the tunes of a fife, banjo or fiddle that was played by one of their number. finished with this diversion they would retire to await the dawn of a new day which indicated more work. the various plantations had white men employed as "patrols" whose duties were to see that the slaves remained on their own plantations, and if they were caught going off without a permit from the master, they were whipped with a "raw hide" by the "driver." there was an exception to this rule, however, on sundays the religious slaves were allowed to visit other plantations where religious services were being held without having to go through the matter of having a permit. religion. there was a free colored man who was called "father james page," owned by a family of parkers of tallahassee. he was freed by them to go and preach to his own people. he could read and write and would visit all the plantations in tallahassee, preaching the gospel. each plantation would get a visit from him one sunday of each month. the slaves on the randolph plantation would congregate in one of the cabins to receive him where he would read the bible and preach and sing. many times the services were punctuated by much shouting from the "happy ones." at these services the sacrament was served to those who had accepted christ, those who had not, and were willing to accept him were received and prepared for baptism on the next visit of "father page." on the day of baptism, the candidates were attired in long white flowing robes, which had been made by one of the slaves. amidst singing and praises they marched, being flanked on each side by other believers, to a pond or lake on the plantation and after the usual ceremony they were "ducked" into the water. this was a day of much shouting and praying. education. the two "missy" girls of the randolph family were dutiful each sunday morning to teach the slaves their catechism or sunday school lesson. aside from this there was no other training. the war and freedom. mr. napoleon relates that the doctor's two oldest sons went to the war with the confederate army, also the white "driver," barton. his place was filled by one of the slaves, named peter parker. at the closing of the war, word was sent around among the slaves that if they heard the report of a gun, it was the yankees and that they were free. it was in may, in the middle of the day, cotton and corn being planted, plowing going on, and slaves busily engaged in their usual activities, when suddenly the loud report of a gun resounded, then could be heard the slaves crying almost en-masse, "dems de yankees." straightway they dropped the plows, hoes and other farm implements and hurried to their cabins. they put on their best clothes "to go see the yankees." through the countryside to the town of tallahassee they went. the roads were quickly filled with these happy souls. the streets of tallahassee were clustered with these jubilant people going here and there to get a glimpse of the yankees, their liberators. napoleon says it was a joyous and un-forgetable occasion. when the randolph slaves returned to their plantation, dr. randolph told them that they were free, and if they wanted to go away, they could, and if not, they could remain with him and he would give them half of what was raised on the farms. some of them left, however, some remained, having no place to go, they decided it was best to remain until the crops came off, thus earning enough to help them in their new venture in home seeking. those slaves who were too old and not physically able to work, remained on the plantation and were cared for by dr. randolph until their death. napoleon's father, scipio, got a transfer from the government to his former master, colonel sammis of arlington, and there he lived for awhile. he soon got employment with a mr. hatee of the town and after earning enough money, bought a tract of land from him there and farmed. there his family lived and increased. louis being the oldest of the children obtained odd jobs with the various settlers, among them being governor reid of florida who lived in south jacksonville. governor reid raised cattle for market and napoleon's job was to bring them across the saint johns river on a litter to jacksonville, where they were sold.[hw:?] louis napoleon is now aged and infirm, his father and mother having died many years ago. he now lives with one of his younger brothers who has a fair sized orange grove on the south side of jacksonville. he retains the property that his father first bought after freedom and on which they lived in arlington. his hair white and he is bent with age and ill health but his mental faculties are exceptionally keen for one of his age. he proudly tells you that his master was good to his "niggers" and cannot recall but one time that he saw him whip one of them and that when one tried to run away to the yankees. only memories of a kind master in his days of servitude remain with him as he recalls the dark days of slavery. references personal interview with louis napoleon, south jacksonville, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) rachel a. austin, field worker jacksonville, florida december , margrett nickerson in her own vernacular, margrett nickerson was "born to william a. carr, on his plantation near jackson, leon county, many years ago." when questioned concerning her life on this plantation, she continues: "now honey, its been so long ago, i don' 'member ev'ything, but i will tell you whut i kin as near right as possible; i kin 'member five uf marse carr's chillun; florida, susan, 'lijah, willie and tom; cose carr never 'lowed us to have a piece uf paper in our hands." "mr. kilgo was de fust overseer i 'member; i was big enough to tote meat an' stuff frum de smokehouse to de kitchen and to tote water in and git wood for granny to cook de dinner and fur de sucklers who nu'sed de babies, an' i carried dinners back to de hands." "on dis plantation dere was 'bout a hunnerd head; cookin' was done in de fireplace in iron pots and de meals was plenty of peas, greens, cornbread burnt co'n for coffee--often de marster bought some coffee fur us; we got water frum de open well. jes 'fore de big gun fiahed dey fotched my pa frum de bay whar he was makin' salt; he had heerd dam say 'de yankees is coming and wuz so glad." "dere wuz rice, cotton, co'n, tater fields to be tended to and cowhides to be tanned, thread to be spinned, and thread wuz made into ropes for plow lines." "ole marse carr fed us, but he did not care what an' whar, jes so you made dat money and when yo' made five and six bales o' cotton, said: 'yo' ain don' nuthin'." "when de big gun fiahed on a sattidy me and cabe and minnie howard wuz settin' up co'n fur de plowers to come 'long and put dirt to 'em; carr read de free papers to us on sunday and de co'n and cotton had to be tended to--he tole us he wuz goin' to gi' us de net proceeds (here she chuckles), what turned out to be de co'n and cotton stalks. den he asked dem whut would stay wid him to step off on de right and dem dat wuz leavin' to step off on da left." "my pa made soap frum ashes when cleaning new ground--he took a hopper to put de ashes in, made a little stool side de house put de ashes in and po'red water on it to drip; at night after gittin' off frum work he'd put in de grease and make de soap--i made it sometime and i make it now, myself." "my step-pa useter make shoes frum cowhides fur de farm han's on de plantation and fur eve'body on de plantation 'cept ole marse and his fambly; dey's wuz diffunt, fine." "my grandma wus pheobie austin--my mother wuz name rachel jackson and my pa wus name edmund jackson; my mother and uncle robert and joe wus stol' frum virginia and fetched here. i don' know no niggers dat 'listed in de war; i don' 'member much 'bout de war only when de started talking 'bout drillin' men fur de war, joe sanders was a lieutenant. marse carr's sons, tom and willie went to de war." "we didn' had no doctors, only de grannies; we mos'ly used hippecat (ipecac) fur medicine." "as i said, kilgo was de fust overseer i ricollec', then sanders wuz nex' and joe sanders after him; john c. haywood came in after sanders and when de big gun fiahed old man brockington wus dere. i never saw a nigger sold, but dey carried dem frum our house and i never seen 'em no mo'." "we had church wid de white preachers and dey tole us to mind our masters and missus and we would be saved; if not, dey said we wouldn'. dey never tole us nothin' 'bout jesus. on sunday after workin' hard all de week dey would lay down to sleep and be so tired; soon ez yo' git sleep, de overseer would come an' wake you up an' make you go to church." "when de big gun fiahed old man carr had six sacks uf confederate money whut he wuz carrying wid him to athens georgia an' all de time if any uf us gals whar he wuz an' ax him 'marse please gi us some money' (here she raises her voice to a high, pitiful tone) he says' i aint got a cent' and right den he would have a chis so full it would take a whol' passle uv slaves to move it. he had plenty corn, taters, pum'kins, hogs, cows ev'ything, but he didn' gi us nuthin but strong plain close and plenty to eat; we slept in ole common beds and my pa made up little cribs and put hay in dem fur de chillun." "now ef you wanted to keep in wid marster carr don' drap you shoes in de field an' leave 'em--he'd beat you; you mus' tote you' shoes frum one field to de tother, didn' a dog ud be bettern you. he'd say 'you gun-haided devil, drappin' you' shoes and eve'thin' over de field'." "now jes lis'en, i wanna tell you all i kin, but i wants to tell it right; wait now, i don' wanna make no mistakes and i don' wanna lie on nobody--i ain' mad now and i know taint no use to lie, i takin' my time. i done prayed an' got all de malice out o' my heart and i ain' gonna tell no lie fer um and i ain' gonna tell no lie on um. i ain' never seed no slaves sold by marster carr, he wuz allus tellin' me he wuz gonna sell me but he never did--he sold my pa's fust wife though." "dere wuz uncle george bull, he could read and write and, chile, de white folks didn't lak no nigger whut could read and write. carr's wife miss jane useter teach us sunday school but she did not 'low us to tech a book wid us hands. so dey useter jes take uncle george bull and beat him fur nothin; dey would beat him and take him to de lake and put him on a log and shev him in de lake, but he always swimmed out. when dey didn' do dat dey would beat him tel de blood run outen him and den trow him in de ditch in de field and kivver him up wid dirt, head and years and den stick a stick up at his haid. i wuz a water toter and had stood and seen um do him dat way more'n once and i stood and looked at um tel dey went 'way to de other rows and den i grabbed de dirt ofen him and he'd bresh de dirt off and say 'tank yo', git his hoe and go on back to work. dey beat him lak dat and he didn' do a thin' to git dat sort uf treatment." "i had a sister name lytie holly who didn' stand back on non' uv em; when dey'd git behin' her, she'd git behin' dem; she wuz dat stubbo'n and when dey would beat her she wouldn' holler and jes take it and go on. i got some whuppin's wid strops but i wanter tell you why i am cripple today: "i had to tote tater vines on my haid, me and fred' rick and de han's would be a callin fur em all over de field but you know honey, de two uv us could' git to all uvum at once, so joe sanders would hurry us up by beatin' us with strops and sticks and run us all over de tater ridge; he cripple us both up and den we couldn' git to all uv em. at night my pa would try to fix me up cose i had to go back to work nex' day. i never walked straight frum dat day to dis and i have to set here in dis chair now, but i don' feel mad none now. i feels good and wants to go to he'ven--i ain' gonna tel no lie on white nor black cose taint no use." "some uv de slaves run away, lots uv um. some would be cot and when dey ketched em dey put bells on em; fust dey would put a iron ban' 'round dey neck and anuder one 'round de waist and rivet um tegether down de back; de bell would hang on de ban' round de neck so dat it would ring when de slave walked and den dey wouldn' git 'way. some uv dem wore dese bells three and four mont'n and when dey time wuz up dey would take em off 'em. jake overstreet, george bull, john green, ruben golder, jim bradley and a hos' uv others wore dem bells. dis is whut i know, not whut somebody else say. i seen dis myself. en missus, when de big gun fiahed, de runerway slaves comed out de woods frum all directions. we wuz in de field when it fiahed, but i 'members dey wuz all very glad." "after de war, we worked but we got pay fur it." "ole man pierce and others would call some kin' of a perlitical (political) meetin' but i could never understan' whut dey wuz talkin' 'bout. we didn' had no kin' uv schools and all i knows but dem is dat i sent my chillums in leon and gadsden counties." "i had lots uv sisters and brothers but i can't 'member de names of none by lytie, mary, patsy and ella; my brothers, is edmond and cornelius jackson. cornelius is livin' now somewhere i think but i don' never see him." "when de big gun fiahed i was a young missy totin' cotton to de scales at de ginhouse; ef de ginhouse wuz close by, you had to tote de cotton to it, but ef it wuz fur 'way wagins ud come to de fields and weigh it up and take it to de ginhouse. i was still livin' near lake jackson and we went to abram bailey's place near tallahassee. carr turned us out without nuthin and bailey gi'd us his hammoc' and we went dere fur a home. fust we cut down saplin's fur we didn' had no house, and took de tops uv pines and put on de top; den we put dirt on top uv dese saplin's and slep' under dem. when de rain would come, it would wash all de dirt right down in our face and we'd hafter buil' us a house all over ag'in. we didn' had no body to buil' a house fur us, cose pa was gone and ma jes had us gals and we cut de saplin's fer de man who would buil' de house fer us. we live on bailey's place a long time and fin'lly buil' us a log cabin and den we went frum dis cabin to gadsden county to a place name concord and dere i stay tel i come here 'fore de fiah." "i had twelve chillun but right now missus, i can only 'member dese names: robert, 'lijah, edward, cornelius, littie, rachel and sophie." "i was converted in leon county and after freedom i joined de methodist church and my membership is now in mount zion a.m.e. church in jacksonville, florida." "my fust husban was nelson walker and de las' one was name dave nickerson. i don' think i was years old when de big gun fiahed, but i was more' --i reckon i wuz a little older den flossie may (a niece who is years of age) is now." ( ) mrs. nickerson, according to her information must be about or years of age, sees without glasses having never used them; she does not read or write but speaks in a convincing manner. she has most of her teeth and a splendid appetite. she spends her time sitting in a wheel-chair sewing on quilts. she has several quilts that she has pieced, some from very small scraps which she has cut without the use of any particular pattern. she has a full head of beautiful snowy white hair and has the use of her limbs, except her legs, and is able to do most things for herself. ( ) she lives with her daughter at myrtle avenue, jacksonville, florida. references . personal interview with margrett nickerson, myrtle avenue, jacksonville, florida . sophia nickerson starke, myrtle avenue, daughter of margrett nickerson, jacksonville, florida [tr: references moved from beginning of interview.] federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) rachel a. austin, field worker monticello, florida november , douglas parish douglas parish was born in monticello, florida, may , , to charles and fannie parish, slaves of jim parish. fannie had been bought from a family by the name of palmer to be a "breeder", that is a bearer of strong children who could bring high prices at the slave markets. a "breeder" always fared better than the majority of female slaves, and fannie parish was no exception. all she had to do was raise children. charles parish labored in the cotton fields, the chief product of the parish plantation. as a small boy douglas used to spend his time shooting marbles, playing ball, racing and wrestling with the other boys. the marbles were made from lumps of clay hardened in the fireplace. he was a very good runner, and as it was a custom in those days for one plantation owner to match his "nigger" against that of his neighbor, he was a favorite with parish because he seldom failed to win the race. parish trained his runners by having them race to the boundary of his plantation and back again. he would reward the winner with a jack-knife or a bag of marbles. just to be first was an honor in itself, for the fastest runner represented his master in the fourth of july races when runners from all over the country competed for top honors, and the winner earned a bag of silver for his master. if parish didn't win the prize, he was hard to get along with for several days, but gradually he would accept his defeat with resolution. prizes in less important races ranged from a pair of fighting cocks to a slave, depending upon the seriousness of the betting. douglas' first job was picking cotton seed from the cotton. when he was about years of age, he became the stable boy, and soon learned about the care and grooming of horses from an old slave who had charge of the parish stables. he was also required to keep the buggies, surreys, and spring-wagons clean. the buggies were light four-wheeled carriages drawn by one horse. the surreys were covered four-wheeled carriages, open at the sides, but having curtains that may be rolled down. he liked this job very much because it gave him an opportunity to ride on the horses, the desire of all the boys on the plantation. they had to be content with chopping wood, running errands, cleaning up the plantation, and similar tasks. because of his knowledge of horses, douglas was permitted to travel to the coast with his boss and other slaves for the purpose of securing salt from the sea water. it was cheaper to secure salt by this method than it was to purchase it otherwise. life in slavery was not all bad, according to douglas. parish fed his slaves well, gave them comfortable quarters in which to live, looked after them when they were sick, and worked them very moderately. the food was cooked in the fireplace in large iron pots, pans and ovens. the slaves had greens, potatoes, corn, rice, meat, peas, and corn bread to eat. occasionally the corn bread was replaced by flour bread. the slaves drank an imitation coffee made from parched corn or meal. since there was no ice to preserve the left-over food, only enough for each meal was prepared. parish seldom punished his slaves, and never did he permit his overseer to do so. if the slaves failed to do their work, they were reported to him. he would warn them and show his black whip which was usually sufficient. he had seen overseers beat slaves to death, and he did not want to risk losing the money he had invested in his. after his death, his son managed the plantation in much the same manner as his father. but the war was destined to make the parishes lose all their slaves by giving them their freedom. even though they were free to go, many of the slaves elected to remain with their mistress who had always been kind to them. the war swept away much of the money which her husband had left her; and although she would liked to have kept all of her slaves, she found it impossible to do so. she allowed the real old slaves to remain on the premises and kept a few of the younger ones to work about the plantation. douglas and his parents were among those who remained on the plantation. his father was a skilled bricklayer and carpenter, and he was employed to make repairs to the property. his mother cooked for the parishes. many of the negroes migrated north, and they wrote back stories of the "new country" where "de white folks let you do jes as you please." these stories influenced a great number of other negroes to go north and begin life anew as servants, waiters, laborers and cooks. the negroes who remained in the south were forced to make their own living. at the end of the war, foods and commodities had gone up to prices that were impossible for the negro to pay. ham, for example, cost ¢ and ¢ a pound; lard was ¢; cotton was two dollars a bushel. douglas' father taught him all that he knew about carpentry and bricklaying, and the two were in demand to repair, remodel, or build houses for the white people. although he never attended school, charles parish could calculate very rapidly the number of bricks that it would take to build a house. after the establishing of schools by the freedmen's bureau, douglas' father made him go, but he did not like the confinement of school and soon dropped out. the teachers for the most part, were white, who were concerned only with teaching the ex-slaves reading, writing, and arithmetic. the few colored teachers went into the community in an effort to elevate the standards of living. they went into the churches where they were certain to reach the greatest number of people and spoke to them of their mission. the negro teachers were cordially received by the ex-slaves who were glad to welcome some "yankee niggers" into their midst. whereas the white teachers did not bother with the negroes except in the classroom, other white men came who showed a decided interest in them. they were called "carpetbaggers" because of the type of traveling bag which they usually carried, and this term later became synonymous with "political adventurer." these men sought to advance their political schemes by getting the negroes to vote for certain men who would be favorable to them. they bought the negro votes or put a negro in some unimportant office to obtain the goodwill of the ex-slaves. they used the ignorant colored minister to further their plans, and he was their willing tool. the negro's unwise use of his ballot plunged the south further and further into debt and as a result the south was compelled to restrict his privileges. reference . personal interview with douglas parish, monticello, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) viola b. muse, field worker palatka, florida november , george pretty george pretty of vero beach and gifford, florida, was born a free man, at altoona, pennsylvania, january , . his father isaac pretty was also free born. his maternal grand-father alec mccoy and his paternal grand-father george pretty were born slaves who lived in the southern part of pennsylvania. he does not know how his father came to be born free but knows that he was told that from early childhood. in altoona, according to george, there were no slaves during his life there but in southern pennsylvania slavery existed for a time. his grand-parents moved from southern pennsylvania during slavery but whether they bought their freedom or ran away from their masters was never known to george. as in most of the southland, the customs of the negro in altoona abounded in superstition and ignorance. they had about the same beliefs and looked upon life with about the same degree of intelligence as negroes in the south. the north being much colder than the south naturally had long ago used coal for fuel. open grates were used for cooking just as open fireplaces were used in the south. iron skillets or spiders as they called them, were used for cooking many foods, meats, vegetables, pies puddings and even cakes were baked over the fire. the old familiar, often referred to as southern ash cake, was cooked on the hearth under the grate, right in altoona, pennsylvania. the north because of its rapid advance in the use of modern ways of cooking and doing many other things has been thought by many people to have escaped the crude methods of cooking, but not so. george told how a piece of thick paper was placed on the hearth under the grate and corn dough put upon it to bake. hot ashes were raked over it and it was left to cook and brown. when it had remained a long enough time, the ashes were shaken off, the cake brushed clean with a cloth and no grit was encountered when it was eaten. isaac pretty, george's father owned a large harness shop at altoona and made and sold hundreds of dollars worth of saddles and harness to both northern and southern plantation owners. ( ) there was a constant going and coming of northern and southern owners; southern ones seeking places to buy implements for farming and other inventions as well as trying to locate runaway slaves. abolitionists were active in the north and there were those who assisted slaves across the boundary lines between free and slave states. negroes in the north who were free and had intelligence enough saw the gravity in assisting their slave brothers in the south. some risked their lives in spreading propaganda which they thought would aid the enslaved negroes in becoming free. in and around altoona, negroes were very progressive and appreciated their freedom, and had a great deal of sympathy for their fellows and did all they could to demonstrate their attitude toward the slave traffic. money was solicited and freely given to help abolitionists spread propaganda about freedom. it is striking to note the similarity of living conditions in pennsylvania and georgia, florida and the carolinas. ex-slaves who live in florida now but who came here since the emancipation of the negro tell of living conditions of their respective states; they are very similar to the modes of living in altoona, during slavery. ( ) soap was made from grease and lye just as it was made in the south. shin-plaster (paper money similar to green back, which represented amounts less than a dollar) were very plentiful and after the civil war confederate money of all kinds was as so much trash. food stuffs which were raised on the farm at altoona were: corn, peanuts, white potatoes and peas. enough peas were raised to feed the stock and take care of the family for months. potatoes were raised in large quantities and after they were dug they were banked for the winter. by banked, it is meant, large holes were dug in the cellar of the house or under the house or inside of an outhouse; pine straw was put into this pit and the potatoes piled in; more straw was laid on and more potatoes piled in until all were in the pit. dirt was shoveled over the lot and it was left until for using them. northern people used and still use a large amount of white, or irish potatoes. in curing hides of cows for making leather the same method was employed as that used in the south. hides were first salted and water was poured over them. they were covered with dirt and left to soak a few days. a solution of red oak bark was made by soaking the bark in water and this solution was poured over the hides. after it soaked a few days the hair was scraped off with a stiff brush and when it dried leather was ready for making shoes and harness. george's father dealt extensively in leather and when he could not get enough cured himself, he bought of others who could supply him. now george's mother was very handy at the spinning wheel and loom. he remembers how the bunch of cotton was combed in preparation for spinning. cards with teeth were arranged on the spinning wheel and the mass of cotton was combed through it to separate it into fibers. the fibers were rolled between the fingers and then put upon the spinning wheel to be spun into thread. as it was spun, it was wound upon spools. after the spools were filled they were taken off and put on the loom. threads were strung across the loom some above others and the shuttle running back and forth through the threads would make cloth. all that was done by hand power. a person working at the loom regularly soon became proficient and george's mother was one who bore the name of being a very good weaver of cloth. most of the clothes the family wore were home spun. underwear and sleeping garments were made of the natural colored homespun cloth. when colored cloth was wanted a dye was made to dip them in so as to get the desired color. dyes were made by soaking red oak bark in water. another was made of elder berries and when a real blood red was desired polk berries were used. polk berries made a blood red dye and was considered very beautiful. walnut hulls were used to make brown dye and it was lasting in its effects. in making dye hold its color, the cloth and dye were boiled together. after it had "taken" well, the cloth was removed from the dye and rinsed well, the rinse water was salted so as to set the color. tubs for washing clothes and bathing purposes were made of wood. some were made from barrels out in tew parts. in cutting a stay was left longer on each side and holes were cut length wise in it so there would be sufficient room for all of the fingers to fit. that was for lifting the tub about. a very interesting side of george's life was depicted in his statement of the longevity of his innocence. we may call it ignorance but it seems to be more innocence when compared to the incident of adam and eve as told in the holy bible in the book of genesis. he was years of age before he knew he was a grown man, or how life was given humans. in plain words he did not know where babies came from, nor how they were bred. whenever george's mother was expecting to be confined with a baby's birth, his father would say to all the children together, large and small alike, "your mother has gone to new york, baltimore, buffalo" or any place he would think of at the time. there was an upstairs room in their home and she would stay there six weeks. she would go up as soon as signs of the coming child would present themselves. a midwife came, cooked three meals a day, fed the children and helped keep the place in order. in older times people taught their children to respect older persons. they obeyed everyone older than themselves. the large children were just as obedient as the small ones so that it was not hard to maintain peace and order within any home. the midwife in this case simply told all of the children that she did not want any of them to go upstairs, as she had important papers spread out all over the floor and did not want them disturbed. no questions were asked, she was obeyed. george does not remember having heard a single cry the whole time they were being born in that upper room, and he said many a baby was born there. decorum reigned throughout the household for six weeks or until their mother was ready to come down. when the time was up for mother to come down, his father would casually say, "children your ma is coming home today and what do you recon, someone has given her another baby." the children would say, almost in concert, "what you say pa, is it a boy or girl?" he would tell them which it was and nothing more was said nor any further inquiry made into the happening. the term "broke her leg" was used to convey the meaning of pregnancy. george relates how his mother told him and his sister not to have any thing more to do with mary jones, "cause she done broke her leg." george said "ma taint nothin matter wid mary; i see her every day when the bell rings for ; she works across the street from pa's shop and she and me sets on the steps and talks till time fur her to go back to work." his mother said, "dont spute me george, i know she is broke her leg and i want yall to stay way frum her." george said, "ma i aint sputing you, jes somebody done misinform you dats all. she aint got no broke leg, she walks as good as me." his mother said "then i'm a lie." george quickly replied, "no ma, you aint no lie, but somebody done told you wrong." nothing was said further on the question of mary jones until that same evening when isaac pretty came home from the shop. the mother took him aside and told him of how she had been disputed and called a lie by george and added that she wanted george whipped for it. "come here george," came a commanding voice shortly after the mother and father had been in conference. george obeyed and his father took him apart from the family and locked himself and george in a room. he said "george i know i haven't done right by not telling you, you are grown. you are years old now and i want to tell you some things you should know." george was all eyes and ears, for he had been told when previously asked how old he was, "i'll tell you when you get grown." that was all he had heard from his parents for years and he was just waiting for him to tell him. his father told him how babies were born and about his mother confining herself in the upper room all the different times when she expected babies. he told him that his mother had never been out of town to boston or baltimore on any of the past occasions. in fact he told george all he knew to tell him. now the startling thing about it all is that when he had finished giving the information about babies he said, "now george your mother told me that you called her a lie today." george at once said, "pa i didn't call her a lie, i jes told someone had misinform her 'bout mary, that she aint got her leg broke cause i see her every day." his father said "i know 'taint right to whip you fur that george but your ma said she wanted me to whip you and i'll have to do it." that settled it. george received his first lesson in sex and received the last flogging his father ever gave him. he was now grown and could take his place as a man. afterwards the mother took all her daughters aside and told them the same as isaac had told george. (that is she told the grown girls about sex life.) george and his older sister talked the whole plan over after they got a chance and decided that since they were now grown, they did not have to give their earnings to their parents any longer. they decided to move into one of their father's houses on the place and furnish it up. they were making right good money considering the times related george, and with both of them pulling together they soon would have sufficient money saved up to buy a piece of land and start out on a plot of ground of their own. george told his father their plans. his father asked how much money he had. he told him dollars or more. his father said "you've saved dollars out of what i've allowed you?" george answered in the affirmative. his father said, "do you know how far that will go?" george said he did not, his father answered "not far my boy." a few days after the conversation, isaac pretty furnished one of his houses with the necessary equipment and let george and his sister live there. they had their own bed-rooms and each bought some food. the girl and george both cooked the meals and did the main thing they had set out to do, letting nothing stand in the way of their progress. when a few months had passed both children had accumulated a nice sum of money. george was prepared to marry and take care of a wife. his sister eliza, who lived with him had saved almost as much money and when she married she was an asset to the man of her choice rather than a liability. george had close contact with nature in his early life. the close contact with his mother for years had done something for george which was lasting as well as beneficial. she was a close adherent to nature. she believed in and knew the roots and herbs which cured bodily ailments. this was handed down to her children and george pretty claims to know every root and herb in the woods. he can identify each as they are presented to him, says he. doctors were never used by the ordinary family when george was growing up and during his stay at altoona. he was called in to sew up a cut place which was too much for home treatment. he was also called in to probe for a bullet but for fever or colds or even child-birth he was considered an unnecessary expense. herbs and roots were widely utilized in olden days and during slavery and early reconstruction. the old slave has brought his practices to this era and he is often found gathering and using them upon his friends and neighbors. george pretty knows that black snake root is good for blood trouble for he has used it on many a person with safety and surety. sasafras tea is good for colds; golden rod tea for fever; fig leaves for thrash; red oak bark for douche; slippery elm for fever and female complaint (when bark is inserted in the vagina); catnip tea is good for new born babies; sage tea is good for painful menstruation or slackened flow; fig leaves bruised and applied to the forehead for fever are very affective; they are also good to draw boils to a head; okra blossoms when dried are good for sores (the dried blossoms are soaked in water and applied to the sore and bound with clean old linen cloth); red shank is good for a number of diseases; missing link root is for colds and asthma. george said this is a sure cure for asthma. fever grass is a purgative when taken in the form of a tea. the blades are steeped in hot water and a tea made. fever grass is a wide blade grass growing straighter than most grass. it has a blue flower and is found growing wild around many places in florida. it is plentiful in certain parts of palatka, florida. riding vehicles in early days were called buggies. the first one george remembers was the go cart. it had two wheels and was without a top. only two people could ride in a go cart. the equilibrium was kept by buckling the harness over and under the horse's belly. the strap which ran under the belly was called the belly girt. there was a side strap which ran along the horse's side and the belly girt was fastened to this. loops were put to vantage points on the side strap and through these the shafts of the cart were run. the strap going under and over the horse kept the cart from going too far forward or backward. during george's early life plows looked very much like they do today. they had wooden handles but the part which turned the ground was made of point iron, (he could not describe point iron.) plows were not made of cast iron or steel as they are today. two kinds of plows were used so far as george remembers. one was called the skooter plow and the other the turn plow. the skooter plow he describes as one which broke the ground up which had been previously planted. when the earth needed loosening up to make more fit for planting, this plow was used over the earth, leaving it rather smooth and light. the turn plow was used to turn the ground completely over. where grass and weeds had grown, the earth needed turning over so as to thoroughly uproot the weeds and grass. the ground was usually left a while so that the weeds could die and rot and then men with hoes would go over the ground and make it ready for planting. when freedom came to negroes in the slave territory, george remembers that sherman's army drilled a long time after the civil war had ended. he saw them right in pennsylvania. he was much impressed with their blue suits and brass buttons and which fitted them so well. some of the men wore suits with braid on them and they supposedly were the officers of the outfit. negro and white men were in the same companies he saw and all were manly and walking proudly. as george was fifteen years of age when freedom came much of which he related happened after emancipation. he being out of the slave territory did not have as much contact with the slaves, but he lived around his grand parents who had been slaves in the southern part of the state. after slavery they moved up to altoona, with george's parents and brought much in the way of customs to george. grandfather mccoy and also grandfather pretty told of many experiences that they went through during their enslavement. the negro and white over-seer was much in evidence down there and buying and selling of children from their parents seemed to have left a sad memory with george. isaac pretty's family was large. he had seven girls and seven boys, george being the eldest. george remembers how his heart would ache when his grandfather told of the children who were torn from their mother's skirts and sold, never to see their parents again. he went into deep thought over how he would have hated to have been separated from his mother and father to say nothing of leaving his brothers and sisters. they were brought up to love each other and the thought of breaking the family ties seemed to him very cruel. when george was told that he was grown as formerly related, he saved his money and when the great earth quake in charleston occured he went down there to see what it had done to the place. before that time in he remembered having seen the first block of ice. when he got there, the charleston people had been making ice for a few years. it was about that time that george saw the first pair of bed springs. george remained in pennsylvania and other states farther north for a long time after freedom. his first trip to florida was made in . he came direct from altoona, pennsylvania, with a white man whose name he has forgotten as he did not remain in the man's employ very long after reaching the state. since that time he has farmed in and around different parts of florida, but now he resides at tero beach and gifford, florida. he makes regular trips to palatka, being as much at home there as in the cities on the east coast. george says that he has never had a doctor attend him in his life, neither while he was in altoona, nor since he has been in florida. he claims to be able to identify any root or herb that grows in the woods in the state of florida having studied them constantly since his arrival here. before coming to this state he knew all the roots and herbs around altoona and it still acquainted with them as he makes regular visits there, since he moved away years ago. ( ) george pretty is a dark complexioned man; about five feet three inches in heighth; weighs about pounds and looks to be much younger than he is. when asked how he had maintained his youth, he said that living close to nature had done it together with his manner of living. he does not dissipate, neither does he drink strong drink. he is a ready informant. having heard that only information of slavery was wanted, he volunteered information without any formality or urging on the part of the writer. ( ) ( ) references . george pretty, vero beach and gifford, florida . observation of field worker federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers unit) viola b. muse, field worker jacksonville, fla. january , anna scott an ex-slave who went to africa anna scott, an ex-slave who now lives in jacksonville near the intersection of moncrief and edgewood avenues, was a member of one of the first colonization groups that went to the west coast of africa following the emancipation of the slaves in this country. the former slave was born at dove city, south carolina, on jan. , , of a half-breed cherokee-and-negro mother and anglo-saxon father. her father owned the plantation adjoining that of her master. when she reached the adolescent age anna was placed under the direct care of her mistress, by whom she was given direct charge of the dining-room and entrusted with the keys to the provisions and supplies of the household. a kindred love grew between the slave girl and her mistress; she recalls that everywhere her mistress went she was taken also. she was kept in 'the big house'. she was not given any education, though, as some of the slaves on nearby plantations were. religion was not denied to the former slave and her fellows. mrs. abigail dever[tr:?], her owner, permitted the slaves to attend revival and other services. the slaves were allowed to occupy the balcony of the church in dove city, while the whites occupied the main floor. the slaves were forbidden to sing, talk, or make any other sound, however, under penalty of severe beatings. those of the slaves who 'felt the sperrit' during a service must keep silence until after the service, when they could 'tell it to the deacon', a colored man who would listen to the confessions or professions of religion of the slaves until late into the night. the negro deacon would relay his converts to the white minister of the church, who would meet them in the vestry room at some specified time. some of the questions that would be asked at these meetings in the vestry room would be: "what did you come up here for?" "because i got religion". "how do you know you got religion?" "because i know my sins are forgive". "how do you know your sins are forgiven?" "because i love jesus and i love everybody". "do you want to be baptized?" "yes sir." "why do you want to be baptized?" "cause it will make me like jesus wants me to be". when several persons were 'ready', there would be a baptism in a nearby creek or river. after this, slaves would be permitted to hold occasional servives of their own in the log house that was sometimes used as a school. mrs. scott remembers vividly the joy that she felt and other slaves expressed when first news of their emancipation was brought to them. both she and her mistress were fearful, she says; her mistress because she did not know what she would do without her slaves, and anna because she thought the union soldiers would harm mrs. dove. when the chief officer of the soldiers came to the home of her mistress, she says, he demanded entrance in a gruff voice. then he saw a ring upon mrs. dove's finger and asked: "where did you get this?" when told that the ring belonged to her husband, who was dead, the officer turned to his soldiers and told them that they should "get back; she's alright!" provisions intended for the confederate armies were broken open by the union soldiers and their followers, and anna's mother, to protect her master, organized groups of slaves to 'tote the meat from the box cars and hide it in dugouts under the mistress' house'. this meat was later divided between negroes and whites. a provost judge followed the advance of the army, and he obtained a list of all of the slaves held by each master. mrs. dove gave her list to the official, who called each slave by name and asked what that slave had done on the plantation. he asked, also, whether any payment had been made to them since the emancipation proclamation had been signed, and when answered in the negative told them that 'you are free now and must be paid for all of the work you have done since the proclamation was signed and that you will do in the future. don't you work for anybody without pay'. the provost judge also told the slaves that they might leave if they liked, and anna was among those who left. she went to visit the husband of her mother in charleston. with her mother and five other children, anna crossed rivers on log rafts and rode on trains to charleston. elias mumford was anna's step-father in charleston, and after spending a year there with him the entire family joined a colonizing expedition to west africa. there were in the expedition, and it left in . transportation was free. the trip took several weeks, but finally the small ship landed at grand bassa. mumford did not like the place, however, and continued on to monrovia, liberia. he did not like monrovia, either, and tried several other ports before being told that he would have to get off, anyway. this was at harper cape, w. africa. here he almost immediately began an industry that was to prove lucrative. oysters were 'large as saucers', according to anna, and while the family gathered these he would burn them and extract lime from them. this he mixed with the native clay and made brick. in addition to his brick-making mumford cut trees for lumber, and with his own brick and lumber would construct houses and structures. one such structure brought him $ . . another manner in which mumford added to his growing wealth was through the cashing of checks for the missionaries of the section. ordinarily they would have to send these back to the united states to be cashed, and when he offered to cash them--at a discount--they eagerly utilized the opportunity to save time; this was a convenience for them and more wealth for mumford. anna found other things besides happiness in her eight years in africa. there were death, sickness, and pestilences. she mentions among the latter the african ants, some of which reached huge proportions. most dreaded were the mission ants, which infested every house, building and structure. sometimes buildings had to be burned to get rid of them. the bite of these ants was so serious that after sixty years anna still exhibits places on her feet where the ants left their indelible traces. another of the ant pests was the driver ant, so large, powerful and stubborn that even bodies of water did not stop them. they would join themselves together above the surface of the water and serve as bridges for the passage of the other ants. the driver ants moved in swarms and their approach could be seen at great distances. when they were seen to be coming toward a settlement the natives would close their doors and windows and build fires around their homes to avoid them. these fires had to be kept burning for weeks. eight and more persons died a day from the african fever during the early colonization attempts; three of these in anna's family alone were victims of it. it was generally believed that if a victim of the fever became wet by dew he was sure to die. after eight years mumford and the remainder of his family returned to america, where the accrued checks he possessed for cashing made him reasonably wealthy. anna married robert scott and moved to jacksonville, where she has lived since. at ninety-one she still occupies the little farm on the outskirts of jacksonville that was purchased with the money left to her out of her mother's inheritance (from the african transactions of mumford) and robert's post-slavery savings, and in front of her picturesque little cottage spins yarns for the neighbors of her early experiences. bibliography interview with subject, mrs. anna scott, edgewood and moncrief avenues (route , box ) jacksonville, fla. federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) j.m. johnson, field worker john a. simms, editor chaseville, florida august , william sherman in chaseville, florida, about twelve miles from jacksonville on the south side of the saint johns river lives william sherman (locally pronounced _schumann_,) a former slave of jack davis, nephew of president jefferson davis of the confederacy. ( ) william sherman was born on the plantation of jack davis, about five miles from robertsville, south carolina, at a place called "black swamp," june , , twenty-three years prior to emancipation. his father who was also named william sherman, was a free man, having bought his freedom for eighteen hundred dollars from his master, john jones, who also lived in the vicinity of the davis' plantation. william sherman, senior, bargained with his master to obtain his freedom, however, for he did not have the money to readily pay him. he hired himself out to some of the wealthy plantation owners and applied what he earned toward the payment for his freedom. he was a skilled blacksmith and cabinet maker and his services were always in demand. after procuring his freedom he bought a tract of land from his former master and built a home and blacksmith shop on it. as was the custom during slavery, a person who bought his freedom had to have a guardian; sherman's former master, john jones, acted as his guardian. under this new order of things sherman was in reality his own master. he was not "bossed," had his own hours, earned and kept his money, and was at liberty to leave the territory if he desired. however, he remained and married anna georgia, the mother of william sherman, junior. she was also a slave of jack davis. after william sherman, senior, finished his day's work he would go to the davis plantation to visit his wife and sometimes remain for the night. it was his intention to purchase the freedom of his wife anna georgia, and their son william, but he died before he had sufficient money to do so, and also before the civil war, which he predicted would ensue between the north and south. his son william says that he remembers well the events that led up to his father's burial; he states that the white people dug his grave which was six feet deep. it took them three days in which to dig it on account of the hardness of the clay; when it was finished he was put sorrowfully away by the white folk who thought so much of him. william was a boy of nine at that time, and he remembers that his mother was so grieved that he tried to console her by telling her not to worry "papa's goin' to com' back and bring us some more quails" (he had been accustomed to bringing them quails during his life) but william sorrowingly said "he never did come back." anna georgia was a cook and general house woman in the davis' home. she was a half breed, her mother being a cherokee indian. her husband, william, was a descendant of the cheehaw indians, some of his a forbears being full-blooded cheehaws. their indian blood was fully evident, states william junior. the davis family tree as he knew it was as follows: three brothers, sam, thomas and jefferson davis (president of the confederacy.) sam was the eldest of the three and had four children, viz: jack, robert, richard and washington. thomas had four, viz: james, richard, rusha and minna. jefferson davis' family was not known to william as he lived in virginia, whereas, the other brothers and their families lived near each other at "black swamp." jack davis, the master of william sherman, was the son of sam davis, brother of jefferson davis. thomas and sam davis were comparatively large men, while jefferson was thin and of medium height, resembling to a great extent the late henry flagler of florida east coast fame, states william. many times he would come to visit his brothers at "black swamp." he would drive up in a two-wheeled buggy, drawn by a horse. oft'times he visited his nephew, jack and they would get together in a lengthy conversation. sometimes he would remain with the davis family for a few days and then return to virginia. on these visits william states that he saw him personally. these visits or sojourns occurred prior to the civil war. jack davis being a comparatively poor man had only eight slaves on his plantation; they were housed in log cabins made of cypress timber notched together in such a way as to give it the appearance of having been built regular lumber. it was much larger and of different architecture than the slave cabins, however. the few slaves that he had arose at : o'clock in the morning and prepared themselves for the field. they stopped at noon for a light lunch which they always took with them and at sun-down they quit work and went to their respective cabins. cotton, corn, potatoes and other commodities were raised. there was no regular "overseer" employed. davis, the master acted in that capacity. he was very kind to them and seldom used the whip. after the outbreak of the civil war, white men called "patarollers" were posted around the various plantations to guard against runaways, and if slaves were caught off their respective plantations without permits from their masters they were severely whipped. this was not the routine for jack davis' slaves for he gave the "patarollers" specific orders that if any of them were caught off the plantation without a permit not to molest them but to let them proceed where they were bound. will said that one of the slaves ran away and when he was caught his master gave him a light whipping and told him to "go on now and run away if you want to." he said the slave walked away but never attempted to run away again. will states that he was somewhat of a "pet" around the plantation and did almost as he wanted to. he would go hunting, fishing and swimming with his master's sons who were about his age. sometimes he would get into a fight with one of the boys and many times he would be the victor, his fallen foe would sometimes exclaim that "that licking that you gave me sure hurt," and that ended the affair; there was no further ill feeling between them. education: the slaves were not allowed to study. the white children studied a large "blue back" webster speller and when one had thoroughly learned its contents he was considered to be educated. religion: the slaves had their own church but sometimes went to the churches of their white masters where they were relegated to the extreme rear. john kelley, a white man, often preached to them and would admonish them as follows; "you must obey your master and missus, you must be good niggers." after the beginning of the war they held "meetings" among themselves in their cabins. baptism: those slaves who believed and accepted the christian doctrine were admitted into the church after being baptized in one of the surrounding ponds. cruelties: there was a very wealthy plantation owner who lived near the davis plantation; he had eleven plantations, the smallest one was cultivated by three hundred slaves. oftimes they would work nearly all night. will states that it was not an unusual thing to hear in the early mornings the echoes of rawhide whips cracking like the report of a gun against the bare backs of the slaves who were being whipped. they would moan and groan in agony, but the whipping went on until the master's wrath was appeased. john stokes, a white plantation owner who lived near the davis' plantation encouraged slaves to steal from their masters and bring the stolen goods to him; he would purchase the goods for much less than their value. one time one of the slaves "put it out" that "massa" stokes was buying stolen goods. stokes heard of this and his wrath was aroused; he had to find the "nigger" who was circulating this rumor. he went after him in great fury and finally succeeded in locating him, whereupon, he gave him a good "lacing" and warned him "if he ever heard anything like that again from him he was going to kill him." the accusations were true, however, but the slave desisted in further discussion of the affair for "old massa stokes was a treacherous man." on another occasion one of the stokes' slaves ran away and he sent steven kittles, known as the "dog man," to catch the escape. (the dogs that went in pursuit of the runaway slaves were called "nigger dogs"; they were used specifically for catching runaway slaves.) this particular slave had quite a "head start" on the dogs that were trailing him and he hid among some floating logs in a large pond; the dogs trailed him to the pond and began howling, indicating that they were approaching their prey. they entered the pond to get their victim who was securely hidden from sight; they dissapeared and the next seen of them was their dead bodies floating upon the water of the pond; they had been killed by the escape. they were full-blooded hounds, such as were used in hunting escaped slaves and were about fifty in number. the slave made his escape and was never seen again. will relates that it was very cold and that he does'nt understand how the slave could stand the icy waters of the pond, but evidently he did survive it. civil war: it was rumored that abraham lincoln said to jefferson davis, "work the slaves until they are about twenty-five or thirty years of age, then liberate them." davis replied: "i'll never do it, before i will, i'll wade knee deep in blood." the result was that in , the civil war, that struggle which was to mark the final emancipation of the slaves began. jefferson davis' brothers, sam and tom, joined the confederate forces, together with their sons who were old enough to go, except james, tom's son, who could not go on account of ill health and was left behind as overseer on jack davis' plantation. jack davis joined the artillery regiment of captain razors company. the war progressed, sherman was on his famous march. the "yankees" had made such sweeping advances until they were in robertsville, south carolina, about five miles from black swamp. the report of gun fire and cannon could be heard from the plantation. "truly the yanks are here" everybody thought. the only happy folk were, the slaves, the whites were in distress. jack davis returned from the field of battle to his plantation. he was on a short furlough. his wife, "missus" davis asked him excitedly, if he thought the "yankees" were going to win. he replied: "no if i did i'd kill every _damned nigger_ on the place." will who was then a lad of nineteen was standing nearby and on hearing his master's remarks, said: "the yankees aint gonna kill me cause um goin to laurel bay" (a swamp located on the plantation.) will says that what he really meant was that his master was not going to kill him because he intended to run off and go to the "yankees." that afternoon jack davis returned to the "front" and that night will told his mother, anna georgia, that he was going to robertsville and join the "yankees." he and his cousin who lived on the davis' plantation slipped off and wended their way to all of the surrounding plantations spreading the news that the "yankees" were in robertsville and exhorting them to follow and join them. soon the two had a following of about five hundred slaves who abandoned their masters' plantations "to meet the yankees." en masse they marched breaking down fences that obstructed their passage, carefully avoiding "confederate pickets" who were stationed throughout the countryside. after marching about five miles they reached a bridge that spanned the savannah river, a point that the "yankees" held. there was a union soldier standing guard and before he realized it, this group of five hundred slaves were upon him. becoming cognizant that someone was upon him, he wheeled around in the darkness, with gun leveled at the approaching slaves and cried "halt!" will's cousin then spoke up, "doan shoot boss we's jes friends." after recognizing who they were, they were admitted into the camp that was established around the bridge. there were about seven thousand of general sherman's soldiers camped there, having crossed the savannah river on a pontoon bridge that they had constructed while enroute from green springs georgia, which they had taken. the guard who had let these people approach so near to him without realizing their approach was court martialed that night for being dilatory in his duties. the federal officers told the slaves that they could go along with them or go to savannah, a place that they had already captured. will decided that it was best for him to go to savannah. he left, but the majority of the slaves remained with the troops. they were enroute to barnswell, south carolina, to seize blis creek fort that was held by the confederates. as the federal troops marched ahead, they were followed by the volunteer slaves. most of these unfortunate slaves were slain by "bush whackers" (confederate snipers who fired upon them from ambush.) after being killed they were decapitated and their heads placed upon posts that lined the fields so that they could be seen by other slaves to warn them of what would befall them if they attempted to escape. the battle at blis creek fort was one in which both armies displayed great heroism; most of the federal troops that made the first attack, were killed as the confederates seemed to be irresistible. after rushing up reinforcements, the federals were successful in capturing it and a large number of "rebels." general sherman's custom was to march ahead of his army and cut rights of way for them to pass. at this point of the war, many of the slaves were escaping from their plantations and joining the "yankees." all of those slaves at black swamp who did not voluntarily run away and go to the "yankees" were now free by right of conquest of the federals. will now found himself in savannah, georgia, after refusing to go to barnswell, south carolina, with the federals. this refusal saved him from the fate of his unfortunate brothers who went. savannah was filled with smoke, the aftermath of a great battle. lying in the "broad river" between beaufort, south carolina, and savannah, georgia were two union gun boats, the _wabash_ and _man o war_, which had taken part in the battle that resulted in the capture of savannah. everything was now peaceful again; savannah was now a union city. many of the slaves were joining the union army. those slaves who joined were trained about two days and then sent to the front; due to lack of training they were soon killed. the weather was cold, it was february, , frost was on the ground. will soon left savannah for beaufort, south carolina which had fallen before the "yankee" attack. soldiers and slaves filled the streets. the slaves were given all of the food and clothes that they could carry--confiscated goods from the "rebels." after a bloody struggle in which both sides lost heavily and which lasted for about five years, the war finally ended may , . will was then a young man twenty-three years of age and was still in beaufort. he says that day was a gala day. everybody celebrated (except the southerners). the slaves were _free_. thousands of federal soldiers were in evidence. the union army was victorious and "sherman's march" was a success. sherman states that when jefferson davis was captured he was disguised in women's clothes. sherman states that florida had the reputation of having very cruel masters. he says that when slaves got very unruly, they were told that they were going to be sent to florida so they could be handled. during the war thousands of slaves fled from virginia into connecticut and new hampshire. in william sherman left beaufort and went to mayport, florida to live. he remained there until , then moved to arona, florida, living there for awhile; he finally settled in chaseville, florida, where he now lives. during his many years of life he has been married twice and has been the father of sixteen children, all of whom are dead. he never received any formal education, but learned to read and studied taxidermy which he practiced for many years. he was at one time inspector of elections at mayport during reconstruction days. he recalled an incident that occurred during the performance of his duties there, which was as follows: mr. john doggett who was running for office on the democratic ticket brought a number of colored people to mayport by boat from chaseville to vote. mr. doggett demanded that they should vote, but will sherman was equally insistent that they should not vote because they had not registered and were not qualified. after much arguing mr. doggett saw that sherman could not be made "to see the light" and left with his prospective voters. william sherman once served upon a united states federal jury during his colorful life. in appearance he could easily be regarded as a phenomenon. he is ninety-four years of age, though he appears to be only about fifty-five. his hair is black and not grey as would be expected; his face is round and unlined; he has dark piercing but kindly eyes. he is of medium stature. he has an exceptionally alert mind and recalls past events with the ease of a youth. the indian blood that flows in his veins is plainly visible in his features, the color of his skin and the texture of his hair. he gives as his reason for his lengthy life the indian blood that is in him and says that he expects to live for nintey-four more years. today he lives alone. he raises a few vegetables and is content in the memories of his past life which has been full. ( ) references . most of his friends call him sherman, hence he adopted that name. . a personal interview with william sherman, former slave, at home in colored quarters, chaseville, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) martin d. richardson, field worker jacksonville, florida january , samuel smalls a voluntary slave for seven years the story of a free negro of connecticut, who came south to observe conditions of slavery, found them very distasteful, then voluntarily entered that slavery for seven years is the interesting tale that samuel smalls, year old ex-slave of johnson street, jacksonville, tells of his father cato smith. smith had been born in connecticut, son of domestic slaves who were freed while he was still a child. he grew to young manhood in the northern state, making a living for himself as a carpenter and builder. at these trades he is said to have been very efficient. still unmarried at the age of about , he found in himself a desire to travel and see how other negroes in the country lived. this he did, going from one town to another, working for periods of varying length in the cities in which he lived, eventually drifting to florida. his travels eventually brought him to suwannee county, where he worked for a time as overseer on a plantation. on a nearby plantation where he sometimes visited, he met a young woman for whom he grew to have a great affection. this plantation is said to have belonged to a family of cones, and according to smalls, still exists as a large farm. smith wanted to marry the young woman, but a difficulty developed; he was free and she was still a slave. he sought her owner. smith was told that he might have the woman, but he would have to "work out" her cost. he was informed that this would amount to seven years of work on the plantation, naturally without pay. within a few days he was back with his belongings, to begin "working out" the cost of his wife. but his work found favor in his voluntary master's eyes; within four years he was being paid a small sum for the work he did, and by the time the seven years was finished, smith had enough money to immediately purchase a small farm of his own. adversity set in, however, and eventually his children found themselves back in slavery, and smith himself practically again enslaved. it was during this period that smalls was born. all of the florida slaves were soon emancipated, however and the voluntary slave again became a free man. he lived in the suwannee county vicinity for a number of years afterward, raising a large family. reference personal interview with samuel smalls, ex-slave, johnson street, jacksonville, florida federal writers' project the american guide, (negro writers' unit) cora n. taylor frances h. miner, editor miami, florida may , salena taswell salena taswell, nw th st., miami, fla. . where, and about when, were you born? in perry, ga. in . . if you were born on a plantation or farm, what sort of farming section was it in? ole dr. jameson's plantation near perry, ga. north of macon. . how did you pass the time as a child? what sort of chores did you do and what did you play? i worked around the table in my massy's dining room. i didn't play. i sometimes pulled threads for mother. she was a fine seamstress for the plantation. . was your master kind to you? yes; i was the pet. . how many slaves were there on the same plantation or farm? he must have had about slaves. . do you remember what kind of cooking utensils your mother used? we had copper kettles, crocks, and iron kettles. "i waited on de table when lincum came dare. that day we had chicken hash and batter cakes and dried venison." . what were your main foods and how were they cooked? we had everything that was good (i ate in my massy's kitchen) sweet potatoes biscuits, corn bread, pies and everything we eat now. . do you remember making imitation or substitute coffee by grinding up corn or peanuts? no, we always had the best of java coffee. i used to grind it in the coffee mill for my massy. . do you remember ever having, when you were young, any other kind of bread besides corn bread? yes. batter cakes, biscuits and white bread. . do you remember evaporating sea water to get salt? no. we did not live so far from macon and the ole doctor he was rich and bought such things. that is how he come to be so rich. he didn't charge the poor folks when he doctored them, but they would be so glad that he made them well that they kep' a givin' him things, bed quilts, chickens, just ever' thing. then he had such a big plantation about or acres, but i didn't live on the plantation. i worked in his home. . when you were a child, what sort of stove do you remember your mother having. did they have a hanging pot in the fire place, and did they make their candles of their own tallow? my mother did not cook,--she was a special seamstress servant. they had fireplaces on the plantation and they always used tallow candles at the doctor's place until after the 'mancipation, then the doctor was one of the first ones to buy coal oil lamps. . did you use an open well or pump to get the water? no, we went to the spring to get the water. we toted it in cedar buckets. the spring was boxed into a well shaped hole, deep enough to dip the water out of it. it was the best water. they had a town pump at macon. . do you remember when you first saw ice in regular form? yes. they had icicles in georgia. . did your family work in the rice fields or in the cotton fields on the farm, or what sort of work did they do? my father was a blacksmith. he did all kinds of blacksmithing. he even made plows. . if they worked in the house or about the place, what sort of work did they do? my mother was one of the best seamstresses; she sewed all day long with her fingers. she made the finest silk dresses and even made tailored suits. . do you remember ever helping tan and cure hides and pig hides? they did those things on the plantation. they cured goat skins and sheep skins, too. the sheep skins would dry so slowly that they would let the slaves lie on them at night to keep them warm and hasten the drying. . as a young person what sort of work did you do? if you helped your mother around the house or cut firewood or swept the yard, say so. i cleaned and dusted and waited on the table, made beds and put everything in order, washed dishes, polished silverware and did the most trusty work. . when you were a child do you remember how people wove cloth, or spun thread, or picked out cotton seed, or weighed cotton, or what sort of bag was used on the cotton bales? i did not need to spin but i used to play with the spinning wheels. they ginned the cotton on the plantation. they used a horse to pull the gin. they weighed the cotton with a beam and weight. a good slave picked lbs of cotton in a day. nancy could pick or lbs in a day. she'd go out early in the day and run in ahead of the sun and no one would know she had been out. that's how she would get ahead of the rest. . do you remember what sort of soap they used? how did they get the lye for making the soap? they made soft soap boiled in a big kettle. they made the lye out of ashes packed in an old barrel that had a hole in the bottom. they would make a hollow in the top of the barrel and pour rain water in it. this would gradually soak through the ashes and seep out of the bottom of the barrel which they tipped up so that it would drain the lye out into a vessel. then they would take the lye and boil it in the kettle with old grease and meat rinds. the lye was very strong. they had to be careful not to get any of it on their hands or it would take the skin off. as they would stir the grease and lye it would foam and cook like a jelly and when it cooled we had soft soap. it would sure chase the dirt, but it was hard on the hands. . what did they use for dyeing thread and cloth, and how did they dye them? they would dig indigo roots and cook the roots and branches for blue dye. for purple they mixed red and blue. they would pick the berries off the gallberry bushes for red. the robin's yellow and mixed yellow and red for orange; and yellow and blue for green. . did your mother use big, wooden washtubs with cut-out holes on each side for the fingers? yes. we made cedar tubs on the plantation. and we had some men who made large wooden bowls out of juggles cut from logs of the tupla tree. they would run them through a machine and they would come out round and then they would smooth them down. they mixed bread in those big bowls. . do you remember the way they made shoes by hand in the country? yes, all our shoes were made on the plantation. . do you remember saving the chicken feathers and goose feathers always for your featherbeds? yes. . do you remember when women wore hoops in their skirts, and when they stopped wearing them and wore narrow skirts? yes. the doctor's folks were so stylish that they would not let the servants wear hoops, but we could get the old ones that they threw away and have a big time playing with them and we would go around with them on when they were gone and couldn't see us. . do you remember when you first saw your first windmill? never did see one. . do you remember when you first saw bed springs instead of bed ropes? yes. when i was a slave, i slept in a gunny sack bunk with the sacks nailed against the wall on two sides, in a corner of the room and then there was a post at the corner of the bed and two poles nailed from the post to the walls and the gunny sacks were nailed to those poles. my bed was a two-story bed. there was another gunnysack bed above me with poles fastened to the same post. we tore old rags and made rag rugs for quilts to cover us with. i worked in the doctor's house in the daytime but i had to sleep in the shed at night. then after i wasn't a slave no more, i never slept on anything else but a rope bed. when springs come i wondered what anyone wanted wid 'em. rope beds was good enough. . when did you see the first buggy and what did it look like? the doctor, he had the best of such things. he had a regular buggy and sometimes he driv two horses in hit. uncle albert, he wuz his driver. when the doctor wanted to put on great style, and go to the station to meet some rich company he had one of the fancy cabs with the driver sittin' up high in front, but when he went to see his patients, he'd take his feet to go around. he had two saddle packs with a strap that he would throw over his shoulder. he would have one pack hanging in front and the other hanging behind. . do you remember your grandparents? no, my mother's mother was taken from her and sold when she was a baby. so i never seed my grandmother and i don't know any more about my grandfather than a _goose about a band box_. . do you remember the money called "shin-plasters?" i've seen plenty. i guess my master had barrels of them. . what interesting historical events happened during your youth,--such as sherman's army passing through your section? did you witness the happenings and what was the reaction of the other negroes to them? sherman's army went through perry but they did not do any damage there. they expected them to come and buried lots of food and valuable things, and when they came they took them to the smoke houses and told them to help themselves. they did not burn any houses there. . did you know any negros who enlisted or joined the northern army? yes, plenty went with their boss, but ran off to sherman's army when he came along. one woman's husband i knowed, mr. bethel, he stayed with his master and didn't run off with the northern army. when he was given his freedom, his master give him nice house. . did you know any negroes who enlisted in the southern army? about all i knew. . did your master join the confederacy? what do you remember of his return from the war? or was he wounded or killed? his two sons joined the army. james was killed, but bud, he would never get through telling war stories when he came back. . did you live in savannah when sherman and the northern forces marked through the state, and do you remember the excitement in your town or around the plantation where you lived? no. . did your master's house get robbed or burned during the time of sherman's march? no. . what kind of uniforms did they wear during the civil war? blue and gray. . what sort of medicine was used in the days just after the war? describe a negro doctor of that period. we never got sick. sometimes they would give us oil with a drop or two of turpentine in a big spoonful. they put turpentine on cuts and sores. . what do you remember about northern people or outside people moving into a community after the war? yes, jake enos, he was a colored teacher. he was sent down to teach the colored school. he taught around from atlanta to florida. he took yellow fever and died my brother, he teached school, but i never went to school. i larned my abc's from my massy's children. i aint _never_ forgot 'em. i could say 'em now. . how did your family's life compare after emancipation with it before? i had it the same. i had it good with my massy, but the rest wuz paid some little wages. our plantation was called a free place. some of the slaves worked so well and made money for the massy and gained their freedom even befo' 'mancipashun. i heard one come to him and say i howe dat man $ an' he retched down in his pocket an' paid hit. . do you know anything about political meetings and clubs formed after the war? i heered about de kuklux but i never did see none. . do you know anything regarding the letters and stories from negroes who migrated north after the war? i hear talk 'bout some massys goin' arter dem an' bringin' back mor'n dey had in de fust place. . were there any negroes of your acquaintance who were skilled in any particular line of work, if so give details? the turners made furniture wid knobs an' bumps on just like that stand and bed. they made fancy chairs an' put cowhide seats stretch-across 'em. . what sort of school system was there for the instruction of the negro? were there any negro teachers in your community? yes. my son, he went to negro school three months a year. the son said that he studied webster's speller, harvey's reader, learned his abc's and studied some in history, geography and arithmetic. . how old were you at the close of the civil war? years. . describe the type of early religious meeting, the preachers, etc. i went to town to my massy's church. i sat 'long side on 'em and held the baby. my father, he held meetings on the plantation and prayer meetings just like they have now. . do your friends believe in charms and conjure bags, and what has been their experience with magic and spells? i guess some claim dey believe in sech things, but i don't know whether they do or not. . did you ever use an ox to plow with? what sort of plow? yes, i see 'em plow wid hoxen. dey used the kind of plows they made on the plantation. i didn't plow, but i used to have fun a goin' roun' in the old ox two-wheel wagon cart. i'd go down de hill in it; we'd get in the dump cart and holler an' have a big time. . how much did various foods and drinks and commodities cost just at the end of the war and afterwards? i don't know what things cost. [hw: negro-tampa-slave interviews] july , stories of florida prepared for use in public schools by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration a marine in ebony by jules a. frost dave taylor from a virginia plantation to florida, through perils of indian war-fare; shanghaied on a government vessel and carried 'round the world; shipwrecked and dropped into the lap of romance--these are only a few of the colorful pages from the unwritten diary of old uncle dave, ex-slave and soldier of fortune. the reporter found the old man sitting on the porch of his iber city shack, thoughtfully chewing tobacco and fingering his home-made cane. at first he answered in grumpy monosyllables, but by the magic of a good cigar, he gradually let himself go, disclosing minute details of a most remarkable series of adventures. his language is a queer mixture of geechy, sea terms and broad "a's" acquired by long association with nassau "conchs." married to one of these ample-waisted bahama women, the erst-while rambler and adventurer proved that rolling stones sometimes become suitable foundations for homes--he lived faithfully with the same wife for fifty-one years. "shippin' 'fore de mahst ain't no job to make a preacher f'm a youngster; hit's plenty tough; but i ain't nevah been sorry i went to sea; effen a boy gwine take to likker an' wimmen, he kin git plenty o'both at home, same as in for'n ports." the old man bit off a conservative chew from his small plug, carefully wrapped the remainder in his handkerchief and chewed thoughtfully for some time before he continued. "i wasn't bawn in florida, but i be'n here so long i reckon hit 'bout de same thing. i kin jes remember leavin' norfolk. my daddy an' mammy an' de odder chillun b'long to a frenchman named pinckney. musta be'n 'bout or , w'en mahstah 'gins to worry 'bout what gwine happen effen war come an' de vahginny slave-owners git beat." he proceeded slowly, and in language almost unintelligible at times, as he talked, smoked and chewed, all at the same time; but here, the reporter realized, were all the elements of a true story that needed only notebook and typewriter to transform it into readable form. antagonism aroused by the dred scott decision, and the further irritation caused by the fugitive slave law were kicking up plenty of trouble during buchanan's administration. south carolina had already seceded. major anderson was keeping the union flag flying at fort sumter, but latest reports said that there was no immediate danger of hostilities when pierre pinckney, thrifty virginia planter of french extraction, went into conference with his neighbors and decided to move while the getting-out was still good. with as little publicity as possible, they arranged the disposal of their real estate. no need to sell their slaves and livestock; they would need both in the new location. if they could manage to get to charleston, they reasoned, surely they could arrange for a boat to st. augustine. the indians might be troublesome there, but by settling near the fort they should be reasonably safe. before the caravan of oxcarts and heavy wagons came within sight of the old seaport town, it became evident that they had better keep to the woods. union soldiers, although still inactive, might at any time decide to confiscate their belongings, so they pushed on to the southward. long weeks dragged by before they finally reached st. augustine. war talk, and the possibility of attack by sea again caused them to change their plans. pooling their money, they chartered a boat and embarked for key west. surely they would be safe that far south. one of their virginia neighbors, fielding a. browne, had settled there thirty years before. taking advantage of the periodic sales of salvaged goods from wrecks on the treacherous keys, he had become wealthy and was said to hold a responsible position with the city. everyone was in a cheerful mood as the blue outline of key west peeped over the horizon, and all come on deck to catch a glimpse of their new home. suddenly dismay clutched at every heart as a federal man-of-war swung out of the harbor and steamed out to meet them. the long-feared crisis had come. they ware prisoners of war. pinckney and his neighbors were marched into fort taylor. their wives, children and slaves were allowed to settle in the city and care for themselves as best they could. pinckney's slaves consisted of one family, david taylor and wife, with their family of ten pickaninnies. colonel montgomery, federal recruiting officer, took advantage of the helplessness of the slave owners to sow discord among the blacks, and before many days big dave, father of the subject of this sketch, had "jined de yankees" as color sergeant and had been sent north, where he was killed in the attack on fort sumter. his determined and energetic -pound wife served mrs. pinckney faithfully through the war and long afterward. young dave, or "buddy," son of big dave, although only in his early teens, was her chief aid. when the war was over and mr. pinckney walked out of fort taylor a free man, the portly hannah "pooh-poohed" the announcement that she was a free citizen. "y'all done brung me heah," she blustered with emphasis, "an' heah i'se gwine t' stay." some years after the war pierre pinckney died. when his good wife became ill, frantic dismay pervaded the servants' quarters. as her last moments drew near, mrs. pinckney called the weeping hannah to her bedside and laid a bag of money in her hand. "to get you and the children back to old virginia," she whispered with her last breath. when the beloved "missus" was laid to rest by the side of her husband in the catholic cemetery, the bewildered hannah took the money to a white man, an old friend of the family, and asked him to buy the tickets back to virginia. he advised against it; said that the old home would not be there to comfort them. houses had been burned, trees cut down and old landmarks destroyed. he suggested that they take the hundred dollars in gold and buy a little home in key west, which they did. reconstruction days were as trying to key westers as to others all over the devastated land of dixie. slave owners, stripped of their possessions, taxed with an immense war debt and with no money or equipment to begin the slow climb back to normalcy were pathetic figures as they blistered their hands at toil that they had never known before. many of the slaves were more than willing to stay with their former masters, but with no income, the problem of feeding themselves was the main issue with the whites, so it was out of the question to try to fill other mouths, and ex-slaves often had to shift for themselves, a hopeless task for a race that had never been called upon to exert initiative. hannah taylor and her numerous offspring were a fair example of these irresponsible people. like a ship adrift without skipper or rudder, they were at the mercy of every adverse wind of misfortune. each morning they went out with frantic energy to earn or in some way procure sustenance for one more day. young dave hounded the sponge fishermen until they gave him an extra job. he made the rounds of the fishing docks, continually on the lookout to be of help, anxious to do anything at any time in exchange for a few articles of food that he could carry proudly home to his mother. "dem was mighty tryin' times," mused the old man, "an' i don't blame my mammy fer warmin' my pants when she had so much to worry 'bout. she had a way o' grabbin' me by de years an' shovin' my haid twixt her knees whilst she wuk on me sumpin' awful. no wonder i was scairt o' dese frammin's. i reckon dat was de cause o' me goin' t' sea. ah mas' tell you 'bout dat. "one day my mammy gimme fifteen cents an' say 'go down to de market and fetch me some fish. ah' lissen--don't you let no grass grew unda yo' feet. go on de run an' come back on de jump. does you fall down, jes' keep on a-goin' some-how.' "wid dat she turn an' spit on de step. 'you see dat spit,' she say. 'ef hit be dry w'en you git back, i gonna beat de meat offen yo' bones. git goin', now.' "well, i stahted, an i she' wasn't losin' no time. 'bout hahf way to de mahket, i meets a couple o' stewards f'm a u.s. navy cutter anchored off de navy yard. "hol' on, dar, boy,' 'dey sing out, 'wha you gwine so fas'? grab dis here basket an' tote hit down to de dock.' "i knowed i couldn't git back home 'fore dat spit dried, an' i be'n figgerin' how i could peacify my mammy so's to miss dat beatin'. i figger of i mek a quarter or hahf a dollar an' gin it to 'er, she mebbe forgit de paddlin'. so i take de bahsket an' foller 'em down to de water front. w'en we git dere dey was a sailor waitin' fer 'em wid a boat f'm de cutter. i set de bahsket in de boat an' stood waitin' fo' my money. "you ain't finished yo' job yit,' dey say. 'git yo'se'f in dat boat an' put dat stuff on be'd.' "w'en i gits on deck a cullud boy 'bout my size say 'wanna look about a bit?' so i foller him below an' fo' i knowed it, i feel de boat kinda shakin.' i run to a porthole an' look out. dere was key west too far away to swim back to. "i ran up on deck, an' dare was de steward w'at gin me de bahsket to tote. 'w'at th'ell you doin' on bo'd dis ship,' he ahsk me. "i tells 'im i ain't wantin' t' stay no mo'n he wants me, an' he takes me to de cap'm. 'i reckon he b'long to do navy now,' says de cap'm, 'so dey fix some papers an' i makes my mark on 'em. "ahftah a bit i find we bound fo' n'orleans. 'fore we got dere, a ship hove 'longside an' gin us a message to put about. i ahsk a li'l irishman, named jack, wha we gwine, an' he say, 'outa de worl'.' "jesus wep't i say, 'my mammy think i be daid.' i couldn't read nor write, an' didn't know how to tell noboddy how to back a letter to my mammy, so i jes' let hit go, an' we staht back de way we come. "i thought hit be'n stormin' all de time, but w'en we pahs thoo de florida straits i see w'at a real storm's like. i didn't know, ontell we was hahf way down de south american coast, headin fer cape horn, dat we done pahs key west, but i couldn't got off if i'd wanted to, 'cause i'd done jined de navy. "hit seem lak months 'fore we roun' de cape an' head back north on de pacific, an' hit seem lak a year 'fore we drop anchor in hong kong. dey tell me de admiral was stationed dere an' de cap'n had to report to him. w'ile he was doin' dis, we gits shore leave. "wen jack an' me gits on land, we couldn't onnerstan' a word, but we mek signs, an' a tough-lookin' chink motion fer us to foller him. we go down a dark street an' turn thoo an alley, then into a big room lighted with colored paper lanterns. on de flo' we see some folks sleepin' wit some li'l footstools 'longside 'em, an some of 'em was smokin' long-stemmed pipes. i figger mebbe dey goin' put us to sleep an' knock us in de haid. i look back an' see de do' swingin' shut, slow like, so i run back an' stick my foot in hit and shove hit back open. "jack an me run back de same way we come. pretty soon we find anotha sailor an' go wit him to a yaller man dat could speak english. he pin a li'l yaller flag on our shirts an' say hit de badge o' de chinese gov'ment, an' we be safe, cause we b'long to de u.s. navy. "we go out to see de sights, but nevah hear one mo' word o' english; so ahftah a time we go back to de ship an' stay ontell we put to sea again. "nex' we sails fo' panama. w'en we ties up dere, jack an' me goes ashore. ah nevah befo' see such pretty high-yaller gals in all my life. looks lak dey made o' marble, dey so puffick. "me an' jack gits likkered up de fust thing, an' i done lose 'im. dat worry me some, 'cause we need each otha. wit' his haid an' my arms we mek one pretty good man. dat lil irishman was a fightin' fool. weighed only pounds, but strong an' wiry. co'se he git licked mos' do time, but he allus ready fer anotha fight. "didn't lak for folks to call him irish. 'he fodder was irish and he mudder american,' he say; 'i be'n born aboard a dutch brig in french waters. now you tell me what flag i b'longs undah.' "wen we gits back to de ship, de boys tells me some english sailors beat jack up in de sportin' house. sumbuddy sing out 'beat it--de marines comin'!, an' dey all run for de ship an leff jack dere. "i don't ahsk no mo' questions; jes' start back on a run to find my buddy. at dat time i weigh , an' was pretty husky fer my age. bein' likkered plenty, i nevah thought 'bout gittin' beat up mahse'f. "w'en i gits back, dere was a big limey stahndin' wid his arms crost de do'. 'all dem in, stay in, an' all de outs stay out,' he say. "now i be'n trained to respec' white folks--what is white folks--ever sence i bawn; but w'en i think 'bout jack in dere, hahf dead, mebbe, dat limey don't look none too white to me. i take a runnin' staht an' but 'im in de belly wid my haid. "de nex' do' was locked, an' i bus' hit down. dere was jack, 'bout hahf done f'. blood all over de fla'. ev'thing in de room busted up an' tipped over. i hauls 'im to a back do', but hit locked. i kick out a winder, heaves 'im onto my shoulder, an' runs back to de ship. "wen we comes up, dere was de cap'm standin' at de rail. his blue eyes look lak he love to kill us. "'fall in!' he says, an' we does. 'go for'd,' he says, an' we goes. "'now' he says, wat's all dis about?' "'well,' says jack, 'i didn't staht no fight. i jes' goes into a saloon, peaceful like, an' a damn limey says, pointin' to a british flag on dere own ship, 'you see dat flag?' "'aye,' says jack, 'an' still i don't see nuthin'.' "'i be'n over de seven seas,' says de limey, 'an' i see dat ol' flag mistress of all of 'em.' "'you be'n around some,' says jack, 'but i done a li'l sailin' mahse'f. fust place i went was to france. grass look lak hit need rain,' (so he tells dat limey what he done fo' hit). "'nex' i goes to germany,' he says; 'ground no good; need fer'lizer.' (so he tells 'im what he done on german soil). "atter dat i ships fo' england,' jack tells de limey, lookin' 'im straight in de eye. 'fust thing i see w'en we land is dat british flag w'at you be'n braggin' so loud about.' (so he tells dat limey w'at 'e used de flag fer). "'fore god, cap'm,' says jack, 'dat limey lan' on me wid bofe feet 'fore i say anotha word. nevah got in one lick. fack is, cap'm i ain't be'n doin' _no fightin'_ sence i done lef' dis here ship." "'go below,' says de cap'm 'an' clean yo'se'f up. dis de lahst time you two gwine git shore leave on dis trip.' he try to look mad, but i see he wantin' to lahf. "de nex' day," uncle dave finished, with a whimsical smile, "i see de bos'n readin' in de paper 'bout de war 'twixt america an' england. hit was 'bout our li'l war--what _dey_ stahted an' _we_ finished." the dusky old veteran of many battles unwrapped the small piece of black tobacco in the soiled handkerchief, decided on conservation, and slowly wrapped it up again. "nex' comes orders from de admiral in hong kong to sail fer rio janeiro. w'en we drop anchor, dere was some o' da meanes' lookin' wharf rats i evah see. killers, dey was, willin' to knock anybody off, any time, fer a few cents. we lines up fer shore leave, but dey mek jack an' me stay on de ship. our rucus in panama done got us in bad wid de cap'm. but ah reckon hit was fer de bes'. one of our men come back wid a year cut off an' a busted nose. 'nother one neveh come back at all. "one mornin' i see 'em runnin' up a long pennant an' all de sailors lahf an dahnce about lak dey crazy. hit was de signal 'omeward boun'. we weigh anchor and head fer n'york. "'well, taylor,' da officer say, when he pay me off 'you gwine ship wid us again?' "'i gotta go home,' i tells 'im; 'got a job t' finish up in key west.' "so dey gin me my discharge an' a gov'ment pahs on de mallory liner _clyde_. w'en i gits to key west, fust place i goes was to dat fish mahket w'ere my mammy done sent me three year an' six months befo'. i buy fifteen cents wuth o' fish an' go on home. "w'en i git dere, dey was jes' settin' down to dinner. 'wait,' ah say, 'put on one mo' plate.' "my mammy look at me lak she done see a ghost. den she run an' 'gin beatin' on me. "'hol' on,' ah tells 'er, 'you ain't forgot dat beatin' yit? i done got yo' fish,' an' i gin 'er de pahcel. "'mah boy, mah boy,' she say, 'ah beatin' on yuh kase ah so proud t' see yuh. heah ah done wear black fer yuh, an' gin yuh up fer daid; an' bress de lawd, heah you is, lak come beck f'm de grave.' "ah retch down, in m' pocket an' pull a pahcel an' lay hit in her han'; three hunnert sebenty-eight dollahs, all de money i done made wid de gov'ment sence ah left, an' i gin hit all to 'er. she lak t' had a fit; an ah she' was de head man o' dat fembly whilst ah stayed. "but de salt water stick to me--ah couldn't stay ashore. so ahftah ah visit wid 'em a spell, ah goes down to de docks an' sign t' ship on a fo'-mahster tramp. dat ol' tub tek me all ovah de worl'." pressed for details of some of his physical encounters on this second voyage, uncle dave seemed in deep thought, and finally said: "well, ah tell you 'bout de time i fout de bully of de ship. we was still in key west, waitin' fer wind. dis ol' tramp ship, she got a crew picked up f'm all ovah de worl'. dere ain't no sich thing as a color line dere. at mess time, white an' black all git in de same line. as dey pahs by de table, each one take a knife an' cut off a piece o' meat. "dere was a big, high-yeller haiti higgah, what thought he done own de ship. 'trouble wiz 'merican niggahs,' he say, 'dey ain't got no sperrit. i be offisaire een my own countree--i don't bow ze knee to nobody, white or black." "so when dey line up, dis here haitian come crowdin' in ahead o' de fust man in de line, an' he cut off de bes' lean meat 'fore we gits ours. "what's dis,' ah say to de man ahead o' me, 'huccome dat white man don't bus' dat damn yeller swab wide open?' "'dat's rousseau,' 'e says; 'ain't nobuddy on dis ship big enough to put 'im on de tail end o' de line.' "i size 'im up good w'ile we eats. he weigh , dey tells me, an' nobuddy be'n lucky 'nuff to lay 'im out. 'cordin' t' ship rules, dey couldn't gang up on 'im. cap'm mek ev'ybuddy fight single. wan't no sich thing ez quarrelin'. effen two sailors gits in a rucus, day pipe 'em up on de main deck." "do what?" the reporter asked. "pipe 'em up--de bos'n blow a whistle an' call 'em in t' fight it out, w'ile de othas watch de fun. den day gotta shake han's, an' hit done settled. "well, ah see dis here haiti niggah be a li'l bigger'n me, but ah figger i gwine gin 'im a chajnce to staht sump'n de nex' time. so atter i takes a couple o' drinks, i goes down early an' gits fust in de line. sho' 'nuff, rousseau comes up an' crowds in ahead o' me. ah pushes him to one side, an' gits ahead o' him. he raises his eyebrows, sorta suprised-like, an' gits ahead o' me. i be fixin' to knock 'im clean ovah de rail, but by dat time, de cap'm had 'is eye on us. "'pee-e-e-e-p,' go de whistle; 'tay-lor-r-r-r' de bos'n sing out. "'taylor," i ahnswer. "'come to de mahst.' "i tells 'em how it was, how i fixin' to knock dat niggah so far into de gulf we be thoo eatin' 'fore he kin swim back. "'pipe 'im up, bos'n,' says de cap'm. "rousseau comes in, and de whole crew wid 'im, t' see de fight. 'pull off yer shirts,' says de cap'm, an' we done it. 'wait,' says de bos'n; 'de deck jes' be'n swabbed down--why bloody hit up, cap'm? how 'bout lettin' 'em fight on shore?' "day was a flatform 'side a buildin' nex' to de water. dey all line de rail an' let us go ashore t' scrap hit out. boy, dat _was_ some fight; we fout ontell we was lak two game roosters--both tired out, but still wantin' t' keep goin'. we jes' stan' dere, han's on each otha's shoulders, lookin' into each otha's eyes, blood runnin' down to our toes. pretty soon he back off an' try to rush me. i side steps, an' gits in a lucky lick below de heart. he draps to his knees, an' rolls ovah on his back, wallin' his eyes lak he dyin'. "dey lay 'im on de deck an' souse 'im wid a bucket o' water, but he sleeps right on. de res' go back to de mess line, all but me--i wan't hongry. de nex' day i gits in line early, but dey wan't no haiti niggah t' muscle in ahead o' me. he kep' to his bunk mighty nigh a week." judging from the appearance of this feeble old man, one would hardly think that he was once a rollicking scrapper, with ready fists like rawhide mallets. old dave dutifully gives full credit to the law of heredity. "m' daddy was six feet six, an' weighed pounds," he said proudly. "nevah done a hahd day's wuk in 'is life." when pressed for an explanation of this seeming phenomenon, the old man sniffed disdainfully. "does stock breeders wit a $ , -stallion put 'im on de plow?... dey called my daddy de $ , niggah." uncle dave sat, stroking his cane for a few minutes, then smiled faintly. "my mammy was mighty nigh as big, an' nevah seen a sick day in her life. wit a staht lak dat, hit ain't no wonder i growed up all backbone an' muscle." while there have been many instances of atrocious cruelty to slaves, uncle dave believes that other cases have been unduly magnified. he says that he was never whipped by his master, but remembers numerous chastisements at the hands of miss jessie, his young owner, daughter of pierre pinckney. "de young missus used to beat me a right smaht," he recalled with an amused smile. "i b'longed to her, y'see. she was a couple o' years younger'n me. i mind i used to be hangin' 'round de kitchen, watchin 'em cook cakes an' otha good things. w'en dey be done, i'd beg for one, an' dey take 'em off in de otha room, so's i couldn't steal any. "soon as de young missus be gone, i go an' kick ovah her playhouse an' upset her toys. when she come back, she be hoppin' mad, an staht beatin' me. "'jessie,' her ma'd say, 'you'll kill buddy, beatin' him dat way.' "'i don't care,' she say, 'i'll beat him to death, an' git me a bettah one.' "i'd roll on de flo' an' holler loud, an' preten' she hurt me pow'ful bad. by'm by, when she git ovah her mad spell, she go off in da otha room an' come back sid some o' dem good things fo' me." the old man's eyes twinkled. "dat be w'at i'se atter all de time," he explained. the perils of a life at sea are not as great as fiction writers sometimes indicate, according to this old sea dog. he says that in all his voyages, he has been in only one serious wreck. that was on a reef of coral keys off the bahamas. "day say dey ain't no wind so bad but what it blows some good to somebuddy," observed the old man. "dat same wind what land us on de rocks done blow me to de bes' woman in de worl'. ah reckon." he chewed slowly, as he gazed out over the dingy housetops toward the mass of feathery clouds, which must have been floating over the rocky shoals off nassau. "she was de daughter o' de wreckin' mahater, a nassau niggah by de name o' aleck gator. w'en de crew done got us off de shoal and was towin' de wreck in, dere she was, stahndin' on de dock, waitin' fer her daddy. big, overgrown gal, black an' devilish-lookin', noways handsome; but somehow i jes' couldn't keep my eyes offen her. i notice she keep eyein' me, too. "w'en we gits ashore, i didn't lose no time gittin in a good word f' mahse'r. 'fore i knowed it, we was talkin' 'bout wha' we gwine live ... fifty-one years is a mighty long time to stick to one woman, 'specially w'en you be'n lookin' over so many 'fore makin' up yo' mind ... dis is her." uncle dave extended a tinted photograph. his gnarled fingers trembled as he handed it over, and there was a suspicious softness in the lines of his wrinkled old face, as he looked fondly at the likeness of the stolid, dark features. "hit be'n mighty lonesome since she done lef' dis worl' fo' year ago," he said with feeling, as he carefully wrapped up the picture and put it away. uncle dave has definite ideas of his own regarding domestic economy. "trouble wid young folks nowadays is dey don't have no good unnerstahndin' 'fore dey gits married. 'fore we ever faces de preacher, i tells her she ain't gittin' no model man fer a husban'. i lake my likker, an' i gwine have it w'en i wants it. "'now lissen,' i tells 'er, 'effen i comes home drunk, don't you go t' bressin' ee[tr:?] out. don't you even _tetch_ me; jes' gimme a li'l piller an' lemme go lay down on de flo' somewheres. atter i drop off t' sleep, you kin tear de house down, and hit don't botha me none. wen i wakes up, i be all right.' "well, de fust time i come home full o' likker she done ferget w'at i tell her, an' staht shovin' me. i done bus' 'er on de jaw so pow'ful hahd hit lif' her feet offen de flo' an' she lan' in de corner on her haid. w'en i wakes up an' sees w'at i done, i wish i could hit mahse'f de same way. f'm dat day on, we nevah had no mo' trouble 'bout de likker question." the weight of years has at last cooled the hot blood, but a hint of departed swashbuckling days still glistens in the old eyes as he sits on his narrow porch and recalls scenes of the old days. to one interested in the psychology of the southern negro, this shriveled old man, with his half-bantering, half-pathetic attitude offers an interesting study. borrowed from a page of history, he seems a curiosity, like a fossil magically restored to life, endowed with the power of speech, telling of events so deeply buried in the past that they seem almost unreal. federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) pearl randolph, field worker jacksonville, florida november , acie thomas mr. thomas was at home today. there are many days when one might pass and repass the shabby lean-to that is his home without seeing any signs of life. that is because he spends much of his time foraging about the streets of jacksonville for whatever he can get in the way of food or old clothes, and perhaps a little money. he is a heavily bearded, bent old man and a familiar figure in the residential sections of the city, where he earns or begs a very meager livelihood. many know his story and marvel at his ability to relate incidents that must have occured when he was quite small. born in jefferson county, florida on july , , he was one of the slaves belonging to the folsom brothers, tom and bryant. his parents, thomas and mary, and their parents as far as they could remember, were all a part of the folsom estate. the folsoms never sold a slave except he merited this dire punishment in some way. acie heard vague rumors of the cruelties of some slave owners, but it was unknown among the folsoms. he thinks this was due to the fact that certain "po white trash" in the vicinity of their plantation owned slaves. it was the habit of the folsoms to buy out these people whenever they could do so by fair means or foul, according to his statements. and by and by there were no poor whites living near them. it was, he further stated like "damning a nigger's soul, if marse tom or marse bryant threatened to sell him to some po' white trash. and it allus brung good results--better than tearing the hide off'n him woulda done." as a child acie spent much of his time roaming over the broad acres of the folsom plantation with other slave children. they waded in the streams, fished, chased rabbits and always knew where the choicest wild berries and nuts grew. he knew all the wood lore common to children of his time. this he learned mostly from "cousin ed" who was several years older than he and quite willing to enlighten a small boy in these matters. he was taught that hooting owls were very jealous of their night hours and whenever they hooted near a field of workers they were saying: "task done or no done--night's my time--go home!" whippoorwills flitted about the woods in cotton picking time chattering about jack marrying a widow. he could not remember the story that goes with this. oppossums were a "sham faced" tribe who "sometimes wandered onto the wrong side of the day and got caught." they never overcame this shame as long as they were in captivity. all bull rushes and tree stumps were to be carefully searched. one might find his baby brother there at any time. when acie "got up some size" he was required to do small tasks, but the master was not very exacting. there were the important tasks of ferreting out the nests of stray hens, turkeys, guineas and geese. these nests were robbed to prevent the fowls from hatching too far from the hen house. quite a number of these eggs got roasted in remote corners of the plantation by the finders, who built fires and wrapped the eggs in wet rags and covered them with ashes. when they were done a loud pop announced that fact to the roaster. potatoes were cooked in the same manner and often without the rags. consequently these two tasks were never neglected by the slave children. cotton picking was not a bad job either--at least to the young. then there was the ride to the cotton house at the end of the day atop the baskets and coarse burlap sheets filled with the day's pickings. acie's fondest ambition was to learn to manipulate the scales that told him who had done a good day's work and who had not. his cousin ed did this envied task whenever the overseer could not find the time. many other things were grown here. corn for the cattle and "roasting ears," peanuts, tobacco and sugar cane. the cane was ground on the plantation and converted into barrels of syrup and brown sugar. the cane grinding season was always a gala one. there was always plenty of juice, with the skimmings and fresh syrup for all. other industries were the blacksmith shop where horses and slaves were shod. the smoke houses where scores of hogs and cows were prepared and hung for future use. the sewing was presided over by the mistress. clothing were made during the summer and stored away for the cool winters. young slave girls were kept busy at knitting cotton and woolen stockings. candles were made in the "big house" kitchen and only for consumption by the household of the master. slaves used fat lightwood knots or their open fireplaces for lighting purposes. there was always plenty of everything to eat for the slaves. they had white bread that had been made on the place. corn meal, rice, potatoes, syrup vegetables and home-cured meat. food was cooked in iron pots hung over the fireplace by rings made of the same metal. bread and pastries were made in the "skillet" and "spider." much work was needed to supply the demands of so large a plantation but the slaves were often given time off for frolics (dances), (quilting-weddings). these gatherings were attended by old and young from neighboring plantations. there was always plenty of food, masters vying with another for the honor of giving his slaves the finest parties. there was dancing and music. on the folsom plantation bryant, the youngest of the masters furnished the music. he played the fiddle and liked to see the slaves dance "cutting the pigeon wing." many matches were made at these affairs. the women came "all rigged out in their best" which was not bad at all, as the mistresses often gave them their cast off clothes. some of these were very fine indeed with their frills and hoops and many petticoats. those who had no finery contented themselves with scenting their hair and bodies with sweet herbs, which they also chewed. quite often they were rewarded by the attention of some swain from a distant plantation. in this case it was necessary for their respective owners to consent to a union. slaves on the folsom plantation were always married properly and quite often had a "sizeable" wedding, the master and mistress often came and made merry with their slaves. acie knew about the war because he was one of the slaves commandeered by the confederate army for hauling food and ammunition to different points between tallahassee and a city in virginia that he is unable to remember. it was a common occurrence for the soldiers to visit the plantation owners and command a certain number of horses and slaves for services such as acie did. he thinks that he might have been about years old when he was freed. a soldier in blue came to the plantation and brought a "document" that tom, their master read to all the slaves who had been summoned to the "big house" for that purpose. about half of them consented to remain with him. the others went away, glad of their new freedom. few had made any plans and were content to wander about the country, living as they could. some were more sober minded, and acie's father was among the latter. he remained on the folsom place for a short while; he then settled down to share-croping in jefferson county. their first year was the hardest, because of the many adjustments that had to be made. then things became better. by means of hard work and the co-operation of friendly whites the slaves in the section soon learned to shift for themselves. northerners came south "in swarms" and opened schools for the ex-slaves, but acie was not fortunate enough to get very far in his "blue back webster." there was too much work to be done and his father trying to buy the land. nor did he take an interest in the political meetings held in the neighborhood. his parents shared with him the common belief that such things were not to be shared by the humble. some believed that "too much book learning made the brain weak." acie met and married keziah wright, who was the daughter of a woman his mother had known in slavery. strangely enough they had never met as children. with his wife he remained in jefferson county, where nine of their thirteen children were born. with his family he moved to jacksonville and had been living here "a right good while" when the fire occurred in . he was employed as a city laborer and helped to build street car lines and pave streets. he also helped with the installation of electric wiring in many parts of the city. he was injured while working for the city of jacksonville, but claims that he was never in any manner remunerated for this injury. acie worked hard and accumulated land in the moncrief section and lives within a few feet of the spot where his house burned many years ago. he was very sad as he pointed out this spot to his visitor. a few scraggly hedges and an apple tree, a charred bit of fence, a chimney foundation are the only markers of the home he built after years of a hard struggle to have a home. his land is all gone except the scant five acres upon which he lives, and this is only an expanse of broom straw. he is no longer able to cultivate the land, not even having a kitchen garden. kaziah, the wife, died several years ago; likewise all the children, except two. one of these, a girl, is "somewhere up nawth". the son has visited him twice in five years and seems never to have anything to give the old man, who expresses himself as desiring much to "quit die unfriendly world" since he has nothing to live for except a lot of dead memories. "all done left me now. everything i got done gone--all 'cept keziah. she comes and visits me and we talk and walk over there where we uster and set on the porch. she low she gwine steal ole acie some of dese days in the near future, and i'll be mighty glad to go ever yonder where all i got is at." reference . personal interview with acie thomas, moncrief road jacksonville, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) martin richardson, field worker south jacksonville, florida december , shack thomas, centenarian beady-eyed, grey-whiskered, black little shack thomas sits in the sun in front of his hut on the old saint augustine road about three miles south of jacksonville, years old and full of humorous reminiscences about most of those years. to his frequent visitors he relates tales of his past, disjointedly sometimes but with a remarkable clearness and conviction. the old ex-slave does not remember the exact time of his birth, except that it was in the year , "the day after the end of the indian war." he does not recall which of the indian wars, but says that it was while there were still many indians in west florida who were very hard for him to understand when he got big enough to talk, to them. he was born, he says on "a great big place that b'longed to mister jim campbell; i don't know just exactly how big, but there was a lot of us working on it when i was a little fellow." the place was evidently one of the plantations near tallahassee; thomas remembers that as soon as he was large enough he helped his parents and others raise "corn, peanuts, a little bit of cotton and potatoes. squash just grew wild in the woods; we used to eat them when we couldn't get anything else much." the centennarian remembers his parents clearly; his mother was one nancy and his father's name was adam. his father, he says, used to spend hours after the candles were out telling him and his brothers about his capture and subsequent slavery. adam was a native of the west coast of africa, and when quite a young man was attracted one day to a large ship that had just come near his home. with many others he was attracted aboard by bright red handkerchiefs, shawls and other articles in the hands of the seamen. shortly afterwards he was securely bound in the hold of the ship, to be later sold somewhere in america. thomas does not know exactly where adam landed, but knows that his father had been in florida many years before his birth. "i guess that's why i can't stand red things now," he says; "my pa hated the sight of it." thomas spent all of his enslaved years on the campbell plantation, where he describes pre-emancipation conditions as better than "he used to hear they was on the other places." campbell himself is described as moderate, if not actually kindly. he did not permit his slaves to be beaten to any great extent. "the most he would give us was a 'switching', and most of the time we could pray out of that." "but sometimes he would get a hard man working for him, though," the old man continues. "one of them used to 'buck and gag' us." this he describes as a punishment used particularly with runaways, where the slave would be gagged and tied in a squatting position and left in the sun for hours. he claims to have seen other slaves suspended by their thumbs for varying periods; he repeats, though, that these were not campbell's practices. during the years before "surrinder", thomas saw much traffic in slaves, he says. each year around new years, itinerant "speculators" would come to his vicinity and either hold a public sale, or lead the slaves, tied together, to the plantation for inspection or sale. "a whole lot of times they wouldn't sell 'em, they'd just trade 'em like they did horses. the man (plantation owner) would have a couple of old women who couldn't do much any more, and he'd swap 'em to the other man for a young 'un. i seen lots of 'em traded that way, and sold for money too." thomas recalls at least one indian family that lived in his neighborhood until he left it after the war. this family, he says, did not work, but had a little place of their own. "they didn't have much to do with nobody, though," he adds. others of his neighbors during these early years were abolition-minded white residents of the area. these, he says would take in runaway slaves and "either work 'em or hide 'em until they could try to get north." when they'd get caught at it, though, they'd "take 'em to town and beat 'em like they would us, then take their places and run 'em out." later he came to know the "pu-trols" and the "refugees." of the former, he has only to say that they gave him a lot of trouble every time he didn't have a pass to leave--"they only give me one twice a week,"--and of the latter that it was they who induced the slaves of campbell to remain and finish their crop after the emancipation, receiving one-fourth of it for their share. he states that campbell exceeded this amount in the division later. after 'surrinder' thomas and his relatives remained on the campbell place, working for $ a month, payable at each christmas. he recalls how rich he felt with this money, as compared with the other free negroes in the section. all of the children and his mother were paid this amount, he states. the old man remembers very clearly the customs that prevailed both before and after his freedom. on the plantation, he says, they never faced actual want of food, although his meals were plain. he ate mostly corn meal and bacon, and squash and potatoes, he adds "and every now and then we'd eat more than that." he doesn't recall exactly what, but says it was "oh, lots of greens and cabbage and syrul, and sometimes plenty of meat too." his mother and the other women were given white cotton--he thinks it may have been duck--dresses "every now and then", he states, but none of the women really had to confine themselves to white, "cause they'd dye 'em as soon as they'd get 'em." for dye, he says they would boil wild indigo, poke berries, walnuts and some tree for which he has an undecipherable name. campbell's slaves did not have to go barefoot--not during the colder months, anyway. as soon as winter would come, each one of them was given a pair of bright, untanned leather "brogans," that would be the envy of the vicinity. soap for the slaves was made by the women of the plantation; by burning cockle-burrs, blackjack wood and other materials, then adding the accumulated fat of the past few weeks. for light they were given tallow candles. asked if there was any certain time to put the candles out at night, thomas answers that "mr. campbell didn't care how late you stayed up at night, just so you was ready to work at daybreak." the ex-slave doesn't remember any feathers in the covering for his pallet in the corner of his cabin, but says that mr. campbell always provided the slaves with blankets and the women with quilts. by the time he was given his freedom, thomas had learned several trades in addition to farming; one of them was carpentry. when he eventually left his $ a month job with his master, he began travelling over the state, a practice he has not discontinued until the present. he worked, he says, "in such towns as perry, sarasota, clearwater and every town in florida down to where the ocean goes under the bridge." (probably key west.) he came to jacksonville about what he believes to be half a century ago. he remembers that it was "ever so long before the fire" ( ) and "way back there when there wasn't but three families over here in south jacksonville: the sahds, the hendricks and the oaks. i worked for all of them, but i worked for mr. bowden the longest." the reference is to r.l. bowden, whom thomas claims as one of his first employers in this section. the old man has children, the eldest of those living, looking older than thomas himself. this "child" is fifty-odd years. he has been married three times, and lives now with his year old wife. in front of his shack is a huge, spreading oak tree. he says that there were three of them that he and his wife tended when they first moved to jacksonville. "that one there was so little that i used to trim it with my pocket-knife," he states. the tree he mentioned is now about two-and-a-half feet in diameter. "right after my first wife died, one of them trees withered," the old man tells you. "i did all i could to save the other one, but pretty soon it was gone too. i guess this other one is waiting for me," he laughs, and points to the remaining oak. thomas protests that his health is excellent, except for "just a little haze that comes over my eyes, and i can't see so good." he claims that he has no physical aches and pains. despite the more than a century his voice is lively and his hearing fair, and his desire for travel still very much alive. when interviewed he had just completed a trip to a daughter in clearwater, and "would have gone farther than that, but my son wouldn't send me no fare like he promised!" reference . interview with subject, shack thomas, living on old saint augustine road, south jacksonville, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) rachel a. austin jacksonville, florida november , luke towns, a centenarian luke towns, a centenarian, now residing at west eighth street, jacksonville, florida, was the ninth child born to maria and like towns, slaves, december , , in a village in tolberton county, georgia. mr. town's parents were owned by governor towns, whose name was taken by all the children born on the plantation; he states that he was placed on the public blocks for sale, and was purchased by a mr. mormon. at the marriage of mr. mormon's daughter, sarah, according to custom, he was given to this daughter as a wedding present, and thus became the slave and took the name of the gulleys and lived with them until he became a young man at smithville, georgia, in lee county. his chief work was that of carrying water, wood and working around the house when a youngster; often, he states he would hide in the woods to keep from working. because his mother was a child-bearing woman, she did not know the hard labors of slavery, but had a small patch of cotton and a garden near the house to care for. "all of the others worked hard," said he "but had kind masters who fed them well." when asked if his mother were a christian, he replied "why yes: indeed she was, and believed in prayer; one day as she traveled from her patch home, just as she was about to let the 'gap' (this was a fence built to keep the hogs and horses shut in) down, she knelt to pray and a light appeared before her and from that time on she did not believe in any fogyism, but in god." "i cannot remember much now," he says, "of what happened in slavery, but after slavery we went back to the name of towns. i know i got some whippings and during the war my job was that of carrying the master's luggage." ( ) after the war he went to albany, georgia and began working for himself, hauling salt from albany to tallahassee, florida; this salt was sold to the stores. his next job was that of sampling cotton. just before he was years old he was married to mary julia coats, who lived near albany, georgia. to them were born the following children: willie, george, alexander, henry hillsman, ella louise, and twins--walter luke and mary julia, who were named for the parents. he was converted to the baptist faith when his first child was born; there were no churches, but services were held in the blacksmith shop on the corner of jackson and state streets. later he became a member of mount zion baptist church albany, georgia, and served there for years as a deacon. he remained in georgia until when he moved to tampa, florida and there he operated a cafe. he joined beulah baptist church and served as deacon there until he sold his business and came to jacksonville, , to live with his youngest daughter, mrs. mary houston, because he was too old to operate a business. in jacksonville he connected himself with the bethel baptist church, and while too old to serve as an active deacon, he was placed on the honorary list because of his previous record of church service. as a relic of pre-freedom days, mr. towns has a piece of paper money and a one-cent piece which he keeps securely looked in his trunk and allows no one to open the trunk; he keeps the key. mr. towns, who will celebrate his one-hundred-first birthday, december , , is not able to coherently relate incidents of the past; he hears but little and that with great difficulty. he says he has his second eyesight; he reads without the use of glasses; until very recently he has been very active in mind and body, having registered in the spring of , signing his own name on the registration books. he has almost all of his hair, which is thick, silvery white and of artist length. he has most of his teeth, walks without a cane except when painful; dresses himself without assistance. mr. towns rises at six o'clock each morning, often earlier. makes his bed (he has never allowed anyone to make his bed for him) and because it is still dark has to lie across the bed to await the breaking of day. his health is very good and his appetite strong. upon the occasion of his one-hundredth birthday, december , , his daughter mrs. houston gave him a child's party and invited one hundred guest; one hundred stockings were made, filled with fruits, nuts and candies and one given each guest. a huge cake with one hundred candles adorned the table and during the party, he cut the cake. at this party, he showed all the joys and pleasures of a child. his other daughter mrs. e.l. mcmillan, of new york city, and son, mr. george towns, for years an instructor in atlanta university, atlanta, georgia, were present for the occasion. mr. towns has been noted during his lifetime for having a remarkable memory and has many times publicly delivered orations from many of shakespeare's works. his memory began failing him in . he is very well educated and now spends most of his time sitting on the porch reading the bible. ( ) references . luke towns, west eighth street, jacksonville, florida . mary houston, daughter of luke towns, west eighth street jacksonville, florida federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) viola b. muse jacksonville, florida march , willis williams willis williams of iverson street, jacksonville, florida, was born at tallahassee, florida, september , . he was the son of ransom and wilhemina williams, who belonged during the period of slavery to thomas heyward, a rich merchant of tallahassee. willis does not know the names of his paternal grandparents but remembers his maternal grandmother was rachel fitzgiles, who came down to visit the family after the civil war. thomas heyward, the master, owned a plantation out in the country from tallahassee and kept slaves out there; he also owned a fine home in the city as well as a large grocery store and produce house. willis' mother, wilhemina, was the cook at the town house and his father, williams, did carpentry and other light work around the place. he does not remember how his father learned the trade, but presumes that mr. heyward put him under a white carpenter until he had learned. the first he remembers of his father was that he did carpentry work. at the time willis was born and during his early life, even rich people like mr. heyward did not have cook stoves. they knew nothing of such. the only means of cooking was by fireplace, which, as he remembers, was wide with an iron rod across it. to the rod a large iron pot was suspended and in it food was cooked. an iron skillet with a lid was used for baking and it also was used to cook meats and other food. the common name for the utensil was 'spider' and every home had one. willis fared well during the first nine years of his life which were spent in slavery. to him it was the same as freedom for he was not a victim of any unpleasant experiences as related by some other ex-slaves. he played base ball and looked after his younger brothers and sister while his mother was in the kitchen. he was never flogged but received chastisement once from the father of mr. heyward. that, he related, was light and not nearly so severe as many parents give their children today. wilhemina, his mother, and the cook, saw to it that her children were well fed. they were fed right from the master's table, so to speak. they did not sit to the table with the master and his family, but ate the same kind of food that was served them. cornbread was baked in the heyward kitchen but biscuits also were baked twice daily and the negroes were allowed to eat as many as they wished. the dishes were made of tin and the drinking vessels were made from gourds. few white people had china dishes and when they did possess them they were highly prized and great care was taken of them. the few other slaves which mr. heyward kept around the town house tended the garden and the many chickens, ducks and geese on the place. the garden afforded all of the vegetables necessary for feeding master heyward, his family and slaves. he did not object to the slaves eating chicken and green vegetables and sent provisions of all kinds from his store to boot. although mr. heyward was wealthy there were many things he could not buy for tallahassee did not afford them. willis remembers that candles were mostly used for light. home-made tallow was used in making them. the moulds, which were made of wood, were of the correct size. cotton string twisted right from the raw cotton was cut into desired length and placed in the moulds first, then heated tallow was poured in until they were filled. the tallow was allowed to set and cool, then they were removed, ready for use. in those days coffee was very expensive and a substitute for it was made from parched corn. the whites used it as well as the slaves. willis remembers a man named pierce who cured cow hides. he used to buy them and one time willis skinned a cow and took the hide to him and sold it. sixty-five and seventy years ago everyone used horses or mules and they had to have shoes. the blacksmith wore leather aprons and the horses and mules wore leather collars. no one knew anything about composition leather for making shoes so the tanning of hides was a lucrative business. clothing, during civil war days and early reconstruction, was simple as compared to present day togs. cloth woven from homespun thread was the only kind negroes had. every house of any note could boast of a spinning wheel and loom. cotton, picked by slaves, was cleared of the seed and spun into thread and woven into cloth by them. it was common to know how to spin and weave. some of the cloth was dyed afterwards with dye made from indigo and polk berries. some was used in its natural color. cotton was the main product of most southern plantations and the owner usually depended upon the income from the sale of his yearly crop to maintain his home and upkeep of his slaves and cattle. it was necessary for every farm to yield as much as possible and much energy was directed toward growing and picking large crops. although mr. heyward was a successful merchant, he did not lose sight of the fact that his country property could yield a bountiful supply of cotton, corn and tobacco. around the town house mr. heyward maintained an atmosphere of home life. he wanted his family and his servants well cared for and spared no expense in making life happy. as willis remembers the beds were made of florida moss and feathers. boards ware laid across for slats and the mattress placed upon the boards. on top of the moss mattress a feather one was placed which made sleeping very comfortable. in summer the feather mattress was often removed, sunned, aired and replaced in winter. goose and the downy feathers of chickens were saved and stored in large bags until enough were collected for a mattress and it was considered a prize to possess one. every family of note boasted the ownership of a horse and buggy or several of each. the kind most popular during willis' boyhood was the one-seated affair with a short wagon-like bed in the rear of the seat. sometimes two seats were used. the seats were removable and could be used for carrying baggage or other light weights. the brougham, surrey and landam were unknown to willis. before the civil war and during the time the great struggle was in full swing, women wore hoop skirts, very full, held out with metal hoops. pantaloons were worn beneath them and around the ankle where they were gathered very closely, a ruffle edged with a narrow lace, finished them off. the waist was tight fitting basque and sleeves which could be worn long or to elbow, were very full. women also wore their hair high up on their heads with frills around the face. negro women, right after slavery, fell into imitating their former mistresses and many of them who were fortunate enough to get employment used part of their earnings for at least one good dress. it was usually made of woolen a yard wide, or silk. money has undergone a change as rapidly as some other commonplace things. in willis' early life, money valued at less than one dollar was made of paper just as the dollar, five dollar or ten dollar bills were. there was a difference however, in the paper representing 'change' and not as much care was taken in protecting it from being imitated. the paper money used for change was called "shin plasters" and much of it flooded the southland during civil war days. mr. heyward did not enlist in the army to help protect the south's demise but his eldest son, charlie, went. his younger son was not old enough to go. willis stated that mr. heyward did not go because he was in business and was needed at home to look after it. it is not known whether charlie was killed at war or not, but, willis said he did not return home at the close of war. when the news of freedom came to thomas heyward's town slaves it was brought by mccook's cavalry. willis remembers the uniforms worn by the northerners was dark blue with brass buttons and the confederates wore gray. after the cavalry reached tallahassee, they separated into sections, each division taking a different part of the town. negroes of the household were called together and were informed of their freedom. it is remembered by willis that the slaves were jubilant but not boastful. mr. heyward was dealt a hard blow during the war; his store was confiscated and used as a commissary by the northern army. when the war ended he was deprived of his slaves and a great portion of his former wealth vanished with their going. the loss of his wealth and slaves did not bitter mr. heyward; to the contrary, he was as kindhearted as in days past. mccook's cavalry did not remain in tallahassee very long and was replaced by a colored company; the th infantry. their duty was to maintain order within the town. an orchestra was with the outfit and willis remembers that they were very good musicians. a negro who had been the slave of a man of tallahassee was a member of the orchestra. his name was singleton and his former master invited the orchestra to come to his house and play for the family. the negroes were glad to render service, went, and after that entertained many white families in their homes. the southern soldiers who returned after the war appeared to receive their defeat as good 'sports' and not as much friction between the races existed as would be imagined. the ex-slave, while he was glad to be free, wanted to be sheltered under the 'wings' of his former master and mistress. in most cases they were hired by their former owners and peace reigned around the home or plantation. this was true of tallahassee, if not of other sections of the south. soon after the smoke of the cannons had died down and people began thinking of the future, the negroes turned their thoughts toward education. they grasped every opportunity to learn to read and write. schools were fostered by northern white capitalists and white women were sent into the southland to teach the colored boys and girls to read, write and figure. any negro who had been fortunate enough to gain some knowledge during slavery could get a position as school teacher. as a result many poorly prepared persons entered the school room as tutor. william williams, willis' father, found work at the old florida central and peninsular railroad yards and worked for many years there. he sent his children to school and willis advanced rapidly. during slavery negroes attended church, sat in the balcony, and very often log churches were built for them. meetings were held under "bush harbors." after the war frame and log churches served them as places of worship. these buildings were erected by whites who came into the southland to help the ex-slave. negro men who claimed god had called them to preach served as ministers of most of the negro churches but often white preachers visited them and instructed them concerning the bible and what god wanted them to do. services were conducted three times a day on sunday, morning at eleven, in afternoon about three and at night at eight o'clock. the manner of worship was very much in keeping with present day modes. preachers appealed to the emotions of the 'flock' and the congregation responded with "amens," "halleluia," clapping of hands, shouting and screaming. willis remarked to one white man during his early life, that he wondered why the people yelled so loudly and the man replied that in fifty years hence the negroes would be educated, know better and would not do that. he further replied that fifty years ago the white people screamed and shouted that way. willis wonders now when he sees both white and colored people responding to preaching in much the same way as in his early life if education has made much difference in many cases. much superstition and ignorance existed among the negroes during slavery and early reconstruction. some wore bags of sulphur saying they would keep away disease. some wore bags of salt and charcoal believing that evil spirits would be kept away from them. others wore a silver coin in their shoes and some made holes in the coin, threaded a string through it, attached it to the ankle so that no one could conjure them. some who thought an enemy might sprinkle "goofer dust" around their door steps swept very clean around the door step in the evening and allowed no one to come in afterwards. the negro men who spent much time around the "grannies" during slavery learned much about herbs and roots and how they were used to cure all manner of ills, the doctor gave practically the same kind of medicine for most ailments. the white doctors at that time had not been schooled to a great extent and carried medicine bags around to the sick room which contained pills and a very few other kinds of medicines which they had made from herbs and roots. some of them are used to-day but willis said most of their medicines were pills. ten years after the civil war willis williams had advanced in his studies to the extent that he passed the government examination and became a railway mail clerk. he ran from tallahassee to palatka and river junction on the florida central and peninsular railroad. there was no other railroad going into tallahassee then. the first negro railway mail clerk according to willis' knowledge running from tallahassee to jacksonville, was benjamin f. cox. the first colored mail clerk in the jacksonville post office was camp hughes. he was sent to prison for rifling the mail. willis myers succeeded hughes and willis williams succeeded myers. willis received a telegram to come to jacksonville to take myers' place and when he came expected to stay three or four days, but, after getting here was retained permanently and remained in the service until his retirement. his first run from tallahassee to palatka and river junction began in and lasted until . in he was called to jacksonville to succeed myers and when he retired forty years later, had filled the position creditably, therefore was retired on a pension which he will receive until his death. willis williams is in good health, attends ebenezer methodist episcopal church of which he is a member. he possesses all of his faculties and is able to carry on an intelligent conversation on his fifty years in jacksonville. federal writers' project american guide, (negro writers' unit) james johnson, field worker lake city, florida november , claude augusta wilson in on the plantation of tom dexter in lake city, columbia county, florida, was born a negro, claude augusta wilson, of slave parents. his master tom dexter was very kind to his slaves, and was said to have been a yankee. his wife mary ann dexter, a southerner, was the direct opposite, she was very mean. claude was eight years old when emancipation came. the dexter plantation was quite a large place, covering or more acres. there were about slaves, including children. they had regular one room quarters built of logs which was quite insignificant in comparison with the palatial dexter mansion. the slaves would arise early each morning, being awakened by a "driver" who was a white man, and by "sun-up" would be at their respective tasks in the fields. all day they worked, stopping at noon to get a bite to eat, which they carried on the fields from their cabins. at "sun-down" they would quit work and return to their cabins, prepare their meals and gossip from cabin to cabin. finally retiring to await the dawn of a new day which signalled a return to their routine duties. at sundays they would gather at a poorly constructed frame building which was known as the "meeting house," in this building they would give praise and thanks to their god. the rest of the day was spent in relaxation as this was the only day of the week in which they were not forced to work. claude augusta worked in the fields, his mother and sister worked in the dexter mansion. their duties were general house work, cooking and sewing. his mother was very rebellious toward her duties and constantly harrassed the "missus" about letting her work in the fields with her husband until finally she was permitted to make the change from the house to the fields to be near her man. the "missus" taught claude's sister to sew and to the present day most of her female descendants have some ability in dress making. the mansion was furnished with the latest furniture of the tine, but the slave quarters had only the cheapest and barest necessities. his mother had no stove but cooked in the fire place using a skillet and spider (skillet, a small metal vessel with handle used for cooking; spider, a kind of frying pan, winston's simplified dictionary, ). the cooking was not done directly on the coals in the fire place but placed on the hearth and hot coals pulled around them, more coals being pulled about until the food was cooked as desired. corn bread, beans, sweet potatoes (irish potatoes being unknown) and collard greens were the principal foods eaten. corn bread was made as it is today, only cooked differently. the corn meal after being mixed was wrapped in tannion leaves (elephant ears) and placed in hot coals. the leaves would parch to a crisp and when the bread was removed it was a beautiful brown and unburned. sweet potatoes were roasted in the hot coals. corn was often roasted in the shucks. there was a substitute for coffee that afforded a striking similarity in taste. the husks of the grains of corn were parched, hot water was then poured in this, the result was a pleasant liquid substitute for coffee. these was another bread used as a desert, known as potato bread, made by tailing potatoes until done, then mashing, adding grease and meal, this was baked and then it was ready to serve. for lights, candles were made of tallow which was poured into a mould when hot. a cord was run through the center of the candle impression in the mould in which the tallow was poured, when this cooled the candle with cord was all ready for lighting. the only means of obtaining water was from an open well. no ice was used. the first ice that claude ever saw in its regular form was in jacksonville after emancipation. this ice was naturally frozen and shipped from the north to be sold. it was called lake ice. tanning and curing pig and cow hides was done, but claude never saw the process performed during slavery. claude had no special duties on the plantation on account of his youth. after cotton was picked from the fields the seeds were picked out by hand, the cotton was then carded for further use. the cotton seed was used as fertilizer. in baling cotton burlap bags were used on the bales. the soap used was made from taking hickory or oak wood and burning it to ashes. the ashes were placed in a tub and water poured over them. this was left to set. after setting for a certain time the water from the ashes was poured into a pot containing grease. this was boiled for a certain time and then left to cool. the result was a pot full of soft substance varying in color from white to yellow, this was called lye soap. this was then cut into bars as desired for use. for dyeing thread and cloth, red oak bark, sweet gum bark and shoe make roots were boiled in water. the wash tubs were large wooden tubs having one handle with holes in it for the fingers. chicken and goose feathers were always carefully saved to make feather mattresses. claude remembers when women wore hoop skirts. he was about years of age when narrow skirts became fashionable for women. during slavery the family only used slats on the beds, it was after the war that he saw his first spring bed and at that tine the first buggy. this buggy was driven by ex-governor reid of florida who then lived in south jacksonville. it was a four-wheeled affair drawn by a horse and looked sensible and natural as a vehicle. the paper money in circulation was called "shin plasters." claude's uncle, mark clark joined the northern army. his master did not go to war but remained on the plantation. one day at noon during the war the gin house was seen to be afire, one of the slaves rushed in and found the master badly burned and writhing in pain. he was taken from the building and given first aid, but his body being burned in oil and so badly burned it burst open, thus ended the life of the kindly master of claude. the soldiers of the southern army wore gray uniforms with gray caps and the soldiers of the northern army wore blue. after the war such medicines as castor oil, rhubarb, colomel and blue mass and salts were generally used. the civil war raged for some tine and the slaves on dexter's plantation prayed for victory of the northern army, though they dared not show their anxiety to mary ann dexter who was master and mistress since the master's death. claude and his family remained with the dexters until peace was declared. mrs. dexter informed the slaves thay they could stay with her if they so desired and that she would furnish everything to cultivate the crops and that she would give them half of what was raised. none of the slaves remained but all were anxious to see what freedom was like. claude recalls that a six-mule team drove up to the house driven by a colored union soldier. he helped move the household furniture from their cabin into the wagon. the family then got in, some in the seat with the driver, and others in back of the wagon with the furniture. when the driver pulled off he said to claude's mother who was sitting on the seat with him, "doan you know you is free now?" "yeh sir," she answered, "i been praying for dis a long time." "come on den les go," he answered, and drove off. they passed through olustee, then sanderson, macclenny and finally baldwin. it was raining and they were about miles from their destination, jacksonville, but they drove on. they reached jacksonville and were taken to a house that stood on liberty street, near adams. white people had been living there but had left before the northern advance. there they unloaded and were told that this would be their new home. the town was full of colored soldiers all armed with muskets. horns and drums could be heard beating and blowing every morning and evening. the colored soldiers appeared to rule the town. more slaves were brought in and there they were given food by the government which consisted of hard tack (bread reddish in appearance and extremely hard which had to be soaked in water before eating.) the meat was known as "salt horse." this looked and tasted somewhat like corned beef. after being in jacksonville a short while claude began to peddle ginger bread and apples in a little basket, selling most of his wares to the colored soldiers. his father got employment with a railroad company in jacksonville, known as the florida central railway and received ¢ a day, which was considered very good pay. his mother got a job with a family as house woman at a salary of eight dollars a month. they were thus considered getting along fine. they remained in the house where the government placed them for about a year, then his father bought a piece of land in town and built a house of straight boards. there they resided until his death. by this time many of the white people began to return to their homes which had been abandoned and in which slaves found shelter. in many instances the whites had to make monetary or other concessions in order to get their homes back. it was said that colored people had taken possession of one of the large white churches of the day, located on logon street, between ashley and church streets. claude relates that all this was when jacksonville was a mere village, with cow and hog pens in what was considered as downtown. the principal streets were: pine (now main), market and forsyth. the leading stores were wilson's and clark's. these stores handled groceries, dry goods and whisky. as a means of transportation two-wheeled drays were used, mule or horse-drawn cars, which was to come into use later were not operating at that time. to cross the saint johns river one had to go in a row boat, which was the only ferry and was operated by the ex-governor reid of florida. it docked on the north side of the river at the foot of ocean street, and on the south side at the foot of old kings road. it ran between these two points, carrying passengers to and fro. the leading white families living in jacksonville at that time were the hartridges, bostwicks, doggetts, bayels and l'engles. claude augusta wilson, a man along in years has lived to see many changes take place among his people since the emancipation which he is proud of. a peaceful old gentleman he is, still alert mentally and physically despite his years. his youthful appearance belies his age. reference . personal interview with claude augusta wilson, sunbeam, florida federal writers' project jacksonville, florida june , dade county, florida ex-slave stories charley roberts: charley roberts of perrine, florida, was born on the hogg plantation near allendale, s.c. "yes, sah, i' members de vary day when we first heard that we was free. i was mindin' the little calf, keepin' it away from the cow while my mother was milkin'. "we have to milk the cows and carry the milk to the confederate soldiers quartered near us. "at that time, i can 'member of the soldiers comin' 'cross the savannah river. they would go to the plantations and take all the cows, hogs, sheep, or horses they wanted and "stack" their guns and stay around some places and kill some of the stock, or use the milk and eat corn and all the food they wanted as they needed it. they'd take quilts and just anything they needed. "i don't know why, but i remember we didn't have salt given to us, so we went to the smoke house where there were clean boards on the floor where the salt and grease drippings would fall from the smoked hams hanging from the rafters. the boards would be soft and soaked with salt and grease. well, we took those boards and cooked the salt and fat out of them, cooked the boards right in the bean soup. that way we got salt and the soup was good. "they used to give us rinds off the hams. i was a big boy before i ever knew there was anything but rinds a pork meat. we went around chewing away at those rinds of hams, and we sure liked them. we thought that was the best meat there was. "i used to go to the baptist church in the woods, but i never went to school. i learned to read out of mcguffey's speller. it was a little book with a blue back. i won't forget that. "i try to be as good as i know how. i've never given the state any trouble, nor any of my sons have been arrested. i tries to follow the golden rule and do right. "i have seven living children. we moved to miami when our daughter moved here and took sick. we live at perrine now, but we want to come to miami, 'cause i aint able to work, but my wife, she is younger and able to work. we don't want to go on charity any more'n we have to." jennie colder: jennie colder was born in georgia on blatches' settlement. "blatches, he kep's big hotel, too and he kep' "right smart" slaves. by the time i was old enough to remember anything we was all' free, but we worked hard. my father and mother died on the settlement. "i picked cotton, shucked cotton, pulled fodder and corn and done all dat. i plowed with mules. dis is jennie colder, remember dat. don't forget it. i done all dat. i plowed with mules and even then the overseer whipped me. i dont know exactly how old i am, but i was born before freedom." banana williams: banana williams, n.w. th court, miami, florida was born in grady county, georgia, near cairo in the th district. "the man what i belonged to was name mr. sacks. my mother and father lived there. i was only about three years old when peace came, but i remember when the paddle rollers came there and whipped a man and woman. "i was awful 'fraid, for that was somethin' i nevah see before. we "stayed on" but we left before i was old enough to work, but i did work in the fields in mitchell county. "i came to miami and raised children. i'm staying with my daughter, but i'm not able to work much. i'm too done played out with old age." frank bates: frank bates, n.w. th street, miami, florida was born on hugh lee bates' farm in alabama in the country not very far from mulberry beat. "my mother and father lived on the same plantation, but i was too little to do more than tote water to the servants in the fields. "i saw old bates whip my mother once for leaving her finger print in the pone bread when she patted it down before she put it into the oven. "i remember seeing lundra, oscar and luke bates go off to war on three fine horses. i dont know whether they ever came back or not, for we moved that same day." william neighten: william neighten gave his address as th street, liberty city. he was only a baby when freedom came, but he too, "stayed on" a long time afterward. he did not know his real name, but he was given his massy's name. "don't ask me how much work i had to do. gracious! i used to plow and hoed a lot and everything else and then did'nt do enough. i got too many whippings besides." riviana boynton: rivana williams boynton [tr: as in earlier interview, but riviana, above] was born on john and mollie hoover's plantation near ulmers, s.c., being years of age when the 'mancipation came. "our boss man, he had "planty" of slaves. we lived in a log houses. my father was an indian and he ran away to war, but i don't 'member anything of my mother. she was sold and taken away 'fore i ever knew anything of her. "i 'member that i had to thin cotton in the fields and mind the flies in the house. i had a leafy branch that was cut from a tree. i'd stand and wave that branch over the table to keep the flies out of the food. "i'd work like that in the day time and at night i'd sleep in my uncle's shed. we had long bunks along the side of the walls. we had no beds, just gunny sacks nailed to the bunks, no slats, no springs, no nothing else. you know how these here sortin' trays are made,--these here trays that they use to sort oranges and 'matoes. well, we had to sleep on gunn sack beds. "they had weavin' looms where they made rugs and things. i used to holp 'em tear rags and sew 'em an' make big balls and then they'd weave those rugs,--rag rugs, you know. that's what we had to cover ourselves with. we didn't had no quilts nor sheets not nothin like that." [tr: the following portion of this interview is a near repeat of a portion of an earlier interview with this informant; however it is included here because the transcription varies.] "i 'member well when the war was on. i used to turn the corn sheller and sack the shelled corn for the confederate soldiers. they used to sell some of the corn, and i guess they gave some of it to the soldiers. anyway the yankees got some that they didn't intend them to get. "it was this way: "the wheeler boys were confederates. they came down the road as happy as could be, a-singin': 'hurrah! hur rah! hurrah! hurrah! for the broke brook boys. hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah for the broke brook boys of south car-o-li-ne-ah.' "so of course, we thought they were our soldiers singin' our songs. well, they came and tol' our boss that the yankees were coming and we had better hide our food and valuable things for they'd take everything they wanted. "so they helped our massy hide the things. they dug holes and buried the potatoes and covered them over with cotton seed. then our massy gave them food for their kindness and set out with two of the girls to take them to a place of safety, and before he could come back for the missus the yankees were upon us. "but before they got there, our missus had called us together and told us what to say. "now you beg for us! you can save our lives. if they ask you if we are good to you, you tell them, 'yes'! "if they ask you, if we give your meat, you tell them 'yes'! "now the rest didn't get any meat, but i did 'cause i worked in the house, so i didn't tell a lie, for i did get meat, but the rest didn't get it. "we saw the yankees coming. they never stopped for nothing. their horses would jump the worn rail fences and they'd come right across the fiel's an' everything. "they came to the house first and bound our missus up stairs so she couldn't get away, then they came out to the sheds and asked us all kind of questions. "we begged for our missus and we say: 'our missus is good. don't kill her! 'dont take our meat away from us! 'dont hurt our missus! 'dont burn the house down! [tr: the rest of the interview is new information.] "we begged so hard that they unloosened her, but they took some of the others for refugees and some of the slaves volunteered and went off with them. "they took potatoes and all the hams they wanted, but they left our missus, 'cause me save her life. "the uncle what i libbed with, he was awful full of all kinds of devilment. he stole sweet taters out of the bank. he called them "pot" roots and sometimes he called them "blow horts". you know they wuld blow up big and fat when they were roasted in the ashes. "my uncle, he liked those blow horts mighty well, and one day, when he had some baked in the fireplace, ole massy hoover, he came along and peeked in through the "hold" in de chimley wall, where the stones didn't fit too good. "he stood there and peeked in an' saw my uncle eat in' those blow horts. he had a big long one shakin' the ashes off on it. he was blowing it to cool it off so he could eat it and he was a-sayin' "'um! does blowhorts is mighty good eatin'. then massy, he come in wid his big whip, and caught him and tied him to a tree and paddled him until he blistered and then washed his sore back with strong salt water. you know they used to use salt for all of sores, but it sho' did smart. "my aunt, she was an indian woman. she didn't want my uncle to steal, but he was just full of all kind of devilment. "my massy liked him, but one day he played a trick on him. "my uncle took sick, he was so sick that when my massy came to see him, he asked him to pray that he should die. so massy hoover, he went home and wrapped himself up in a big long sheet and rapped on the door real hard. "uncle, he say, 'who's out there? what you want?' "massy, he change his voice and say, 'i am death. i hear that you want to die, so i've come after your soul. com with me! get ready. quick i am in a hurry!' "'oh, my sakes!' my uncle, he say, 'no, no i aint ready yet. i aint ready to meet you. i don't want to die.' "my missus whipped me once, but not so very hard. i was under her daughter, miss mollie. she liked me and always called me "tinker". when she heard me crying and goin' on, she called: "'tinker, come here. what's the matter? did you missus whip you?' "then my missus said, 'tinker was a bad girl, i told her to sweep the yard and she went off and hid all day.' "mollie, she took me up in her arms and said, 'they mustn't whip tinker; she's my little girl.' "if it hadn't been for miss mollie, i don't know where i'd be now. i married right after freedom. my husband, alexander boynton and i stayed right on the plantation and farmed on the shares. "we had planty of children,-- in all.--three sets of twins. they all grew up, except the twins, they didn't any of them get old enough to get married, but all the rest lived and raised children. "they are all scattered around, but my youngest son is only years old. i have grand-children, years old. "i don't know just how many, but i have grand-children and i have three generations of grand-children. yes, my grand-children, some of them, have grand-children. that makes five generations. "i tell them that i am a "gitzy, gitzy" grand-mother." "i live right here with my daughter. she's my baby girl. i'm not very strong anymore, but i have a big time telling stories to my great-grand-children and great-great-grand children". salena taswell: salena taswell, nw th st. miami, florida, is one of the oldest ex-slave women in miami. like most ex-slaves she is very courteous; she will talk about the "old times", if she has once gained confidence in you, but her answers will be so laconic that two or three visits are necessary in order for an interviewer to gain tangible information without appearing too proddish. with short, measured step, bent form, unsteady head, wearing a beaming smile, salena takes the floor. "ole dr. jameson, he wuz my massy. he had a plantation three mile from perry, georgia. i can 'member whole lots about working for them. y' see i was growned up when peace came. "my mother used to be a seamstress and sewed with her fingers all the time. she made the finest kind of stitches while i worked around de table or did any other kind of house work. "i knowed de time when ab'ram linkum come to de plantation. he come through there on the train and stopped over night oncet. he was known by dr. jameson and he came to perry to see about the food for the soldiers. "we all had part in intertainin' him. some shined his shoes, some cooked for him, an' i waited on de table, i can't forget that. we had chicken hash and batter cakes and dried venison that day. you be sure we knowed he was our friend and we catched what he had t' say. now, he said this: (i never forget that 'slong as i live) 'if they free de people, i'll bring you back into the union' (to dr. jameson) 'if you don't free your slaves, i'll "whip" you back into the union. before i'd allow my wife an' children to be sold as slaves, i'll wade in blood and water up to my neck'. "now he said all that, if my mother and father were living, they'd tell y' the same thing. that's what linkum said. "he came through after freedom and went to the 'sheds' first. i couldn't 'magine what was going on, but they came runnin' to tell me and what a time we had. "linkum went to the smoke house and opened the door and said 'help yourselves; take what you need; cook yourselves a good meall and we sho' had a celebration!" "the dr. didn't care; he was lib'ral. after freedom, when any of us got married he'd give us money and send a servant along for us. sometimes even he'd carry us himself to our new home." dade county, florida, folklore miami's ex-slaves there is a unique organization in the colored population of miami known as the "ex slave club." this club now claims twenty-five members, all over years of age and all of whom were slaves in this country prior to the civil war. the members of this interesting group are shown in the accompanying photograph. the stories of their lives as given verbatim by these aged men and women are recorded in the following stories: annie trip: "my name's annie trip. how my name's trip, i married a trip, but i was borned in georgia in the country not so very far from thomasville. i'm sure you must ha' heard of thomasville, georgia. well, that's where i was borned, on captain hamlin's plantation. "captain hamlin, he was a greatest lawyer. henry hamlin, you know he was the greatest lawyer what ever was, so dey tell me. you see i was small. my mother and father and four brothers all lived there together. some of the rest were too small to remember much, but dey wuz all borned dare just de samey. wish i wuz dare right now. i had plenty of food then. i didn't need to bother about money. didn't have none. didn't have no debts to pay, no bother not like now. "now i have rheumatism and everything, but no money. didn't need any money on captain hamlin's plantation." and annie walked away complaining about rheumatism and no money, etc. before her exact age and address could be obtained. millie sampson: millie sampson, w. th st. miami, florida, was born in manning, s.c. only three years 'bfo' peace". "my mother and father were born on the same plantation and i di'n't have nothin' to do 'sept play with the white children and have plenty to eat. my mother and father were field han's. i learned to talk from the white children." annie gail: annie gail, nw th court, miami, florida, was four years old when "peace came." "i was borned on faggott's place near greenville, alabama. my mother, she worked for faggott. he wuz her bossman. when she'd go out to de fiel's, i 'member i used to watch her, for somehow i wuz feared she would get away from me. "now i 'member dat jes ez good as 'twas yesterday. i didn't do anything. i just runned 'round. "we just 'stayed on' after de' 'mancipation'. my mother, she was hired then. i guess i wuzn't 'fraid ob her leavin' after dat." jessie rowell: jessie rowell, nw th st., miami, florida was born in mississippi, between fossburg and heidelberg, on the gaddis plantation. "my grandmother worked in the house, but my mother worked in the field hoeing or picking cotton or whatever there was to do. i was too little to work. "all that i can 'member is, that i was just a little tot running 'round, and i would always watch for my mother to come home. i was always glad to see her, for the day was long and i knew she'd cook something for me to eat. i can 'member dat es good as 'twas yestiday. "we 'stayed on' after freedom. mother was give wages then, but i don't know how much." margaret white: margaret white, th ave., liberty city, miami. florida is one of those happy creatures who doesn't look as if she ever had a care in the world. she speaks good english: "i am now years old, for i was when the emancipation proclamation was made. it didn't make much difference to me. i had a good home and was treated very nicely. "my master was john eckels. he owned a large fruit place near federal, n.c. "my father was a tailor and made the clothes for his master and his servants. i was never sold. my master just kept me. they liked me and wouldn't let me be sold. he never whipped me, for i was a slave, you know, and i had to do just as i was told. "i worked around the house doing maid's work. i also helped to care for the children in the home." priscilla mitchell: priscilla mitchell, nw th ave., was born in macon county, alabama, march , . "y' see, ah wuz oney years old when ah wuz 'mancipated. i can 'member pickin' cotton, but i didn't work so hard, ah wuz too young. "i wuz my massy's pet. no, no he wouldn't beat me. whenever ah's bad or did little things that my mother didn't want me to do and she'd go to whip me, all i needed to do was to run to my massy and he'd take me up and not let my mother git me." this is a sample of the attitude that very many have toward their masters. fannie mccay: fannie mccay, nw rd court, miami, florida was born on a plantation while her father and mother were slaves; she claims her age is years which would make her too young to remember "mancipation" but nevertheless she was slave property of her master and could have been sold or given away even at that tender age. her parents, too, "stayed on" quite a while after the "mancipation". being one of those who "didn't have too much time to talk too much," her main statement was: "'bout all hi ken 'member is dat hi hused go hout wid de old folks when dey went out to pick cotton. hi used to pick a little along. "i had plenty to eat and when we went away, my massy had a little calf that i liked so well. i begged my massy to give it to me, but he never gave me none." hattie thomas: hattie thomas was six years old when peace was declared. she was 'borned' near custer, ga. on bob morris' plantation. at the tender age of five, she can remember of helping to care for the other children, some of whom were her own brothers and children, for her mother kept her eight children with her. bob morris' plantation being a large one, the problem of feeding all the slaves and their children was, in itself, a large one. hattie can well remember of 'towing' the milk to the long wooden troughs for the children. her mother and the other servants would throw bread crusts and corn breads into the milk troughs and when they would become well-soaked, all the little slave-children would line up with their spoons. "so it happened that the ones who could eat the fastest would be the ones who would get the fattest. "we had a good plenty to eat and it didn't make much difference how it was served. we got it just the same and didn 't know any better. "we stayed on after de 'mancipation an' ah wants t' tell y' ah worked hard in dose days. of course, ah worked hardest after peace wuz declared. "i wuz on dat plantation when there wuz no matches. yes, dat wuz befo' matches wuz made an' many-a time ah started fire in de open fire place by knookin' two stones together until i'd sen' sparks into a wad o'cotton until it took fire. "now, mind y' this was on bob morrison's plantation between custard and cotton hill, ga. we had no made brooms; we just bound broom corn tops together and used them for brooms and brushes. we didn't have no stoves either. we just cooked in a high pot on a rack. i done all dat. "ah haint had no husband for years, but ah raised two sets o'chilluns, nine in all and now ah has grandchildren and i don't know how many great gran' chillun." david lee: david lee, nw st court, miami, fla. is proud of his "missus" and the training he received on the plantation. "ah can't tell y' 'zackkly mah age, but ah knows dat when freedom was declared, ah was big 'nough ter drive a haws an' buggy', for ah had nice folks. ah could tell u' right smart 'bout 'em. "ah libbed near cusper, ga. on barefield's fahm. dare daughter, miss ann barefield, she taught a school few miles away, 'round pas' the post hoffice. ah s'posen ah mus' bee or years hold, for ah' carried miss ann backwards and forwards t' school hev'ry marnin' and den in the hevenin', ah'd stop 'round fer de mails when ah'd go fer to carry her home. "miss ann, she used ter gibme money, but hi didn't know what t' do wid hit. ah had all de clothes ah could we ah and all ah could eat and didn't need playthings, couldn't read much, and didn't know where to buy any books. ah had hit good. "when peace wuz signed, dey gib me lots of confederate bills to play with. ah had ten-dollah bills and lots o' twenty-dollah bills, good bills, but y'know dey wus 't wuth nothing. ah have a twenty-doll ah bill 'roun som'ers, if hi could evah fin' hit. "yes, ah had hit good. my mothah, she stayed on de plantation, too. she did de churnin' and she run de loom. she wuz a good weaver. ah used ter help her run de loom. "we stayed on a while after freedom and den our massy he giv' my mothah a cow and calf along wid other presents an 'he carried us back to my father an' we had a little home. "ah loved man missus just as good as ah did my own mothah. she whipped me a few times but then de whippins wuz honly raps on de head wid her thimble. ah spose ah needed hit, for ah "did like sugah"! (growing more confidential he explained); "now, ah wouldn't steal nothin' else, but--uh--ah,--uh--ah did like sugah!" "missus, she had a big barrel ob lumpy sugah in de pantry. de doo' wuz ginnerly looked, but sometimes when hit wuz hopen, ah'd go in an' take a han' fu'. "ah 'rembah once, ah crawled in tru de winder and mah missus she s'picionated ah wuz in dare eatin' sugah, so she called, "david, you anser me, you all's in [tr: rest of page cut off.] from images provided by the library of congress, manuscript division. [tr: ***] = transcriber note [hw: ***] = handwritten note slave narratives a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress washington volume vii kentucky narratives prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of kentucky [tr: all county names added. names, information in brackets added.] informants bogie, dan henderson, george mason, harriet mayfield, bert oats, will robinson, belle shirley, edd woods, wes combined interviews anderson co: ann gudgel union co: mrs. heyburn calloway co: george scruggs garrard co: harriet mason boyd co: rev. john r. cox wayne co: [mrs. duncan] davies co: [mrs. elizabeth alexander] laurel co: amelia jones jenny mckee jefferson co: susan dale sanders john anderson joana owens [martha j. jones] floyd co: charlie richmond owens co: george dorsey christian co: annie b. boyd kate billingsby nannie eaves mary wright clay co: sophia word boyd co: bell co: mandy gibson breathitt co: scott mitchell union co. [a bill of sale.] [will--nancy austin.] rockcastle co. clark co. montgomery co. monroe co: edd shirley [mrs. c. hood] estill co: peter bruner christian co: easter sudie campbell [uncle dick] annie morgan cora torian mary wooldridge [tr: name corrected per interview.] caldwell co. ballard co. [tinie force and elvira lewis] lawrence co. leslie co. garrard co. [mrs. jennie slavin] webster co. caldwell co. esther hudespeth anderson co. knox co. clark co. casey co. christian co. hopkins co. martin co. [tr: this volume contains a high number of misspellings and typing errors. words that are apparent misspellings to render dialect, such as 'morster' for 'master', or that reflect spelling errors of a particular interviewer or typist, such as 'posess' for 'possess' or 'allegience' for 'allegiance', have not been changed; words that are apparent typing errors such as 'filed' for 'field', 'ot' for 'of', 'progent' for 'progeny', have been corrected without note, to avoid interrupting the narrative.] garrard county. ex-slave stories. (eliza ison) [hw: ky ] interview with dan bogie: uncle dan tells me "he was born may , at the abe wheeler place near spoonsville, now known as nina, about nine miles due east from lancaster. mother, whose name was lucinda wheeler, belonged to the wheeler family. my father was a slave of dan bogie's, at kirksville, in madison county, and i was named for him. my mother's people were born in garrard county as far as i know. i had one sister, born in , who is now dead, and is buried not far from lancaster. marse bogie owned about acres of land in the eastern section of the county, and as far as i can remember there were only four slaves on the place. we lived in a one-room cabin, with a loft above, and this cabin was an old fashioned one about hundred yards from the house. we lived in one room, with one bed in the cabin. the one bed was an old fashioned, high post corded bed where my father and mother slept. my sister and me slept in a trundle bed, made like the big bed except the posts were made smaller and was on rollers, so it could be rolled under the big bed. there was also a cradle, made of a wooden box, with rockers nailed on, and my mother told me that she rocked me in that cradle when i was a baby. she used to sit and sing in the evening. she carded the wool and spun yarn on the old spinning wheel. my grandfather was a slave of talton embry, whose farm joined the wheeler farm. he made shingles with a steel drawing knife, that had a wooden handle. he made these shingles in mr. embry's yard. i do not remember my grandmother, and i didn't have to work in slave days, because my mother and father did all the work except the heavy farm work. my mistus used to give me my winter clothes. my shoes were called brogans. my old master had shoes made. he would put my foot on the floor and mark around it for the measure of my shoes. most of the cooking was in an oven in the yard, over the bed of coals. baked possum and ground hog in the oven, stewed rabbits, fried fish and fired bacon called "streaked meat" all kinds of vegetables, boiled cabbage, pone corn bread, and sorghum molasses. old folks would drink coffee, but chillun would drink milk, especially butter milk. old master would call us about o'clock, and everybody had to get up and go to "starring"[tr:?]. old marse had about or sugar trees which were tapped, in february. elder spiles were stuck in the taps for the water to drop out in the wooden troughs, under the spiles. these troughs were hewed out of buckeye. this maple water was gathered up and put in a big kettle, hung on racks, with a big fire under it. it was then taken to the house and finished upon the stove. the skimmings after it got to the syrup stage was builed down and made into maple sugar for the children. we wore tow linen clothes in summer and jeans in winter. sister wore linsey in winter of different colors, dyed from herbs, especially poke berries; and wore unbleached cotton in summer, dyed with yellow mustard seed. my grandfather, jim embry mended shoes and made fairly good ones. there were four slaves. my mother did cooking and the men did the work. bob wheeler and arch bogie were our masters. both were good and kind to us. i never saw a slave shipped, for my boss did not believe in that kind of punishment. my master had four boys, named rube, falton, horace, and billie. rube and me played together and when we acted bad old marse always licked rube three or four times harder then he did me because rube was older. their daughter was named american wheeler, for her mother. white folks did not teach us to read and write. i learned that after i left my white folks. there was no church for slaves, but we went to the white folks church at mr. freedom. we sat in the gallery. the first colored preacher i ever heard was old man leroy estill. he preached in the freedom meeting house (baptist). i stood on the banks of paint lick creek and saw my mother baptized, but do not remember the preachers name or any of the songs they sung. we did not work on saturday afternoon. the men would go fishing, and the women would go to the neighbors and help each other piece quilts. we used to have big times at the corn shuckings. the neighbors would come and help. we would have camp fires and sing songs, and usually a big dance at the barn when the corn was shucked. some of the slaves from other plantations would pick the banjo, then the dance. miss americe married sam ward. i was too young to remember only that they had good things to eat. i can remember when my mothers brother died. he was buried at the wheeler, but i do not recall any of the songs, and they did not have a preacher. my mother took his death so hard. there was an old ash hopper, made of slats, put together at the bottom and wide at the top. the ashes were dumped in this and water poured over them. a drip was made and lye caught in wooden troughs. this was then boiled down and made into soap. my mother let me help stir it many a time. then the big kettle would be lifted from the fire and left until cold. my mother would then block it off, and put on a wooden plank to dry out until ready for use." bibliography: interview with dan bogie, ex-slave. garrard county. ex-slave stories. (eliza ison) [hw: ky ] interview with george henderson: uncle george tells me that he was born may , near versailles, in woodford county, kentucky. his father's name was bradford henderson, who was a slave of milford twiman who belonged to the cleveland family. he does not know where his family came from. there were children including two or three sets of twins. all died while young, except his brothers: milford, sam, and joe; and sisters: elle and betsy. all the slaves lived in log cabins and there were about or of them on a plantation of acres. "the cabin i was born in had four rooms, two above and two below. the rooms above were called lofts, and we climbed up a ladder to get to these rooms. we slept on trundle-beds, which were covered with straw ticks. our covers were made in big patches from old cast-off clothes. when we got up in the morning we shoved the trundle bed back under the big bed. some boy would ring a great big bell, called the "farm bell" about sunrise. some went to the stables to look after the horses and mules. plowing was done with a yoke or oxen. the horses were just used for carriages and to ride. my work was pulling weeds, feeding chickens, and helping to take care of the pigs. marse cleveland had a very bad male hog and had to keep him in a pen about feet high. sometimes he would break out of the pen and it would take all the bulldogs in the county to get him back. i never did earn any money, but worked for my food and clothes. my daddy used to hunt rabbits and possums. i went with him and would ride on his back with my feet in his pockets. he had a dog named brutus which was a watch dog. my daddy would lay his hat down anywhere in the woods and brutus would stay by the hat until he would come back. we ate all kinds of wild food, possum, and rabbits baked in a big oven. minnows were fished from the creeks and fried in hot grease. we ate this with pone corn bread. we had plenty of vegetables to eat. an old negro called "ole man ben" called us to eat. we called him the dinner bell because he would say "who-e-e, god-dam your blood and guts". out clothes were made of jeens and linsey in winter. in the summer we wore cotton clothes. they gave us shoes at christmas time. we were measured with sticks. once i was warming my shoes on a back log on the big fire place, they fell over behind the logs and burnt up. i didn't marry while on the plantation. my master and mistress lived in the big brick house of rooms, with two long porches. one below and one below. my mistus was miss lucy elmore before she married. her children were named miss mat, miss emma, and miss jennie. i saw the slaves in chains after they were sold. the white folks did not teach us to read and write. we had church on the plantation but we went from one plantation to another to hear preaching. white folks preacher's name was reuben lee, in versailles. a meeting of the baptist church resulted in the first baptizing i ever saw. it was in mr. chillers pond. the preacher would say 'i am baptizing you in mr. chillers pond because i know he is an honest man'. i can't remember any funeral. i remember one slave named adams who ran away and when he came back my old master picked up a log from the fire and hit him over the head. we always washed up and cleaned up for sunday. some time the older ones would get drunk. on christmas and new years day we would go up to the house and they would give us candy and fruit and fire-crackers. we were given some of all the food that the white folks had, even turkey. would have heaps of corn-shuckings, the neighbors would come in and then we'd have big dances and old marse would always have a "jug of licker". if a cat crossed our path we would turn backwards for a while. when i was about or years old i went from the cabin to the big kitchen to make the fire for my mammy to get the breakfast and i saw ole man billie cleveland standing looking up in the sky. he had been dead about or years; but i saw him. the white folks looked after us when we were sick. used dock leaves, slippery elm for poultices. they put polk root in whiskey and gave it to us. when the news came we were freed every body was glad. the slaves cleared up the ground and cut down trees. stayed with marse cleveland the first year after the war. have heard the klu klux klan ride down the road, wearing masks. none ever bothered me or any of marse clevelands slaves. i married years after i left marse cleveland. married lucy mason the first time and had three children, two girls and boy. i didn't have no children by my second marriage, but the third time i had four. one died. i have eight grandchildren. we had no overseer but marse hock was the only boy and the oldest child. we had no white trash for neighbors. i have seen old covered wagons pulled by oxen travelling on the road going to indianny and us children was whipped to keep us away from the road for fear they would steal us." bibliography: interview with george henderson, ex-slave. garrard county. ex-slave stories. (eliza ison) [hw: ky ] aunt harriet mason--ex-slave: she was born one mile below bryantsville on the lexington pike in garrard county, and was owned by b.m. jones. she gives the date of her birth as april , . aunt harriet's father was daniel scott, a slave out of mote scott's slave family. aunt harriet's mother's name was amy jones, slave of marse briar jones, who came from harrodsburg, ky. the names of her brothers were harrison, daniel, merida, and ned; her sisters were susie and maria. miss patsy, wife of marse briar gave maria to marse sammy welsh, brother of miss patsy's and who lived with his sister. he taught school in bryantsville for a long time. "general gano who married jane welsh, adopted daughter of marse briar jones, took my sisters myra and emma, brother ned and myself to tarrant county, texas to a town called lick skillet, to live. grapevine was the name of the white folks house. it was called grapevine because these grapevines twined around the house and arbors. sister emma was the cook and myra and me were nurse and house maids. brother married betty estill, a slave who cooked for the estill family. mr. estill later bought ned in order to keep him on the place. i didn't sleep in the cabins with the rest of the negroes; i slept in the big house and nursed the children. i was not paid any money for my work. my food was the same as what the white folks et. in the summer time we wore cotton and tow linen; and linsey in the winter. the white folks took me to church and dressed me well. i had good shoes and they took me to church on sunday. my master was a preacher and a doctor and a fine man. miss mat sho was hard to beat. the house they lived in was a big white house with two long porches. we had no overseer or driver. we had no "po white neighbors". there was about acres of land around lick skillet, but we did not have many slaves. the slaves were waked up by general gano who rang a big farm bell about four times in the morning. there was no jail on the place and i never say a slave whipped or punished in any way. i never saw a slave auctioned off. my mistus taught all the slaves to read and write, and we set on a bench in the dining room. when the news came that we were free general gano took us all in the dining room and told us about it. i told him i wusn't going to the cabins and sleep with them niggers and i didn't. at christmas and new years we sho did have big times and general gano and miss nat would buy us candy, popcorn, and firecrackers and all the good things just like the white folks. i don't remember any weddings, but do remember the funeral of mr. marion who lived between the big house and lick skillet. he was going to be buried in the cemetery at lick skillet, but the horses got scared and turned the spring wagon over and the corpse fell out. the mourners sure had a time getting things straightened out, but they finally got him buried. they used to keep watermelon to pass to company. us children would go to the patch and bring the melons to the big spring and pour water over them and cool 'em. when news came that we were free we all started back to kentucky to marse jones old place. we started the journey in two covered wagons and an ambulance. general gano and miss nat and the two children and me rode in the ambulance. when we got to memphis we got on a steam boat named "old kentucky". we loaded the ambulance and the two wagons and horses on the boat. when we left the boat, we got on the train and got off at georgetown in scott county and rode from there to general gano's brother william in scott county, on a stage coach. when i took the children, katy and maurice, upstairs to wash them i looked out the window into the driveway and saw the horses that belonged to marse briar jones. they nickered at the gate trying to get in. the horses were named henry clay and dan. when the children went down i waved at the horses and they looked up at the window and nickered again and seemed to know me. when we were coming back from texas, maurice held on the plait of my hair all the way back. i didn't marry while i belonged to the gano family. i married henry mason after i came to lancaster to live about sixty years ago. i am the mother of nine children, three boys and six girls. there are two living. i have no grand-children. i joined the church when the cholera epidemic broke out in lancaster in . the preacher was brother silas crawford, of the methodist church. i was baptized in a pond on creamery street. i think people ought to be religious because they live better and they love people more." aunt harriet lived at the present behind the white methodist church in lancaster. the daughter with whom she lives is considered one of the high class of colored people in lancaster. she holds an a.b. degree, teaching in the colored city school, and is also a music teacher. she stands by the teaching of her mother, being a "good methodist"; giving of her time, talent, and service for her church. bibliography: interview with aunt harriet mason, lancaster, kentucky. garrard county. ex-slave stories. (eliza ison) interview with bert mayfield: bert mayfield was born in garrard county, may , , two miles south of bryantsville on smith stone's place. his father and mother were ped and matilda stone mayfield, who were slaves of smith stone who came from virginia. his brothers were john, harrison, jerry, and laurence, who died at an early age. he lived on a large plantation with a large old farm house, built of logs and weatherboards, painted white. there were four rooms on the first floor, and there were also finished rooms on the second floor. an attic contained most of the clothes needed for the slaves. "uncle bert" in his own language says, "on christmas each of us stood in line to get our clothes; we were measured with a string which was made by a cobbler. the material had been woben by the slaves in a plantation shop. the flax and hemp were raised on the plantation. the younger slaves had to "swingle it" with a wooden instrument, somewhat like a sword, about two feet long, and called a swingler. the hemp was hackled by the older slaves. the hackle was an instrument made of iron teeth, about four inches long, one-half inch apart and set in a wooden plank one and one-half feet long, which was set on a heavy bench. the hemp stalks were laid on these benches and hackled herds were then pulled through and heaped in piles and taken to the work shops where it was twisted and tied then woven, according to the needs. ropes, carpets, and clothing were made from this fiber. "our cabins were usually one room with a loft above which we reached by a ladder. our beds were trundle beds with wheels on them to push them under the big beds. we slept on straw ticks covered with lindsey quilts, which were made from the cast-off clothes, cut into squares and strips." bert can just remember his grandparents. he would feed pigs; pulled "pusley" out of the garden for them "and them pigs loved it mighty well". no money was paid for work. bacon and "pone bread" baked in the yard in an oven that had legs and lid on top was the chief food and his favorite. the coals were put on top as well as under the oven. they drank sweet milk and butter milk, but no coffee; they also ate cabbage, squash, sweet and irish potatoes, which were cooked with, skins on, greased, and put in the oven. "possum" and coon hunts were big events, they would hunt all night. the possums were baked in the ovens and usually with sweet potatoes in their mouths. the little boys would fish, bringing home their fish to be scaled by rubbing them between their hands, rolled in meal and cooked in a big skillet. "we would eat these fish with pone corn bread and we sho' had big eatins!" marse stone had a big sugar camp with trees. we would be waked up at sun-up by a big horn and called to get our buckets and go to the sugar camps and bring water from the maple trees. these trees had been tapped and elderwood spiles were placed in the taps where the water dripped to the wooden troughs below. we carried this water to the big poplar troughs which were about feet long and feet high. the water was then dipped out and placed in different kettles to boil until it became the desired thickness for "tree molasses". old miss polly would always take out enough of the water to boil down to make sugar cakes for us boys. we had great times at these "stirrin' offs" which usually took place at night. the neighbors would usually come and bring their slaves. we played sheep-meat and other games. sheep-meat was a game played with a yarn ball and when one of the players was hit by the ball that counted him out. one song we would always sing was "who ting-a-long? who ting-a-long? who's been here since i've been gone? a pretty girl with a josey on". there was no slave jail on the stone place, and i never saw a slave sold or auctioned off. i was told that one of our slaves ran off and was gone for three years. some white person wrote him to come home that he was free. he was making his own way in ohio and stopped in lexington, kentucky for breakfast; while there he was asked to show his pass papers which he did, but they were forged so he was arrested. investigators soon found that his owner was mr. stone who did not wish to sell him and sent for him to come home. uncle ned's own tim said he "would go fetch him back" but instead he sold him to a southern slave trader. my old mistus meg taught me how to read from an old national spelling book, but i did not learn to write. we had no church, but the bible was read to us on sunday afternoons by some of the white folks. the first church i remember was the old fork baptist church about four miles from lancaster on the lexington pike. the first preacher i remember was burdette kemper. i heard him preach at the old church where my mistus and master took me every sunday. the first baptizin' that i remember was on dix fiver near floyd's mill. preacher kemper did the baptizin' and ellen stone, one of our slaves was baptized there with a number of others--whites and blacks too. when ellen came up out of the water she was clapping her hands and shouting. one of the songs i remember at this baptizing was: "come sinners and saints and hear me tell the wonders of e-man-u-el, who brought my soul with him to dwell and give me heavenly union." "the first funeral sermon i remember was preached by john moran, negro at the first baptist here in lancaster. "the negroes would talk among themselves, but never carried tales to the white folks. i never heard of any trouble between blacks and whites. on sunday's we would hold prayer meetings among ourselves. the neighbors would come when slaves were sick. old mistus looked after us, giving us teas made of catnip and vermifuge. poultices of dock leaves and slippery elm were also used when were sick. some of the slaves wore rabbit feet for charms and skins of snakes for a belt as a charm. "my first wedding was years ago. the woman was named emma barren, raised by dr. pettus. i had no children. we went to mr. spencer hubble to live, in lincoln county. we had no chil [tr: this sentence appears to have been unfinished or erased.] i received the first news of freedom joyfully. i went to old man onstott's to live. i lived there two or three years. i think abe lincoln a great man. he did not believe in slavery and would have paid the southern people for their slaves if he had lived. all the slaves on morse stone's place were treated well. bibliography: interview with bert mayfield. mercer county. ex-slave stories. (hazel cinnamon) interview with will oats--ex-slave: will oats, years of age, was born in wayne county, up spring valley in . he was the son of betty oats and will garddard of north carolina. he has three sisters: lucy wilson, frances phillips that live in ohio, and alice branton of mercer county, kentucky. he has two brothers; jim coffey and lige coffey of harrodsburg. as a child he lived with his mother, brothers, sisters, and grandmother. their quarters were in the yard of their master; and they were as comfortable as any slaves--with plenty to eat and clothes to keep them warm. will was just a boy at that time, and he cut wood and carried it in; and did other chores around the house such as help to milk and feed the stock. their food was plentiful and they ate all kinds of vegetables, and had plenty of milk and butter, fat meat, and bread. the family all wore home made clothing, cotton shirts, heavy shoes, very heavy underwear; and if they wore out their winter shoes before the spring weather they had to do without until the fall. will was owned by lewis oats and his sister; they lived in a two story house, built of log and weather boarded. they were very wealthy people. the farm consisted of over acres; they owned six slaves; and they had to be up doing their morning work before the master would wake. when working and the slaves would disobey their master, they were punished in some way; but there was no jail. they didn't know how to read or write, and they had no church to attend. all they had to do when not at work was to talk to the older folks. on christmas morning they would usually have a little extra to eat and maybe a stick of candy. on new year's day their work went on just the same as on any other day. will, as a boy loved to play marbles which was about the most interesting game they had to play. of course, they could play outside as all children do now when they had spare time. at that time there were few doctors and when the slaves would get hurt or sick, they were usually looked after by the master or by their overseer. after the war had closed, will's grandmother walked from monticello to camp nelson to get her free papers and her children. they were all very happy, but they were wondering what they were going to do without a home, work, or money. but after will and his mother and grandmother got their freedom, the grandmother bought a little land and house and they all went there to live. of course, they worked out for other people and raised a great deal of what they ate. will lived there until he grew older and went out for himself; and later moved to mercer county where he now lives. bibliography: interview with will oats, ex-slave of mercer county. garrard county. ex-slave stories. (eliza ison) aunt belle robinson: i found aunt belle sitting on the porch, dressed nice and clean with a white handkerchief pinned on her neck. when i went to her and told her who i was and the reason for my visit her face beamed with smiles and she said "lawdy, it has been so long that i have forgot nearly everything i knew". further investigation soon proved that she had not forgotten, for her statements were very intelligent. she was working on a quilt and close investigation found that the work was well done. aunt belle tells me "i was born june rd, in garrard county near lancaster. my mother's name was marion blevin and she belonged to the family of pleas blevin. my father's name was arch robinson who lived in madison county. harrison brady bought me from ole miss nancy graham and when mr. brady died and his property was sold mrs. brady bought me back; and she always said that she paid $ for me. i lived in that family for three generations, until every one of them died. i was the only child and had always lived at the big house with my mistus. i wore the same kind of clothes and ate the same kind of food the white people ate. my mother and father lived at the cabin in the yard and my mother did the cooking for the family. my father did the work on the farm with the help that was hired from the neighbors. i was too young to remember much about the slave days, but i never heard of any slaves of the neighbors being punished. my "mistus" always took me to the baptist church with her. i do not remember any preacher's names or any songs they sang." bibliography: interview with aunt belle robinson, ex-slave of garrard county. monroe county. folklore. (lenneth jones- ) [hw: essay] uncle edd shirley ( ): janitor at tompkinsville drug co. and hospital, tompkinsville, ky. [tr: information moved from bottom of page.] slaves: i am years old and am still working as janitor and support my family. my father was a white man and my mother was a colored lady. i was owned three different times, or rather was sold to three different families. i was first owned by the waldens; then i was sold to a man by the name of jackson, of glasgow, kentucky. then my father, of this county, bought me. i have had many slave experiences. some slaves were treated good, and some were treated awful bad by the white people; but most of them were treated good if they would do what their master told them to do. i onced saw a light colored gal tied to the rafters of a barn, and her master whipped her until blood ran down her back and made a large pool on the ground. and i have seen negro men tied to stakes drove in the ground and whipped because they would not mind their master; but most white folks were better to their slaves and treated them better than they are now. after their work in the fields was finished on saturday, they would have parties and have a good time. some old negro man would play the banjo while the young darkies would dance and sing. the white folks would set around and watch; and would sometimes join in and dance and sing. my colored grand father lived to be years old, and at that age he was never sick in his life. one day he picked up the water bucket to go to the spring, and as he was on his way back he dropped dead. garrard county. ex-slave stories. (eliza ison) interview with ex-slave uncle wes woods: my first visit to uncle wes wood, and his wife aunt lizzie wood, found them in their own comfortable little home in duncantown, a nice urban section of the town, where most of the inhabitants are of the better class of colored people. a small yard with a picket fence and gate surround the yard, which had tall hollyhocks, rearing their heads high above the fence. a knock on the front door brought the cordial invitation "to come in". upon entering, i was invited to have a chair and "rest my hat". after seating myself and making inquiry as to their health, i told them the object of my visit, and their faces beamed when i asked if they remembered "slave days". aunt lizzie set down the can of beans she was preparing for their meal and said with a clasp of her hands, "lawsey, honey, what i do know would fill a book". uncle wes had been a "shut-in" for eleven months, and was in bed, but was cheerful and bright with an intelligent memory, rarely found in one his age. uncle wes tells me that he was born may , in garrard county, near cartersville, and was first a slave of mrs. eliza kennedy, who later married john yeakey, of that section of the county. "my father's name was ben woods, my mother's name was janie woods, but i do not know what family she belonged to except the woods. my master owned about three or four hundred acres of land, and there were about twenty slaves, including the children. there were three or four cabins for the slaves to live in, not so very far from the house. the cabin where my mother and father lived was the closest to the house, for my mother did the cooking. our cabin was one long room, with a loft above, which we reached with a ladder. there was one big bed, with a trundle bed, which was on wooden rollers and was shoved under the big bed in the daytime. the oldest boys slept in a big wooden bed in the loft. the cabins were built of logs and chinked with rock and mud. the ceiling was of joists, and my mother used to hang the seed that we gathered in the fall, to dry from these joists. some of the chimneys were made with sticks and chinked with mud, and would sometimes catch on fire. later people learned to build chimneys of rock with big wide fire places, and a hearth of stone, which made them safer from fire. second interview: "i chopped corn and pulled weeds and the other work hands would let me ride behind them beck to the big house, and my! how hungry i wuz and how we did eat. we would have beans, cooked in a big kettle in the back yard, cabbage and potatoes, with corn pone bread, baked in a big oven in the yard and plenty of good buttermilk to drink. "my young bosses, when i lived in the kennedy family would take the dogs and let me go coon hunting at night with them, and what big times we had. the possums were skinned and cooked in a big kettle hung over the fire, then taken out and put in a big oven to take. a piece of streaked meat was put in and a small pod of red pepper--my-my what eatin' we had! "we fished with a stock pole and a twine string. we had big times hunting fishing worms for bait. we used to catch hockney, hads and chubs. my mistus would not let me go fishing on sunday, but i would slip off and go anyhow. i nearly always had a good string caught and i would tie them to a branch on the creek until the next day; then i would go fishing and in about two hours i would come back with the fish, and she would say, "wes, you had good luck today"; and i would say, "yes mistus, i did", but never did i tell her when i caught the fish. "my first wife was lou burnsides and we had five children: eliza, fannie, george, julia, and jennie. all of them are dead but two. i have no children by my present wife. "i never saw a slave whipped or in chains. my boss did not believe in that kind of punishment. if the children needed whipping, it was done like all other children are whipped when they need it. "the first colored preacher i recall was named john reed, a baptist preacher at paint lick. i joined the church at lowell, not very far from here. the preachers name was leroy estill, a "predestinerian". "marse woods had five children, two boys and three girls, none of them are living. "we were glad when the news came that we were free, but none of us left for a long time, not until the woods family was broken up. my father hired me out to work for my vituals and clothes, and i got $ . at the end of the year. i do not remember of any wedding or death in my old masters house. "i believe in heart-felt religion and prayer. the good book teaches us we must be prepared for another world after this. i want to go to heaven when i die, and i try to live by the bible." bibliography: interview with wes woods, ex-slave of garrard county. combined interviews: customs: by counties slavery: local history and dialect anderson co. (mildred roberts) story of ann gudgel (age unknown): "i doesn't know how old i am, but i was a little girl when dat man lincum freed us niggahs. my mammy neber tole us our age, but i knows i'se plenty old, cause i feels like it. "when i was a liddle girl all of us was owned by master ball. when lincum freed us neggahs, we went on and libbed with master ball till us chilluns was bout growed up. none of us was eber sold, cause we belonged to the balls for always back as far as we could think. "mammy worked up at the big house, but us chilluns had to stay at de cabin. but i didn't berry much care, cause ole miss had a liddle child jest bout my age, and us played together. "the onliest time ole miss eber beat me was when i caused miss nancy to get et up wit de bees. i tole her 'miss nancy, de bees am sleep, lets steal de honey.' soon as she tetched it, day flew all ober us, and it took mammy bout a day to get the stingers outen our haids. ole miss jest natually beat me up bout dat. "one day they vaccinated all de slaves but mine neber took atall. i nebber tole noboddy, but i jest set right down by de fireplace and rubbed wood ashes and juice that spewed outen de wood real hard ober de scratch. all de others was real sick and had the awfullest arms, but mine neber did eben hurt." union co. (ruby garten) mrs. heyburn: (these two stories were told by mrs. heyburn as she remembered them from her grandmother). "when the war was going on between the states and the confederate soldiers had gone south, the yankee soldiers came through. there was a little negro slave boy living on the farm and he had heard quite a bit about the yankees, so one day they happened to pass through where he could see them and he rushed into the house and said, "miss lulu, i saw a yankee, and he was a man." "i remember the slaves on my grandfather's farm. after they were freed they asked him to keep them because they didn't want to leave. he told them they could stay and one of the daughters of the slaves was married in the kitchen of my grandfather's house. after the wedding they set supper for them. some of the slave owners were very good to their slaves; but some whipped them until they made gashes in their backs and would put salt in the gashes. calloway co. (l. cherry) story of uncle george scruggs, a colored slave: i wuz a slave befo de wa. my boss, de man dat i b'long to, wuz ole man vol scruggs. he wuz a race hoss man. he had a colod boy faw evy hoss dem days and a white man faw evy hoss, too. i wuz bawn rite here in murry. my boss carrid me away frum here. i thought a heap uv him and he though a heap uv me. i'd rub de legs uv dem hosses and rode dem round to gib em excise. i wuz jes a small boy when my boss carrid me away from murry. my boss carrid me to lexinton. i staid wid ole man scruggs a long time. i jes don no how long. my boss carrid me to his brother, ole man finch scruggs. he run a sto and i had to sweep de flo uv de sto, wash dishes and clean nives and falks evy day. ole man finch scruggs carrid my uncle up thar wen ole vol carrid me. ole man finch scruggs liv'd at a little town called clintinvil on tuther side uv lexinton. wen ole man vol scruggs marid, he take me away from old man finch scruggs and carrid me to liv wid him. i wuz den wid my ole boss again. he den hired me to wuk faw a docta in lexinton. my job wuz to clean up his ofis and wen he went out en de cuntry, he took me long to open de gates. i had to skowa nives and fawks and ole brass canel stix. dats been a long time ago, ize tellin you, white man. while i wuz sweepin de doctas ofis one day i saw droves uv colud folks gwine by wid two white men ridin in front, two ridin in de midel, and two ridin behind. de colud folks wuz wulkin, gwine down town to be sold. when i fust seen em comin i got scared an started to run but de white man said, "stop, boy, we is not gwine a hurt you." i staid wid dat boss docta sumpin like a yer, an den wont back to my ole boss. i'd a been up thar wid im yet but he kep telin me i wuz free. but i diden no whut he mean by sich talk. wen my ole boss sole out up thar, he brung me wid him on to paducah. he had a neffu in de wholesale grocy bisness in paducah. my old boss carrid me to his neffu and lef me thar. dat wuz de las time i eva saw my good ole boss caus he went on to missouri. my old boss wuz sho good to me, white man. i sho do luv im yet. wy, he neva wood low me to go barfooted, caus he wuz afraid i'd stick thorns in my feet, an if he eva caut me barfooted, he sho wod make my back tell it. wen he lef me in paducah, his neffu took me over to my ant, rose scruggs to stay all nite wid her. nex day i walked wid my cousin to mayfield, carryin two toe sacks uv cloes dat my good ole boss give me wen he lef me in paducah. de cloze wuz faw me an my muther. wen we got to mayfield, we went strate to judge williams caus he marrid my ole boss' sister and i wuz sho we could stay wid dem. my ole boss an my muther wuz play-children together. my muther's name wuz patsy malone. mr. maline's wife wuz my ole boss' sister and my muther fell to her as a slave. next day i come to murry whar my muther lived wid miss emily malone. i wuz gone a long time caus my ole boss took me way from murry wen i wuz a small boy. i staid wid my muther til she died. i now live in one mile uv de house whar i wuz bawn. mr. hugh wear sez i is years old. garrard co. (sue higgins) story of aunt harriet mason age --a slave girl: "when i was seven years old my missis took me to bourbon county, when we got to lexington i tried to run off and go back to bryantsville to see my mammy. mas'r gano told me if i didn't come the sheriff would git me. i never liked to go to lexington since. "one sunday we was going to a big meetin' we heared som'in rattling in the weeds. it was a big snake, it made a track in the dust. when we got home missis asked me if i killed any snakes. i said to missis, snake like to got me and gilbert, too. "they used to have dances at mrs. dickerson's, a neighbor of general gano (a preacher in the christian church). mrs. dickerson wouldn't let the "padaroes" come to the dances. if they did come, whe[tr:she?] would get her pistol and make them leave. "when general gano went from texas to kentucky, he brought head of horses. he sold all of them but old black. "mas'r gano went back to texas to take up a child he had buried there. the boat blowed up, and he came nigh gittin' drowned. "one time i wus out in mas'rs wheat field. i would get the wheat heads and make chewin' wax. i told missis i want to go up to bryantsville to see my mammy. mas'r took me in about a week. "up at miss jennie west's house they had an ole icehouse. some boys made out like they had a bear up there to scare every body away. "i saw a flock of wild geese fly over one evenin' late. some boys saw them and one boy shot the leader. the rest of the flock wound round and round, they didn't know where to go. "one time when i was actin' nurse for missis, there was another nigger gal there and we was playin' horse-shoes. celia hit me in the head. it got blood all over the baby's dress. missis came out, she say, "i'll hit you niggers if you don't stop playing with horse-shoes." the scar is on my head yet whar celia hit me. i ain't played since. do you blame me? "missis told her brother sam one day to whoop me. every time he hit me, i'd hit him. i wan't feared then. i didn't know no better. look like white folks goin' to have their way and niggers goin' to have theirs. "i used to say i wish i'd died when i was little. but now i thank de lord i'm here and i want to stay here as long as lilly (my daughter) lives. "missis wanted all of us little niggers to call kate, missis' little daughter, miss kate. but missis say, "they will call me old missis then". "kate had red hair. a little nigger boy say, 'look! harriet, the town's on fire', i say git away from here nigger, i ain't goin' to have you makin' fun of my chil'en. "me and missis was goin' to a neighbor's house one day in a sleigh. the baby was wrapped up in a comfort (it had a hole in it). the baby slipped out. i say, 'lor' missis, you're lost that baby.' "no, i haven't, missis say. we stopped and shook the comfort and john was gone. 'ain't that awful, miss mat?' we went back and found him a mile behind." i asked aunt harriet to sing. she said, "i have to wait for the speret to move me". (s. higgins). boyd co. (carl f. hall) rev. john r. cox: it is probable that slave labor was more expensive to the white masters than free labor would have been. beside having cost quite a sum a two-year old negro child brought about $ , in the slave market, an adult negro, sound and strong, cost from $ , up to as high as $ , , or more. the master had to furnish the servant his living. the free employee is paid only while working; when sick, disabled or when too old to work, his employer is no longer responsible. a slave owner, in west virginia, bought a thirteen year old black girl at an auction. when this girl was taken to his home she escaped, and after searching every where, without finding her, he decided that she had been helped to escape and gave her up as lost. about two years after that a neighbor, on a closely farm, was in the woods feeding his cattle, he saw what he first thought was a bear, running into the thicket from among his cows. getting help, he rounded up the cattle and searching the thick woodland, finally found that what he had supposed was a wild animal, was the long lost fugitive black girl. she had lived all this time in caves, feeding on nuts, berries, wild apples and milk from cows, that she could catch and milk. returned to her master she was sold to a mr. morgan whittaker who lived near where prestonsburg, kentucky now is. a dr. david cox, physician from scott county, virginia, who treated mr. whitaker for a cancer, saw this slave girl, who had become a strong healthy young woman, and mr. whitaker unable to otherwise pay his doctor bill, let dr. davis have her for the debt. at this time the slave girl was about twenty-one years of age, and dr. davis took her home to scott county, virginia where he married her to his only other slave, george cox, by the ceremony of laying a broom on the floor and having the two young negroes step over the broom stick. among the children of george cox and his wife was rev. john r. cox, col. who now lives in catlettsburg, kentucky, and is probably the only living ex-slave in this county. after the emancipation proclamation, by president lincoln, in , john managed to get four years of schooling where he learned to read and write and become very proficient in arithmetic. he says that had he had the opportunity to study that we have today he could have been the smartest man in the united states. he also says, that before freedom, the negroes in his neighborhood were allowed no books, if found looking at a book a slave was whipped unmercifully. john's master, in allowing his slaves to marry, was much more liberal than most other slave owners, who allowed their slaves no such liberty. as a rule negro men were not allowed to marry at all, any attempt to mate with the negro women brought swift, sure horrible punishment and the species were propogated by selected male negroes, who were kept for that purpose, the owners of this privileged negro, charged a fee of one out of every four of his offspring for his services. the employing class of kentuckians, many of them descendants of slave owners, are prone to be reactionary in their attitude towards those who toil, this is reflected in low wages and inferior working conditions, a condition which affects both white and black labor alike, in many sections of the state. (bibliography: rev. john r. cox (colored) catlettsburg, kentucky. born (does not know day and month), minister a.m.e. church. first truant officer catlettsburg, kentucky. interviewed dec. , .) wayne co. (gertrude vogler) [mrs. duncan:] "after the war was over mammie's old man did not want us with them, so he threatened to kill us. then my old mammie fixed us a little bundle of what few clothes we had and started us two children out to go back to the campbell family in albany. the road was just a wilderness and full of wild animals and varmints. mammie gave us some powder and some matches, telling us to put a little down in the road every little while and set fire to it. this would scare the wild animals away from us. "we got to the river at almost dark and some old woman set us across the river in a canoe. she let us stay all night wit her, and we went on to 'grandpap campbells'' (we always called him grandpap instead of master, as the others did.) when he saw us comin' he said 'lawd have mercy here comes them poor little chillun'. "i stayed with them that time until i was big enough to be a house girl. then i went to live with the harrison family in albany; and i lived with them till i married old sam duncan and come to wayne county to live. i've raised a family of nine children and have thirty-seven grand children and twenty great grand children. "every one of my children wears a silver dime on a string around their leg, to keep off the witches spell. one time, before my daughter della got to wearing it, she was going down the road, not far from our house, when all at once her leg gave way and she could not walk. of course i knowed what it was. so i went after linda woods, the witch doctor. she come with a bottle of something, all striped with all colors, but when you shake it up it was all the same color. she rubbed her leg with it and told me to get all the life everlasting (a weed you know) that i could carry in my arm, and brew it for tea to bathe her leg in. then pour it in a hole in the ground, but not to cover it up. then not to go down the same road for nine days. "we did all she said, and her leg got all right as soon as we bathed it. but she did not wait nine days, and started down the road the next day. the very same thing happened to her again. her leg give way under her and she could not walk a step. "i went after linda woods again. this time she said, 'd--m her, i told her not to go over that road for nine days.' but she came with the striped bottle and destroyed the witch spell again, telling her this time if she went over the road again for nine days that she would remain a cripple all her life, for she would not cure her again. "della stayed off that road for nine days, this time, and all the family have worn the silver dime around their legs ever since. "another time my old man sam got down in his back. well, he went to henry coulter (he was another witch doctor). he just shot in the back with a glass pistol, and cured him. of course there was not any bullet in the pistol, but it cured him. he could draw a picture of a chicken on a paper and shoot it, and a chicken would fall dead in the yard, yes sir. i've seen him do it. old henry is dead now though. when he died he had a whole trunk full of the queerest looking things you ever seed. and they took it all and buried it. nobody would touch it for anything. "i always keep a horse shoe over my door to keep the spirits away. we live very close to the graveyard, and my boy ed said he had been seeing his brother charley in his room every night. if he was livin' right he would not be seeing charlie every night. charlie never bothers me. he was my boy that died and is buried in this graveyard above our house." davies co. (cecelia laswell) [mrs. elizabeth alexander:] the following is a very old negro sermon i found in an old scrap book dated , belonging to mrs. elizabeth alexander, frederica st. she says she has heard her family refer to parts of it at different time in her early life and supposed that the negro preacher belonged to her people. quote: mine deerly fren: ub dar's wun ting wot de lord abominerates worser nor anudder; it is a wicked nigger! a wicked wite man's bad snuff, dur lord nose! but dey so dam wite, an so kussed sarcy, day doun no no better, so dar's some appolleragee fur 'em; but i gin yer for th noe as how, a wicked nigger can nibber scape frum de vengence ob de lord-day's no use playin possum any more dan day was ob joner coorin it into de wale's belly! (glory from the congregation) let um go to de norf pole, or to de souf pole, to de west pole, or to de east pole, or de poles in any ob de words; he ant a bit safer den he would be in a cellar at pints, wid ole hays arter him! (groans) oh! niggers! i tink i see you look round. yer's better! fer wot i tells yer's trufe! gorda mity's trufe! werrily i say unter yer! wen de court ob seshions ob de las day cum, ye'll reckerlect wot i say at dis times! wen yer hab de lord fer recorder, an a jury ob angles, an gabriel ter report der trial fer de hebbenly "herald" (deep groans) yas! den yar'll turn up de wite ob yer eyes! (sighs) den ter'll call fer de rock ter cubber yer! an de hill ter fall top o' yer. no yer don't. kase, in de fus place day woodn't do it; an in de libenth place, ub day would it would be no better dan ridin in a cart in de big city or gettin under de butcher's stall in de fly market; fer de lord can move more mountins in wun minite, dan de biggest nigger in dis congregation could shake a stick at twixt now an next fort ob july (clapping of hands, sighs, groans and grunts) tink, yer black sinners ob de bottomless pit, deeper dan de hole holt bored fer water. oh! yer'll wish yo cood bore fer wat-r dar! but day's no water dar, an de deeper yer go, oh, my bredren, de deeper it git! an den de smell! yer'll gib yer soul uv yer had any left, jist fur wun smell ob a rotten egg! oh, my deelee frens some ob yer hold yer nose wen yer go by de gas works. how der yer spose yer'l feel dare yer smell notin but brimstone an nashin ob teeth! (deep groans) oh, i hear yer groans, but i ant begin to cum ter worst yit. oh! my toenail a'most shake off in ma stockin wen i tink ob dat heat ob infernal regins! den yer tink melted led cold as de young gemmen at de big houses tink a miny julip is now, an besid's my brederen it keeps a burnin nite on day to de end ob ebrerlastin; yer needn't tink bimeby yer go from dare to hebben like de rummin catlick--no, in de fust place yer don't; an in de second if yer cood, yer'd git yer def of cole goin frum one place to tudder. an now, my belobbed brederen, lets in terwestigate how tar git bale; how to avoid de sing sing ob de world wot's got to cume. fiddlin an dancin wont do it. yer'll neber git ter hebben by loafin, pitchin cents, an dancin juba! de only way is ter support de preacher, gib yer money ter me, and i'll take yer sins on my shoulder. an now i beseech yer not ter leebe dis here holy place an go round er corner, round er corner and fergit de words yer have heered dis night. next wednesday ebenin dar will be a sarbice in his place de lord willin, but next thursday ebenin weffer or no. an now we will sing inti de -elebent him de particlarest meter. old ebe he was de second man fur adam was de fust---- a black man's made ob ebony, a white man's made o' dust. methuselah was the oldest man, but sampson was the strongest---- cats, rats, and puppies all hab tails, but monkies is der longest. (while they were singing the th verse, i took my departure.--b.l.) laurel co. (perry larkey) amelia jones: concerning slaves of this section of the country, i will quote experiences and observation of an old negro lady who was a slave, mrs. amelia jones, living in north london, kentucky. "aunt amelia" as she is known around here is eighty-eight years of age, being sixteen years of age at the close of the civil war. mrs. jones says, "i will tell as best i can remember, _i was born eighty-eight years ago in manchester, ky. under a master by the name of daw white. he was southern republican and was elected as congressman by that party from manchester, ky_. he was the son of hugh white, the original founder of whitesberg, ky. master white was good to the slaves, he fed us well and had good places for us to sleep, and didn't whip us only when it was necessary, but didn't hesitate to sell any of his slaves, he said, "you all belong to me and if you don't like it, i'll put you in my pocket" meaning of course that he would sell that slave and put the money in his pocket. the day he was to sell the children from their mother he would tell that mother to go to some other place to do some work and in her absence he would sell the children. it was the same when he would sell a man's wife, he also sent him to another job and when he returned his wife would be gone. the master only said "don't worry you can get another one". mrs. jones has a sister ninety-two years of age living with her now, who was sold from the auction block in manchester. her sister was only twelve years of age when sold and her master received $ , . for her, then she was taken south to some plantation. also her father was sold at that place at an auction of slaves at a high price, handcuffed and taken south. she never saw her father again. she says the day her father was sold there was a long line of slaves to be sold and after they were sold and a good price paid for each they were handcuffed and marched away to the south, her father was among the number. the auction block at manchester was built in the open, from rough-made lumber, a few steps, and a platform on top of that, the slave to be sold. he would look at the crowd as the auctioner would give a general description of the ability and physical standing of the man. he heard the bids as they came in wondering what his master would be like. mrs. jones claims she had no privileges, but had as before stated plenty to eat and wear, and a good place to sleep; but most masters treated them cruel and beat them most of the time. they were also underfed at most places, but since they had such a good master they did not want for a thing. cemetery hill as it is known to us here, being in london, ky. was a hill on which a civil war battle was fought. the trenches are still here. the hill was given to the north to bury their dead by jarvis jackson, a great grand father of the jarvis jackson who is now city police of london, today. by some reason, the soldiers were taken up and moved to a different place only a few years ago. mrs. hoage says "the first daisies that were brought to this contry were put on that hill" and she can remember when the entire hill was covered with them. the southern side had trenches on the east side of the dixie highway on and surrounding the site where the pennington hospital is now standing, which are very vivid today. the london city school being in the path bears a hole today from a cannon ball. shot no doubt from the southern forces. the new addition to the school hides the hole, but until recent years it could be seen being about ten inches in diameter. zollie coffer a southern general had camped at wild cat, ky. but was forced to retreat when general garrad and lucas and stratton two captains under him, all from clay county, with a large crowd came in. he, on his retreat came through london and had a battle with an army of ohioians camped on cemetery hill. quoted a poem by mrs. hodge, which she remembered from those days: "just raise your eyes to yon grassy hill, view the bold ohioians working with skill, their bombs lying around them to spew fiery flames, among the seceders, till they wont own their names." mrs. hodge quotes another poem from memory about gen. coffer's retreat from wild cat: "our tigers and bullpups to wild cat did go, to fight our brave boys, tho our force they did not know. when they come in gun shot distance, schelf told them to halt, we're not murphey's honey, nor alex whites salt. his orders to his men, was "go thru" or "go to hell" but our indiana hoosier bous, heard them too well, in less than thirty minutes, they gave them many balls, wild cat had had kittens, oh; don't you hear them squall. they did not stay long, before they did retreat, went on double quick and left all their meat, as they went back through barbourville, they say zollie did say i've lost fifteen hundred killed or run away. away back in mississippi, we're forced to go as for our loss you'll never know slipped back when the union fell asleep hauled off our dead and buried them deep. to fight against garrad, it never will do, stratton and lucas is hard to out do, they conquered our tigers and bull pups too, in spite of our force and all we could do." coffer was killed by colonel frye at mill springs. a statue is erected to zollie coffer at somerset, kentucky. both sides were cruel during the civil war. mrs. mcdaniel who lives here tells a story of how her father was killed in clay county, while eating dinner one day. some federal soldiers drove up and asked what side he was on and upon saying the confederate side, they took him outside and shot him with a gun in his own yard. jenny mckee: mrs. jenny mckee, of color, who lives just north of london can tell many interesting things of her life. "aunt jenny" as she is called, is about eighty-five years of age, and says she thinks she is older than that as she can remember many things of the slave days. she tells of the old "masters" home and the negro shacks all in a row behind the home. she has a scar on her forehead received when she was pushed by one of the other little slaves, upon a marble mantle place and received a deep wound in her head. the old negro lady slaves would sit in the door way of their little shacks and play with pieces of string, not knowing what else to do to pass off the time. they were never restless for they knew no other life than slavery. aunt jenny mckee was born in texas though she doesn't know what town she was born in. she remembers when her mother was sold into the hands of another slave owner, the name of the place was white ranch louisiana. her mother married again, and this time she went by the name of redman, her mother's second husband was named john redman, and aunt jenny altho her real name was jenny garden, carried the name of redman until she was married to mckee. during the war her mother died with cholera, and after the war her step-father sold or gave her away to an old negro lady by the name of tillet, her husband was a captain from the th regiment from manchester. they had no children and so aunt jenny was given or sold to martha tillet. aunt jenny still has the paper that was written with her adoption by mrs. martha tillet and john redman, the paper was exactly as written below: white ranch september , to whom it may concern, i, john redman has this day given my consent that mrs. martha tillet can have my child jenny redman to raise and own as her child, that i shall not claim and take her away at any time in the future. x john redman his mark she has a picture in her possession of captain tillet in war costume and with his old rifle. after the war the tillets were sent back to manchester where he was mustered out, aunt jenny being with them. "i stayed with them" aunt jenny said, "until i was married dec. , , to david mckee another soldier of the th regiment". she draws a pension now from his services. david mckee was a slave under john mckee, father of the late john mckee of this place. he was finally sold to a man by the name of meriah jackson. "david's masters were good to him" said jenny "he learned to be a black smith under them". aunt jenny has the history of the th regiment, u.s.c. infantry. tillet was captain in this regiment and david mckee a soldier then was a lot of soldiers in this regiment from here. tom griffin being one, a slave who died a few years ago. the history was printed in and this particular copy was presented to captain tillet, and bears his signature. the first deed to be put on record in the laurel county court was between media bledsoe of garrad county of the first part and daniel garrard of clay county of the second part. being acres of land lying in knox county on laurel river and being that part of acres of land patented in the name of john watts. one thousand dollars was the sum paid for this land. this is on record in deed book "a", page . date of september , . jefferson co. (byers york) susan dale sanders: the following is a story of mrs. susan dale sanders, # dupree alley, between breckinridge and lampton sts., louisville, an old negro slave mammy, and of her life, as she related it. "i lived near taylorsville, kentucky, in spencer county, nearly all my life, 'cept the last fo' or five yea's i'se been livin' here. i was bo'n there in a log cabin, it was made of logs, and it was chinked with clay and rock. my mammy, was raised from a baby by her master, rueben dale. he was a good ole master, and was alway's good to my mammy. master dale owned a big farm and had big fields of co'n an' tobacco, and we raised everything we had to eat. ole master dale was a good ole baptist, had lots of good ole time relig'n. ruben dale had lots of slaves, and every family had its own cabin. as he raised my mammy as a slave from a baby, she thought there was none livin' bett'r than her master dale. the next fa'm close to the masters, was owned by a man, colonel jack allen, and he had a big fa'm and owned lots of slaves. and mammy was allowed to marry one of the allan slaves, and my father's name was will allen. you see the slaves had the same name as the master's, as he owned 'em. my mammy had seven children and we all grow'd up on our master dales fa'm. my father had to stay at his master's, col. jack allen's and wo'k in the fields all day, but at night he would come to my mammy's cabin and stay all night, and go back to his master's, col. allen's fields the next mon'in. yes, i grow'd up in slavery times. i used to carry tubs of clothes down to the old spring house, there was plenty of water, and i'se washed all the clothes there. me and my sisters used to wash and sing and we had a good time. i can't remember much of the ole song's its been so long ago. i had two brothers, and they jined the war and fought in the army. one was named harry and 'tother peter. mammy wo'ked hard, done all the cookin' but ole master dale was so good to all of us children we did't mind it. i'se was a mischevious gal when i was grow'in up. i'se would get a lickin' most every-day. i'se alway's like to fight the ot'er children, and i would say, "mammy she hit me", but i was bad and i'se got my whipp'n. on my masters fa'm we killed a lot of hogs for our meat, had a big trough, that we cut the meat up in, and put the hams and shoulders together, and the middles together, then put 'em down in salt for about six weeks, and then hang them up in the smoke-house and smoke 'em with hickory chips. and leave them all the time till we used 'em up. we had a apple house we used to fill every fall with the best apples. the ole master sho' had a apple fa'm. inside of the house there was a big hole in the ground, dug deep, and we use to fill it full of apples, then cover it over with a straw, and o lawd, we would have apples all wint'r when the snow lies deep on the ground; sure i wish them old days back. some of the other old masters, who had lots of slaves on fa'ms close by, was so mean to the slaves they owned. they wo'ked the women and men both in the fields and the children too, and when the ole master thought they was'n't do'n' 'nuf wo'k, he would take his men and strip off their shirts, and lash them with cow-hide whips until you could see the blood run down them poor niggers backs. the nigger traders would come through and buy up a lot of men, and women slaves, and get a big drove of them and take them further south to work in the fields, leavin their babies. i'se never can forget. i know'd some mean ole masters. our ole master dale that raised my mammy and her family never was hard or mean like that. he would let us go to church, have parties and dances. one of the ole salves would come to our cabin with his fiddle and we'd dance. after i'se grow'd up, i'se wo'ked for mrs. susan lovell, that was the ole masters married daughter. she lived down the road from his fa'm. she was good to me! you see i was named after susan lovell. it was while i was wo'kin' fo' her when the war ended. she told me i was free after the war was over. i got happy and sung but i didn't know for a long time, what to be free was, so after the war she hired me and i stayed on doin' all the cookin' and washin' and all the work, and i was hired to her for four dollars a month. after the war was over my father died. and it wasn't long after that, i married wm. sanders and we had six children. i got a government pension, as my husband was in the army during the civil war and he was wounded in the body, but he lived a long time after the war was ended. in the ole days we used to sing and go to church, sing the ole time religion, and when we danced we sung: "who's been here since i'se been gone, ah, that gal with the blue dress on." i'se still believes in lots of good and bad luck signs, but forget most of 'em, "but if you drap a knife, on the floor someone is sure to come to see you, and if you dream of money that is good luck." "to sneeze at the table is bad luck, to sneeze when away from the table good luck." "if you dream of the stars is bad luck." john anderson: a story resulting from an interview with john anderson, an old negro slave: "i was born in pennsylvania, on shiptown road, clinton county, close to mercersberg. when i was growing up my mammy always believed in making her own medicine, and doctored the whole family with the roots she dug herself. she use to bile down the roots from may-apple, snake root and blood root, and make her medicine. this was good for the blood and keep us from gettin' sick. while the wah was goin' on, the soldiers were campin' all about us and when they heer'd the gray's was comin' they got ready for battle, and when they did come they fit' em back, and they made their stand at harpers ferry, va., and had a hard battle there. my mammy was scared of the gray's and when she heer'd they was comin', would hide us three boys in some white folks cellar until they was gone. they would take all the young niggahs with them they could get hold of, and soon as they'd gone, we would go back home. when the wah was over, me and some boys went over to the battlefield and foun' a calvary gun which i had for years. we lived in a log cabin on a farm and worked for a farmer in the fields while my mammy worked in the house for the white folks. we had lots of things that is good and bad luck." joana owens: the following is the life and traditions of joana owens, e. breckinridge st., louisville, kentucky, an old negro mammy who was born during slavery. "my mother and father was slaves, and there was two children born to them, my sister and me. we used to live at hawesville, kentucky, on the ohio river. my peoples name was barr, and their masters name was nolan barr. you know they all had to take their masters name in slave days. i will never forget how mean old master nolan barr was to us. i was about fourteen years old and my sister was a little younger. we lived in an old log cabin. the cracks was filled with mud. my mother done the housework for master barr's house. my father and sister and me had to work in the fields. he had a big farm, and owned lots of slaves, and when the old master got mad at his slaves for not working hard enough he would tie them up by their thumbs and whip the male slaves till they begged for mercy. he sure was a mean old man. i will never forget him as long as i live. i don't know exactly how old i is, but i am close to ninety now. after i growed up and married a man named owens, we come here to louisville to live. that was a short while after the slaves was freed. i can remember how me and my sister used to go down to the river and watch the red hospital boats come in, bringing the wounded soldiers in to be cared for, and me and sister would go long singing--nigger--nigger--never die, if you want a chicken pie." [martha j. jones:] in an interview with mrs. martha j. jones, she reminisced of the old civil war days as follows: "i was born in buckingham county, virginia, and later during the civil war, i lived in gilmer county, w. va. my fathers name was robert r. turner; he was born in and my mother's name was susan; she was born in . my parents had six children and we lived on a big farm. my father was in the legislature in w. va. during the civil war, i had three brother in the southern army. one of them died of fever, one was shot and killed in action, and the other william wert turner, came out of the army after the close of the war and became a lawyer. later he went to new castle, kentucky, and became a prominent lawyer, where he remained until his death in . i married john r. jones, a lieutenant in the union army, at gilmer, w. va., when i was about twenty years old, shortly after the war. we then moved to new castle, kentucky, henry county. we had four children born to us, and i now have three living children; later on in years we moved to louisville. during the days of the civil war my father owned three slave, one was an old darkey named alex, and the nigger mammies, were diana and mary ann. my parents were always good to their slaves, and never traded or sold them. they were good workers and my father never kept many. my uncle, john c. turner, had farms close to my father's in west va., and he had fifty-two slaves when the war ended. he would buy, sell and trade them all the time. the slaves were judged by the masters. if they were big and strong they would bring a good price, as they would be better workers for the fields, and then, i would watch my uncle swap and buy slaves, just the same as he was buying any other stock for his farm. i am getting [hw: old] now, and my memory is not so good no more, and it is hard to remember the things of so long ago. you see, i will be ninety years old, next feb. rd. i was born in ." floyd co. (john i. sturgill) charlie richmond: we are unable to interview ex-slaves in floyd county, so far as anyone we are able to contact knows, there are no living ex-slaves in the county. there are several colored people. the majority of them reside at tram, kentucky, floyd county, in a kind of colored colony, having been placed there just after the civil war. a small number of colored people live in the vicinity of wayland, kentucky, the original being the remains of a wealthy farmer of civil war day, by name of martin. the colored people were identified as "martin's niggers." the last ex-slave of floyd county, says mr. w.s. wallen of prestonsburg, kentucky, was "uncle" charlie richmond, of prestonsburg. uncle charlie was brought to the county by old judge richmond, father of i. richmond of the richmond dept. stores of prestonsburg, about the time of the civil war. when the war was over "uncle" charlie worked at richmond's for hire and lived as a member of the family. while working on a prestonsburg newspaper, mr. wallen interviewed this old ex-slave and worked him into a feature story for his paper. these old paper files were destroyed by fire about . mr. wallen remembers that "uncle" charlie richmond, as the old ex-slave was called, died in , was buried in prestonsburg, and that he, w.s. wallen, wrote up the old darkey's death and funeral for his newspaper. this is the same paper who's files were destroyed by fire and which papers does not now exist. old judge richmond brought this old slave, from virginia about , along with a number of other slaves. "uncle" charlies was the only slave that remained in the family as a servant after the emancipation proclamation. mr. wallen is a lawyer in prestonsburg, kentucky, a member of the james and wallen law firm, located in the lane bldg., on court st. he was born at goodlow, kentucky in floyd county, march , . he taught school in floyd county thirteen years, took his l.l.b. at law school in valpariso, ind., in , and later served as representative to the kentucky general assembly from the rd district, the - and sessions. the list of people who owned slaves in floyd county include: sophia lane, lanesville. jim lane, lanesville gilbert higgins, wilson's creek george may, maytown hi morgan, prestonsburg penny j. sizemore, prestonsburg samuel p. davidson, prestonsburg i. richmond, prestonsburg valentine mayo, prestonsburg ---- lanes, prestonsburg kennie hatcher, lanesville morgan clark, john's creek daniel hager, hager shoals near what is auxier, ky. adam gayheart, prestonsburg john p. martin, prestonsburg jacob mayo, sr., prestonsburg wm. mayo, jr., prestonsburg johnny martin, wayland, kentucky thomas johns, dwale, ky. isom slone, beaver creek john bud harris, emma, kentucky billy slone, caney fork, right beaver, kentucky. this list is as remembered by the oldest citizens, and one t.j. "uncle" jeff sizemore, years old civil war veteran and citizen of prestonsburg, kentucky, dictated then to the writer in just this order. the nearest auction blocks were mt. sterling, kentucky and gladdville, virginia. most slaves from the present floyd county territory were bought and sold through auction in southwest virginia. other auction blocks were at abington and bristol, virginia. the negro dialect of this county is a combination of the dialect white folk use plus that of the negro of the south. the colored population is continually moving back and forth from alabama, georgia and north and south carolinas. they visit a lot. colored teachers so far have all been from ohio. most visiting colored preachers come from alabama and the carolinas. the negroes leave out their r's use an't han't gwin, su' for sir, yea for yes, dah for there and such expressions as, "i's ye?" the wealthiest families o' white folk still retain colored servants. in prestonsburg, kentucky one may see on the streets neat looking colored gals leading or wheeling young white children along. folk say this is why so many southerners leave out their r's and hold on to the old superstitions, they've had a colored mama for a nurse-maid. adam gearheart was a sportsman and used negro jockeys. his best jockey, dennis, was sold to morg. clark, john's creek. the old race track took in part of the east end of the present prestonsburg--from gearheart's home east in mayo's bottom one mile to kelse hollow--jimmie davidson now lives at the beginning of the old track, near maple street. mike tarter of tennessee, gearheart's son-in-law brought horses from tennessee and ran them here. tarter was a promoter and book-maker also. penny j. sizemore and morg. clark were other sportsmen. this was as early as up to the civil war. slaves ware traded, bought and sold between owners just as domestic animals are today. where one owned only a few servants with no families they lived in the big house--otherwise in slave quarters, little cabins nearby. billy slone just had two female servants, he bought them in virginia years old, for $ , . sound. many folk went over to mt. sterling or lexington to auctions for trading servants. (the same manner is used trading stock today). slave traders came into the county to buy up slaves for the southern plantations, and cotton or sugar fields--slave families were very frequently separated, some members mean, theiving, or running away niggers were sold (first) down the river. sometimes good servants were sold for the price, the master being in a financial strait or dire need of money. traders handcuffed their servants purchased, and took them by boat or horse-back down the river or over in virginia and carolina tobacco fields. good servants were usually well treated and not over-worked. mean or contrary servants were whipped, or punished in other ways. run-aways were hunted--dogs being used to track them at times. owens co. (john forsee) george dorsey: although this article is presented in narrative form and has but few characters, the writer believes it to be an excellent example of life in owen county sixty or more years ago. with the exception of the grey eagle episode, similar events to these described were happening all over the county. there is no reason to doubt the authenticity of any part of the article. the narrator (george dorsey, age (negro) owentown, kentucky, born in slavery and raised by a white family) bears a good reputation and is intelligent enough to react favorably and intelligently to questions concerning the past. further interviews concerning more general subjects are planned. "i was born on the th day of june, on the ole poor house farm 'bout two miles from owentown. my mother yousta tell me i'd be a sleepy head. i didn't know what she meant by that so finally one day, after i got to be a great big boy, i asked her what she meant. "well, she says, chickens that is hatched in june jess stand 'round in the hot sun an' sleep themselves to death. so, as you was born in june, you'll jess be a sleepy head." "my mother belonged to sammy duvall, the father o' little sam duvall who died not long ago. little sam usta be town marshall here and a guard at the pen over at frankfort. i was born a slave an' stayed one till the niggers was freed. "bout the time the war was over i seen my first soldier. the road that passed along in front of our house was a dirt road. i'd gone with mother to watch her milk a young cow late one night, 'bout dark i guess, when i heard somebody hollerin' and yellin' an' i looked down the road an' seen 'em comin'. i was 'bout five years old then an' it looked to me like all the army was comin' up the road. the captain was on a hawse an' the men afoot an' the dust from the dirt road a flyin'. there was a moon shinin' an' you could see the muskets shinin' in the moonlight. i was settin' on a fence an' when i seen 'em it scared me so i started to run. when i jumped off i fell an' cut a hole in my for'head right over this left eye. the scar's there yet. i run in the house and hid. mr. sammy duvall had to get on a hawse an' go to new liberty an' fetch a doctor to plug up the hole in my head. i seen lots of soldiers after that an' i always run under the bed or hid in a closet or somewheres. they stayed 'round here for a long time. finally provender got low and the soldiers took to stealing. we called it stealin', but i reckon it warn't for they come and got the stuff like meat out o' the smoke house in broad open daylight. mr. duvall had a chestnut earl stallion he called drennon an' they come, or somebody did, an' got him one night. one day, 'bout two or three weeks later, will duvall, a son o' mr. sammy duvall, heard that the hawse was over in henry county where the soldiers had a camp. so he went over there and found the captain an' told him he'd come after old drennon. the captain said to describe him an' will said, "captain, he's a chestnut earl named drennon. if'n i whistl' a certain way he' nicker an' answer me." "well, they went down to the stable where they had a lot of stalls like, under tents. an' when they got there, will, he whistled, an' sure 'nough, old drennon nickered. so the captain, he said, that's your hawse all right. go in an' get him an' take him on home. will brought the hawse home an' took him down in the woods on the creek where the water'd washed all the dirt offen a big, flat rock and we kep him hid for three or four weeks. we didn't want to loose him again. when i was 'bout six years old we moved offen the creek to a new road up on the ridge. it was on the same farm but to another house. i had a great big, ole grey cat i called "tom." i wanted to move him so i put him in a pillow slip so's he couldn't see where we wus takin' him so he couldn't fin' the way back. he stayed 'round his new home for a few days an' then he went back to his ole home. mr. duvall went and got him again for me. not many white men would do that for a little nigger boy. he musta told tom somethin' for he never run off no more. mr. duvall usta ride a blazed-face, sarl [hw: sorrel] mare named kit. he most al'ays taken me up behind him, 'specially if he was goin' to town. kit was trained to hunt deer. i can't remember any deer in the country but mr. duvall yousta tell me 'bout 'em an 'bout the way they had their hawses trained. he said there wus a place down on panther lick creek, below where we lived, that was a deer lick. the deer would come there and lick the ground close to the creek because there was salt left there by the high waters. he'd put a strap with a littel bell on 'round ole kit's neck; an' tie her to a tree not far from this lick. then he'd hide behin' 'nother tree close to kit. when the deer come ole kit'd shake her head an' the deer would raise their heads to see what the noise made by the bell was an' where it was comin' from. then he'd shoot the deer in the head. he showed me the place where he killed the biggest buck he ever seen right here jess out o' town a little ways. he kept the horns. an' i remember seein' 'em in the attic at his house. he had an ole riffle he called "ole betsy" that'd been his deer rifle. after i got to be a big boy, huntin' and fishin' was good. i never got to do any uv it except on saturdays and sundays. everbody had a brush fence 'round the house to keep the stock in out o' the yard and one day i seen a big bird sail down on the fence and run under it. mother was out in the back yard so i said to myself, i'll get the gun and kill that hawk. i taken good aim at its head and banged away. at the crack o' the gun i never heard such a flutterin' in my life. mother come runnin' to see what was the matter and when she seen it, she said, son, that's a pheasant. some day you'll be a good hunter. an' guess i was for i killed lots o' pheasants, quail, squir'ls and rabbits. little sammy duvall had a pointer he called "quail". she was the smartest dog i ever seen, but everybody had smart dogs them days. quail'd trail birds when they was runnin' till she got clost and then circle 'round 'em an' make her stand. be careful there, quail, mr. sammy would say. he'd nearly always get eight or ten out uv a covey an' sometimes the whole covey. i yousta go along jess to see him shoot. he hardly ever missed. there was so many quail that nobody ever thought to leave any uv a covey if he wanted that many an' they didn't get so scattered that he couldn't fin' em. after the deer was all killed out, people trained their deer hounds to chase foxes, coons and such like. the white boys from town yousta come and get will and young sammy to go coon huntin'. they al'ays had ten or twelve dogs. they al'ays taken me along an' treated me jest the same as if i was as white as they was. if i got behind or out o' sight somebody was sure to say, 'where's george'? one night we treed three coons in a big hollow oak. they started to cut down the trees an' put me at the butt with a fire bran'. when the tree fell the coons'd come out an' i was supposed to drive 'em back with the fire, jest lettin' out one at a time so's the dogs could kill 'em. i was about half scared uv 'em and when one big feller come out i backed up an' he got by me. i throwed the fire at him an' it lit on his back an' burnt' him. i never seen a coon run so fast. but the dogs soon treed him again an' we got him. then we come back an' the dogs picked up the trail uv another one an' we catched him. i never seed a bigger one. he was as long as this umbrella ( - / ft.) the other one got away. coon huntin' was a great sport with the boys an' men in those days. i catched the only grey eagle that was ever seen 'round here. they was a bunch of us boys out rabbit huntin' one day one fall. the dogs got after a rabbit an' chased it across a holler out o' range. i had the only gun in the crowd an' was right after that rabbit. the dogs run over the track an' could see 'em over on the hillside jess settin' still. all at once i seen a big bird--i taken it to be a hawk, fold its wings like a man'd fold his arms 'round his body, and drop straight down on the rabbit. but the rabbit saw it too for when the eagle got there he was ten feet up the hillside. the bird hit, "boom", jest like that. but the rabbit was goin' over the hill an' the eagle musta saw him for he riz an' flew in that direction. 'you boys stay back, i'll kill that hawk. that's the biggest hawk i ever seen,' i told them. when i got to the top of the ridge i seen him settin' in the top uv a big tree. the boys stayed where i told them and i slipped along till i got pritty close enough to shoot him. he was either watchin' the rabbit or didn't think i was watchin' him for i got pritty close before he started to fly. jess as he opened his wings i let him have it with my old muzzle loader shotgun. down he come makin' as much noise as a whole flock o' hawks oughta made. he was alive when i got to him an' made right at me, strikin' with his claws an' bill. the dogs come when they heard the shot an' he whipped 'em off. every time he struck one of 'em he (the dog) would holler like he'd been speared. the other boys wanted to kill it but i gotta a long pole an' got it on him so's it held him down. we'd found out by this time that one wing was broke by my shot. so we jess hold of the tips of his wings an' led him to the house. his wing spread was 'bout six or eight feet. when i got him to the house i told 'em i had the biggest hawk they ever seen. a ole man by the same of william said, "hell that ain't no hawk, that's a grey eagle." a ole colored fiddler, named fred roberts, sent word he'd buy it from me. he even got so fraid he wouldn't get it that he come for it. 'what'll you take for him', he asked me, and before i could say anything he says, 'i'll give a dollar for him'. that was a lot of money for me an' boy like i sold him then and there. i coulda got two or maybe three dollars for him. fred taken him to town an' fed him live hens and raw meat. on court days or when there was a crowd in town he showed him for ten cents a look. i bet he made $ . on him. people yousta to come for miles to see that eagle. he finally died. fishin' was good too. we cut our poles in the woods an' used to flax thread for lines. where people built water-gaps in fences that crossed the creeks the water'd fill in till it made a dam. then the creek spread behind it. them water holes was full o perch an' cat fish. they didn't get much bigger them your hand but they bit fast and we had lots o' fun catchin' 'em. christian co. (mamie hanberry) [tr: also spelled hanbery.] annie b. boyd: annie b. boyd, born august nd , resides at corner of liberty and first street, hopkinsville, kentucky. born a slave belonging to charles cammack near gordonsville, kentucky in christian county. "my mother and me war put on de block in front of de courthouse in hopkinsville and sold to mr. newt. catlett and we brung $ . . marse catlett lived on the corner of seventh and clay streets, hopkinsville, kentucky. wen i was older the white folks had me foh to nurse dar chilluns. i noes wen de war broke out marse had a store and den marsa took me to his wife's kinfolks down in de country till freedom war declared den my stepfather come an' got me. of course i hed ter work and den i went ter nurse foh dr. fairleigh and nussed his daughter madge. de white folks wont good to me. my marster was a good man but my missus wont no good woman. she uster box my ears, stick pins in me and tie me ter de cedar chest and whoop me as long as she wanter. oh, how i did hate dat woman. "yes, once in my life i seed a ghost. we was goin' thru de woods to a neighbors ter a prayer meeting en a man stepped out in de woad without no head wid all his clothes on en i had jes wropped my head dat day and wen i seed him all my hair strings en all jes stood straight up. i got hot den i'se got cold and he jest stepped ter de side of de road en i went by running. yes, we got ter de prayer meeting en den we went back home de same way en did us niggers run? "i was nurse in slave time en i carried de chilluns all ober de house en one day i had de chilluns upstars en my missus called me en i went ter see whar she wont and while i'se war gone de baby got hodter indian turnip an hed bit it by de time i git back dar en i called my missus en she come en made me eat de rest of de turnip en my face enall swelled up en my eyes war closed foh days. after missing de baby en tending ter de uther chilluns all de day an night wen i put de baby ter bed i bed ter knit two round ebery night en would be sleepy en my missus would reach ober en jab a pin in me to keep me awake. now dat is what i calls a mean woman. "i kin read en write at first of freedom i sent ter school some en learned ter read and write. "i sho do believe in dreams. i had one once i laid down on de bed ter take er nap en den i dreamed dat somethin was a chokin me en i pulled at my dress en a big snake dropped out of my bosom rolled down on de bed. den on de floor en when i woke up sho nuff dar war a snake on de floor by de bed en i killed it en den i knowed dat i had an enemy sho nuff in a few days a woman i thot was my friend turned gain me. by killing de snake i knowed dat i would conquer dat enemy. "i noes wishes cen come tru seems ter me i hev but my memory aint so good but still i believes hit. "wen de smoke flies low hit sho is goin ter snow." "spilling salt or ter waste salt is bad luck. i always wen i makes my bread put de salt in de bread den i puts some of de salt in de fire ter bring me good luck. "sometime de moon affects people wen it changes hit makes some folks crazy en dey is hard to git alon wid." "if you plant irish pertatoes on de light of de moon you hev nuthin but top. whatever ter be made underneath de ground like turnips, potatoes, onions is ter be planted by de dark of de moon. beans, peas, corn in de light of de moon. "yes, spit will cure, cause i had ringworms once en in de morning wen i woke up afore i spoke ter anyone i'd take spit en put on my face en hit sho cured de ringworms." (signs) "if you nail a horse shoe ober de door hits a good luck ter you. "i thin " " is an unlucky number i'se heard so much talk of hit till i believes hit. breaking a mirror is sho bad luck if you break one you will hev seben years bad luck." "blue gummed niggers is shon bad luck wen i sees one gits as far away as i kin foh if one bites you you is a ded nigger foh dey is pizen as er diamond back." "de white folks jes made niggers carry on like brutes. one white man uster say ter nuther white man, "my nigger man sam wanter marry yer nigger gal lucy what does yer say en if he said hit war all right why dat couple war supposed to be married. den sam would work foh his marster in de daytime en den would spend de night at lucy's house on de next plantation." kate billingsby: kate billingsby, ex-slave, according to a record in a bible the buckners gave her when she married was born in . she was owned by frank and sarah buckner. born in this county and has spent her life in and around hopkinsville. she lives on what is known as the gates mill road about one half mile east of us e and owns her own home. aunt kate as she is generally called is a small black negro and in going into her home you will find it furnished in lovely antique furniture in a disreputable state of repair. she met me with a dignity and grace that would be a credit to any one of the white race to copy, illiterate though she may be. her culture and training goes back to the old buckner family, at one time one of the most cultured families in christian county. she is not a superstitious negro. being born a buckner slave, she was never sold and her manners and ways proclaim that she surely must have been raised in "de white folks house" as she claims, being a maid when old enough, to one of frank buckner's daughters. she stated, "dese buckners war sho good to me, eben now dey chilluns comes to see me and always bring me something. dey don let my taxes lapse am i'se neber widout somting to eat." my man and i was married by mr. alexander at mcclain college. i was de cook an he was the janitor. my man followed his massa in de secess war. if he was a livin' now he would be years old, he bin ded 'round fifteen year." no i'se done believe in no ghosts hants or anything of that kind my white folks being "quality". i'se been raised by "quality"! why i'se "quality nigger". "wen any of my folks git sick or eny of my white folks de doctor would always bee sent foh." (her address is: r.r. # , hopkinsville, ky.) nannie eaves: nannie eaves, age , born in mclain county, ky. being a slave of william eaves, never sold, address now r.r. # , hopkinsville, kentucky. "i guess i was about twenty one years old wen i was freed." i'se was neber once treated as a slave cause my massa was my very own daddy. ben eaves my husband was a slave en chile of george eaves my massa's brother. he ran away from his massa en his daddy en jins the u.s. army during the secess war en i'se now drawing a pension from uncle sam. i'se sho glad dat he had sense nuff ter go dis way or i'd be jes like dese old niggers dat is now on de government. "course i never sweep de trash out de house after sun down jest sweep hit in de corner of de room cause hit is bad luck ter sweep out de door after dark. lawd yes squeech owls en dogs howling under de house shi god means dar is going ter be a death in de family. wen i hears one i'se git trembly all ober, hit makes me hot en den cold both de same time." "ho i haint neber seed a ghost or hant but i sho don wanter see one neither. i'se always fraid i will seed one. sho de dead can hant you if war not good to dem wen dey is livin'. signs en sech things is going out of style now but lor wen i was a chile why seems like things war better cause of dem." nannie is a tall bright negro holding herself very straight, with real white long hair. her hair is very fine and wavy. her cabin home was immaculate, furnished very neatly in the now prevailing style. slave trades: "we had two slave traders in this town. they were judge houston and his son-in-law, dr. brady. they gathered up all the slaves that were unrully or that people wanted to trade and housed them in an old barn until they had enough to take to new orleans on a boat. they traded them down there for work in the cotton fields. mary wright: mary wright, w. fourth st., born august , . "i was born at gracey, kentucky on mr. james colemans far, in a log cabin wid a dirt floor en a stick chimney. "folks uster weat wat dey calls a "polanaise". hid wat kinder like a wrapper made of calico made wid tight in de waist en wide in de bottom. den i've remembers de basque waist on de over skirts dese war made real tight waists wid a point in de back en ober de stomach. de skirt wer real full dem a skirt ober dis ter de knees wid a big pucker on de hips." "my mammy bound me out to miss puss graham ter learn ter work, foh my vittals en cloes. miss puss gave me a pair of red morocco shoes en i was made so happy, i'se neber fohgot dese shoes. "i heard my mammy talk of "de nigger risin". de klu klux uster stick de niggers head on er stake alongside de cadiz road en dar de buzzards would eat them till nuthin' was left but de bones. dar war a sign on dis stake dat said "look out nigger you are next". us chilluns would not go far way from dat cabin. i'se tells you dat is so. i jes knowed dat dis ku klux would do dat to us sho if weuns had been catched. "i remember wen hopkinsville had jest a few stores en ole jew by name of shyer bought bones an iron en rags. once us chilluns found some bones on de creek bank en took dem things and wanted ter sell dem to mr. shyer en he said 'take dem things way dey stink, dey aint cured up yet. bury dem things den bring dem back to me. us chilluns bed a hard time gittin home cause we stunk so bad.' "i remember wen we uster hev big time quilting on dem days we sho had a big time fore we start in de morning wid a water melon feast, den weuns quilt erwhile den a big dinner war spread out den after dinner we'd quilt in the evening den supper and a big dance dat night, wid de banjo a humming en us niggers a dancing, "oh, lawdy wat good days dem war." "wen we were young we uster hev parties called "dideoos", de banjo would play en den de girls would line up on one side of de cabin en de boys on de tother side while the folks war a clappin en er playing why de boys en girls wuld choose dar parrners den weuns sing: "ole brer rabbit, shake it, shake it, how i love you, shake it, shake it. i'd ruther play dat game dan to eat." "we uster tap maple trees en hev big gathering foh ter make maple sugar dat war while i lived at gracey. "de stage coach day war big days, wen de stage coach war a comin thru why us little niggers would try ter keep up wid de horses en run erlong side de coach en sometimes a man or woman would drop us a penny den dar was sho a scramble." "i remember wen we uster wash cloes wid a paddle. you wet dese cloes en put soft soap in dem, the soap war made outer ash lye en grease den dese cloes war spread on a smooth stump an beat wid paddles till dey war clean. den come de wooden wash board, hit war jes a piece of wood wid rough places or ridges chiseled in hit. wen we uster wash quilts we uster cyt a nikasses varrek ubter eb dat made de tub deb my mammy would put water in dese tubs den soft soap de quilts den us chilluns would git in de tubs in our bare foots en tromp de dirt out." "we uster use grease lamps, dese war made outer iron, wid a piece of cotton rope down in de grease on dis jes send out a puny smelly light. dem de brass lamp came erlong hit war a little lamp wid a wich wid a handle in er stem, no burner or nuthin hit burned coaloil but had no chimney." "hee, hee, hee, i remember arbout a story mary beard told ter me erbout a slave woman dat war foolish. her massa couldn't git no body ter buy her, hee, hee, hee, so he dresses her up nice en buys her a thimble en gives her a piece of cloth ter sew on. it war right here in hopkinsville in front of de court house dat de block war en he sold dis woman as a "sewing slave", en her war foolish en couldn't take er right stitch en she sho brought a good price en wen her new massa found out she war foolish he sho war mad. he tried ter sell her but pshaw he bought something he couldn't git rid of, hee, hee." "dese ole nigger slave traders uster so my mammy said, steal de niggers from one massa and dey would leave at night en stay in "campbells cave" den dey would take dese niggers wid a promise of freedom to clarksville, tenn., sell dem again on "mr. dunk morr's" slave market. sometimes dese niggers if dey got a new massa dat war mean would run erway en come back tar dar ole massas." "yes i believe you can be hauted, i aint neber seed one tho but i'se heard dem en i jest git creepy en i no's dey is around." "cos dreams come tru, i dont remember one now but if i'se had one ergin i will try ter remember en tells you." "no i aint neber seed a ghost. i feels dem sometimes en i jis shot my eyes en pray de "good lawd" ter send dat ghost away." "if youse find a horse shoe er put eber de door you will sho has good luck." "thirteen has always been my lucky number. dats follish ter thing 'thirteen is unlucky'. seben is lucky ter me ter. i always win when i think of a seben." "of cos now if youse breakes a mirror you cant keep from having bad luck. nuthin you do will keep you from hit." "sho is bad luck ter meet a cross-eyed pusson er blue gummed niggers is pizen cause if one bites you youse will sho ter die." "my mammy sho did hev a big wedding my pappys massa ask my mammy massa foh her en den my mammy massa give her a big infair dat cost him $ . wid de bridal supper en all." "dey uster do niggers pretty bad erbout dat funerals. wen a nigger did die why de rest of de niggers hed ter work en one nigger made de box whiler ernother nigger dug de grave en the nigger war jes civered up en den on de fourth sunday in august ebery year all de colored folks would take a basket dinner ter de church en each family dat had buried a nigger would pay de preacher ter preach the sermon foh dat darkie dat died. we ate dinner en supper at de church en sometimes the funeral foh some fo de darkies wouldn't git preached till next august. we went to dis funeral why we had big time talking wid our neighbors en of de dead." "dogs howling meand bad luck if he howls under de house why someone is goin ter die." "if er owl come around de house on holler a death will happen in de family fore de next day." "i remembers i wat a sitting in de house en er peckerwood war a pecking on de house 'pure bad luck.'" "i was working once foh mrs. shelton wen a little wren kept trying ter git in de house an i kep a shosin hit arway wen he got in somehow jes as soon as hit did mrs. shelton called me en i had a telegram from chicago my neice war dead. she by dat i nos dat am bad luck. i dont like wrens any how." "wenn a cow loses hits cud, jes giv hit an old dirty dish rag en den de cow will ding her cud again." "sometimes a cow gits sich en lay down en if you will fell her tail on de end it is all soft, 'dat cow hot holler tail, en less you split dat tail en fill de holler wid salt den bind hit up dat cow will sholy die.'" "i asked mary if she was superstitious and she said 'no, cos niggers are edicatted dese days en dey don believe in all dat tom-foolery. dey neber would benn so foolish if de white folks did not tell us all dat rot.'" mary neither reads or writes and is not superstitious according to her admission. what do you think of it. i am afraid that i do not agree with. m.d.h.) clay co. (pearl house) sophia word: the following story of slave days is the exact words of one who had the bitter experience of slavery. sophia word, who is now ninety-nine years of age, born february , . she tells me she was in bondage for nineteen years and nine months. i shall repeat just as she told the story: "i wuz here in time of mexican war and seed 'em get up volunteers to go. they wuz dressed in brown and band played 'our hunting shirts are fringed with doe and away we march to mexico'. "my grandmother came straight from africa and wuz auctioned off and bought by william reide father. when he died william reides inherited my mother. mother married a bates and had ten of us children. "our master didn't auction off his slaves as the other masters would for he was a better master than most of them. when he started to sale one of us he would go out and talk to the old slave trader like he wuz g'wine to sale a cow or sometin and then he would come back to git the slave he wanted. this wuz the way my mothers' brother and sister wuz sold. when the other masters at other places sold a slave they put the slave on the auction block and the slave trader had a long whop that he hit them with to see if they could jump around and wuz strong. the largest and brought the money. "i wuz a slave nineteen yeahs and nine months but somehow or nuther i didn't belong to a real mean pet of people. the white folks said i was the meanest nigger that ever wuz. one day my mistress lyndia called fer me to come in the house, but no, i wouldn't go. she walks out and says she is gwine make me go. so she takes and drags me in the house. then i grabs that white woman, when she turned her back, and shook her until she begged for mercy. when the master comes in, i wuz given a terrible beating with a whip but i did'nt care fer i give the mistress a good'un too. "we lived off to the back of the masters house in a little log cabin, that had one winder in the side. we lived tobly well and didn't starve fer we had enough to eat but we didn't have as good as the master and mistress had. we would slip in the house after the master and mistress wuz sleeping and cook to suit ourselves and cook what we wanted. "the mistress had an old parrot and one day i wuz in the kitchen making cookies, and i decided i wanted some of them so i tooks me out some and put them on a chair and when i did this the mistress entered the door, i picks up a cushion and throws over the pile of cookies on the chair and mistress cane near the chair and the old parrot cries out, mistress burn, mistress burn, then the mistress looks under the cushion and she had me whupped but the next day i killed the parrot, and she often wondered who or what killed the bird. "i've seen whole pigs roasted before open fire place and when it wuz done we would put a nice red apple in its mouth and the big white folks company that come would eat of this delicious dish. sometimes we had to bake pies for a week to supply the company that wuz invited to our masters and mistresses house. they served elaborate dinners and hundreds of guest were invited. "my master wuzn't as mean as most masters. hugh white was so mean to his slaves that i know of two gals that killt themselfs. one nigger gal sudie wuz found across the bed with a pen knife in her hand. he whipped another nigger gal most to death fer fergiting to put onions in the stew. the next day she went down to the river and fer nine days they searched fer her and her body finally washed upon the shore. the master could never live in that house again as when he would go to sleep he would see the nigger standing over his bed. then he moved to richmond and there he stayed until a little later when he hung himself. "our clothes wuz made from cotton and linsey. cotton wuz used in the summer and linsey fer the winter. sometimes our clothes wuz yeller checked and most time red. our stockings wuz made of coarse yarn fer winter to wear with coarse shoes. we had high topped shoes fer sunday. "i've seed ten thousand of the union soldiers and a great many of the rebel soldiers. the rebel soldiers would take everything they could get their hands on but i never did know of the union soldier taking anything. the rebels have stole my masters cows and horses and we would have to hide the meat in a box and bury it in the ground." boyd co. (carl f. hall) the commonwealth of kentucky, having for a northern boundary the ohio river--the dividing line between the northern free states and the southern slave states has always been regarded as a southern state. as in the other states of the old south, slavery was an institution until the thirteenth ammendment to the constitution of the united states gave the negro freedom in . kentucky did not, as other southern states, secede from the union, but attempted to be neutral during the civil war. the people, however, were divided in their allegience, furnishing recruits for both the federal and confederate armies. the president of the union, abraham lincoln, and the president of the confederacy, jefferson davis, both were born in this state. boyd county was formed in from parts of lawrence, greenup and carter counties, and we are unable to find any records, in boyd county, as to slave holders and their slaves, though it is known that many well to do families the catletts, davis, poages, williams and others were slave holders. slaves were not regarded as persons, had no civil rights and were owned just as any other chattel property, were bought and sold like horses and cattle, and knew no law but the will of their white masters and like other domestic animals could be, and were, acquired and disposed of without regard to family ties or other consideration. usually, as each slave represented a large investment of money, they were well cared for, being adequately fed, clothed and sheltered, having medical attention when sick. as, along the border in kentucky, there were no large plantations where field workers could be used, most of the slaves in this region were house servants, who were housed in wings of the master's house, where the plantations were large enough to need many slaves, they were furnished one, or two, rooms cabins close by the mansion on the master's estate. as educated people are apt to be able to figure out ways to improve their lot, learning among the negroes was not encouraged, in fact it was illegal to teach them. in some instances an enlighted and humane master would teach a servant, and often they could find some one who would teach them secretly. as a race, however, they were, at the time they were set free, without any education at all. tales are told of cruel masters who overworked, flogged and otherwise mistreated their helpers and slaves; these masters, however, seem to have been an exception to the rule and considering that they were generally well provided for, many slaves were better off economically than the laborer of today who is a victim of misfortunes such as sickness, disability and old age. one reason why slaves were better treated here than further south, was that kentucky was a border state, and throughout ohio and other northern states, was an organization known as the "underground railroad." this was a sort of secret society whose members were sworn to assist escaped slaves to run away to canada where they would be free. when a run-away slave crossed the ohio river he would be met by some one of this organization and taken where he could remain in hiding by day, then by traveling by night, could reach another place of concealment by morning, where he would be fed and hidden until darkness permitted him to reach the next haven. by this means many were successful in reaching freedom, though they were hunted by officers, armed with guns, and assisted by fierce dogs especially trained for this work. negroes who were unruly, or were caught attempting to escape, were usually sold to planters in the far south where they could not hope to escape, and were forced to end their days in unremitting toil in the cotton and cane fields, forever separated from relatives and friends. it was the barbarism practiced by cruel masters, so vividly portrayed in such books as "uncle tom's cabin" and songs like "nellie gray," that awakened the nation's conscience and brought about the bloody "civil war" which resulted in the race being set free. just before the war, george davis, a mulatto, son of his master and a black servant girl, was in cincinnati and was accosted by two white men who offered to use the good offices of the "underground railroad" to help him to get away to canada. being well treated, as a trusted servant of his white father and master, he did not avail himself of this opportunity to escape and stayed on as a slave until freed by the war, after which he went to ohio and settled and prospered until his death. another slave, asberry parker, did escape, and traveling by night hiding by day, reached safety in canada where he worked and saved until he became wealthy. after the war, when he could safely return to the united states, he moved to ironton, ohio, where he made his home for the rest of his life. he belonged in his days of slavery, to a williams family, in carter county, kentucky. another slave, george mcvodie, belonging to the poage family, of boyd co., escaped and went to canada, no [tr: missing word?] as to whether he ever came back later. a sister of george davis was sold to a planter in louisiana where she lived until , when she returned to boyd county as a free woman. as negroes, in slavery days, were regarded as beasts of burden not much interest was taken in the welfare of their souls. some kind hearted masters would allow them the privilege of meeting in religious service, where some one of their race in spite of the conditions of the times, could read and explain the bible, would preach. other masters would not allow this to be done. a negro would become, in character much like the family who owned him, i.e., an honest, moral and kindly master would have slaves of like qualities, while a cruel, dishonest master would usually affect his slaves so that they would be tricky and unreliable. where the master did not personally supervise his slaves and left them to the mercies of a hired "over-seer," their lot was usually much worse, as these task-masters were almost always tyranical and were not restrained by a sense of ownership from abusing the helpless creatures under their authority as were the master's, whose money was invested in them. on one occasion, a young negro saw his own sister stripped naked and unmercifully whipped by one of these over-seers. he gathered up all of his small belongings and tied them in a bundle and securing a club of wood, laid in wait for the cruel 'boss' until dark, when he killed him with the club. he then escaped, via the "underground railroad." one thing he was careful to do, was to avoid all telegraph poles, as that he thought the wires could detect and betray him, the telegraph was a mystery to his ignorant mind. he succeeded in making his way to canada and freedom where he stayed until after the war, when it was safe to return. the slave trade of importing slaves into the united states, being forbidden after about , cut off the supply to such an extent that strong, healthy negroes became very high in price. many kentucky slave owners raised slaves for this market just as we today raise live stock on our farms. only the strong healthy slave women were allowed to have children, and often were not allowed to mate with their own husbands, but were bred like live stock to some male negro who was kept for that purpose because of his strong phisique, which the master wished to reproduce, in order to get a good price for his progeny, just like horses, cattle, dogs and other animals are managed today in order to improve the stock. often the father of a comely black woman's child, would be the master himself, who would heartlessly sell his own offspring to some other master, without regard for his welfare. many of the aristocratic women of the master class, to keep from the burdensome task of caring for their own children, and to assure themselves a life of leisure would delegate to one of the negro slave women the care of their own children. many of the upper class white children were cared for by these faithful black "mammies" fed by the milk from their breasts. countless stories are told of the love and devotion of the black "mammy" for the white child who was brought to their 'grown up' years by her care. a marriage between negroes, before freedom, had no legal standing; a negro couple, wishing to marry, had to get a permit from each master and were united in marriage by a ceremony with a preacher of their own race officiating. after the war, when they were made citizens with civil rights, many former slaves who had been married in this way, hastened to legalize their union by obtaining licenses and having a legal ceremony performed. while the four years of civil war, between the north and south resulted in the freedom of the slaves, the negro is yet restricted in many ways in the south. in many states, separate schools are maintained, the negro churches are separate, social equality is not recognized. in kentucky, intermarriages between the races are not allowed. separate coaches are provided on railway trains, hotels, restaurants, theaters and other places of amusement, which cater to white customers, do not permit negro patrons. many towns and cities have zoning ordinances forbidding negroes to live in white localities. in many southern states the negroes is prevented from voting by local regulations, in boyd county colored people go to the polls and vote just like anyone else. negroes make good house servants, and are extensively used for that purpose today. white families employ them as chauffeurs, butlers, house boys, child nurses, maids and cooks, preferring them to white servants who are not so adaptable to such subordinate positions in life. colored men work in barber shops, in restaurants as waiters, and are largely employed as porters in hotels and on railway coaches. colored women work in hotels as cooks, chamber maids, and are commonly employed as elevator operator in hotels and office buildings. not many negroes are in business locally, as race prejudice prevents white folks from trading at colored stores, and the local colored population is too small to provide many customers of their own race. many ambitious colored folks have left here and gone to the large cities of the north, and made conspicious successes in business. some have succeeded in the professions as doctors, lawyers, actors, and writers and other vocations. all in all, the race has progressed to an astonishing degree since being set free a generation ago. politics: formerly, the negro, attributing his freedom to the efforts of abraham lincoln in his behalf, voted almost solidly for the republican party. now, however, the democrats have, by remembering the race when passing out jobs, gained recruits among the colored people, and some negro democrats are found here. the negro has been accused of voting for money, but it is doubtful if as a race, he is any more prone to this practice than his white fellow citizens among whom this abuse seems to be growing. bell co. (nelle shumate) mandy gibson: there were auction-blocks near the court houses where the slaves were sold to the highest bidders. a slave would be placed on a platform and his merits as a speciman of human power and ability to work was enomerated the bidding began. young slave girls brought high prices because the more slave children that were born on one's plantation the richer he would be in the future. some slaves were kept just for this purpose, the same as prize thorough-bred stock is kept. in many instances slaves were treated like brutes and their places to sleep were like barn sheds with only a little straw, on which to sleep. mrs. neikirk's mother said that she distinctly remembered that the slaves she knew of had only the roughest of food such as: corn bread molasses, and scraps from their owner's table. their clothing was such as their owners saw fit to give them and the cheapest. an old negro woman, aunt mandy gibson by name, died last month, sep. in middlesboro and i have heard her tell about coming here from alabama when the town of middlesboro was first founded. when asked about her old home people she would go to great lengths to explain about her people having been slaves, but she would always add that they did not mind slavery as they at that time knew nothing of the outdoor life and therefore desired nothing better. she also said that the family that owned her was a kind nature and was good to slaves. some of the citizens of middlesboro today can recall stories that their parents told them about the days when slaves were bought and sold in the united states. among these is one mrs. martha neikirk, a daughter of an old union soldier now deceased. mrs. rhuben gilbert, mrs. neikirk's mother said that: "once my mother and i were out in the woods picking huckle-berries and heard a noise as of someone moaning in pain. we kept going toward the sound and finally came to a little brook. near the water was a negro woman with her head bent over to the ground and weeping as if her heart was broken. upon asking her what had caused her agony she finally managed to control her emotions enough to sob out her story. the negro woman said then that her master had just sold her to a man that was to take her far away from her present owner and incidently her children. she said this couldn't be helped but she could ask the good lord to let her die and get out of the misery she was in. it seems that such incidents were common in those days. mrs. sarah sloan, now residing in middlesboro tells the stories her mother has told her and she remembers one story in particular about old aunt suzy, an old negro slave who, after the close of the civil war lived near mrs. sloan's mother. aunt suzy was the property of the southern plantation owner and had lived on this plantation until she had raised a large family. one day a northern buyer came there and said he wanted to buy some slaves as cheap as possible so, aunt suzy was getting old and not able to work as she once had, her owner naturally thought that while he had the chance he should sell her but he wanted to keep her children as they were young and able to do hard work. so poor old aunt suzy was sold along with some others and taken north. here she was bought by another trader and sold to a new master. it seems this new master was kind to her and felt sympathy for her in her distress. she told him how she had lived on the old plantation so long and how she had never thought that when she became old and lonely that she would forever be separated from her children so the new [tr: owner?] said he would see what he could do, if anything. he made a trip to her former home and had a talk with the owner of the plantation. the plantation owner said that he had a bad crop year and heavy losses and much as he needed all the help possible to put in more crops he could not afford to buy more slaves, much less one that was unable to work. at this, aunt suzy's new owner being a generous, kind-hearted man, decided to give the old lady back to him. he knew he could not get much money for her if he did sell her, for no one wanted an old slave that was unable to work. aunt suzy after all her traveling got to return to her old plantation and when the slaves were freed she lived with one of her children until her death. breathitt co. (margaret bishop) as told by scott mitchell, a former slave: scott mitchell, claims his age as somewhere in the 's but his wool is white on the top of his head. negroes don't whiten near as quickly as white people, evidently he is nearly , or there-a-bouts. "yes'm i 'members the civil wah, 'cause i wuz a-livin' in christian county whah i wuz bohn, right wif my masteh and mistress. captin hester and his wife. i wuz raised on a fahm right wif the, then i lef there. "yes, cap'n hester traded my mother an my sister, 'twuz in , he sent em tuh mississippi. when they wuz 'way from him 'bout two years he bot em back. yes, he wuz good tuh us. i wuz my mistess' boy. i looked afteh her, en she made all uv my cloes, en she knit my socks, 'cause i wuz her niggah. "yes, i wuz twenty yeahs old when i wuz married. i members when i wuz a boy when they had thet civil wah. i members theah wuz a brick office wheah they took en hung colohed folks. yes, the blood wuz a-streamin' down. sumtimes theah hung them by theah feet, sometimes they hung them by theah thumbs. "i cum tu kentucky coal mines when i wuz 'bout twenty years old. i worked for mistah jenkins. i worked right here et the davis, the r.t. davis coal mine, en at the bailey mine; that was a-fore mistah bailey died. "when i worked for mistah davis he provided a house in the cutt-off, that's ovah wheath the mine's at. we woaked frum o'clock in the mawnin' til 'clock at night. yes, i sure liked tuh woak for mistah davis. i tended fuahnaces some, too. i sure wuz sorry wen mistah davis died." union co. (ruby j. girten) a bill of sale: this indenture, made and entered into this th day of june , by and between joseph w. cromwell and martha cromwell, his wife, of the first part, and wm. c. hamner of the second part, all of the county of union and state of kentucky, witnesseth: that the said joseph w. cromwell and martha his wife, for, and in consideration of the sum of $ . , in hand paid, the receipt of which is hereby acknowledged, have given, granted, bargained and sold and by these present to grant bargain, sell and deliver unto the said wm. c. hamner a certain negro woman called milly, about years old, and her child, called james, about months old which negroes together with their increase, and the said joseph w. cromwell and martha cromwell for themselves, their heirs and assigns, will, warrant, and defend unto the said wm. c. hamner, his heirs and assigns forever, against the claims of themselves, their heirs, and against the claims of all and every person or persons whatever. said cromwell and wife further warrant said negro woman, milly, to be sound and healthy, and slaves for life. in testimony whereof, the said joseph w. cromwell and martha cromwell, his wife, have hereunto set the hands and affixed their seals, the day and date first written. joseph w. cromwell martha l. cromwell (recorded in deed book on page at morganfield, kentucky.) will--nancy austin: in the name of god, amen. i, nancy austin of sound mind and disposing memory, but weak in body, do make and publish this as my last will and testament. in the first place i give to my grandsons, fielding jones and isaac vanmeter jones, a negro girl of the name of margaritte, and negro boy by the name of solomon to be equally divided between them when the arrive at the age of years or without lawful issue, then and in that case my will and desire is that the survivor have the aforesaid negroes with their increase and should both die without lawful issue, then and that case my will and desire is that the aforesaid negroes and their increase go to my three children and their lawful heirs. secondly, i give to my daughter, harriet lapham, a negro girl of the name of mahala, and a boy of the name of washington, and girl of the name julian. thirdly, i give to my son, daniel vanmeter, a negro boy of the name of alexander, and a negro woman of the name of teresa, and the horses he claims being in number, and steers, and the hogs he claims, and one bed and furniture. fourthly: i give to my daughter, helen jones, a negro girl of the name of sarah, and a boy of the name of john, and a girl of the name of amanda, and two of the choice of my cows, and one bed a furniture. fifthly: my will and desire is that the house and lot i now live on be sold on a months credit with my personal property not heretofore disposed of by my executor hereafter named or such of them as may qualify, and such as qualify are hereby authorized to convey said house and lot whenever the purchase money is paid to the prchaser[tr: sic] of said house and lot. sixthly: my will and desire is that all my just debts be paid and then the balance of the money arising from the sale to be equally divided between my three children and my grandsons, fielding and isaac, they taking one fourth of the money between them. seventhly: my will and desire is that my faithful servants, amanda, be free at my death and if she should not be able to support herself then out of the hire or services of the negroes i have given to them. lastly, i appoint samuel casey, gibson b. taylor and william grundy executors of this my last will and testament as witness my hand this th day of may, . nancy austin witness: nathaniel ashby, c.c. jones, tabitha wilson. (will book b., p. , at morganfield, kentucky.) rockcastle co. (robert mullins) the years to worked the development of the systematic enticing away, or stealing of slaves from kentucky slave owners, and the passing them to canada by a cordon of posts, or relays, which came to be known as the "underground railroad". a number were stolen and carried away on horses. the abductors traveled with the slaves at night and concealed them during the day. the old mcferron house in mt. vernon, kentucky was used as a relay post to hide slaves enroute to ohio, michigan and canada. the slaves in these parts were locked in the old mcferron cellar which was situated under the ground, and they were concealed under the cover until night, when they would travel again. there were never at any time any slaves sold from auction blocks in this county. it is reported that the life of the slave in rockcastle county was a happy lot. their masters built them cabins to live in, furnished with bunks, tables, stoves, and other necessities. their masters gave them chickens, cows and other stock and gave them plenty to eat. there are no slaves living in rockcastle at this time. clark co. (mayme nunnelley) the first records of slaves in clark county was given by a descendant of one of the members of the little band of resolute revolutionary soldiers who had been comrades and mess mates throughout the long bloody war. these fifteen families, some from virginia and others from maryland, started westward in the early spring of for kentucky. they bought with them some horses, a few cattle, thirty or forty slaves and a few necessary household articles. after many hardships and trials, borne heroically by both men and women, they halted on the banks of the big stoner, in what is now the eastern part of clark county. two years later another group of families with their slaves came to join this little settlement. in some cases the owners were good to their slaves had comfortable quarters for them at a reasonable distance from the main house. their clothing was given them as they needed it. in most instances the clothing was made on the plantation material woven, and shoes made. the cabins were one and two rooms, maybe more if the families were large. the slaves ate their meals in the kitchen of the main house. a cruel and inhuman master was ostrazied and taught by the silent contempt of his neighbors a lesson which he seldom failed to learn. in the general assembly passed an act in which good treatment was enjoined upon master and all contracts between master and slaves were forbidden. the execution of this law was within the jurisdiction of the county courts which were directed to admonish the master of any ill treatment of his slave. if presisted in the court had option and power to declare free the abused slave. few traders came to clark county as the slaves were not sold unless they were unruly. there was no underground railroads through this area. among some of the old wills compiled by dr. george f. doyle of winchester, we find wills as follows: "john briston in his will dated april , frees his negroes, the executor to go to todd county and buy land and divide it between the negroes and they were given a cow, three horses and he expressed a desire for them to go to liberia. they were to be given a certain amount to defray their moving expenses, and buy them provisions and each negro was given his blanket." "henry calmes, in his will dated , divides his slaves among his wife and children." (b --p ) "john christy in his will says at the death of his wife all his land and slaves are to be sold and the proceeds divided among his children." (b --p ). "in some old wills enough slaves are to be sold said all outstanding debts paid and those left to be divided among his heirs." "a will dated says at the expiration of eight years after his death all negroes above those bequeated are to be offered to the colonization society, if they are of age, to be transported to liberia and those not of age to continue to serve the persons to whom they are allotted until they come of age, boys and the girls at when they are to be offered to the colonization society to be transported to liberia. none of them are to be forced to go. those that do not go to liberia are to continue to serve the persons to whom they are allotted until they are willing to go. three persons by name to be hired out the seventh year after the death and the money arising from said hire to be given to those that first go to liberia, $ . a piece if there should be so much and the balance given to the next ones to go." "in the will of robert lewis, february , , he sets three of his slaves free and gives them the use of acres of the northwest of the ohio, their life time. there were to be five hired out until their hire amounts to pounds each, then they were to be freed. as the other younger slaves become of age, they are to be freed." from the following will dated june , it shows the slaves were able, to accumalate an estate: "allan, charles june , oct , "a free man of color. estate to be sold and the proceeds distributed as follows: to ester graves, a woman of color belonging to the heirs of rice arnold, $ . ; balance of money to be divided equally between the children 'i claim to be mine'. jerrett, charles, ester, carolina, granvill and emile; all children of aforesaid. charlotte arnold and all belonging to the heirs of rice arnold and also sally, alfred, mary, lucy, hulda, catharine, and maud, children of ester graves aforesaid, slaves of bengamine graves; also two children of mary allan, a slave belonging to patsey allan names lesa and carolina, the sixteen children to receive an equal share of the money arising from the sale of his estate." clark county did not have an auction block or slave market but every new years day in front of the courthouse owners would bring their slaves to be hired. it was told by one of the old citizens a few years ago, (died two years ago) that he walked nine miles one bitter cold day to hire some slaves. these could be hired for a definite time or until they brought certain amounts of money. in - winchester, the county seat of clark county boasted of a weekly newspaper, issued every saturday. from the advertisement column of this paper we learned that dillard collins was willing to pay $ . to get his run away slave, reuben, and a similar reward was offered for one "scipio" who had taken french leave from his master, (donned) in his master's new clothes. another ad in this paper ways[tr: says?] one walter karrick offered to trade a negro woman for "whiskey", cyder and flour. "a story is told of a slave "monk estill" who helped or rather belonged to col. james estill of madison county. in in a battle known as estill's defeat, which occured on the grounds where mt. sterling now stands in montgomery county, col. estill and twenty-five men attacked a party of wyandotte indians by whom the slave was taken prisoner. "in the thickest of the fight, monk called out in a loud voice; 'don't give way, marse jim, there's only twenty-five indians and you con whip all of them.' "col. estill was killed and the men retreated. monk escaped from his captors and after many hardships joined the white comrades. "on his shoulder he carried a wounded soldier twenty-five miles to estill station. his young master gave him his freedom in recognition for his bravery and supported him in comfort the rest of his life." in clark county are many small negroe settlements formed by the old freed slaves after the war. some had accumalated a little and brought a small piece of land and others had homes given to them by their owners. mr. archilles eubank was the largest slave holder of his day, mr. colby quisenberry was second, in clarks county. "the story is told that at the time of general morgan's last raid on winchester, an old faithful slave of dr. hubbard taylor, (a noted physician all over this portion of kentucky at this time) who was always careful of his master's interests, and without the consent of his master, saved his very fine riding horse, "black prince" from being pressed into service of the confederates. ab (the slaves name) learned that morgan's men were good judges of horse flesh and had taken several horses just as the federals did when they needed them and he determined to conceal prince, whose groom he was. he put him there in the smoke house along with the meat, but prince pawed and made disturbances until he took him out and took him to the cellar persuading him to descend the steps and left him there. he came up to hear that several horses had been taken from the cellars of the men, then he hastened back to get black prince. he brought him out of the cellar and took him to the laundry room and sat there with him conversing him to keep him quite until all danger passed. when prince became restless and wanted to paw his way out, old ab would say, "now prince, you quit dat you's in danger of being taken by the bad soldiers." old prince would stop instantly and listen to his groom." montgomery co. (gladys robertson) in this community most of the slaves were kept on farms and each family was given a well constructed log house. they were fed by provisions given them by their white masters and they were plentiful. they were clothed by their masters. these clothes were made by the colored women under the direction and supervision of their mistress, the white woman cut the clothes for both men and women, and the colored women did the sewing of the garments. the men did the manual labor on the farm and the women the domestic. each white woman and girl had a special servant for her own use and care and each white man had his colored man or valet. there are no records of a big slave trade in this county. when a slave was sold it was usually to a friend or neighbor and most masters were very considerate and would not sell unless a family could go together. for instance from the diary of mrs. wliza[tr: eliza?] magowan - , we read this: "lina and two children scott and dulcina sold to j. wilkerson". also another item: "violet married to dennie" showing that care was taken that marriages were made among the negroes. the darkies had suppers in their own quarters and had much merrymaking and laughter. illness among the darkies were cared from among themselves but under the watchful eye of the master and mistress. the darkies were deeply religious and learned much of the bible from devout mistresses who felt it their holy duty to teach these ignorant people the word of god. an extract from mrs. magowan's diary on july , : "old aunt becky was baptised on the th; she being upwards of years of age. a considerable interest on the subject of religion is manifest among the negroes, several have joined may they be kept by the power of god unto salvation. the redemption of the soul is precious". this is quoted to show that the negro was considered as a human being and treated as such. also taken from mrs. magowan's diary: "dove sold to mr. van thompson. o slavery, thorn art a bitter draught! tho' thousands have tasted of thee, thou art none the less bitter." the underground railroad did not run through this county. no slaves were carried away on any such thing. the older people interviewed about this say they do not believe such a railroad ever existed as it would be a feat of engineering even in this day and time. the rosters of the independent company which ge. john s. williams organized in this county and led to mexico is in the possession of his grandson mr. john s.w. hollaway, winchester, kentucky. mrs. allie r. robertson has in her possession the suit worn home from the war, by her father joe arrasmith. he was in the company of morgan's men. it is made of coarse cotton and was in a most deplorable condition when he came home. monroe co. (lenneth jones) (uncle) edd shirley: i am years and my name is uncle edd shirley and i am still working as janitor and support my family. my father was a white man and my mother was a colored lady. i was owned three different times, or rather was sold to three different families. i was first owned by the waldens; then i was sold to a man by the name of jackson, of glasgow, kentucky. then my father, of this county, bought me. i have had many slave experiences. some slaves were treated good, and some were treated awful bad by the white people; but most of them were treated good if they would do what their master told them to do. i onced saw a light colored gal tied to the rafters of a barn, and her master whipped her until blood ran down her back and made a large pool on the ground. and i have seen negro men tied to stakes drove in the ground and whipped because they would not mind their master; but most white folks were better to their slaves and treated them better than they are now. after their work in the fields was finished on saturday, they would have parties and have a good time. some old negro man would play the banjo while the young darkies would dance and sing. the white folks would set around and watch; and would sometimes join in and dance and sing. my colored grandfather lived to be years old, and at that age he was never sick in his life. one day he picked up the water bucket to go to the spring, and as he was on his way back he dropped dead. the story of mrs. c. hood: once upon a time during the civil war my grandmother was alone with just one old faithful servant. the union troops had just about taken everything she had, except three prize saddle horses and one coal black mare which she rode all the time. she was very fond of the mare and valued it very much. one night my grandmother heard a noise, and called old joe to go to the barn and see what was the matter. as he was nearing the barn someone yelled "halt"; and joe being a black man and a servant, stopped just where he was. my grandmother, who had also heard the command, paid no attention whatsoever; she went straight through the dozen or more union soldiers who were stealing her stock to the one who appeared to be the leader. he was holding her mare; she jerked the briddle from his hand, led her mare back to the kitchen door, where she held her the remainder of the night. a story: when my mother was a girl she was staying with some kinfolks for one month. these people owned several slaves and among them was one old man-servant who was very old and had served out his usefulness. it was war time and food was scarce even for the white folks. the younger and stronger slaves got most of the food, and old tom was always hungry. my mother finding this out, and feeling sorry for him would slip him bread and other food through a hole in the kitchen floor. a short time after this, my mother married and moved to a home of her own. old tom never forgot her kindness; and finally persuaded his master to give him to my mother, who kept him until his death. estill co. (evelyn mclemore) story of peter bruner, a former slave: peter bruner, was born in winchester, kentucky, clark co., in . his master was john bell bruner, who at that time treated him fairly well. when peter was years of age his master brought him and his sister to irvine. after arriving in irvine, peter's master was very cruel to him. they got only cornbread, fat meat and water to eat. if his master's hunger was not satisfied, he would even take this little from them. the[tr:?] were tables to eat from. once peter, was taken into his master's house to nurse the children and was made to sleep on the floor with only a ragged quilt to lie on and one thin one over him. often he was whipped because his mistress said the washing was not clean, when it was. on one occasion when he was beaten his master took a piece of sole leather about foot long and inches wide, cut it full of holes and dipped it in water that was brined. he then took the leather and lashed the poor slave's back. joe bruner, was a better master to his slaves than john. once when peter stole some sugar and flour, that he and his sister might have a pound cake, joe caught him. he did not whip him however, because he knew that peter did not often have enough to eat. peter, endured torture as long as he could and finally decided to escape. he went to richmond, kentucky on to lexington. on his way he made a contract with a man to drive his horses to orleans, but was caught while in lexington. on his way they caught him and took him to jail and he remained until his master came for him. this did not down him, for just as soon as he could he escaped again, and this time got as far as xenia, ohio, but was again caught and brought back. this time he was severely beaten for three hours. when years old, peter was hired out to jimmy benton, who was more cruel than john bruner, but was again brought back. it was then that he tried again to escape. this time he went through madison co. near sugar creek. this was about the year , when the war had begun. again he was caught and taken back, but this time by joe bruner. he escaped several times, but never could seem to get anywhere. once when he and another slave, phil, escaped they were caught and made to walk the entire distance barefoot. after this peter, was chained each night to a chair. one morning while eating his breakfast he heard a knock at the door and on opening it he found a troop of union home guards. jim benton and john bruner were taken to prison. after this peter went to miller's creek and worked at odd jobs for awhile. when john bruner was taken from prison, he was much better to peter. soon after john was released from prison, peter escaped again. this time he had joined a regiment in the war. he went through hardships, cold, hunger and illness. often when they were awaken in the morning they would find their blankets frozen to the ground. he was sick several times. his feet frozen and other things would go wrong such as having fever and once he had variloid. after serving for awhile he was mustered out and returned to winchester, where his mother lived. he stayed a short time and then went to oxford, ohio. here he went to school, but soon decided he was not learning anything so decided to get married. in the spring he was married to nannie proctor. again he made a mistake and during this time suffered hardships trying to keep a roof over their heads and food enough to eat. he worked at odd jobs, but could not find much to do and got very much in debt. he then went to hamilton, ohio and asked mr. john frye to loan him some money. he had asked mr. roberts for some and he would not loan it. however, john frye did loan him the money and peter paid himself out of debt and bought a stone quarry from his mother-in-law. he sold a lot of stone from it, but finally sold this and took a job as engineer at oxford, college. dr. walker was president at that time. it was here that peter celebrated his th wedding anniversary. the teacher, faculty and seniors made this a happy day for him. he got a job as janitor under dr. thompson at miami university. he worked here for years under president taft. he is a member of bethel a.m.e. church and has been for over years. in he and his wife celebrated his golden anniversary. peter bruner is still living ( ) but his eyesight is impaired. he is years of age. christian co. (mamie hanbery) [hw: ky ] story of easter sudie campbell, (age about , webber st., hopkinsville, ky.) born in princeton, caldwell co., kentucky, her parents were slaves, the property of will and martha grooms of princeton. aunt easter as she is called has followed the profession of a mid-wife for forty years. she is still active and works at present among the negroes of hopkinsville. "yes, sho, i make my own medicines, humph, dat aint no trouble. i cans cure scrofula wid burdock root and one half spoon of citrate of potash. jes make a tea of burdock root en add the citrate of potash to hit. sasafras is good foh de stomach en cleans yer out good. i'se uses yeller percoon root foh de sore eyes. "wen i stayed wid mrs. porter her chaps would break out mighty bad wid sores in de fall of de year and i'se told mrs. porter i'se could core dat so i'se got me some elder berries en made pies out of hit en made her chaps eat hit on dey war soon cored. "if twont foh de white folks i sho would hev a hard time. my man he jes wen erway en i haint neber seed him ergin en i'se had five chilluns en de white folks hev heped me all dese years. dese trifling niggers dey wont hepe dey own kind of folks. if youse got de tooth ache i makes a poultice of scrape irish pertatoes en puts hit on de jaw on de side de tooth is aching en dat sho takes de fever out of de tooth. i'se blows terbacco smoke in de ear en dat stops de ear ache. "wen i goes on er baby case i jest let nature hev hits way. i'se alays teas de baby de first thing i does is ter blow my breath in de baby's muff en i spanks it jes a little so hit will cry den i gives hit warm catnip tea so if hit is gwine ter hev de hives dey will break out on hit. i alays hev my own catnip en sheep balls foh sum cases need one kind of tea en sum ernother. i give sink field tea ter foh de colic. hit is jes good fuh young baby's stomach. i'se been granning foh nigh unter forty year en i'se only lost two babies, dat war born erlive. one of dese war de white man's fault, dis baby war born wid de jaundice en i tolds dis white man ter go ter de store en git me sum calomel en he says, "whoeber heard of givin a baby sech truck", an so dat baby died. "of course youse can tell wheder the baby is gwine ter be a boy er girl fore tis born. if de mother carries dat child more on de left en high up dat baby will be a boy en if she carries hit more ter de middle dat will be a girl. mothers oughter be more careful while carrying dar chilluns not ter git scared of enthing foh dey will sho mark dar babies wid turrible ugly things. i knows once a young wooman war expecting en she goes black-berry hunting en er bull cow wid long horns got after her en she was so scairt dat she threw her hands ober her head en wen dat baby boy war born he hed to nubs on his head jes like horns beginning ter grow so i'se hed her call her doctor en dey cuts dem off. one white wooman i'se waited on like hot choclate en she alays wanted more she neber hed nuff of dat stuff en one day she spills sum on her laig en it jes splotched en burned her en wen dat gal war born she hed a big brown spot on her laig jes like her mammy's scar frum de burn. now you see i noes yer ken mark de babies. "dar war a colored wooman once i'se waited on dat hed to help de white folks kill hogs en she neber did like hog liver but de white folks told her ter take one home en fix hit foh her supper. well she picked dat thing up en started off wid hit en hit made her feel creepy all ober en dat night her baby war born a gal child en de print of er big hog-liver war standing out all ober one side of her face. dat side of her face is all blue er purplish en jes the shape of a liver. en hits still dar. "i'se grannied ober three hundred chilluns en i noes wat i'se talking about. "hee! hee! hee! one day dar war a circus in hopkinsville en er black wooman i'se war ergoing ter wait on war on de street to watch foh de parade en wid de bands er playing en de wild varmits en things dis woman give birth ter dat girl chile on de corner of webber and seventh st. dat gal sho got er funny name 'es-pe-cu-liar'. (i did not get the drift of the story so i asked her what was so funny about the name. of course it is a name i have never heard before so the following is what the girls mother said about it to aunt easter. m.d. hanbery) "well the gals mammy thought hit war jes peculiar dat, dat happened wen she war er looking at the parade. (so this woman especuliar is still in hopkinsville and her story is known in quite a few of the older circles.) "yah! yah! i sho remember how de ole folks uster dress. de women wore hop skirts en de men wore tight breeches. de night gowns war made on er yoke aufull full en big long sleeves wid a cuff at de hand en a deep hem at de bottom of de gown, dese gowns war made of domestic en wen dey war washed en starched en ironed dey wur be so stiff dey could stand erlone." de men en de women both wore night caps. if de gown war a dress up gown why dey war home made knit en crochet lace in de front en lots en lots of tucks some of dem had deep ruffles on dem at the bottom. "wen my pappy kum home from de war, he war on de "govmint" side he brung a pistol back wid him dat shot a ball dey hed caps on hit en used dese in de war. de ku klux jum after him one night en he got three of dem wid dis pistol, nobody eber knowed who got dose kluxes. ghosts---- "sho dar is ghosts. one night es i war going home from work de tallest man i eber seed followed me wid de prettiest white shirt on en den he passed me, en waited at de corner i war a feeling creepy en wanter run but jes couldn't git my laigs ter move en wen i'se git ter de corner war he war i said 'good ebening' en i seed him plain es day en de did not speak en jes disappeared right fore my eyes. "den ergin i went ter de fish pond one day fishing en cotched two or three big fish wen i went home thot i'd go back dat night en i begun to dig sum fishing worms en my boss he saw me en axed, 'wot i doing'. i told him i war ergoing ter de pond ter fish dat night. he said 'don you go ter dat pond ternight easter foh if you does something will run you erway.' i jes laughed at him en dat night i en my boy wese goes ter de pond en as we war er standing in dar quiet like we heared something squeeching like er new saddle en er horses er trotting. we listened en waited wen something wen inter dat pond right twixt us liker er ball er fire. weums sho did leave dar an de next morning my boss axed me if we cotched enthing en we told him wot we saw en he said he knowed weums would be run erway foh he war run erway hisself. "course dar is hainted houses dese haints in dese places jes wont leave you erlone. wen i'se war er living in princeton, uncle lige my mammy's brother en i'se moved in er cabin one christmas day en war ergoing ter stay dar en dat night we war er setting bore de fire en de fire light war es bright as day, wen i looks up at de wall foh i hears er scratching noise en dar war er big white cat on de wall wid all he's hair standing on dat cat jos jumps from wall ter de nother en uncle lige en me jes open dat cabin door en started ter de tother cabins on de place en we deed dat thing dat war bigger den eny cat i eber seed jes come thru dat door in de air en hit de front gate, dis gate hed er iron weight on hit so hit would stay shot en dis thing hit at de top den wen erway. no i neber seed whar hit went. dis gate jes banged en banged all night. we could heat from de tother cabin. uncle liga en me moved erway next day en other people moved in dis cabin en dey saw de same thing en nobody would stay dar. dem some time after dis diz cabin war torn down. "once i hed a dream i knowed i ner bout saw hit. i alays did cook ebery night er pot er beans on de fire foh de chilluns ter eat next day while i war at work en lizzie my daughter uster git up in de night en git her some beans en eat dem en dis dream war so real dat i couldn't tell if hit war lizzie er no but dis wooman jes glided by my bed en went afore de fire en stood dar den she jes went twixt my bed en went by de wall. i jes knowed wen i woke up dat my child was sick dat lived erway from home en wanted my son ter take me ter see her. he said he would go hisself en see so he wen en wen he come back he hed a headache en fore morning dat nigger war dead. so you see dat war de sign of da dream. i war jes warned in de dream en didn't hev sense nuff ter know hit." [story of uncle dick:] uncle dick, a negro servant of one of the hendersons, was the fiddler of the neighborhood at weddings, husking parties and dances. dick's presence was essential. uncle dick was fully aware of his own importance, and in consequence assumed a great deal of dignity in his bearing. before setting out he always dressed himself with the greatest nicety. at the appointed time he was at the place with all the weight of his dignity upon him. woe to the "darkies" who violated any of the laws of etiquette in his presence. on a certain evening there was to be a grand wedding festival among the colored gentry on a farm about miles from uncle dick's residence. he was, of course called upon to officiate as master of ceremonies. he donned his long-tailed blue coat, having carefully polished the glittering gilt buttons; then raised his immense shirt collar, which he considered essential to his dignity, and, fiddle in hand, sallied forth alone. the younger folk had set out sometime before; but uncle dick was not to be hurried out of his dignity. the narrow path led, for the greater part of the way, through a dense forest, which was as wild as when roamed by the indians. a heavy snow lay on the ground, on which the moonbeams were shining whenever they could force a passage through the trees. the dreary solitude of the way made no impression on the mind of uncle dick. he was anxiously hurrying on to reach the scene of operation, having spent a little too much time in polishing his gilt buttons. on he dashed, heedless of the black shadows and hideous night cries of the deep forest. wolves were howling around him; but he paid no attention to sounds so common, thinking only of the feet that were waiting his arrival to be set in motion. soon, however, the howling began to approach nearer than was agreeable, the wolves continued to become more and more noisy, till, to his indescribable horror, he heard them on each side of the crackling bushes. very soon the woods seemed to the old man to be alive with the yelling pack. wolves are cautious about attacking human beings; they usually require some little time to work themselves up to the point. every few moments a dark object would brush past poor old dick's legs with a snapping sound like that of a steel trap, while the yelling and crackling increased with terrible rapidity. dick new that to run would mean instant death, as the cowardly pack would all rush on him the moment he showed fear. his only chance of safety consisted in preserving the utmost coolness. a short distance before him lay some open ground; and he hoped that on reaching this they would leave him, as they do not like to make an attack in such a place. he remembered, too, that in the middle of the open space there stood an old cabin, in which he might be able to find refuge. but now the wolves rushed at him more and more boldly, snapping in closer and closer proximity to his legs. snap! snap! nearer and nearer! instinctively he thrust out his fiddle at them. the jarring of the strings made than leap back. hope returned. he drew his hand violently across the strings--twang, twang! instantly the wolves sprang back as if he had fired a gun among them. he was now at the edge of the open space. he twanged his fiddle--the wolves recoiled. dick rushed toward the hut with all his speed, raking the strings more violently at every jump, till they rang again. the astonished wolves paused for a moment on the edge of the open ground, with tails between their legs. but the sight of his flying form renewed their savage instincts. with a loud burst of yells they darted after him at full speed. he reached the hut just as the jaws of the foremost wolf opened to seize him. he rushed in, and the closing door dashed against the nose of the nearest beast. the door was too rickety to keep the enemy out; but dick had time to push himself through the broken roof and get on top of the cabin. the wolves were now furious. rushing into the hut, they jumped and snapped at him, so that dick almost felt their teeth. it required the greatest activity to keep his legs out of their reach. notwithstanding his agonizing terror, he still clung to his fiffle. now, in desperation, as he was kicking his feet in the air to avoid their steel like fangs, he drew his bow shrieking across the strings. the yells instantly ceased. dick continued to make the most frightful spasms of sound, but the wolves could not long endure bad fiddling. as soon as the first surprise was over the attack was renewed more furiously than ever. a monstrous head was now thrust up between the boards of the roof, only a few inches from dick. he gave himself up for lost. but the excess of terror seemed to stimulate him, so that almost of their own accord his fingers began to play "yankee-doodle." instantly there was complete silence! the silence continued as long as he continued to play; but the moment he ceased the listeners again became furious, and rushed on with increased ferocity. uncle dick's pride as a fiddler was flattered. he entered for awhile completely into the spirit of the thing. but never before had he played to an audience so fond of music. they permitted no pause. his enthusiasm began to give way to cold and fatigue. he was tired to death and almost frozen. what was to be done? there sat the listeners with tongues lolling and ears pricked up, allowing not a moments pause, but demanding an uninterrupted stream of music. several weary hours passed, and uncle dick was almost exhausted. but all this while the wedding company had been anxiously expecting their musician. becoming at last impatient or alarmed, some of them set out in search for him. they found him on top of the hut, still sawing away for for life. the wolves were driven away and uncle dick was relieved from his unwilling efforts to charm listeners who got more music than they paid for. last wolf: [hw: ky ] on january , , a famous gray wolf was seen in christian county and killed by a man named tyler. this wolf seemed to be the last wolf seen in this county. it had terrorized the farmers in the sinking fork neighborhood, and a party organized by charles l. dade formed to hunt and kill this wolf which was done on the above date. the wolf measured inches from tip to tip and stood inches high. negro holiness meetings: once a year a group of or negroes give a religious camp meeting in a field on the canton pike about one mile southeast of hopkinsville. there is quite a settlement of negroes call themselves or their church the holiness church. they claim to be sanctified and cannot sin. a few nights ago i was invited to attend one of these meetings, the negroes reserve some benches under the tent for white people. the night that i attended there were two preachers and it seems as though it is the duty of these preachers to bring their discourse to such a point as to play on the emotions of their congregation. the order of service begun with a hymn by the choir. the music for this consisted of a piano, banjo guitar and numerous tambourines. the negroes being naturally born with a great sense of rhythm the songs were not in the same tempo as the songs of the whites but were of a jazz tempo and with the banjo and tambourines it makes one think of the stories of the african jungles. the services start around : p.m. and usually break up around midnight. the negroes in about one hour after the services start being[tr: begin?] to testify and then after each testimony someone offers a prayer then by this time someone in the congregation will be worked up to the pitch of shouting "glory hallelulah". "when this shout starts the tambourine players will begin shaking the tambourines and shortly the majority of the congregation would be shouting, moaning or praying. the tambourines players bounce around in time to the music. there were some excellent untrained voices, in the choir and the congregation. the mourners bench was always full of mourners and when one of the mourners would begin to shout the "workers" would then let the congregation know that this brother or sister had repented by saying "lets pray for bro. or sister ----, for he or she had "come through". the congregation would begin clapping their hands while this prayer was in progress and general moanings with one or both of the preachers praying at the same time why this brother or sister is taken in to the flock to sin no more. while the above is in progress there are other workers talking and singing to the rest of the mourners and when two or three "come through" at once there is great shouting rejoicing, clapping of hands and the tambourines continue to clang and the choir members dance and this process continues for hours or until the preachers become so exausted with their exhortations and contortions that the meeting is adjourned. superstitions of the negro race: in interviewing the different negroes in this community i have not found a single negro that could admit if i asked the direct question that they are the least bit superstitious. the following story happened in my experience with this race about ten years ago. fifteen years ago i purchased a farm from the estate of a gentleman that had committed suicide. it seems as though the gentleman took his gun and told the family that he was going to the tobacco barn to shoot rats. this barn was located a short distance from the main dwelling on the farm and then on the other side of this barn were three negro tenant houses. my first trouble with negroes superstition was to get a tenant to inhabit the house nearest the barn. this cabin was in better repair and larger than the other two cabins and the hardest thing to do was to get a tenant or negro cropper to take this cabin. they would give every excuse imaginable but the direct answer until finally one man i was trying to make a trade with admitted that "de cabin war ter clos ter de barn mr. ---- killed himself in." finally i prevailed on this man to move in by giving him a different garden spot, hog-pen and cowpen as these were still nearer the barn. in fact i moved those buildings thinking i would have an easier time gettin a tenant the next year. everything went along beautifully until time came to house the tobacco and not a negro cropper would use this barn for his tobacco. so i had my individual crop housed in this barn. as the type of tobacco mostly grown at that time was bark fired someone had to stay at the barn night and day to attend the fires and watch that a stick of tobacco did not drop in the blaze and burn the barn and contents. as long as my husband or myself stayed in or around the barn we did not have trouble with these darkies but sometimes it to attend to other matters on this farm and had to leave a hired negro in charge and as soon as we would get out of sight of the barn the negro would desert his post. it became evident that one or the other of us stay at this barn night and day until firing season was over. the same thing happened when the stripping season began. these conditions continued until a wind storm blew this barn down. still i hoard some of the negroes express their thoughts. mr. g---- sho had no tention of dat barn standing. i had the tenants separate this lumber for different uses on the farm and the scrap lumber was to be taken to the cabin or the main dwelling to be used as kindling and not a negroe would use this kindling. one negro a tall black man around seventy years old said, "no dat wood wont burn". i asked, "why"? he said, "mr. g---- would sho hant me if i teched a single piece of dat wood ter burn." so naturally the main dwelling had a bountiful supply of kindling. this farm was watered by a big spring and branch that ran along behind the stables and near this particular barn and this branch run into a big sink hole and then through a small crevice underground. once cold and disagreeable winter something blocked this crevice and the waters soon overflowed the sink hole and extended all over the lowlands near. the winter was severely cold and this water began to moderate and a light drizzle of rain was falling and most of the tenants on the farm had retired for the night when suddenly this ice on the stream broke up and in some manner the crevice had been opened and the sound from this water going in its course underground was terrific. my family as well as myself were very much frightened. no one can imagine the commotion that existed at the cabins on the tenant row near the stream. negroes poured from the cabins in all manners of dress or undress even the cold weather did not tempt them to take time to don shoes and hose but came to the back door of my house some crying and moaning and praying, and if there is such a thing as a pale negro these darkies were certainly pale, eyes rolling and the majority of them wanting to leave the farm before daybreak or by that time anyway or else staying in our home all night. fires were made in the kitchen and they congregated there and most of them remained there all night. one old negro said or acted as spokesman for the crowd. "dat all this crowd of niggers need dat mr. g---- was afer dem and meant foh dem to move or git." my husband took one or two of the older men with lanterns and made an investigation. when they reached the branch the overflow was gone and there was no evidence that there had been any water over these fields except for the large blocks of ice that was lying in the field. with much persuading and cajoling the majority of these negroes went to their cabins that night and the most skeptical stayed in my kitchen all the rest of the night. but peace and quiet reigned once more and from that day as long as these tenants remained with me i did not have any trouble with them being superstitious but each time the tenants were changed the same superstitions had to be met with and their fears had to be quieted. negro folk songs: (contributed by william warfield, col.) these songs more commonly called plantation melodies, originated with the negroes of the south during the days of slavery. they habe been somewhat collected and written about. these songs have for the negro the same value that the folk songs of any people have for that people. in the days of slavery they furnished an outlet for aching hearts and anguished souls. today they help to foster race pride and to remind the race of the "rock from which it was hewn". some of these folk songs represented the lighter side of the slave's life, as for example, "heave away! heave away! i'd rudder co't a yallar gal dan work foh henry clay heave away, yaller gal, i want to go." or: "ole massa take dat new brown coat, and hang it on de wall; dat darkey take dat same old coat, and wear it to de ball, oh, don't you hear my tru lub sing?" it was in their religious song, however that they poured out their souls. three things are especially emphasized in these song. first this life is full of sorrow or trouble: "nobody knows da truble i sees, nobody but jesus." second, religion is the best thing in the world. it enables you, though a slave, to have joy of the soul, to endure the trials. future life is happy and eternal: "we'll walk dem golden streets, we'll walk dem golden streets, we'll walk dem golden streets, wear pleasure nebber dies." or: "oh! i'se a-gwine to lib always, oh! i'se a-gwine to lib always, oh! i'se a-gwine to lib always, wen i git in de kingdom." annie morgan: story of annie morgan: (age , w. nd st., hopkinsville, ky.) annie was born of slave parents. her mother and father were slaves of the payne family. ques: annie can you give me or rather tell me of some of your earlier life with your parents, or what your mother and father has told you of things before and after the civil war. ans: wal, wal, i do declare it has ben so long i'se jes don't remember. i'se seem to remember de big days we uster hav on proclamation day wen we used ter go to grandmums who lived in trigg county. foh days befur weuns would git redy ter go in a wagon and as dar was a heap of chilluns it tuk quite a time an weuns would start by day break and dem wen we got dar why all de rest of the daughters en sons of dar chilluns was alredy that, den weun's hev a big time wid watermullins and ebything good to eat. some times uncle ben brot hid bajo and us chilluns would dance. ques: annie did you ever have a dream to come true? or do you believe in dreams? ans: sho does, sho does, why chile all my dream come true. i recollect one wen my son was sick, i felt he wont gwine to git well. i asked him, "was he right with god", he says, "dar is nuthin between me and de lawd". den afterwards, i begin to worry gin about dis boy, i prays "de lawd" and ax him ter let me drem a drem bout him an nite time i did, i could see dis boy jist as plaincrossing "judgment stream" and i says to him in my drem, i say, "you come my son, he's crossin judgment stream, i says ter ole man go in and hep him" and my son says to me, "i'm crossing judgment stream, mammy, and i got to cross it myself". i says "i no you are cold now". i dreamed i spread a rug round him den he disappeared, inter de building, by dat time i woke up so happy. oh, lawd, ter no my boy was in heben. i am sho i would not dremed dat drem unless "de lawd" tended me ter no my boy was saved. i sho nos dis boy is in heben. "wen me an my man was married all de colored folks in the neighborhood come to ma's and weums my husband and me jumped o'er the broom stick an we was been married, ebery since. in dese days hit were too far ter go git a preacher an most colored folks married dat way." story of cora torian: ( w. nd st., hopkinsville, ky.--age .) bell childress, cora's mother, was a slave of andrew owen. he purchased belle childress in the purchase and brought her to christian county. cora was born in christian county on mr. owen's farm and considered herself three years old at the end of the civil war. she told me as follows: "i has dreamed of fish and dat is a sure sign dat i would git a piece of money, an i always did. dreamed of buggy and horse an it was a sign of death in family and i no's hits tru. dream of de ded hit always rains. my mistus and marster fed and clothed us good and we lived in a little log cabin of one room and cooked on an open fire. some marsters wud whoop ther slaves til the blood would run down daw backs dese slaves would run away sometimes den sum would come to ise marse and would have to send dem back to dar own marsters and how my ole marster hated to see dem go. "i hang horse shoes oer my door to keep the evil spirits away. my mammy always wore and ole petticoat full gather at de waist band wid long pockets in dem and den to keep peace in de house she would turn de pocket wrong side out jes as she would go to somebodys elses house. "i sho do no dar is ghosts, i seed one oncet hit was a man wid no head on standin in my house and pullin the crammin out of de house and puttin hit on de table. oooh i no's dat is so cause i seed hit wid my own eyes. "my mammy had a woman dat lived wid us and she died, and sometimes afterwards, she called me and i looked in de room and dis woman was sitting on de side of de bed and wen i spoke to her she slowly ris up and went thru a crack about two inches wide. now dats a fak! "humph, no i'se not gwine ter go near no hainted house, much less stay in one. i'se scairt. "hee, hee, sho you can find things by spitting in yer han and de way the spit goes if youse will go dar you will be sho to find hit. "aint got no time for fortune tellers, don believe in dem, day don't do nuthin. "wen de moon changes if youse see hit thru de bresh you sho will have bad luck, but if youse sees hit and nuthin to hinder youse from lookin at hit straight and make a wish it who will come true. i'se no's cause my son was way down south an i woant to seed him and i looks at de moon and hit was changing and i wished de would come home and looked up de road and "lawd daw he were. "youse plants de pertatoes by de moon. irish pertatoes planted on de light of de moon will go ter vine and der neber will be a tater on de vine. if youse plant dem by de dark of de moon yourall's pertatoes will be plentiful. "if youse maks soap it must be made by de light of de moon or de soap will all turn to grease. "if youse sneeze wen you eats you will shorely die. "if youse see a blue gummed negro be shore one don bite you foh dey are shore pizenous. "if youse have yer year to ring, sho sing of death. "move on friday, "good lawd no", youse would sho have bad luck. "one tru sign of death, if a dog howls at midnight, you will sho to die. if you dreams of you teeth falling out is a tru sign of death and if youse dreams of a marriage is nuther tru sign of death. "if i dream of a naked purson i'se is sho to die. no cat mus come in wen dar is a ded body for de cat will sho eat de body. "if a cat crosses youse path to de left some kind of bad luck is sho to overtake on yer journey. "if a peckerwood pecks on de roof of youse house you will sho lose some member of youse family. dey is pizen. "no i'se jes ter scairt ter go whar day call up spirits." tale of mary wooldridge: (clarksville pike--age about .) "mary and her twin sister were slaves born in washington county, kentucky, near lexington, belonging to bob eaglin. when mary was about fourteen years old she and her sister was brought to the lexington slave market and sold and a mr. lewis burns of the same county purchased her. mary doesn't know what became of her sister. five or six years later she was again put on the block and sold to a negro trader but mary does not remember this traders name. while here she was kept in a stockade and it was several years before she again was bought by a white man. mr. thomas mcelroy near lexington bought her and she remained his slave until the slaves were freed. mary looks her age. she is a tall gaunt black negro with white hair about one inch long and very kinky, and still she dresses as the older slave woman dressed in the past days. she wears an old bodice with a very full skirt that comes to her ankles and this skirt has very long deep pockets and when i asked her why she had such pockets in her skirt her answer was, "wal you sees honey i jes am used ter dis dress and thar is no way foh youse to had me git shud of hit, dese pockets is powerful venient foh weh i goes inter some ones house why i turns dose pockets wrong side out and dat always brings me good luck. mary contends that she always wears three petticoats. "marse thamos lived in a big log house wid a big plantation all around hit. he had three hundred slaves on de two plantations. marse thamos sho was good ter us niggers. no nigger mus whoop his stock wid a switch. "i'se heared him say many time don't youse niggers whoop dese mules. how would you like to have me whoop you det way?" and he sho would whoop dem dem niggers if he cotched dem. lawd have mercy who whould haw thot i'd be here all dis time. i'd thot i'd be ded and gone. all dese ole niggers try to be so uppity by jes bein raised in de house and cause dey was why dey think is quality. some of dese nigger gals was raised in de house but most of dem was made work ebery whar on de plantation. my massa has his nigger gals to lay fence worms, mak fences, shuck corn, hoe corn en terbacco, wash, iron, and de missus try to teach de nigger gals to sew and knit. but shucks niggers aint got no sense nuf ter do fancy things. sometimes i tended de chilluns. "yah, yah, i sho do member abraham lincoln. my missus and massa did not like mr. lincoln, but pshaw, all de niggers did. i member him, i seed him once, soon after i was freed. "pshaw, dey was hard times durin de war, my missus and sum of de nigger gals and de chilluns hae to stay in the woods several days ter keep way from de soldiers. dey eat all de chickens and kilt the cows and tuk de horses and we sho scairt out dar wid dem varmints roving roun. "nigger aint got no business being sot free, niggers still oughter be slaves. us niggers did not hev to bother bout de victuals sor nuthin. "wen my missis called us niggers gether and told us we was free i was as happy as a skinned frog but you seed i didn't have any sense. all niggers are fools. now she says, she did, you can all stay here en work en we will pay you foh your work, or you can work foh some body else, but i hev raised you hones, and don't you steal, and work foh nuf money so you wont hev to steal it if youse gits hongry and haint got no money to buy vittals jus you ask de white folks foh hit and dey will giv hit to youse. oh how i miss my missis and massa so much. wish i hed dem now. "shucks on dese niggers and dar ways now. i lef de plantation my old missus and massa home and got on a steam boat on de ohio ribber and nursed de chillun foh de captain and he's wife on dat boat foh about two year. an den he, he, he, a nigger don got much sense, miss fannie an mr. harry campbell whot paid me foh my work on de boat gives five dollars foh de work en i'se didn't hev sense nuf ter know what ter do wid dis money. so i goes ter de store en buys me a cedar tub and filled hit wid candy. miss fannie gave me back de money foh de tub an den i ate nuf candy ter git sick and den miss fannie took de candy back to de store and she got my money back, she did. "but shucks, i did not no whot ter do wid de money. wen i lef miss fannie i rode to henderson on a log raft en wen i got dar dey was a big circus and sum one was sayin, "de perade be here directly, he, he, he, i didn't no whot dey meant, big ignorant fool dat i was and still is, en wen i seed de elephants and de uther varmints i ran like a big pop-eyed fool nigger cause i never seed such things. dat day on de road in town i met my ole missus mcelroy en she had me ter help her wid de chilluns and tuk me ter de circus and wen i got in de tent and saw all de cages and things i was sho scairt of ebery thing till i seed dem babboons dem i felt all right and at home cause i jes knowed dey was my first cousins. i stayed in henderson foh sometime working foh furst one and tother en den mr. henry shackleford hired me en brung me to christian county. not long fore i was married ter albert wooldridge we sho had a big wedding. zack major a nigger preacher of de baptist faith did de ceremony right here in hopkinsville. "yes, sho i has ben a mid-wife or granny. all dese high falutin things dey is doin now in child birth is tommy-rot dey oughter hev jes grannies now. i livered more babies den most doctors sometimes de white folks had doctors but i don't take no stock in dese doctors. de furst thing you does wen a new baby is born is ter let hit lay twenty minutes den cut de cord and dan grease a scortched rag wid lard jes hog lard en den put de belly band on den grease de baby all over. neber wash de baby till tis over a week ole. wen de babies had colic i'd take dirt dobber nest and make a tea, den giv did ter de baby. sometimes if i couldn't fin no dirt dobber nes i would git a spider web and make a tea den giv dis or else jes shake de baby by de heels. if folks would tend ter babies like dey uster why dese people now wouldn't hev heart trouble. "sho i seed a ghost once, i soed miss annie wooldridge after she died up here on main st. i was jes settin on de back porch steps jes a lookin while da white folks was er eatin supper. miss annie allways got de eggs en i seed her dat day. she jes come thru de hen house door en hit was locked en den thru de pantry door and hit was locked en i jes called her daughter and i knowed i seed her, sho, i did, it who was miss annie. "of course dar is hanted houses. de ole sharp house were dat er way and all de sharps were ded but dis house were empty. you neber did see anything but i sho had heared de doors slam en de silver rattle en at night in my cabin near to hit i'd sees lights bob up en down. any body in dis town can tell you dats so foh dey tore dis house down ter run de hants eraway. "people don bother bout de moon much now but if dey would lissen ter de ole niters dey would always hev good crops. now if you plant pertatoes by de dark of de moon you will always hev good crops en if you plant dem on de light of de moon den you hes all vine. corn planted on de light de moon den you has a good crop. i'se knows cause i ken member fore de niggers wore freed you could jes plant by de moon and plant anything in god's ground en by de moon en de crops would grow. now dey jes buther up god's ground en put ole stinky messy fertilizer on hit en de crops jes burn up. nobody oughter mess wid god's ground. "i'se a publican who ever heared of a democrat nigger. nigger neber did own enything so dey cant be democrats en if dey vote a democrat ticket dey is jes votin a lie. cause no nigger neber did own slaves only the old nigger slave traders and dey werent nuthin but varmints anyway. ye jes has to hev owned slaves to vote a democrat ticket en den no nigger eber did own slaves er hed nothing." (mary lives in clarksville, pike r.r. # , hopkinsville, kentucky) caldwell co. (mary e. o'malley) [hw: ky ] coal mine slaves: in large numbers of slaves were brought into caldwell and worked by the owners of the ore mines, which necessitated extra patrols, interfered with local workmen, and so on. the taxpayers complained to the legislature and an extra tax was allowed to be levied for the benefit of the county. in other books we find that the owners of the slaves who worked in these mines was president andrew jackson who brought his slaves from nashville to the iron and lead mines in caldwell and crittenden counties; he is said to have made several trips himself to these mines. the missing man: "in mr. jess stevens owned a negro slave, and his wife. jess williams, who lived in the north end of the county, bought the old slave, but did not buy his wife. "one day one of jess william's boys went to edward stevens and an argument followed, causing mr. stevens to shoot him in the arm. later jess williams took the old negro and went to the field where edward stevens and the boy were planting corn. they hid behind a tree and the negro was given the gun and was told to shoot when stevens came down the road by them. "he came by slowly covering corn but the negro did not shoot. williams said, "why didn't you shoot?" and the negro replied, "massie, i just didn't have da heart." williams said, "if you don't shoot next time, i'm going to shoot you." when stevens started by the negro shot and killed him, tearing his hoe handle into splinters. one day a salesman, who rode a fine horse and had a beautiful saddle came to princeton and later went to the williams home. several days later his people got anxious about him, and after checking up they found that he was last seen going into the williams home. several days later his people found his hat floating upon a pond near the house, and a few weeks later one of the williams boys came to town riding the saddle that the salesman had ridden a few months before. the old negro slave went to mr. stevens to visit his wife, and while he and mr. stevens were in the field a spy was hidden in the ambush listening to the conversation about the salesman. when the old slave returned home he was tied to the tail of a young mule, which was turned loose in a new ground and was dragged, bruised and almost killed. edward williams, son of jess williams, found the old slave and cut him loose. his father and brother found it out and started out to hunt him, intending to kill him, but he managed to dodge them. mr. jess stevens was walking along a path the next morning and heard a mournful groan, and after looking for awhile found the old slave. the worms had eaten his face[hw:?] and he was almost dead. the people brought him to the courthouse and began ringing the bell to let the people know that some injustice had been done. when one became tired another took his place. the bell rang both night and day until most of the citizens of the county came to see what was wrong. a number of men went in daytime, without mask or disguise, to the williams home and hung jess williams. they intended to hang the two boys but they got away. ballard co. (j.r. wilkerson) [hw: ky ] [tinie force and elvira lewis:] during the period of slavery in the purchase region, buying and selling slaves was carried on at irregular intervals. the trading usually took place at the home of the slave owner. the prices paid for slaves was dependent upon certain conditions. in case of a full grown, robust negro boy the price was sometimes as much as one thousand dollars. the prices paid was varied according to the age, the general health and other conditions of the individual. at times pathetic scenes prevailed in the selling of slaves; namely, the separation of mother and child. often, a boy or girl would be sold and taken away from his or her mother. in many cases the parting would be permanent and the child and its mother would never see each other again. the slave owner maintained separate housing quarters for his slaves. in some cases the living quarters of slaves was comfortable and agreeable; in other cases, living conditions of slaves was anything but agreeable; some masters were reasonably gentle to their slaves, while others were cruel. one of the saddest, darkest and most pathetic conditions that existed during the period of slavery was the intimate mingling of slave owners, in fact many white men, with negro women. it has become known that very often a slave was sold who was the direct offspring of his or her owner. this practice prevailed to some extent in the purchase region, but was not universal. when the emancipation proclamation became effective and the slaves were given freedom, some of them prefered to remain with their masters, while others started out into the world for themselves. very often, some of the slaves, who had anticipated that liberty meant more to them than anything else, and who went out into the cold world of indifference, soon returned to their old masters. they found that their former home was a much better place to abode than anything outside of it. recreations of slaves: the following is an old fashion ballad that was sung during the period of slavery and which was very common throughout the purchase region: "jeff davis rode a big white horse, but lincoln rode a mule--jeff davis was a fine, smart man, and lincoln was a fool. jeff davis had a fine white; lincoln only had a mule--jeff davis was a wonderful man and lincoln was a fool". ring dancing was largely practiced during the slavery period. especially was this participated in throughout the purchase region. this was a rather primative kind of dancing and was performed mostly by negro children. the general procedure was to draw a ring on the ground, ranging from to feet in diameter. the size of the ring to be used was determined by the number of persons who were engaged in the dancing ring. the youngsters would congregate within the ring and dance to the rhythmic hand clapping and rhythm of the tambourine, which was performed by the white people in the community. sometimes large congregations witnessed these primitive affairs, and they became a great saturday evening entertainment for the community at large. during the periods of intermission, the youngsters, who had engaged in the dancing would be given a kind of feast on barbecued meat and cider drinking. at the conclusion of this brief festivity, they would continue in their dancing, and very often this hilarity would be carried on well into the evening. another kind of entertainment, which was practiced during the period of slavery, was the singing of negro folk songs and spirituals. the darkies would hold gatherings of this kind at the homes of individuals or members, and engage in singing their favorite songs. these singings were generally held during the evenings, especially on saturdays and sundays, and not only afforded a favorite pass time for the darkies; but also for white people. most always, the singings were attended by a large audience of white people, men, women and children. those gatherings grew with increasing popularity, until they became one of the most favorite classes of amusement. also, the darkies were very fond of sports, such as were common to the period, and many of them were very dexterous in the leading sports of the day. one of the most common of those was hurdle racing. here, the contestants would leap over hurdles that were placed at regular intervals apart. at time, numerous participants would engage in these races, and the sport would extend over the entire day. there was a kind of jumping too, which was called hurtling. in the sport, the contestants made use of a hurtling pole, which was a small rigid-pole about feet in length. the jumper would take a long running start, which would enable him to take on additional momentum; and with the assistance of the hurtling pole, would leap over a hurdle that was placed a considerable elevation above the ground. the chief object in this kind of jumping was leaping over a high hurdle. the contestant, who made the highest leap, was awarded the highest honors of the contest. a second, third and fourth honors were awarded too. another kind of contest was called "a free for all". here a ring was drawn on the ground which ranged from about ft. to ft. in diameter depending on the number of contestants who engaged in the combat. each participant was given a kind of bag that was stuffed with cotton and rags into a very compact mass. when so stuffed, the bags would weigh on an average of pounds, and was used by the contestants in striking their antagonist. each combatant picked whichever opponent he desired and attempted to subdue him by pounding him over the head with the bag, which he used as his weapon of defense. and which was used as an offending weapon. the contest was continued in this manner till every combatant was counted out, and a hero of the contest proclaimed. some times two contestants were adjudged heroes, and it was necessary to run a contest between the two combatants before a final hero could be proclaimed. then the two antagonist would stage a battle royal and would continue in the conflict till one was proclaimed victorious. sometimes these free-for-all battles were carried on with a kind of improvised boxing gloves, and the contests were carried on in the same manner as previously described. very often, as many as darkies of the most husky type were engaged in these battles, and the contests were generally attended by large audiences. being staged during the period of favorable weather, and mostly on saturday afternoon; these physical exhibitions were the scenes of much controversial conflict, gambling, excessive inebriation and hilarity. banjo and guitar playing were practiced by the many darkies of the slavery period also. these were on the order of concerts; and many darkies although they had no scientific training, became rather accomplished musicians in this respect. melodious music might be heard at these old fashion contests, as most darkies, who acquired knowledge in the playing of these instruments were familiar with nearly all the melodies and folks songs that were common to the period. (the foregoing is copied verbatim from conversation with tinie force, and elvira lewis, lacenter, ky. these negro women are very familiar with the slavery period, as they were both slaves, and many of the facts common to that time were witnessed by them.) lawrence co. (edna lane carter) extract from the civil war diary kept by elphas p. hylton, a lawrence co. volunteer in the union army. "on th of july ( ) i was detailed for picket duty and saw three thousand negro soldiers on a grand review, a black cloud to see. on the th i was relieved of duty. here i became dissatisfied as a soldier on account of the negro, negro, negro. on the rd we began to get ready to leave this negro hole and on the th, to our great joy and gladness, we were sent into camp near danville." leslie co. (viola bowling) mcintosh was a very progressive farmer and had a large supply of food, being a rebel of the rebel army camped at the mouth of this creek near his home where they could secure food. he had a slave called "henry mcintosh" who was drafted into the union army. he did not want to go but his master told him, "well henry you will have to go, do not steal, nor lie and be good and when you get out come on back." he did come back and stayed here until he died, he later married and was the father of "ben mcintosh (colored) who later lived in hyden for years. mcintosh did not have any help on his farm after this slave was taken away from him. so he let the youth of years mr. wooton, come to his home and help him get wood and work about the place. mcintosh had another slave but gave him to his son-in-law john hyden, who then lived one mile up cutushin from the mouth of mcintosh. he had a small store which was the first store in that community. garrard co. (sue higgins) myth: notions about nature when the stars fell in . at the old thomas kennedy farm (uncle tom's cabin), young tom and some more boys were playing cards in one of the negro cabins. one of the slaves went to the cabin door and called loudly, "mas'r tom! come quick, the whole heavens is falling." he continued to call. after much persuasion and repeated calls from the old negro, young tom said, "i'll go and see what the d---- old negro wants". young tom went to the door and saw the stars raining down. he ran to the big house and jumped on a feather bed, and prayed loudly for help. [mrs. jennie slavin:] when she was a child, mrs. slavin was our nearest neighbor. she said her father used to tell her these tales. william kavanaugh was her father. webster co. (j. dunbar) slaves were brought and sold in clay at one time. a large, stout negro woman in good health sold for $ to $ . a large stout negro man sold for $ , . children were sold for $ to $ . mr. tom johnson, who is living now, states his father was a slave trader and was the chief sheriff of webster co. the runaway slaves were usually caught in this part of the country. the reward was usually $ . . caldwell co. (mary e. o'malley) esther hudspeth: the following story was given by a colored woman, esther hudespeth, who was once sold as a slave. it was told to her by her slave mother in . "a long time ago there lived a rabbit and a coon. they lived so close together. one morning mr. coon came by after mr. rabbit, and wanted him to go over to see some girls with him. so mr. rabbit agreed and went with mr. coon. mr. coon and the girls had some fun making fun of mr. rabbit's short tail. mr. rabbit was very glad when the time came for him to go home, because he was tired of being talked about. mr. coon had to go get a drink of water, and mr. rabbit told the girls that mr. coon was his riding horse and he would ride him when he came back. by the time he got thru telling the girls, mr. coon called to mr. rabbit that he was ready to go. mr. coon had enjoyed himself so much, while mr. rabbit had not. the next day mr. coon came by for mr. rabbit to go with him to see the girls. mr. rabbit played sick. i am too sick to walk over there, he said. mr. coon said, i will carry you on my back if you want to ride. no, said mr. rabbit, i cant ride on your back. i will fall off. mr. rabbit said, if you will let me put this saddle and bridle on you, i will go. so mr. coon agreed to let mr. rabbit put the saddle and bridle on mr. coon. so they went along thru the woods. when they got in sight of the house, mr. coon told mr. rabbit to get off--that he did not want the girls to see him on his back. mr. rabbit pulled out a whip and began to whip mr. coon, hollowing so the girls would see him, and made mr. coon go up to the hitching rack. there mr. rabbit hitched mr. coon and went in the house and enjoyed himself with the girls, while mr. coon pawed the ground. mr. rabbit bade the girls goodbye, and never did mr. coon come after mr. rabbit to go to see the girls with him. anderson co. (mildred roberts) many of the following stories were related by mr. w.b. morgan who at one time owned and operated a livery barn. he hired several negroes to look after the horses and hacks, and remembers many funny tales about them and others: "kie coleman, one of my employees, was standing without the livery stable smoking a two-fer cigar that some one had given him. another negro walked up to chat with him, and he reared back and said "get away nigger, nothing but the rich can endure life." "i was hauling grain for the distillery. one morning i came down to the barn, and kie was too drunk to take his team out. i gave him a good going over about wasting his money that way instead of saving it for a decent funeral. this is one of the best ways to appeal to a darkey because if there is any thing they like it is a big funeral. "he just kinda staggered up to me and said "boss, i don't worry a bit about dat. white folks don't like to smell a live nigger and i'se knows good and well da hain't gwine to lebe no dead nigger laying on top of de groun'." "i furnished the horses for the hearse, and one night i tole the boys to leave it in the stable because we were going to have another funeral the next day. "each night one of the boys had to sleep in the office, and this particular night it was bill's turn. bill was an old, one-legged negro and very superstitious. he said: "boss, this is my night to stay here, and you know, boss, i sho likes to work for you, but i jest tells you now there jest hain't room in this here house fer me and that black wagon at night." i moved the hearse." knox co. (stewart carey) some slaves were owned in knox co., most of them being in barbourville where they served as house-servants. the negro men worked around the house and garden, while the women were cooks and maids. the slaves usually lived in small one-room houses at the rear of their masters home, and were generally well fed and clothed. there was some trading of slaves among the barbourville and knox county owners, and few were sold at public auction. these public sales were held on courthouse square, and some few slaves were bought and sold by "negro traders" who made a business of the traffic in blacks. occasionally a negro man would be sold away from his family and sent away, never to see his people again. clark co. (mayme nunnelley) most kentucky superstitions are common to all classes of people because the negroes originally obtained most of their superstitions from the white and because the superstitions of most part of kentucky are in almost all cases not recent invention but old survivals from a time when they were generally accepted by all germanic peoples and by all indo-europeans. the only class of original contributions made by the negroes to our stock of superstitions is that of the hoodoo or voodoo signs which are brought from africa by the ancestors of the present colored people of america. on the arrival of the negro in america, his child like mind was readily receptive to the white man's superstitions. the black slave and servants in kentucky and elsewhere in the south have frequently been the agents through which the minds of white children have been sown with these supernatural beliefs, some of which have remained permanently with them. nearly all classes of superstitions find acceptance among the negroes. the most widely prevalent are beliefs concerning haunted houses, weather signs, bad luck and good luck signs, charm curse and cures and hoodoo signs. their beliefs that the date of the planting of vegetables should be determined by the phases of the moon is unshaken. casey co. (r.l. nesbitt) while slavery existed in casey co., as in other counties of the state, before the civil war, there are no negroes living the the county today who were born into slavery; and very few white people who can remember customs, incidents, or stories of the old slavery days. it is known that the first slaves in the county were those brought here from virginia by the early white settlers of the county; and that until they were given their freedom, the slaves were well cared for and kindly treated. they lived in comfortable cabins on the lands of their owners, well fed and clothed, given the rudiments of spiritual and educational training, necessary medical attention in sickness; and it was not unusual for some slave owners to give a slave his or her freedom as a reward for faithful or unusual services. if there was any of the so-called "underground railway" method used to get slaves out of the state, as was the case in many counties, there are no current stories or legends relative to such to be heard in the county today. it is thought that the slaves of casey county were so well cared for and so faithful and loyal to their masters that very few of them cared to leave and go to non-slavery states in the north. so there was little, if any, call for any secret methods to provide for their escape. even after they were given their freedom, many slaves refused to leave their masters and spent the remainder of their lives in the service and as charges of their former owners. the present generation of course knows nothing of slavery, and even the older people know only what was told them by the forebears, and no especially interesting stories or legends are current in the county today relative to slaves, or the customs of the old slavery days before the war between the states. christian co. (mamie hanbery) hoo-dooism a snake head an' er lizard tail, hoo-doo; not close den a mile o' jail, hoo-doo; de snake mus' be er rattlin' one, mus' be killed at set uv sun, but never while he's on de run, hoo-doo. before you get de lizard cot, hoo-doo; you mus' kill it on de spot, hoo-doo; take de tail an' hang it up, ketch de blood in a copper cup, an' be sure it's uv a pup, hoo-doo. wait until sum stormy weather, hoo-doo; put de head an' feet together, hoo-doo; in a dry ol' terrapin shell, let 'em stay fer a good long spell, but don't you ever try to sell, hoo-doo. de rattlers mus' be jus' seben, hoo-doo; but mus' not be ober leben, hoo-doo; he mus' be curl'd up fix'd to fight, but see dat you don' let him bite, den you hit w'en de time is right, hoo-doo. ef you do, it's power is dead, hoo-doo; 'cause it is all right in de head, hoo-doo; save de head and de buttons, too, fer de work you'll have ter do, you will need 'em till you're thru, hoo-doo. ketch a live scorpen wid you han', hoo-doo; drown in mare's milk in a pan, hoo-doo; den dry it on a pure lime rock, ninety-nine minutes by de clock, hoo-doo. den git a hand which is a bag, hoo-doo; made uv any sort uv rag, hoo-doo; an' let de top be color'd blue, den git de hair frum out de shoe, hoo-doo. now we'n you find de folks ain't well, hoo-doo; an' dey wants you to move de spell, hoo-doo; git your gredients together, ster dem up wid a goose feather, in sum dark an' cloudy weather, hoo-doo. den put 'em in de hoo-doo bag, hoo-doo; in dat little blue top rag, hoo-doo; den slip 'em in between de ticks, ef you want de conjure fixed, is de way you do de tricks, hoo-doo. ef dey wants you to git 'em well, hoo-doo; dat is de han' dat moves de spell, hoo-doo; take it out before der eyes, an' you mus' be awful s'prised, and dey will think dat you is wise, hoo-doo. den lay right down on your back, hoo-doo; ef you hear de timbers crack, hoo-doo; den yer kno's yer trick has won, den you'll ast er-bout de mon, for you kno's yer work is done, hoo-doo. now ef you wants de conjure fixt, hoo-doo; all you do is to turn de tricks, hoo-doo; jes git dat bottle what you had, an' to make your patient glad, is but to make de conjurer mad, hoo-doo. hopkins co. (m. hanberry) [tr: also spelled hanbery.] in this county practically no one owned more than one or two slaves as this was never a county of large plantations and large homes. these slaves were well housed, in cabins, well clothed and well fed, not overworked and seldom sold, were in closer touch with the "white folks" and therefore more intelligent than farther south where slaves lived in quarters and seldom came in contact with their masters or the masters' families. when a gentleman wished a slave he usually went to hopkinsville and bought slaves there. occasionally one slave owner would buy one from another. "if there was ever a slave market in madisonville or hopkins county i do not remember it or ever heard of it," says j.m. adams, book-keeper of harlen coal company, age , madisonville, ky. martin co. (cullen jude) in the year , during the conflict between the north and south, a new citizen was added to the town of warfield. his name was alfred richardson, a colored man. heretofore the people would not permit negroes to live in warfield. richardson was in a skirmish at warfield and was listed among the northern people as missing. his leg was injured and he was in a serious condition. the good people living at warfield had their sympathies stirred up by his condition and took him in and gave him food and medical attention until he was able to work. at first the people thought they had done a samaritan act, but as soon as alf had a chance to prove himself, he was considered a blessing and not a curse. he became the paper hanger for the town. then someone wanted to have his hair cut and alf proved to be an excellent barber. he rented a shop and went into the barber business and made a success. he owned considerable land, and other property when he died. he lived and died at warfield, ky., and was considered one of its most up to date citizens. produced from images generously made available by the library of congress, manuscript division) slave narratives _a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves_ typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress _illustrated with photographs_ washington [transcriber's note: obvious printer errors have been corrected. in some instances transcriber's notes (tr) are included with each individual interview, as well as some handwritten notes (hw) from the original were maintained but as notation only. in addition, punctuation and formatting have been made consistent, particularly the use of quotation marks. added two lines to list of illustrations missing from original.] volume xi north carolina narratives part i prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of north carolina informants adams, louisa adkins, ida allen, martha anderson, joseph anderson, mary andrews, cornelia anngady, mary arrington, jane augustus, sarah louis austin, charity baker, blount baker, lizzie baker, viney barbour, charlie barbour, mary baugh, alice beckwith, john bectom, john c. bell, laura blalock, emma blount, david bobbit, clay bobbitt, henry bogan, herndon boone, andrew bost, w. l. bowe, mary wallace brown, lucy burnett, midge cannady, fanny cofer, betty coggin, john coverson, mandy cozart, willie crasson, hannah crenshaw, julia crowder, zeb crump, adeline crump, bill crump, charlie curtis, mattie dalton, charles lee daniels, john daves, harriet ann davis, jerry debnam, w. s. debro, sarah dickens, charles w. dickens, margaret e. dowd, rev. squire dunn, fannie dunn, jennylin dunn, lucy ann durham, tempie herndon eatman, george edwards, doc evans, john faucette, lindsey flagg, ora m. foster, analiza foster, georgianna freeman, frank gill, addy glenn, robert green, sarah anne griffeth, dorcas gudger, sarah hall, thomas hamilton, hecter harris, george w. harris, sarah hart, cy haywood, alonzo haywood, barbara henderson, isabell henry, essex henry, milly hews, chaney high, joe high, susan hill, kitty hinton, jerry hinton, martha adeline hinton, robert hinton, william george hodges, eustace huggins, alex hunter, charlie h. hunter, elbert illustrations _facing page_ louisa adams viney baker john beckwith clay bobbit henry bobbitt herndon bogan w. l. bost john coggin hannah crasson bill crump charlie crump and granddaughter harriet ann daves charles w. dickens margaret e. dickens rev. squire dowd jennylin dunn tempie herndon durham george eatman john evans sarah gudger sarah harris essex henry milly henry joe high elbert hunter n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: louisa adams person interviewed: louisa adams editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp "jul "] louisa adams my name is louisa adams. i wuz bawned in rockingham, richmond county, north carolina. i wuz eight years old when the yankees come through. i belonged to marster tom a. covington, sir. my mother wuz named easter, and my father wuz named jacob. we were all covingtons. no sir, i don't know whur my mother and father come from. soloman wuz brother number one, then luke, josh, stephen, asbury. my sisters were jane, frances, wincy, and i wuz nex'. i 'members grandmother. she wuz named lovie wall. they brought her here from same place. my aunts were named, one wuz named nicey, and one wuz named jane. i picked feed for the white folks. they sent many of the chillun to work at the salt mines, where we went to git salt. my brother soloman wuz sent to the salt mines. luke looked atter the sheep. he knocked down china berries for 'em. dad and mammie had their own gardens and hogs. we were compelled to walk about at night to live. we were so hongry we were bound to steal or parish. this trait seems to be handed down from slavery days. sometimes i thinks dis might be so. our food wuz bad. marster worked us hard and gave us nuthin. we had to use what we made in the garden to eat. we also et our hogs. our clothes were bad, and beds were sorry. we went barefooted in a way. what i mean by that is, that we had shoes part of the time. we got one pair o' shoes a year. when dey wored out we went barefooted. sometimes we tied them up with strings, and they were so ragged de tracks looked like bird tracks, where we walked in the road. we lived in log houses daubed with mud. they called 'em the slaves houses. my old daddy partly raised his chilluns on game. he caught rabbits, coons, an' possums. we would work all day and hunt at night. we had no holidays. they did not give us any fun as i know. i could eat anything i could git. i tell you de truth, slave time wuz slave time wid us. my brother wore his shoes out, and had none all thu winter. his feet cracked open and bled so bad you could track him by the blood. when the yankees come through, he got shoes. i wuz married in rockingham. i don't 'member when mr. jimmie covington, a preacher, a white man, married us. i married james adams who lived on a plantation near rockingham. i had a nice blue wedding dress. my husband wuz dressed in kinder light clothes, best i rickerlect. it's been a good long time, since deen [hw: den] tho'. i sho do 'member my marster tom covington and his wife too, emma. da old man wuz the very nick.[hw correction: nick] he would take what we made and lowance us, dat is lowance it out to my daddy after he had made it. my father went to steven covington, marster tom's brother, and told him about it, and his brother stephen made him gib father his meat back to us. my missus wuz kind to me, but mars. tom wuz the buger. it wuz a mighty bit plantation. i don't know how many slaves wuz on it, there were a lot of dem do'. dere were overseers two of 'em. one wuz named bob covington and the other charles covington. they were colored men. i rode with them. i rode wid 'em in the carriage sometimes. de carriage had seats dat folded up. bob wuz overseer in de field, and charles wuz carriage driver. all de plantation wuz fenced in, dat is all de fields, wid rails; de rails wuz ten feet long. we drawed water wid a sweep and pail. de well wuz in the yard. de mules for the slaves wuz in town, dere were none on the plantation. dey had 'em in town; dey waked us time de chicken crowed, and we went to work just as soon as we could see how to make a lick wid a hoe. lawd, you better not be caught wid a book in yor han'. if you did, you were sold. dey didn't 'low dat. i kin read a little, but i can't write. i went to school after slavery and learned to read. we didn't go to school but three or four week a year, and learned to read. dere wuz no church on the plantation, and we were not lowed to have prayer meetings. no parties, no candy pullings, nor dances, no sir, not a bit. i 'member goin' one time to the white folkses church, no baptizing dat i 'member. lawd have mercy, ha! ha! no. de pateroller were on de place at night. you couldn't travel without a pas. we got few possums. i have greased my daddy's back after he had been whupped until his back wuz cut to pieces. he had to work jis the same. when we went to our houses at night, we cooked our suppers at night, et and then went to bed. if fire wuz out or any work needed doin' around de house we had to work on sundays. they did not gib us christmas or any other holidays. we had corn shuckings. i herd 'em talkin' of cuttin de corn pile right square in two. one wud git on one side, another on the other side and see which out beat. they had brandy at the corn shuckin' and i herd sam talkin' about gittin' drunk. i 'member one 'oman dying. her name wuz caroline covington. i didn't go to the grave. but you know they had a little cart used with hosses to carry her to the grave, jist a one horse wagon, jist slipped her in there. yes, i 'member a field song. it wuz 'oh! come let us go where pleasure never dies. great fountain gone over'. dat's one uv 'em. we had a good doctor when we got sick. he come to see us. the slaves took herbs dey found in de woods. dat's what i do now, sir. i got some 'erbs right in my kitchen now. when the yankees come through i did not know anything about 'em till they got there. jist like they were poppin up out of de ground. one of the slaves wuz at his master's house you know, and he said, 'the yankees are in cheraw, s. c. [hw correction: south carolina] and the yankees are in town'. it didn't sturb me at tall. i wuz not afraid of de yankees. i 'member dey went to miss emma's house, and went in de smoke house and emptied every barrel of 'lasses right in de floor and scattered de cracklings on de floor. i went dere and got some of 'em. miss emma wuz my missus. dey just killed de chickens, hogs too, and old jeff the dog; they shot him through the thoat. i 'member how his mouth flew open when dey shot him. one uv 'em went into de tater bank, and we chillun wanted to go out dere. mother wouldn't let us. she wuz fraid uv 'em. abraham lincoln freed us by the help of the lawd, by his help. slavery wuz owin to who you were with. if you were with some one who wuz good and had some feelin's for you it did tolerable well; yea, tolerable well. we left the plantation soon as de surrender. we lef' right off. we went to goin' towards fayetteville, north carolina. we climbed over fences and were just broke down chillun, feet sore. we had a little meat, corn meal, a tray, and mammy had a tin pan. one night we came to a old house; some one had put wheat straw in it. we staid there, next mornin', we come back home. not to marster's, but to a white 'oman named peggy mcclinton, on her plantation. we stayed there a long time. de yankees took everything dey could, but dey didn't give us anything to eat. dey give some of de 'omen shoes. i thinks mr. roosevelt is a fine man and he do all he can for us. district no: [ ] worker: travis jordan no. words: title: ida adkins ex-slave interviewed: ida adkins county home, durham, n. c. [tr: date stamp "jun "] ida adkins ex-slave years. [tr note: numerous hand written notations and additions in the following interview (i.e. wuz to was; er to a; adding t to the contractions.) made changes where obvious without comment. additions and comments were left as notation, in order to preserve the flow of the dialect.] i wuz bawn befo' de war. i wuz about eight years ole when de yankee mens come through. my mammy an' pappy, hattie an' jim jeffries belonged to marse frank jeffries. marse frank come from mississippi, but when i wuz bawn he an' mis' mary jane wuz livin' down herr near louisburg in north carolina whare dey had er big plantation an' [hw addition: i] don' know how many niggers. marse frank wuz good to his niggers, 'cept [hw addition: that] he never give dem ernough to eat. he worked dem hard on half rations, but he didn' believe in all de time beatin' an' sellin' dem. my pappy worked at de stables, he wuz er good horseman, but my mammy worked at de big house helpin' mis' mary jane. mammy worked in de weavin' room. i can see her now settin' at de weavin' machine an' hear de pedals goin' plop, plop, as she treaded dem wid her feets. she wuz a good weaver. i stayed 'roun' de big house too, pickin' up chips, sweepin' de yard an' such as dat. mis' mary jane wuz quick as er whippo'-will. she had black eyes dat snapped, an' dey seed everythin'. she could turn her head so quick dat she'd ketch you every time you tried to steal a lump of sugar. i liked marse frank better den i did mis' mary jane. all us little chillun called him big pappy. every time he went [hw correction: come back] to raleigh he brung us niggers back some candy. he went to raleigh erbout twice er year. raleigh wuz er far ways from de plantations--near 'bout sixty miles. [hw notation: check--appears to be about miles only.] it always took marse frank three days to make de trip. a day to go, er' day to stay in town, an' a day to come back. den he always got home in de night. ceptn' [hw addition: when] he rode ho'se back 'stead of de carriage, [hw addition: an'] den sometimes he got home by sun down. marse frank didn' go to de war. he wuz too ole. so when de yankees come through dey foun' him at home. when marse frank seed de blue coats comin' down de road he run an' got his gun. de yankees was on horses. i ain't never seed so many men. dey was thick as hornets comin' down de road in a cloud of dus' [hw: correction "dust"]. dey come up to de house an' tied de horses to de palin's; [hw correction: dey was so many dey was stan] 'roun' de yard [hw addition: fence]. when dey seed marse frank standin' on de po'ch [hw correction: porch] wid de gun leveled on dem, dey got mad. time marse frank done shot one time [hw correction: "once a"] a bully yankee snatched de gun away an' tole marse frank to hold up his hand. den dey tied his hands an' pushed him down on de floor 'side de house an' tole him dat if he moved [hw addition: a inch] dey would shoot him. den dey went in de house. i wuz skeered near 'bout to death, but i run in de kitchen an' got a butcher knife, an' when de yankees wasn' lookin', i tried to cut de rope an' set marse frank free. but one of dem blue debils seed me an' come runnin'. he say: 'whut you doin', you black brat! you stinkin' little alligator bait!' he snatched de knife from my hand an' told me to stick out my tongue, dat he wuz gwine to cut it off. i let out a yell an' run behin' de house. some of de yankees was in de smoke house gettin' de meat, some of dem wuz at de stables gettin' de ho'ses, an' some of dem wuz in de house gettin' de silver an' things. i seed dem put de big silver pitcher an' tea pot in a bag. den dey took de knives an' fo'ks an' all de candle sticks an' platters off de side board. dey went in de parlor an' got de gol' clock dat wuz mis' mary jane's gran'mammy's. den dey got all de jewelry out of mis' mary jane's box. dey went up to mis' mary jane, an' while she looked at dem wid her black eyes snappin', dey took de rings off her fingers; den dey took her gol' bracelet; dey even took de ruby ear rings out of her ears an' de gol' comb out of her hair. i done quit peepin' in de window an' wuz standin' 'side de house when de yankees come out in de yard wid all de stuff dey wuz totin' off. marse frank wuz still settin' on de po'ch [hw correction: porch] floor wid his han's tied an' couldn' do nothin'. 'bout dat time i seed de bee gums in de side yard. dey wuz a whole line of gums. little as i wuz i had a notion. i run an' got me a long stick an' tu'ned over every one of dem gums. den i stirred dem bees up wid dat stick 'twell [hw correction: 'till] dey wuz so mad i could smell de pizen. an' bees! you ain't never seed de like of bees. dey wuz swarmin' all over de place. dey sailed into dem yankees like bullets, each one madder den de other. dey lit on dem ho'ses 'twell [hw correction: till] dey looked like dey wuz live [hw correction: alive] wid varmints. de ho'ses broke dey bridles an' tore down de palin's an' lit out down de road. but dey [hw correction: dar] runnin' wuzn' nothin' to what dem yankees done. dey bust out cussin', but what did a bee keer about cuss words! dey lit on dem blue coats an' every time dey lit dey stuck in a pizen sting. de yankee's forgot all about de meat an' things dey done stole; dey took off down de road on er [hw correction: a] run, passin' de horses. de bees was right after dem in a long line. dey'd zoom an' zip, an' zoom an' zip, an' every time dey'd zip a yankee would yell. when dey'd gone mis' mary jane untied marse frank. den dey took all de silver, meat an' things de yankees lef' behin' an' buried it so if dey come back dey couldn' fin' it. den day called ma an' said: 'ida lee, if you hadn't tu'ned [hw correction: turned] over dem bee gums dem yankees would have toted off near 'bout everythin' fine we got. we want to give you somethin' you can keep so' you'll always remember dis day, an' how you run de yankees away.' den mis' mary jane took a plain gold ring off her finger an' put it on mine. an' i been wearin' it ever since. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: ex-slave story person interviewed: martha allen editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp "jun "] [hw: good short sketch] ex-slave story an interview with martha allen, , of south person street, raleigh. i wuz borned in craven county seventy eight years ago. my pappa wuz named andrew bryant an' my mammy wuz named harriet. my brothers wuz john franklin, alfred, an' andrew. i ain't had no sisters. i reckon dat we is what yo' call a general mixture case i am part injun, part white, an' part nigger. my mammy belonged ter tom edward gaskin an' she wuzn't half fed. de cook nussed de babies while she cooked, so dat de mammies could wuck in de fiel's, an' all de mammies done wuz stick de babies in at de kitchen do' on dere way ter de fiel's. i'se hyard mammy say dat dey went ter wuck widout breakfast, an' dat when she put her baby in de kitchen she'd go by de slop bucket an' drink de slops from a long handled gourd. de slave driver wuz bad as he could be, an' de slaves got awful beatin's. de young marster sorta wanted my mammy, but she tells him no, so he chunks a lightwood knot an' hits her on de haid wid it. dese white mens what had babies by nigger wimmens wuz called 'carpet gitters'. my father's father wuz one o' dem. yes mam, i'se mixed plenty case my mammy's grandmaw wuz cherokee injun. i doan know nothin' 'bout no war, case marster carried us ter cedar falls, near durham an' dar's whar we come free. i 'members dat de ku klux uster go ter de free issues houses, strip all de family an' whup de ole folkses. den dey dances wid de pretty yaller gals an' goes ter bed wid dem. dat's what de ku klux wuz, a bunch of mean mens tryin' ter hab a good time. i'se wucked purty hard durin' my life an' i done my courtin' on a steer an' cart haulin' wood ter town ter sell. he wuz haulin' wood too on his wagin, an' he'd beat me ter town so's dat he could help me off'n de wagin. i reckon dat dat wuz as good a way as any. i tries ter be a good christian but i'se got disgusted wid dese young upstart niggers what dances in de chu'ch. dey says dat dey am truckin' an' dat de bible ain't forbid hit, but i reckin dat i knows dancin' whar i sees hit. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mrs. edith s. hibbs no. words: subject: story of joseph anderson interviewed: joseph anderson rankin st., wilmington, n. c. edited: mrs. w. n. harriss [tr: no date stamp] [hw: unnumbered] story of joseph anderson rankin street wilmington, n. c. yes'm i was born a slave. i belong to mr. t. c. mcilhenny who had a big rice plantation "eagles nest" in brunswick county. it was a big place. he had lots of slaves, an' he was a good man. my mother and father died when i was fourteen. father died in february and my mother died of pneumonia in november . my older sister took charge of me. interviewer: "can you read and write?" joseph: "oh yes, i can write a little. i can make my marks. i can write my name. no'm i can't read. i never went to school a day in my life. i just "picked up" what i know." i don't remember much about slave times. i was fourteen when i was freed. after i was freed we lived between th and th on chestnut. we rented a place from dan o'connor a real estate man and paid him $ a month rent. i've been married twice. first time was married by mr. ed taylor, magistrate in southport, brunswick county. i was married to my first wife twenty years and eight months. then she died. i was married again when i was seventy-five years old. i was married to my second wife just a few years when she died. i was on the police force for a year and a half. i was elected april , . mr. mcilhenny was an ole man then an' i used to go to see him. i was a stevedore for mr. alexander sprunt for sixty years. joseph is now buying his house at rankin street. rents part of it for $ . a month to pay for it. he stays in one room. note: joseph's health is none too good, making information sketchy and incoherent. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: mary anderson person interviewed: mary anderson editor: g. l. andrews [tr: date stamp "aug "] mary anderson years of age. poole road, r. f. d. # . raleigh, n. c. my name is mary anderson. i was born on a plantation near franklinton, wake county, n. c. may , . i was a slave belonging to sam brodie, who owned the plantation at this place. my missus' name was evaline. my father was alfred brodie and my mother was bertha brodie. we had good food, plenty of warm homemade clothes and comfortable houses. the slave houses were called the quarters and the house where marster lived was called the great house. our houses had two rooms each and marster's house had twelve rooms. both the slave and white folks buildings were located in a large grove one mile square covered with oak and hickory nut trees. marster's house was exactly one mile from the main louisburg road and there was a wide avenue leading through the plantation and grove to marster's house. the house fronted the avenue east and in going down the avenue from the main road you traveled directly west. the plantation was very large and there were about two hundred acres of cleared land that was farmed each year. a pond was located on the place and in winter ice was gathered there for summer use and stored in an ice house which was built in the grove where the other buildings were. a large hole about ten feet deep was dug in the ground; the ice was put in that hole and covered. [tr: hw note in left margin is illegible.] a large frame building was built over it. at the top of the earth there was an entrance door and steps leading down to the bottom of the hole. other things besides ice were stored there. there was a still on the plantation and barrels of brandy were stored in the ice house, also pickles, preserves and cider. many of the things we used were made on the place. there was a grist mill, tannery, shoe shop, blacksmith shop, and looms for weaving cloth. there were about one hundred, and sixty-two slaves on the plantation and every sunday morning all the children had to be bathed, dressed, and their hair combed and carried down to marster's for breakfast. it was a rule that all the little colored children eat at the great house every sunday morning in order that marster and missus could watch them eat so they could know which ones were sickly and have them doctored. the slave children all carried a mussel shell in their hands to eat with. the food was put on large trays and the children all gathered around and ate, dipping up their food with their mussel shells which they used for spoons. those who refused to eat or those who were ailing in any way had to come back to the great house for their meals and medicine until they were well. marster had a large apple orchard in the tar river low grounds and up on higher ground and nearer the plantation house there was on one side of the road a large plum orchard and on the other side was an orchard of peaches, cherries, quinces and grapes. we picked the quinces in august and used them for preserving. marster and missus believed in giving the slaves plenty of fruit, especially the children. marster had three children, one boy named dallas, and two girls, bettie and carrie. he would not allow slave children to call his children marster and missus unless the slave said little marster or little missus. he had four white overseers but they were not allowed to whip a slave. if there was any whipping to be done he always said he would do it. he didn't believe in whipping so when a slave got so bad he could not manage him he sold him. marster didn't quarrel with anybody, missus would not speak short to a slave, but both missus and marster taught slaves to be obedient in a nice quiet way. the slaves were taught to take their hats and bonnets off before going into the house, and to bow and say, 'good morning marster sam and missus evaline'. some of the little negroes would go down to the great house and ask them when it wus going to rain, and when marster or missus walked in the grove the little negroes would follow along after them like a gang of kiddies. some of the slave children wanted to stay with them at the great house all the time. they knew no better of course and seemed to love marster and missus as much as they did their own mother and father. marster and missus always used gentle means to get the children out of their way when they bothered them and the way the children loved and trusted them wus a beautiful sight to see. patterollers were not allowed on the place unless they came peacefully and i never knew of them whipping any slaves on marster's place. slaves were carried off on two horse wagons to be sold. i have seen several loads leave. they were the unruly ones. sometimes he would bring back slaves, once he brought back two boys and three girls from the slave market. sunday wus a great day on the plantation. everybody got biscuits sundays. the slave women went down to marsters for their sunday allowance of flour. all the children ate breakfast at the great house and marster and missus gave out fruit to all. the slaves looked forward to sunday as they labored through the week. it was a great day. slaves received good treatment from marster and all his family. we were allowed to have prayer meetings in our homes and we also went to the white folks church. they would not teach any of us to read and write. books and papers were forbidden. marster's children and the slave children played together. i went around with the baby girl carrie to other plantations visiting. she taught me how to talk low and how to act in company. my association with white folks and my training while i was a slave is why i talk like white folks. bettie brodie married a dr. webb from boylan, virginia. carrie married a mr. joe green of franklin county. he was a big southern planter. the war was begun and there were stories of fights and freedom. the news went from plantation to plantation and while the slaves acted natural and some even more polite than usual, they prayed for freedom. then one day i heard something that sounded like thunder and missus and marster began to walk around and act queer. the grown slaves were whispering to each other. sometimes they gathered in little gangs in the grove. next day i heard it again, boom, boom, boom. i went and asked missus 'is it going to rain?' she said, 'mary go to the ice house and bring me some pickles and preserves.' i went and got them. she ate a little and gave me some. then she said, 'you run along and play.' in a day or two everybody on the plantation seemed to be disturbed and marster and missus were crying. marster ordered all the slaves to come to the great house at nine o'clock. nobody was working and slaves were walking over the grove in every direction. at nine o'clock all the slaves gathered at the great house and marster and missus came out on the porch and stood side by side. you could hear a pin drap everything was so quiet. then marster said, 'good morning,' and missus said, 'good morning, children'. they were both crying. then marster said, 'men, women and children, you are free. you are no longer my slaves. the yankees will soon be here.' marster and missus then went into the house got two large arm chairs put them on the porch facing the avenue and sat down side by side and remained there watching. in about an hour there was one of the blackest clouds coming up the avenue from the main road. it was the yankee soldiers, they finally filled the mile long avenue reaching from marster's house to the main louisburg road and spread out over the mile square grove. the mounted men dismounted. the footmen stacked their shining guns and began to build fires and cook. they called the slaves, saying, 'your are free.' slaves were whooping and laughing and acting like they were crazy. yankee soldiers were shaking hands with the negroes and calling them sam, dinah, sarah and asking them questions. they busted the door to the smoke house and got all the hams. they went to the ice-house and got several barrels of brandy, and such a time. the negroes and yankees were cooking and eating together. the yankees told them to come on and join them, they were free. marster and missus sat on the porch and they were so humble no yankee bothered anything in the great house. the slaves were awfully excited. the yankees stayed there, cooked, eat, drank and played music until about night, then a bugle began to blow and you never saw such getting on horses and lining up in your life. in a few minutes they began to march, leaving the grove which was soon as silent as a grave yard. they took marster's horses and cattle with them and joined the main army and camped just across cypress creek one and one half miles from my marster's place on the louisburg road. when they left the country, lot of the slaves went with them and soon there were none of marster's slaves left. they wandered around for a year from place to place, fed and working most of the time at some other slave owner's plantation and getting more homesick every day. the second year after the surrender our marster and missus got on their carriage and went and looked up all the negroes they heard of who ever belonged to them. some who went off with the yankees were never heard of again. when marster and missus found any of theirs they would say, 'well, come on back home.' my father and mother, two uncles and their families moved back. also lorenza brodie, and john brodie and their families moved back. several of the young men and women who once belonged to him came back. some were so glad to get back they cried, 'cause fare had been mighty bad part of the time they were rambling around and they were hungry. when they got back marster would say, 'well you have come back home have you, and the negroes would say, 'yes marster.' most all spoke of them as missus and marster as they did before the surrender, and getting back home was the greatest pleasure of all. we stayed with marster and missus and went to their church, the maple springs baptist church, until they died. since the surrender i married james anderson. i had four children, one boy and three girls. i think slavery was a mighty good thing for mother, father, me and the other members of the family, and i cannot say anything but good for my old marster and missus, but i can only speak for those whose conditions i have known during slavery and since. for myself and them, i will say again, slavery was a mighty good thing. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: cornelia andrews story teller: cornelia andrews editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp "jun "] cornelia andrews an interview on may , with cornelia andrews of smithfield, johnston county, who is years old. de fust marster dat i 'members wuz mr. cute williams an' he wuz a good marster, but me an' my mammy an' some of de rest of 'em wuz sold to doctor mckay vaden who wuz not good ter us. doctor vaden owned a good-sized plantation, but he had just eight slaves. we had plank houses, but we ain't had much food an' clothes. we wored shoes wid wooden bottom in de winter an' no shoes in de summer. we ain't had much fun, nothin' but candy pullin's 'bout onct a year. we ain't raised no cane but marster buyed one barrel of 'lasses fer candy eber year. yo' know dat dar wuz a big slave market in smithfield dem days, dar wuz also a jail, an' a whippin' post. i 'members a man named rough somethin' or other, what bought forty er fifty slaves at de time an' carried 'em ter richmond to re-sell. he had four big black horses hooked ter a cart, an' behind dis cart he chained de slaves, an' dey had ter walk, or trot all de way ter richmond. de little ones mr. rough would throw up in de cart an' off dey'd go no'th. dey said dat der wuz one day at smithfield dat three hundret slaves wuz sold on de block. dey said dat peoples came from fer an' near, eben from new orleans ter dem slave sales. dey said dat way 'fore i wuz borned dey uster strip dem niggers start naked an' gallop' em ober de square so dat de buyers could see dat dey warn't scarred nor deformed. while i could 'member dey'd sell de mammies 'way from de babies, an' dere wuzn't no cryin' 'bout it whar de marster would know 'bout it nother. why? well, dey'd git beat black an' blue, dat's why. wuz i eber beat bad? no mam, i wuzn't. (here the daughter, a graduate of cornell university, who was in the room listening came forward. "open your shirt, mammy, and let the lady judge for herself." the old ladies eyes flashed as she sat bolt upright. she seemed ashamed, but the daughter took the shirt off, exposing the back and shoulders which were marked as though branded with a plaited cowhide whip. there was no doubt of that at all.) "i wuz whupped public," she said tonelessly, "for breaking dishes an' 'bein' slow. i wuz at mis' carrington's den, an' it wuz jist 'fore de close o' de war. i wuz in de kitchen washin' dishes an' i draps one. de missus calls mr. blount king, a patteroller, an' he puts de whuppin' yo' sees de marks of on me. my ole missus foun' it out an' she comed an' got me." a friend of the interviewer who was present remarked, "that must have been horrible to say the least." "yo' 'doan know nothin," the old negro blazed. "alex heath, a slave wuz beat ter death, hyar in smithfield. he had stold something, dey tells me, anyhow he wuz sentenced ter be put ter death, an' de folkses dar in charge 'cided ter beat him ter death. dey gib him a hundret lashes fer nine mornin's an' on de ninth mornin' he died." "my uncle daniel sanders, wuz beat till he wuz cut inter gashes an' he wuz tu be beat ter death lak alex wuz, but one day atter dey had beat him an' throwed him back in jail wid out a shirt he broke out an' runned away. he went doun in de riber swamp an' de blow flies blowed de gashes an' he wuz unconscious when a white man found him an' tuk him home wid him. he died two or three months atter dat but he neber could git his body straight ner walk widout a stick; he jist could drag." "i 'specks dat i doan know who my pappy wuz, maybe de stock nigger on de plantation. my pappy an' mammy jist stepped ober de broom an' course i doan know when. yo' knows dey ain't let no little runty nigger have no chilluns. naw sir, dey ain't, dey operate on dem lak dey does de male hog so's dat dey can't have no little runty chilluns." "some of de marsters wuz good an' some of dem wuz bad. i wuz glad ter be free an' i lef' der minute i finds out dat i is free. i ain't got no kick a-comin' not none at all. some of de white folkses wuz slaves, ter git ter de united states an' we niggers ain't no better, i reckons." n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: , subject: a slave story (princess quango hennadonah perceriah). reference: mary anngady [hw: years] editor: george l. andrews [tr: date stamp "oct "] mary anngady (princess quango hennadonah perceriah) oakwood avenue, raleigh, north carolina. i was eighteen years old in but i wanted to get married so i gave my age as nineteen. i wish i could recall some of the ole days when i was with my missus in orange county, playing with my brothers and other slave children. i was owned by mr. franklin davis and my madam was mrs. bettie davis. i and my brother used to scratch her feet and rub them for her; you know how old folks like to have their feet rubbed. my brother and i used to scrap over who should scratch and rub her feet. she would laugh and tell us not to do that way that she loved us both. sometimes she let me sleep at her feet at night. she was plenty good to all of the slaves. her daughter sallie taught me my a b c's in webster's blue back spelling book. when i learned to spell b-a-k-e-r, baker, i thought that was something. the next word i felt proud to spell was s-h-a-d-y, shady, the next l-a-d-y, lady. i would spell them out loud as i picked up chips in the yard to build a fire with. my missus bettie gave me a blue back spelling book. my father was named james mason, and he belonged to james mason of chapel hill. mother and i and my four brothers belonged to the same man and we also lived in the town. i never lived on a farm or plantation in my life. i know nothing about farming. all my people are dead and i cannot locate any of marster's family if they are living. marster's family consisted of two boys and two girls--willie, frank, lucy and sallie. marster was a merchant, selling general merchandise. i remember eating a lot of brown sugar and candy at his store. my mother was a cook. they allowed us a lot of privileges and it was just one large happy family with plenty to eat and wear, good sleeping places and nothing to worry about. they were of the presbyterian faith and we slaves attended sunday school and services at their church. there were about twelve slaves on the lot. the houses for slaves were built just a little ways back from marster's house on the same lot. the negro and white children played together, and there was little if any difference made in the treatment given a slave child and a white child. i have religious books they gave me. besides the books they taught me, they drilled me in etiquette of the times and also in courtesy and respect to my superiors until it became a habit and it was perfectly natural for me to be polite. the first i knew of the yankees was when i was out in my marster's yard picking up chips and they came along, took my little brother and put him on a horse's back and carried him up town. i ran and told my mother about it. they rode brother over the town a while, having fun out of him, then they brought him back. brother said he had a good ride and was pleased with the blue jackets as the yankee soldiers were called. we had all the silver and valuables hid and the yankees did not find them, but they went into marster's store and took what they wanted. they gave my father a box of hardtack and a lot of meat. father was a christian and he quoted one of the commandments when they gave him things they had stolen from others. 'thou shalt not steal', quoth he, and he said he did not appreciate having stolen goods given to him. i traveled with the white folks in both sections of the country, north and south, after the _war between the states_. i kept traveling with them and also continued my education. they taught me to recite and i made money by reciting on many of the trips. since the surrender i have traveled in the north for various charitable negro societies and institutions and people seemed very much interested in the recitation i recited called "when malinda sings". the first school i attended was after the war closed. the school was located in chapel hill, north carolina, and was taught by a yankee white woman from philadelphia. we remained in chapel hill only a few years after the war ended when we all moved to raleigh, and i have made it my home ever since. i got the major part of my education in raleigh under dr. h. m. tupper[ ] who taught in the second baptist church, located on blount street. miss mary lathrop, a colored teacher from philadelphia, was an assistant teacher in dr. tupper's school. i went from there to shaw collegiate institute, which is now shaw university. i married aaron stallings of warrenton, north carolina while at shaw. he died and i married rev. matthews anngady of monrovia, west coast of africa, liberia, pastor of first church. i helped him in his work here, kept studying the works of different authors, and lecturing and reciting. my husband, the rev. matthews anngady died, and i gave a lot of my time to the cause of charity, and while on a lecture tour of massachusetts in the interest of this feature of colored welfare for richmond, va., the most colorful incident of my eventful life happened when i met quango hennadonah perceriah, an abyssinian prince, who was traveling and lecturing on the customs of his country and the habits of its people. our mutual interests caused our friendship to ripen fast and when the time of parting came, when each of us had finished our work in massachusetts, he going back to his home in new york city and i returning to richmond, he asked me to correspond with him. i promised to do so and our friendship after a year's correspondence became love and he proposed and i accepted him. we were married in raleigh by rev. j. j. worlds, pastor of the first baptist church, colored. p. t. barnum had captured my husband when he was a boy and brought him to america from abyssinia, educated him and then sent him back to his native country. he would not stay and soon he was in america again. he was of the catholic faith in america and they conferred the honor of priesthood upon him but after he married me this priesthood was taken away and he joined the episcopal church. after we were married we decided to go on an extensive lecture tour. he had been a headsman in his own country and a prince. we took the customs of his people and his experiences as the subject of our lectures. i could sing, play the guitar, violin and piano, but i did not know his native language. he began to teach me and as soon as i could sing the song _how firm a foundation_ in his language which went this way: ngama i-bata, njami buyek wema wemeta, negana i bukek diol, di njami, i-diol de kak annimix, annimix hanci bata ba satana i-bu butete bata ba npjami i bunanan bata be satana ba laba i wa-- bata ba njami ba laba munonga we traveled and lectured in both the north and the south and our life, while we had to work hard, was one of happiness and contentment. i traveled and lectured as the princess quango hennadonah perceriah, wife of the abyssinian prince. i often recited the recitation written by the colored poet, paul lawrence dunbar _when malinda sings_ to the delight of our audiences. * * * * * the following incidents of african life were related to me by my husband quango hennadonah perceriah and they were also given in his lectures on african customs while touring the united states. the religion of the bakuba tribe of abyssinia was almost wholly pagan as the natives believed fully in witchcraft, sorcery, myths and superstitions. the witch doctor held absolute sway over the members of the tribe and when his reputation as a giver of rain, bountiful crops or success in the chase was at stake the tribes were called together and those accused by the witch doctor of being responsible for these conditions through witchery were condemned and speedily executed. the people were called together by the beating of drums. the witch doctor, dressed in the most hellish garb imaginable with his body painted and poisonous snake bone necklaces dangling from his neck and the claws of ferocious beasts, lions, leopards and the teeth of vicious man-eating crocodiles finishing up his adornment, sat in the middle of a court surrounded by the members of the tribe. in his hand he carried a gourd which contained beads, shot, or small stones. he began his incantations by rattling the contents of the gourd, shouting and making many weird wails and peculiar contortions. after this had gone on for sometime until he was near exhaustion his face assumed the expression of one in great pain and this was the beginning of the end for some poor ignorant savage. he squirmed and turned in different directions with his eyes fixed with a set stare as if in expectancy when suddenly his gaze would be fixed on some member of the tribe and his finger pointed directly at him. the victim was at once seized and bound, the doctor's gaze never leaving him until this was done. if one victim appeased his nervous fervor the trial was over but if his wrought-up feelings desired more his screechings continued until a second victim was secured. he had these men put to death to justify himself in the eyes of the natives of his tribe for his failing to bring rain, bountiful crops and success to the tribe. the witch doctor who sat as judge seemed to have perfect control over the savages minds and no one questioned his decisions. the persons were reconciled to their fate and were led away to execution while they moaned and bade their friends goodbye in the doleful savage style. sometimes they were put on a boat, taken out into the middle of a river and there cut to pieces with blades of grass, their limbs being dismembered first and thrown into the river to the crocodiles. a drink containing an opiate was generally given the victim to deaden the pain but often this formality was dispensed with. the victims were often cut to pieces at the place of trial with knives and their limbs thrown out to the vultures that almost continuously hover 'round the huts and kraals of the savage tribes of africa. in some instances condemned persons were burned at the stake. this form of execution is meted out at some of the religious dances or festivities to some of their pagan gods to atone and drive away the evil spirits that have caused pestilences to come upon the people. the victims at these times are tortured in truly savage fashion, being burned to death by degrees while the other members of the tribe dance around and go wild with religious fervor calling to their gods while the victim screeches with pain in his slowly approaching death throes. young girls, women, boys and men are often accused of witchcraft. one method they used of telling whether the victim accused was innocent or guilty was to give them a liquid poison made from the juice of several poisonous plants. if they could drink it and live they were innocent, if they died they were guilty. in most cases death was almost instantaneous. some vomited the poison from their stomachs and lived. the bakubas sometimes resorted to cannibalism and my husband told me of a bakuba girl who ate her own mother. once a snake bit a man and he at once called the witch doctor. the snake was a poisonous one and the man bitten was in great pain. the witch doctor whooped and went through several chants but the man got worse instead of better. the witch doctor then told the man that his wife made the snake bite him by witchery and that she should die for the act. the natives gathered at once in response to the witch doctor's call and the woman was executed at once. the man bitten by the snake finally died but the witch doctor had shifted the responsibility of his failure to help the man to his wife who had been beheaded. the witch doctor had justified himself and the incident was closed. the tribe ruled by a king has two or more absolute rules. the kings word is law and he has the power to condemn any subject to death at any time without trial. if he becomes angry or offended with any of his wives a nod and a word to his bodyguard and the woman is led away to execution. any person of the tribe is subject to the king's will with the exemption of the witch doctor. executions of a different nature than the ones described above are common occurrences. for general crimes the culprit after being condemned to death is placed in a chair shaped very much like the electric chairs used in american prisons in taking the lives of the condemned. he is then tied firmly to the chair with thongs. a pole made of a green sapling is firmly implanted in the earth nearby. a thong is placed around the neck of the victim under the chin. the sapling is then bent over and the other end of the thong tied to the end of the sapling pole. the pole stretches the neck to its full length and holds the head erect. drums are sometimes beaten to drown the cries of those who are to be killed. the executioner who is called a headsman then walks forward approaching the chair from the rear. when he reaches it he steps to the side of the victim and with a large, sharp, long-bladed knife lops off the head of the criminal. the bodies of men executed in this manner are buried in shallow holes dug about two feet deep to receive their bodies. the rank and file of the savage tribes believe explicitly [hw correction: implicitly] in the supernatural powers of the witch doctor and his decisions are not questioned. not even the king of the tribe raises a voice against him. the witch doctor is crafty enough not to condemn any of the king's household or any one directly prominent in the king's service. after an execution everything is quiet in a few hours and the incident seems forgotten. the african negroes attitude towards the whole affair seems to be instinctive and as long as he escapes he does not show any particular concern in his fellowman. his is of an animal instinctive nature. the males of the african tribes of savages have very little respect for a woman but they demand a whole lot of courtesies from their wives, beating them unmercifully when they feel proper respect has not been shown them. the men hunt game and make war on other tribes and the women do all the work. a savage warrior when not engaged in hunting or war, sleeps a lot and smokes almost continuously during his waking hours. girls are bought from their parents while mere children by the payment of so many cows, goats, etc. the king can take any woman of the tribe whether married or single he desires to be his wife. the parents of young girls taken to wife by the king of a tribe feel honored and fall on their knees and thank the king for taking her. the prince of a tribe is born a headsman and as soon as he is able to wield a knife he is called upon to perform the duty of cutting off the heads of criminals who are condemned to death by the king for general crimes. those condemned by the witch doctor for witchcraft are executed by dismemberment or fire as described above. * * * * * my husband was a cannibal headsman and performed this duty of cutting off persons heads when a boy and after being civilized in america this feature of his early life bore so heavily upon his mind that it was instrumental in driving him insane. by custom a prince was born a headsman and it was compulsory that he execute criminals. he died in an insane ward of the new jersey state hospital. [footnote : [hw: ]dr. henry m. tupper, a union army chaplain, who helped to start shaw university in .] n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: jane arrington story teller: jane arrington editor: geo. l. andrews [tr: date stamp "aug "] jane arrington years old fowle street raleigh, n. c. i ort to be able to tell sumpin cause i wus twelve years old when dey had de surrender right up here in raleigh. if i live to see dis coming december i will be eighty five years old. i was born on the th of december . i belonged to jackson may of nash county. i wus born on de plantation near tar river. jackson may never married until i wus of a great big girl. he owned a lot of slaves; dere were eighty on de plantation before de surrender. he married miss becky wilder, sister of sam wilder. de wilders lived on a jining plantation to where i wus borned. jackson may had so many niggers he let billy williams who had a plantation nearby have part of 'em. marster jackson he raised my father and bought my mother. my mother wus named louisa may, and my father wus named louis may. my mother had six chilluns, four boys and two girls. the boys were richard, farro, caeser, and fenner. de girls rose and jane. jane, dats me. we lived in log houses with stick an' dirt chimleys. they called 'em the slave houses. we had chicken feather beds to sleep on an' de houses wus good warm comfortable log houses. we had plenty of cover an' feather pillows. my grandmother on my mother's side told me a lot of stories 'bout haints and how people run from 'em. dey told me 'bout slaves dat had been killed by dere marster's coming back and worryin' 'em. ole missus penny williams, before jackson may bought mother, treated some of de slaves mighty bad. she died an' den come back an' nearly scared de slaves to death. grandmother told all we chillun she seed her an' knowed her after she been dead an' come back. john may a slave wus beat to death by bill stone an' oliver may. oliver may wus junius may's son. junius may wus jackson may's uncle. john may come back an' wurried both of 'em. dey could hardly sleep arter dat. dey said dey could hear him hollerin' an' groanin' most all de time. dese white men would groan in dere sleep an' tell john to go away. dey would say, 'go way john, please go away'. de other slaves wus afraid of 'em cause de ghost of john wurried 'em so bad. i wurked on de farm, cuttin' corn stalks and tendin' to cattle in slavery time. sometimes i swept de yards. i never got any money for my work and we didn't have any patches. my brothers caught possums, coons and sich things an' we cooked 'em in our houses. we had no parties but we had quiltin's. we went to the white folks church, peach tree church, six miles from de plantation an' poplar springs church seven miles away. both were missionary baptist churches. there were no overseers on jackson may's plantation. he wouldn't have nary one. billy williams didn't have none. dey had colored slave foremen. after wurkin' all day dere wus a task of cotton to be picked an' spun by 'em. dis wus two onces of cotton. some of de slaves run away from bill williams when marster jackson may let him have 'em to work. dey run away an' come home. aunt chaney runned away an' mother run away. marster jackson may kept 'em hid cause he say dey wus not treated right. he wouldn't let 'em have 'em back no more. i never saw a grown slave whupped or in chains and i never saw a slave sold. jackson may would not sell a slave. he didn't think it right. he kept 'em together. he had eighty head. he would let other white people have 'em to wurk for 'em sometimes, but he would not sell none of 'em. if dey caught a slave wid a book you knowed it meant a whuppin', but de white chillun teached slaves secretey sometimes. ole man jake rice a slave who belonged to john rice in nash county wus teached by ole john rice's son till he had a purty good mount of larnin'. we did not have prayer meeting at marster's plantation or anywhur. marster would not allow dat. when i wus a child we played de games of three handed reels, 'old gray goose', 'all little gal, all little gal, all little gal remember me'. we took hold of hands an' run round as we sang dis song. we sang 'old dan tucker'. git outen de way, ole dan tucker, sixteen hosses in one stable, one jumped out an' skined his nable an' so on. dr. mann and dr. sid harris and dr. fee mann and dr. mathias looked arter us when we wus sick. mother and de other grown folks raised herbs dat dey give us too. chillun took a lot of salts. jackson may wus too rich to go to de war. billy williams didn't go, too rich too, i reckons. i remember when dey said niggers had to be free. de papers said if dey could not be freedom by good men dere would be freedom by blood. dey fighted an' kept on fightin' a long time. den de yankees come. [hw correction: new paragraph] i heard dem beat de drum. marster tole us we wus free but mother an' father stayed on with marster. he promised 'em sumptin, but he give 'em nothin'. when de crop wus housed dey left. father and mother went to hench stallings plantation and stayed there one year. then they went to jim webbs farm. i don't remember how long they stayed there but round two years. they moved about an' about among the white folks till they died. they never owned any property. they been dead 'bout thirty years. i married sidney arrington. he has been dead six years las' september. i am unable to do any kind of work. my arm is mighty weak. i know slavery wus a bad thing. i don't have to think anything about it. abraham lincoln wus the first of us bein' free, i think he wus a man of god. i think roosevelt is all right man. i belongs to the pentecostal holiness church. ac n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: , subject: sarah louise augustus source: sarah louise augustus editor: george l. andrews [tr: no date stamp] sarah louise augustus age years lane street raleigh, north carolina i wus born on a plantation near fayetteville, n. c., and i belonged to j. b. smith. his wife wus named henrietta. he owned about thirty slaves. when a slave was no good he wus put on the auction block in fayetteville and sold. my father wus named romeo harden and my mother wus named alice smith. the little cabin where i wus born is still standing. there wus seven children in marster's family, four girls and two boys. the girls wus named ellen, ida, mary and elizabeth. the boys wus named harry, norman and marse george. marse george went to the war. mother had a family of four girls. their names wus: mary, kate, hannah and myself, sarah louise. i am the only one living and i would not be living but i have spent most of my life in white folk's houses and they have looked after me. i respected myself and they respected me. my first days of slavery wus hard. i slept on a pallet on the floor of the cabin and just as soon as i wus able to work any at all i wus put to milking cows. i have seen the paterollers hunting men and have seen men they had whipped. the slave block stood in the center of the street, fayetteville street, where ramsey and gillespie street came in near cool springs street. the silk mill stood just below the slave market. i saw the silkworms that made the silk and saw them gather the cocoons and spin the silk. they hung people in the middle of ramsey street. they put up a gallows and hung the men exactly at o'clock. i ran away from the plantation once to go with some white children to see a man hung. the only boats i remember on the cape fear wus the governor worth, the hurt, the iser and the north state. oh! lord yes, i remember the stage coach. as many times as i run to carry the mail to them when they come by! they blew a horn before they got there and you had to be on time 'cause they could not wait. there wus a stage each way each day, one up and one down. mr. george lander had the first tombstone marble yard in fayetteville on hay street on the point of flat iron place. lander wus from scotland. they gave me a pot, a scarf, and his sister gave me some shells. i have all the things they gave me. my missus, henrietta smith, wus mr. lander's sister. i waited on the landers part of the time. they were hard working white folks, honest, god fearing people. the things they gave me were brought from over the sea. i can remember when there wus no hospital in fayetteville. there wus a little place near the depot where there wus a board shanty where they operated on people. i stood outside once and saw the doctors take a man's leg off. dr. mcduffy wus the man who took the leg off. he lived on hay street near the silk mill. when one of the white folks died they sent slaves around to the homes of their friends and neighbors with a large sheet of paper with a piece of black crepe pinned to the top of it. the friends would sign or make a cross mark on it. the funerals were held at the homes and friends and neighbors stood on the porch and in the house while the services were going on. the bodies were carried to the grave after the services in a black hearse drawn by black horses. if they did not have black horses to draw the hearse they went off and borrowed them. the colored people washed and shrouded the dead bodies. my grandmother wus one who did this. her name wus sarah mcdonald. she belonged to capt. george mcdonald. she had fifteen children and lived to be one hundred and ten years old. she died in fayetteville of pneumonia. she wus in raleigh nursing the briggs family, mrs. f. h. briggs' family. she wus going home to fayetteville when she wus caught in a rain storm at sanford, while changing trains. the train for fayetteville had left as the train for sanford wus late so she stayed wet all night. next day she went home, took pneumonia and died. she wus great on curing rheumatism; she did it with herbs. she grew hops and other herbs and cured many people of this disease. she wus called black mammy because she wet nursed so many white children. in slavery time she nursed all babies hatched on her marster's plantation and kept it up after the war as long as she had children. grandfather wus named isaac fuller. mrs. mary ann fuller, kate fuller, mr. will fuller, who wus a lawyer in wall street, new york, is some of their white folks. the fullers were born in fayetteville. one of the slaves, dick mcalister, worked, saved a small fortune and left it to mr. will fuller. people thought the slave ought to have left it to his sister but he left it to mr. will. mr. fuller gives part of it to the ex-slaves sister each year. mr. will always helped the negroes out when he could. he was good to dick and dick mcalister gave him all his belongings when he died. the yankees came through fayetteville wearing large blue coats with capes on them. lots of them were mounted, and there were thousands of foot soldiers. it took them several days to get through town. the southern soldiers retreated and then in a few hours the yankees covered the town. they busted into the smokehouse at marstar's, took the meat, meal and other provisions. grandmother pled with the yankees but it did no good. they took all they wanted. they said if they had to come again they would take the babies from the cradles. they told us we were all free. the negroes begun visiting each other in the cabins and became so excited they began to shout and pray. i thought they were all crazy. we stayed right on with marster. he had a town house and a big house on the plantation. i went to the town house to work, but mother and grandmother stayed on the plantation. my mother died there and the white folks buried her. father stayed right on and helped run the farm until he died. my uncle, elic smith, and his family stayed too. grandfather and grandmother after a few years left the plantation and went to live on a little place which mrs. mary ann fuller gave them. grandmother and grandfather died there. i wus thirty years old when i married. i wus married in my missus' graduating dress. i wus married in the white folks' church, to james henry harris. the white folks carried me there and gave me away. miss mary smith gave me away. the wedding wus attended mostly by white folks. my husband wus a fireman on the cape fear river boats and a white man's negro too. we had two children, both died while little. my husband and i spent much of our time with the white folks and when he wus on his runs i slept in their homes. often the children of the white families slept with me. we both tried to live up to the standards of decency and honesty and to be worthy of the confidence placed in us by our white folks. my husband wus finally offered a job with a shipping concern in deleware and we moved there. he wus fireman on the freighter wilmington. he worked there three years, when he wus drowned. after his death i married david augustus and immediately came back to north carolina and my white folks, and we have been here ever since. i am a member of several negro lodges and am on the committee for the north carolina colored state fair. there are only a few of the old white folks who have always been good to me living now, but i am still working with their offspring, among whom i have some mighty dear friends. i wus about eight years old when sherman's army came through. guess i am about eighty years of age now. ac n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: a slave story story teller: charity austin editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp "jun "] charity austin south bloodworth street, raleigh, n. c. i wus borned in the year , july . i wus born in granville county, sold to a slave speculator at ten years old and carried to southwest, georgia. i belonged to samuel howard. his daughter took me to kinston, north carolina and i stayed there until i wus sold. she married a man named bill brown, and her name wus julia howard brown. my father wus named paul howard and my mother wus named chollie howard. my old missus wus named polly howard. john richard keine from danville, virginia bought me and sent me to a plantation in georgia. we only had a white overseer there. he and his wife and children lived on the plantation. we had slave quarters there. slaves were bought up and sent there in chains. some were chained to each other by the legs, some by the arms. they called the leg chains shackles. i have lived a hard life. i have seen mothers sold away from their babies and other children, and they cryin' when she left. i have seen husbands sold from their wives, and wives sold from their husbands. abraham lincoln came through once, but none of us knew who he wus. he wus just the raggedest man you ever saw. the white children and me saw him out at the railroad. we were settin' and waitin' to see him. he said he wus huntin' his people; and dat he had lost all he had. dey give him somethin' to eat and tobacco to chew, and he went on. soon we heard he wus in de white house then we knew who it wus come through. we knowed den it wus abraham lincoln. we children stole eggs and sold 'em durin' slavery. some of de white men bought 'em. they were irishmen and they would not tell on us. their names were mulligan, flanagan and dugan. they wore good clothes and were funny mens. they called guns flutes. boss tole us abraham lincoln wus dead and we were still slaves. our boss man bought black cloth and made us wear it for mourning for abraham lincoln and tole us that there would not be freedom. we stayed there another year after freedom. a lot o' de niggers knowed nothin' 'cept what missus and marster tole us. what dey said wus just de same as de lawd had spoken to us. just after de surrender a nigger woman who wus bad, wus choppin' cotton at out plantation in georgie. john woodfox wus de main overseer and his son-in-law wus a overseer. dey had a colored man who dey called a nigger driver. de nigger driver tole de overseer de woman wus bad. de overseer came to her, snatched de hoe from her and hit her. the blow killed her. he was reported to de freedman's bureau. dey came, whupped de overseer and put him in jail. dey decided not to kill him, but made him furnish de children of de dead woman so much to live on. dere wus a hundred or more niggers in de field when this murder happened. we finally found out we were free and left. dey let me stay with miss julia brown. i was hired to her. she lived in dooley county, georgia. i next worked with mrs. dunbar after staying with mrs. brown four years. her name wus mrs. winnie dunbar and she moved to columbia, south carolina takin' me with her. i stayed with her about four years. this wus the end of my maiden life. i married isaac austin of richmond county, georgia. he wus a native of warrenton county and he brought me from his home in richmond county, georgia to warrenton and then from warrenton to raleigh. i had two brothers and thirteen sisters. i did general house work, and helped raise children during slavery, and right after de war. then you had to depend on yourself to do for children. you had to doctor and care for them yourself. you just had to depend on yourself. dey had acres o' cleared fields in georgia and then de rice fields, i just don't know how many acres. i have seen jails for slaves. dey had a basement for a jail in georgia and a guard at de holes in it. no, no! you better not be caught tryin' to do somethin' wid a book. dey would teach you wid a stick or switch. de slaves had secret prayer meetin's wid pots turned down to kill de soun' o' de singin'. we sang a song, 'i am glad salvation's free.' once dey heard us, nex' mornin' dey took us and tore our backs to pieces. dey would say, 'are you free? what were you singin' about freedom?' while de niggers were bein' whupped they said, 'pray, marster, pray.' the doctor came to see us sometimes when we were sick, but not after. people just had to do their own doctorin'. sometimes a man would take his patient, and sit by de road where de doctor travelled, and when he come along he would see him. de doctor rode in a sully drawn by a horse. he had a route, one doctor to two territories. when de white folks were preparing to go to de war they had big dinners and speakin'. dey tole what dey were goin' to do to sherman and grant. a lot of such men as grant and sherman and lincoln came through de south in rags and were at some o' dese meetings, an' et de dinners. when de white folks foun' it out, dere wus some sick folks. sometimes we got two days christmas and two days july. when de nigger wus freed dey didn't know where to go and what to do. it wus hard, but it has been hard since. from what de white folks, marster and missus tole us we thought lincoln wus terrible. by what mother and father tole me i thought he wus all right. i think roosevelt wus put in by god to do the right things. eh n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: blount baker person interviewed: blount baker editor: g. l. andrews [tr: date stamp "sep "] blount baker an interview with blount baker, spruce street, wilson, north carolina. yes'um, i 'longed ter marse henry allen of wilson county an' we always raise terbacker. marse henry wus good ter us so we had a heap of prayer meetin's an' corn shuckin's an' such. i 'members de big meetin's dat we'd have in de summer time an' dat good singin' we'd have when we'd be singin' de sinners through. we'd stay pretty nigh all night to make a sinner come through, an' maybe de week atter de meetin' he'd steal one of his marster's hogs. yes'um, i'se had a bad time. you know, missy, dar ain't no use puttin' faith in nobody, dey'd fool you ever time anyhow. i know once a patteroller tol' me dat iffen i'd give him a belt i found dat he'd let me go by ter see my gal dat night, but when he kotch me dat night he whupped me. i tol' marse henry on him too so marse henry takes de belt away from him an' gives me a possum fer hit. dat possum shore wus good too, baked in de ashes like i done it. i ain't never hear marse henry cuss but once an' dat wus de time dat some gentlemens come ter de house an' sez dat dar am a war 'twixt de north an' de south. he sez den, 'let de damn yaller bellied yankees come on an' we'll give 'em hell an' sen' dem a-hoppin' back ter de north in a hurry.' we ain't seed no yankees 'cept a few huntin' rebs. dey talk mean ter us an' one of dem says dat we niggers am de cause of de war. 'sir,' i sez, 'folks what am a wantin' a war can always find a cause'. he kicks me in de seat of de pants fer dat, so i hushes. i stayed wid marse henry till he died den i moved ter wilson. i has worked everwhere, terbacker warehouses an' ever'thing. i'se gittin' of my ole age pension right away an' den de county won't have ter support me no mo', dat is if dey have been supportin' me on three dollars a month. le n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: lizzie baker person interviewed: lizzie baker editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: no date stamp] lizzie baker smith street i was born de las' year o' de surrender an'course i don't remember seein' any yankee soldiers, but i knows a plenty my mother and father tole me. i have neuritis, an' have been unable to work any fer a year and fer seven years i couldn't do much. my mother wus named teeny mcintire and my father william mcintire. mammy belonged to bryant newkirk in duplin county. pap belonged to someone else, i don't know who. dey said dey worked from light till dark, and pap said dey beat him so bad he run away a lot o' times. dey said de paterollers come to whare dey wus havin' prayer meetin' and beat 'em. mammy said sometimes dey were fed well and others dey almost starved. dey got biscuit once a week on sunday. dey said dey went to de white folks's church. dey said de preachers tole 'em dey had to obey dere missus and marster. my mammy said she didn't go to no dances 'cause she wus crippled. some o' de help, a colored woman, stole something when she wus hongry. she put it off on mother and missus made mother wear trousers for a year to punish her. mammy said dey gave de slaves on de plantation one day christmas and dat new years wus when dey sold 'em an' hired 'em out. all de slaves wus scared 'cause dey didn't know who would have to go off to be sold or to work in a strange place. pap tole me 'bout livin' in de woods and 'bout dey ketchin' him. i 'member his owner's name den, it wus stanley. he run away so bad dey sold him several times. pap said one time dey caught him and nearly beat him to death, and jest as soon as he got well and got a good chance he ran away again. mammy said when de yankees come through she wus 'fraid of 'em. de yankees tole her not to be 'fraid of 'em. dey say to her, 'do dey treat you right', mammy said 'yes sir', 'cause ole missus wus standin' dere, an' she wus 'fraid not to say yes. atter de war, de fust year atter de surrender dey moved to james alderman's place in duplin county and stayed dere till i wus a grown gal. den we moved to goldsboro. father wus a carpenter and he got a lot of dat work. dat's what he done in goldsboro. we come from goldsboro to raleigh and we have lived here every since. we moved here about de year o' de shake and my mother died right here in raleigh de year o' de shake. some of de things mother tole me 'bout slavery, has gone right out of my min'. jes comes and goes. i remember pap tellin' me' bout stretchin' vines acrost roads and paths to knock de patterollers off deir horses when dey were tryin' to ketch slaves. pap and mammy tole me marster and missus did not 'low any of de slaves to have a book in deir house. dat if dey caught a slave wid a book in deir house dey whupped 'em. dey were keerful not to let 'em learn readin' and writin'. dey sold my sister lucy and my brother fred in slavery time, an' i have never seen 'em in my life. mother would cry when she was tellin' me 'bout it. she never seen 'em anymore. i jes' couldn't bear to hear her tell it widout cryin'. dey were carried to richmond, an' sold by old marster when dey were chillun. we tried to get some news of brother and sister. mother kept 'quiring 'bout 'em as long as she lived and i have hoped dat i could hear from 'em. dey are dead long ago i recons, and i guess dare aint no use ever expectin' to see 'em. slavery wus bad and mr. lincoln did a good thing when he freed de niggers. i caint express my love for roosevelt. he has saved so many lives. i think he has saved mine. i want to see him face to face. i purely love him and i feel i could do better to see him and tell him so face to face. le n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: viney baker story teller: viney baker editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: no date stamp] viney baker ex-slave story an interview with viney baker of s. harrington street, raleigh. my mammy wuz hannah murry an' so fur as i know i ain't got no father, do' i reckon dat he wuz de plantation stock nigger. i wuz borned in virginia as yo' mought say ter my marster mr. s. l. allen. we moved when i wuz little ter durham county whar we fared bad. we ain't had nothin' much ter eat an' ter w'ar. he had a hundert slaves an' i reckon five hundert acres o' lan'. he made us wuck hard, de little ones included. one night i lay down on de straw mattress wid my mammy, an' de nex' mo'nin' i woked up an' she wuz gone. when i axed 'bout her i fin's dat a speculator comed dar de night before an' wanted ter buy a 'oman. dey had come an' got my mammy widout wakin' me up. i has always been glad somehow dat i wuz asleep. dey uster tie me ter a tree an' beat me till de blood run down my back, i doan 'member nothin' dat i done, i jist 'members de whuppin's. some of de rest wuz beat wuser dan i wuz too, an' i uster scream dat i wuz sho' dyin'. yes'um i seed de yankees go by, but dey ain't bodder us none, case dey knows dat 'hind eber' bush jist about a confederate soldier pints a gun. i warn't glad at de surrender, case i doan understand hit, an' de allen's keeps me right on, an' whups me wuser den dan eber. i reckon i wuz twelve years old when my mammy come ter de house an' axes mis' allen ter let me go spen' de week en' wid her. mis' allen can't say no, case mammy mought go ter de carpet baggers so she lets me go fer de week-en'. mammy laughs sunday when i says somethin' 'bout goin' back. naw, i stayed on wid my mammy, an' i ain't seed mis' allen no mo'. ac district: no. [ ] no. words: worker: mary a. hicks subject: ex-slave story story teller: charlie barbour editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp "jun "] [hw: a (circled)] ex-slave story an interview on may , with charlie barbour, of smithfield, n. c. johnston county. i belonged ter mr. bob lumsford hyar in smithfield from de time of my birth. my mammy wuz named candice an' my pappy's name wuz seth. my brothers wuz rufus, william an' george, an' my sisters wuz mary an' laura. i 'minds me of de days when as a youngin' [hw correction: youngun'] i played marbles an' hide an' seek. dar wuzn't many games den, case nobody ain't had no time fer 'em. de grown folkses had dances an' sometimes co'n shuckin's, an' de little niggers patted dere feets at de dances an' dey he'p ter shuck de co'n. at christmas we had a big dinner, an' from den through new year's day we feast, an' we dance, an' we sing. de fust one what said christmas gift ter anybody else got a gif', so of cou'se we all try ter ketch de marster. on de night 'fore de first day of jinuary we had a dance what lasts all night. at midnight when de new year comes in marster makes a speech an' we is happy dat he thanks us fer our year's wuck an' says dat we is good, smart slaves. marster wucked his niggers from daylight till dark, an' his thirteen grown slaves had ter ten' 'bout three hundred acres o' land. course dey mostly planted co'n, peas an' vege'ables. i can 'member, do' i wuz small, dat de slaves wuz whupped fer disobeyin' an' i can think of seberal dat i got. i wuz doin' housewuck at de time an' one of de silber knives got misplaced. dey 'cused me of misplacin' it on purpose, so i got de wust beatin' dat i eber had. i wuz beat den till de hide wuz busted hyar an' dar. we little ones had some time ter go swimmin' an' we did; we also fished, an' at night we hunted de possum an' de coon sometimes. ole uncle jeems had some houn's what would run possums or coons an' he uster take we boys 'long wid him. i 'members onct de houn's struck a trail an' dey tree de coon. uncle jeems sen's joe, who wuz bigger den i wuz, up de tree ter ketch de coon an' he warns him dat coons am fightin' fellers. joe doan pay much mind he am so happy ter git der chanct ter ketch de coon, but when he ketched dat coon he couldn't turn loose, an' from de way he holler yo' would s'pose dat he ain't neber wanted ter ketch a coon. when joe barbour wuz buried hyar las' winter dem coon marks wuz still strong on his arms an' han's an' dar wuz de long scar on his face. i 'members onct a yankee 'oman from new york looks at him an' nigh 'bout faints. 'i reckon', says she, dat am what de cruel slave owner or driver done ter him'. yes mam, i knows when de yankees comed ter smithfield. dey comed wid de beatin' of drums an' de wavin' of flags. dey says dat our governor wuz hyar makin' a speech but he flewed 'fore dey got hyar. anyhow, we libed off from de main path of march, an' so we ain't been trouble so much 'cept by 'scootin' parties, as my ole missus call' em. dey am de darndest yo' eber seed, dey won't eat no hog meat 'cept hams an' shoulders an' dey goes ter de smoke house an' gits 'em 'thout no permission. dey has what dey calls rammin' rods ter dere guns an' dey knock de chickens in de haid wid dat. i hyard dem say dat dar warn't no use wastin' powder on dem chickens. dey went ober de neighborhood stealin' an' killin' stock. i hyard 'bout 'em ketchin' a pig, cuttin' off his hams an' leave him dar alive. de foun' all de things we done hid, not dat i thinks dat dey am witches, but dat dey has a money rod, an' 'cides dat some of de slaves tol' 'em whar marster had hid de things. yes 'um, i reckon i wuz glad ter git free, case i knows den dat i won't wake up some mornin' ter fin' dat my mammy or some ob de rest of my family am done sold. i left de day i hyard 'bout de surrender an' i fared right good too, do' i knows dem what ain't farin' so well. i ain't neber learn ter read an' write an' i knows now dat i neber will. i can't eben write a letter ter raleigh 'bout my ole man's pension. i 'members de days when mammy wored a blue hankerchief 'round her haid an' cooked in de great house. she'd sometimes sneak me a cookie or a cobbler an' fruits. she had her own little gyardin an' a few chickens an' we w'oud ov been happy 'cept dat we wuz skeered o' bein' sold. i'se glad dat slavery am ober, case now de nigger has got a chanct ter live an' larn wid de whites. dey won't neber be as good as de whites but dey can larn ter live an' enjoy life more. speakin' 'bout de ku klux dey ain't do nothin' but scare me back in ' , but iffen we had some now i thinks dat some of dese young niggers what has forgot what dey mammies tol' 'em would do better. mh:eh n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: mary barbour person interviewed: mary barbour editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: no date stamp] mary barbour ex-slave story an interview with mary barbour of s. bloodworth street, raleigh, n. c. i reckon dat i wuz borned in mcdowell county, case dat's whar my mammy, edith, lived. she 'longed ter mr. jefferson mitchel dar, an' my pappy 'longed ter er mr. jordan in avery county, so he said. 'fore de war, i doan know nothin' much 'cept dat we lived on a big plantation an' dat my mammy wucked hard, but wuz treated pretty good. we had our little log cabin off ter one side, an' my mammy had sixteen chilluns. fas' as dey got three years old de marster sol' 'em till we las' four dat she had wid her durin' de war. i wuz de oldes' o' dese four; den dar wuz henry an' den de twins, liza an' charlie. one of de fust things dat i 'members wuz my pappy wakin' me up in de middle o' de night, dressin' me in de dark, all de time tellin' me ter keep quiet. one o' de twins hollered some an' pappy put his hand ober its mouth ter keep it quiet. atter we wuz dressed he went outside an' peeped roun' fer a minute den he comed back an' got us. we snook out o' de house an' long de woods path, pappy totin' one of de twins an' holdin' me by de han' an' mammy carryin' de udder two. i reckons dat i will always 'member dat walk, wid de bushes slappin' my laigs, de win' sighin' in de trees, an' de hoot owls an' whippoorwills hollerin' at each other frum de big trees. i wuz half asleep an' skeered stiff, but in a little while we pass de plum' thicket an' dar am de mules an' wagin. dar am er quilt in de bottom o' de wagin, an' on dis dey lays we youngins. an' pappy an' mammy gits on de board cross de front an' drives off down de road. i wuz sleepy but i wuz skeered too, so as we rides 'long i lis'ens ter pappy an' mammy talk. pappy wuz tellin' mammy 'bout de yankees comin' ter dere plantation, burnin' de co'n cribs, de smokehouses an' 'stroyin' eber'thing. he says right low dat dey done took marster jordan ter de rip raps down nigh norfolk, an' dat he stol' de mules an' wagin an' 'scaped. we wuz skeerd of de yankees ter start wid, but de more we thinks 'bout us runnin' way frum our marsters de skeerder we gits o' de rebs. anyhow pappy says dat we is goin' ter jine de yankees. we trabels all night an' hid in de woods all day fer a long time, but atter awhile we gits ter doctor dillard's place, in chowan county. i reckons dat we stays dar seberal days. de yankees has tooked dis place so we stops ober, an' has a heap o' fun dancin' an' sich while we am dar. de yankees tells pappy ter head fer new bern an' dat he will be took keer of dar, so ter new bern we goes. when we gits ter new bern de yankees takes de mules an' wagin, dey tells pappy something, an' he puts us on a long white boat named ocean waves an' ter roanoke we goes. later i larns dat most o' de reffes[ ] is put in james city, nigh new bern, but dar am a pretty good crowd on roanoke. dar wuz also a ole indian witch 'oman dat i 'members. atter a few days dar de ocean waves comes back an' takes all ober ter new bern. my pappy wuz a shoemaker, so he makes yankee boots, an' we gits 'long pretty good. i wuz raised in new bern an' i lived dar till forty years ago when me an' my husban' moved ter raleigh an' do' he's been daid a long time i has lived hyar ober [tr: eber] since an' eben if'en i is eighty-one years old i can still outwuck my daughter an' de rest of dese young niggers. [footnote : refugees] n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: plantation times person interviewed: alice baugh editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp "jun "] plantation times an interview on may , with alice baugh, , who remembers hearing her mother tell of slavery days. my mammy ferbie, an' her brother darson belonged ter mr. david hinnant in edgecombe county till young marster charlie got married. den dey wuz drawed an' sent wid him down hyar ter wendell. de ole hinnant home am still standin' dar ter dis day. marster charlie an' missus mary wuz good ter de hundred slaves what belonged ter' em. dey gib 'em good houses, good feed, good clothes an' plenty uv fun. dey had dere co'n shuckin's, dere barn dances, prayer meetin's an' sich like all de year, an' from christmas till de second day o' january dey had a holiday wid roast oxes, pigs, turkey an' all de rest o' de fixin's. from saturday till monday de slaves wuz off an' dey had dere sunday clothes, which wuz nice. de marster always gib 'em a paper so's de patterollers won't git 'em. dey went up de riber to other plantations ter dances an' all dem things, an' dey wuz awful fond uv singin' songs. dat's whut dey done atter dey comes ter dere cabins at de end o' de day. de grown folkses sings an' somebody pickin' de banjo. de favorite song wuz 'swing low sweet chariot' an' 'play on yo' harp little david'. de chilluns uster play hide an' seek, an' leap frog, an' ever'body wuz happy. dey had time off ter hunt an' fish an' dey had dere own chickens, pigs, watermillons an' gyardens. de fruits from de big orchard an' de honey from de hives wuz et at home, an' de slave et as good as his marster et. dey had a whole heap o' bee hives an' my mammy said dat she had ter tell dem bees when mis' mary died. she said how she wuz cryin' so hard dat she can't hardly tell 'em, an' dat dey hum lak dey am mo'nin' too. my mammy marry my pappy dar an' she sez dat de preacher from de methodis' church marry 'em, dat she w'ar miss mary's weddin' dress, all uv white lace, an' dat my pappy w'ar mr. charlie's weddin' suit wid a flower in de button hole. dey gived a big dance atter de supper dey had, an' marster charlie dance de first [hw correction: fust] set wid my mammy. i jist thought of a tale what i hyard my mammy tell 'bout de issue frees of edgecombe county when she wuz a little gal. she said dat de issue frees wuz mixed wid de white folks, an' uv cou'se dat make 'em free. sometimes dey stay on de plantation, but a whole heap uv dem, long wid niggers who had done runned away from dere marster, dugged caves in de woods, an' dar dey lived an' raised dere families dar. dey ain't wored much clothes an' what dey got to eat an' to w'ar dey swiped from de white folkses. mammy said dat she uster go ter de spring fer water, an' dem ole issue frees up in de woods would yell at her, 'doan yo' muddy dat spring, little gal'. dat scared her moughty bad. dem issue frees till dis day shows both bloods. de white folkses won't have 'em an' de niggers doan want 'em but will have ter have 'em anyhow. my uncle wuz raised in a cave an' lived on stold stuff an' berries. my cousin runned away 'cause his marster wuz mean ter him, but dey put de blood hounds on his trail, ketched him. atter he got well from de beatin' dey gib him, dey sold him. i'se hyard ole lady prissie jones who died at de age of las' winter tell 'bout marsters dat when dere slaves runned away dey'd set de bloodhounds on dere trail an' when dey ketched 'em dey'd cut dere haids off wid de swords. ole lady prissie tole 'bout slaves what ain't had nothin' ter eat an' no clothes 'cept a little strip uv homespun, but my mammy who died four months ago at de age said dat she ain't knowed nothin' 'bout such doin's. when de yankees come, dey come a burnin' an' a-stealin' an' marster charlie carried his val'ables ter mammy's cabin, but dey found 'em. dey had a money rod an' dey'd find all de stuff no matter whar it wuz. mammy said dat all de slaves cried when de yankees come, an' dat most uv 'em stayed on a long time atter de war. my mammy plowed an' done such work all de time uv slavery, but she done it case she wanted to do it an' not 'cause dey make her. all de slaves hate de yankees an' when de southern soldiers comed by late in de night all de niggers got out of de bed an' holdin' torches high dey march behin' de soldiers, all of dem singin', 'we'll hang abe lincoln on de sour apple tree.' yes mam, dey wuz sorry dat dey wuz free, an' dey ain't got no reason to be glad, case dey wuz happier den dan now. i'se hyard mammy tell 'bout how de niggers would sing as dey picked de cotton, but yo' ain't hyard none uv dat now. den dey ain't had to worry 'bout nothin'; now dey has ter study so much dat dey ain't happy nuff ter sing no mo'. "does yo' know de cause of de war?" aunt alice went to a cupboard and returned holding out a book. "well hyar's de cause, dis _uncle tom's cabin_ wuz de cause of it all; an' its' de biggest lie what ever been gived ter de public." n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: when the yankees came story teller: john beckwith editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: no date stamp] when the yankees came an interview with john beckwith , of cary. i reckon dat i wuz 'bout nine years old at de surrender, but we warn't happy an' we stayed on dar till my parents died. my pappy wuz named green an' my mammy wuz named molly, an' we belonged ter mr. joe edwards, mr. marion gully, an' mr. hilliard beckwith, as de missus married all of 'em. dar wuz twenty-one other slaves, an' we got beat ever' onct in a while. when dey told us dat de yankees wuz comin' we wuz also told dat iffen we didn't behave dat we'd be shot; an' we believed it. we would'uv behaved anyhow, case we had good plank houses, good food, an' shoes. we had saturday an' sunday off an' we wuz happy. de missus, she raised de nigger babies so's de mammies could wuck. i 'members de times when she rock me ter sleep an' put me ter bed in her own bed. i wuz happy den as i thinks back of it, until dem yankees come. dey come on a chuesday; an' dey started by burnin' de cotton house an' killin' most of de chickens an' pigs. way atter awhile dey fin's de cellar an' dey drinks brandy till dey gits wobbly in de legs. atter dat dey comes up on de front porch an' calls my missus. when she comes ter de do' dey tells her dat dey am goin' in de house ter look things over. my missus dejicts, case ole marster am away at de war, but dat doan do no good. dey cusses her scan'lous an' dey dares her ter speak. dey robs de house, takin' dere knives an' splittin' mattresses, pillows an' ever' thing open lookin' fer valerables, an' ole missus dasen't open her mouth. dey camped dar in de grove fer two days, de officers takin' de house an' missus leavin' home an' goin' ter de neighbor's house. dey make me stay dar in de house wid 'em ter tote dere brandy frum de cellar, an' ter make 'em some mint jelup. well, on de secon' night dar come de wust storm i'se eber seed. de lightnin' flash, de thunder roll, an' de house shook an' rattle lak a earthquake had struck it. dem yankees warn't supposed ter be superstitious, but lemmie tell yo', dey wuz some skeered dat night; an' i hyard a captain say dat de witches wuz abroad. atter awhile lightnin' struck de catawba tree dar at de side of de house an' de soldiers camped round about dat way marched off ter de barns, slave cabins an' other places whar dey wuz safter dan at dat place. de next mornin' dem yankees moved frum dar an' dey ain't come back fer nothin'. we wuzn't happy at de surrender an' we cussed ole abraham lincoln all ober de place. we wuz told de disadvantages of not havin' no edercation, but shucks, we doan need no book larnin' wid ole marster ter look atter us. my mammy an' pappy stayed on dar de rest of dere lives, an' i stayed till i wuz sixteen. de ku klux klan got atter me den' bout fightin' wid a white boy. dat night i slipped in de woods an' de nex' day i went ter raleigh. i got a job dar an' eber' since den i'se wucked fer myself, but now i can't wuck an' i wish dat yo' would apply fer my ole aged pension fer me. i went back ter de ole plantation long as my pappy, mammy, an' de marster an' missus lived. sometimes, when i gits de chanct i goes back now. course now de slave cabins am gone, ever' body am dead, an' dar ain't nothin' familiar 'cept de bent catawba tree; but it 'minds me of de happy days. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: , subject: john c. bectom story teller: john c. bectom editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp "jun "] [hw: n. c.] john c. bectom my name is john c. bectom. i was born oct. , , near fayetteville, cumberland county, north carolina. my father's name was simon bectom. he was years of age when he died. he died in at fayetteville, n. c. my mother's name was harriet bectom. she died in , may , when she was seventy years old. my brother's were named ed, kato and willie. i was third of the boys. my sisters were lucy, anne and alice. my father first belonged to robert wooten of craven county, n. c. then he was sold by the wootens to the bectoms of wayne county, near goldsboro, the county seat. my mother first belonged to the mcneills of cumberland county. miss mary mcneill married a mcfadden, and her parents gave my mother to mis' mary. mis' mary's daughter in time married ezekial king and my mother was then given to her by mis' mary mcfadden, her mother. mis' lizzie mcfadden became a king. my grandmother was named lucy murphy. she belonged to the murpheys. all the slaves were given off to the children of the family as they married. my father and mother told me stories of how they were treated at different places. when my grandmother was with the murpheys they would make her get up, and begin burning logs in new grounds before daybreak. they also made her plow, the same as any of the men on the plantation. they plowed till dusk-dark before they left the fields to come to the house. they were not allowed to attend any dances or parties unless they slipped off unknowin's. they had candy pullings sometimes too. while they would be there the patterollers would visit them. sometimes the patterollers whipped all they caught at this place, all they set their hands on, unless they had a pass. they fed us mighty good. the food was well cooked. they gave the slaves an acre of ground to plant and they could sell the crop and have the money. the work on this acre was done on moonshiny nights and holidays. sometimes slaves would steal the marster's chickens or a hog and slip off to another plantation and have it cooked. we had plenty of clothes, and one pair o' shoes a year. you had to take care of them because you only got one pair a year. they were given at christmas every year. the clothes were made on the plantation. there were corn mills on the plantation, and rice mills, and threshing machines. the plantation had about acres in farm land. the enclosure was three miles. my marster lived in a fine house. it took a year to build it. there were about rooms in it. we slaves called it the great house. some of the slaves ran away and finally reached ohio. there was no jail on the plantation. sometimes the overseer would whip us. the kings had no overseers. king beat his slaves with a stick. i remember seeing him do this as well as i can see that house over there. he became blind. an owl scratched him in the face when he was trying to catch him, and his face got into sich a fix he went to philadelphia for treatment, but they could not cure him. he finally went blind. i have seen him beat his slaves after he was blind. i remember it well. he beat 'em with a stick. he was the most sensitive man you ever seed. he ran a store. after he was blind you could han' him a piece of money and he could tell you what it was. there were no churches on the plantation but prayer meeting' were held in the quarters. slaves were not allowed to go to the white folk's church unless they were coach drivers, etc. no sir, not in that community. they taught the slaves the bible. the children of the marster would go to private school. we small negro children looked after the babies in the cradles and other young children. when the white children studied their lessons i studied with them. when they wrote in the sand i wrote in the sand too. the white children, and not the marster or mistress, is where i got started in learnin' to read and write. we had corn shuckings, candy pullings, dances, prayer meetings. we went to camp meetin' on camp meeting days in august when the crops were laid by. we played games of high jump, jumping over the pole held by two people, wrestling, leap frog, and jumping. we sang the songs, 'go tell aunt patsy'. 'some folks says a nigger wont steal, i caught six in my corn field' 'run nigger run, the patteroller ketch you, run nigger run like you did the other day'. when slaves got sick marster looked after them. he gave them blue mass and caster oil. dr. mcduffy also treated us. dr. mcswain vaccinated us for small pox. my sister died with it. when the slaves died marster buried them. they dug a grave with a tomb in it. i do not see any of them now. the slaves were buried in a plain box. the marsters married the slaves without any papers. all they did was to say perhaps to jane and frank, 'frank, i pronounce you and jane man and wife.' but the woman did not take the name of her husband, she kept the name of the family who owned her. i remember seeing the yankees near fayetteville. they shot a bomb shell at wheeler's calvary, and it hit near me and buried in the ground. wheeler's calvary came first and ramsaked the place. they got all the valuables they could, and burned the bridge, the covered bridge over cape fear river, but when the yankees got there they had a pontoon bridge to cross on,--all those provision wagons and such. when they passed our place it was in the morning. they nearly scared me to death. they passed right by our door, sherman's army. they began passing, so the white folks said, at o'clock in the mornin'. at o'clock at night they were passin' our door on foot. they said there were two hundred and fifty thousan' o' them passed. some camped in my marster's old fiel'. a yankee caught one of my marster's shoats and cut off one of the hind quarters, gave it to me, and told me to carry and give it to my mother. i was so small i could not tote it, so i drug it to her. i called her when i got in hollering distance of the house and she came and got it. the yankees called us johnnie, dinah, bill and other funny names. they beat their drums and sang songs. one of the yankees sang 'rock a bye baby'. at that time jeff davis money was plentiful. my mother had about $ . it was so plentiful it was called jeff davis shucks. my mother had bought a pair of shoes, and had put them in a chest. a yankee came and took the shoes and wore them off, leaving his in their place. they tol' us we were free. sometimes the marster would get cruel to the slaves if they acted like they were free. mat holmes, a slave, was wearing a ball and chain as a punishment for running away. marster ezekial king put it on him. he has slept in the bed with me, wearing that ball and chain. the cuff had embedded in his leg, it was swollen so. this was right after the yankees came through. it was march, the th of march, when the yankees came through. mat holmes had run away with the ball and chain on him and was in the woods then. he hid out staying with us at night until august. then my mother took him to the yankee garrison at fayetteville. a yankee officer then took him to a black smith shop and had the ball and chain cut off his leg. the marsters would tell the slaves to go to work that they were not free, that they still belonged to them, but one would drop out and leave, then another. there was little work done on the farm, and finally most of the slaves learned they were free. abraham lincoln was one of the greatest men that ever lived. he was the cause of us slaves being free. no doubt about that. i didn't think anything of jeff davis. he tried to keep us in slavery. i think slavery was an injustice, not right. our privilege is to live right, and live according to the teachings of the bible, to treat our fellowman right. to do this i feel we should belong to some religious organization and live as near right as we know how. the overseers and patterollers in the time of slavery were called poor white trash by the slaves. on the plantations not every one, but some of the slave holders would have some certain slave women reserved for their own use. sometimes children almost white would be born to them. i have seen many of these children. sometimes the child would be said to belong to the overseer, and sometimes it would be said to belong to the marster. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: aunt laura story teller: laura bell editor: geo. l. andrews [tr: date stamp "aug "] aunt laura an interview with laura bell, years old, of bragg street, raleigh, north carolina. being informed that laura bell was an old slavery negro, i went immediately to the little two-room shack with its fallen roof and shaky steps. as i approached the shack i noticed that the storm had done great damage to the chaney-berry tree in her yard, fallen limbs litterin' the ground, which was an inch deep in garbage and water. the porch was littered with old planks and huge tubs and barrels of stagnant water. there was only room for one chair and in that sat a tall negro woman clad in burlap bags and in her lap she held a small white flea-bitten dog which growled meaningly. when i reached the gate, which swings on one rusty hinge, she bade me come in and the carolina power and light company men, who were at work nearby, laughed as i climbed over the limbs and garbage and finally found room for one foot on the porch and one on the ground. "i wus borned in mount airy de year 'fore de yankees come, bein' de fourth of five chilluns. my mammy an' daddy minerva jane an' wesley 'longed ter mr. mack strickland an' we lived on his big place near mount airy." "mr. mack wus good ter us, dey said. he give us enough ter eat an' plenty of time ter weave clothes fer us ter wear. i've hearn mammy tell of de corn shuckin's an' dances dey had an' 'bout some whuppin's too." "marse mack's overseer, i doan know his name, wus gwine ter whup my mammy onct, an' pappy do' he ain't neber make no love ter mammy comes up an' takes de whuppin' fer her. atter dat dey cou'ts on sadday an' sunday an' at all de sociables till dey gits married." "i'se hearn her tell' bout how he axed marse mack iffen he could cou't mammy an' atter marse mack sez he can he axes her ter marry him." "she tells him dat she will an' he had 'em married by de preacher de nex' time he comes through dat country." "i growed up on de farm an' when i wus twelve years old i met thomas bell. my folks said dat i wus too young fer ter keep company so i had ter meet him 'roun' an' about fer seberal years, i think till i wus fifteen." "he axed me ter marry him while he wus down on de creek bank a fishin' an' i tol' him yes, but when he starts ter kiss me i tells him dat der's many a slip twixt de cup an' de lip an' so he has ter wait till we gits married." "we runned away de nex' sadday an' wus married by a justice of de peace in mount airy." "love ain't what hit uster be by a long shot," de ole woman reflected, "'cause dar ain't many folks what loves all de time. we moved ter raleigh forty years ago, an' tom has been daid seberal years now. we had jest one chile but hit wus borned daid." "chilluns ain't raised ter be clean lak we wus. i knows dat de house ain't so clean but i doan feel so much lak doin' nothin', i jest went on a visit 'bout seben blocks up de street dis mo'nin' an' so i doan feel lak cleanin' up none." i cut the interview short thereby missing more facts, as the odor was anything but pleasant and i was getting tired of standing in that one little spot. "thank you for comin'", she called, and her dog growled again. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: emma blalock story teller: emma blalock editor: geo. l. andrews [tr: date stamp "aug "] emma blalock years old bannon avenue raleigh, n. c. i shore do 'member de yankees wid dere blue uniforms wid brass buttons on 'em. i wus too small to work any but i played in de yard wid my oldes' sister, katie. she is dead long ago. my mother belonged to ole man john griffith an' i belonged to him. his plantation wus down here at auburn in wake county. my father wus named edmund rand. he belonged to mr. nat rand. he lived in auburn. de plantations wus not fur apart. dere wus about twenty-five slaves on de plantation whur mother an' me stayed. marse john used ter take me on his knee an' sing, 'here is de hammer, shing ding. gimme de hammer, shing ding.' marster loved de nigger chilluns on his plantation. when de war ended father come an' lived with us at marse john's plantation. marster john griffith named me emmy. my grandfather on my fathers side wus named harden rand, an' grandmother wus named mason rand. my grandfather on my mother's side wus named antny griffiths an' grandmother wus named nellie. our food wus a plenty and well cooked. marster fed his niggers good. we had plenty of homespun dresses and we got shoes once a year, at christmas eve. i ken 'member it just as good. we got christmas holidays an' a stockin' full of candy an' peanuts. sometimes we got ginger snaps at christmas. my grandmother cooked' em. she wus a good cook. my mother's missus wus miss jetsy griffith and my father's missus wus lucy rand. dey wus both mighty good women. you know i am ole. i ken 'member all dem good white folks. dey give us fourth july holidays. dey come to town on dat day. dey wore, let me tell you what dey wore, dey wore dotted waist blouses an' white pants. dat wus a big day to ever'body, de fourth of july. dey begun singing at auburn an' sung till dey reached raleigh. auburn is nine miles from raleigh. dere wus a lot of lemonade. dey made light bread in big ovens an' had cheese to eat wid it. some said just goin' on de fofe to git lemonade an' cheese. in the winter we had a lot of possums to eat an' a lot of rabbits too. at christmas time de men hunted and caught plenty game. we barbecued it before de fire. i 'members seein' mother an' grandmother swinging rabbits 'fore de fire to cook 'em. dey would turn an' turn 'em till dey wus done. dey hung some up in de chimbly an' dry 'em out an' keep 'em a long time an' dat is de reason i won't eat a rabbit today. no sir! i won't eat a rabbit. i seed 'em mess wid 'em so much turned me 'ginst eatin' 'em. i don't know how much lan' marster john owned but, honey, dat wus some plantation. it reached from auburn to de neuse river. yes sir, it did, 'cause i been down dere in corn hillin' time an' we fished at twelve o'clock in neuse river. marster john had overseers. dere wus six of 'em. dey rode horses over de fields but i don't 'member dere names. i never seen a slave whupped but dey wus whupped on de plantation an' i heard de grown folks talkin' 'bout it. my uncles nat an' bert griffiths wus both whupped. uncle nat would not obey his missus rules an' she had him whupped. dey whupped uncle bert 'cause he stayed drunk so much. he loved his licker an' he got drunk an' cut up bad, den dey whupped him. you could git plenty whiskey den. twon't like it is now. no sir, it won't. whiskey sold fur ten cents a quart. most ever' body drank it but you hardly ever seed a man drunk. slaves wus not whupped for drinkin'. dere marsters give 'em whiskey but dey wus whupped for gittin' drunk. dere wus a jail, a kind of stockade built of logs, on de farm to put slaves in when dey wouldn't mind. i never say any slave put on de block an' sold, but i saw aunt helen rand cryin' because her marster nat rand sold her boy, fab rand. no sir, no readin' an' writin'. you had to work. ha! ha! you let your marster or missus ketch you wid a book. dat wus a strict rule dat no learnin' wus to be teached. i can't read an' write. if it wus not fur my mother wit don't know what would become of me. we had prayer meetings around at de slave houses. i 'member it well. we turned down pots on de inside of de house at de door to keep marster an' missus from hearin' de singin' an' prayin'. marster an' his family lived in de great house an' de slave quarters wus 'bout two hundred yards away to the back of de great house. dey wus arranged in rows. when de war ended we all stayed on wid de families griffiths an' rands till dey died, dat is all 'cept my father an' me. he lef' an' i lef'. i been in raleigh forty-five years. i married mack blalock in raleigh. he been dead seven years. my mother had two boys, antny an' wesley. she had four girls, katie, grissie, mary ella an' emma. i had three chilluns, two are livin' yet. they both live in raleigh. we had big suppers an' dinners at log rollin's an' corn shuckin's in slavery time ha! ha! plenty of corn licker for ever'body, both white an' black. ever'body helped himself. dr. tom busbee, one good ole white man, looked after us when we got sick, an' he could make you well purty quick, 'cause he wus good an' 'cause he wus sorry fer you. he wus a feelin' man. course we took erbs. i tell you what i took. scurrey grass, chana balls dey wus for worms. scurrey grass worked you out. dey give us winter green to clense our blood. we slaves an' a lot of de white folks drank sassafras tea in de place of coffee. we sweetened it wid brown sugar, honey, or molasses, just what we had in dat line. i think slavery wus a right good thing. plenty to eat an' wear. when you gits a tooth pulled now it costs two dollars, don't it? well in slavery time i had a tooth botherin' me. my mother say, emma, take dis egg an' go down to doctor busbee an' give it to him an' git your tooth pulled. i give him one egg. he took it an' pulled my tooth. try dat now, if you wants to an' see what happens. yes, slavery wus a purty good thing. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: days on the plantation person interviewed: uncle david blount editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp "jun "] [hw: n. c. good general story--] [hw: good story hates the yankees boy beaten by overseer who is later discharged; slaves make pact with yankees] days on the plantation as told by uncle david blount, formerly of beaufort county, who did not know his age. "de marster" he refers to was major wm. a. blount, who owned plantations in several parts of north carolina. yes mam, de days on de plantation wuz de happy days. de marster made us wuck through de week but on sadays we uster go swimmin' in de riber an' do a lot of other things dat we lak ter do. we didn't mind de wuck so much case de ground wuz soft as ashes an' de marster let us stop and rest when we got tired. we planted 'taters in de uplan's and co'n in de lowgroun's nex' de riber. it wuz on de cape fear an' on hot days when we wuz a-pullin' de fodder we'd all stop wuck 'bout three o'clock in de ebenin' an' go swimmin'. atter we come out'n de water we would wuck harder dan eber an' de marster wuz good to us, case we did wuck an' we done what he ast us. i 'members onct de marster had a oberseer dar dat wuz meaner dan a mean nigger. he always hired good oberseers an' a whole lot of times he let some negro slave obersee. well, dis oberseer beat some of de half grown boys till de blood run down ter dar heels an' he tole de rest of us dat if we told on him dat he'd kill us. we don't dasen't ast de marster ter git rid of de man so dis went on fer a long time. it wuz cold as de debil one day an' dis oberseer had a gang of us a-clearin' new groun'. one boy ast if he could warm by de bresh heap. de oberseer said no, and atter awhile de boy had a chill. de oberseer don't care, but dat night de boy am a sick nigger. de nex' mornin' de marster gits de doctor, an' de doctor say dat de boy has got pneumonia. he tells 'em ter take off de boys shirt an' grease him wid some tar, turpentine, an' kerosene, an' when dey starts ter take de shirt off dey fin's dat it am stuck. dey had ter grease de shirt ter git it off case de blood whar de oberseer beat him had stuck de shirt tight ter de skin. de marster wuz in de room an' he axed de boy how come it, an' de boy tole him. de marster sorta turns white an' he says ter me, 'will yo' go an' ast de oberseer ter stop hyar a minute, please?' when de oberseer comes up de steps he axes sorta sassy-like, 'what yo' want?' de marster says, 'pack yo' things an' git off'n my place as fast as yo' can, yo' pesky varmit.' de oberseer sasses de marster some more, an' den i sees de marster fairly loose his temper for de first time. he don't say a word but he walks ober, grabs de oberseer by de shoulder, sets his boot right hard 'ginst de seat of his pants an' sen's him, all drawed up, out in de yard on his face. he close up lak a umbrella for a minute den he pulls hisself all tergether an' he limps out'n dat yard an' we ain't neber seed him no more. no mam, dar wuzent no marryin' on de plantation dem days, an' as one ole 'oman raised all of de chilluns me an' my brother johnnie ain't neber knowed who our folkses wuz. johnnie wuz a little feller when de war ended, but i wuz in most of de things dat happen on de plantation fer a good while. one time dar, i done fergit de year, some white mens comes down de riber on a boat an' dey comes inter de fiel's an' talks ter a gang of us an' dey says dat our masters ain't treatin' us right. dey tells us dat we orter be paid fer our wuck, an' dat we hadn't ort ter hab passes ter go anywhar. dey also tells us dat we ort ter be allowed ter tote guns if we wants 'em. dey says too dat sometime our marsters was gwine ter kill us all. i laughs at 'em, but some of dem fool niggers listens ter 'em; an' it 'pears dat dese men gib de niggers some guns atter i left an' promised ter bring 'em some more de nex' week. i fin's out de nex' day 'bout dis an' i goes an' tells de marster. he sorta laughs an' scratches his head, 'dem niggers am headed fer trouble, dave, 'he says ter me, 'an i wants yo' ter help me.' i says, 'yas sar, marster.' an' he goes on, 'yo' fin's out when de rest of de guns comes dave, an' let me know.' when de men brings back de guns i tells de marster, an' i also tells him dat dey wants ter hold er meetin'. 'all right,' he says an' laughs, 'dey can have de meetin'. yo' tell 'em, dave, dat i said dat dey can meet on chuesday night in de pack house.' chuesday ebenin' he sen's dem all off to de low groun's but me, an' he tells me ter nail up de shutters ter de pack house an' ter nail 'em up good. i does lak he tells me ter do an' dat night de niggers marches in an' sneaks dar guns in too. i is lyin' up in de loft an' i hyars dem say dat atter de meetin' dey is gwine ter go up ter de big house an' kill de whole fambly. i gits out of de winder an' i runs ter de house an tells de marster. den me an' him an' de young marster goes out an' quick as lightnin', i slams de pack house door an' i locks it. den de marster yells at dem, 'i'se got men an' guns out hyar, he yells, 'an' if yo' doan throw dem guns out of de hole up dar in de loft, an' throw dem ebery one out i'se gwine ter stick fire ter dat pack house.' de niggers 'liberates for a few minutes an' den dey throws de guns out. i knows how many dey has got so i counts till dey throw dem all out, den i gathers up dem guns an' i totes 'em off ter de big house. well sar, we keeps dem niggers shet up fer about a week on short rations; an' at de end of dat time dem niggers am kyored for good. when dey comes out dey had three oberseers 'stid of one, an' de rules am stricter dan eber before; an' den de marster goes off ter de war. i reckon i was 'bout fifteen or sixteen den; an' de marster car's me 'long fer his pusonal sarvant an' body guard an' he leabes de rest of dem niggers in de fiel's ter wuck like de dickens while i laughs at dem yankees. jim belonged to mr. harley who lived in new hanover county during de war, in fac' he was young massa harley's slave; so when young massa tom went to de war jim went along too. dey wuz at manassas, dey tells me, when massa tom got kilt, and de orders wuz not to take no bodies off de field right den. course ole massa down near wilmington, doan know 'bout young massa tom, but one night dey hears jim holler at de gate. dey goes runnin' out; an' jim has brung massa tom's body all dat long ways home so dat he can be buried in de family burian ground. de massa frees jim dat night; but he stays on a time atter de war, an' tell de day he died he hated de yankees for killing massa tom. in fact we all hated de yankees, 'specially atter we hear 'bout starve dat first winter. i tried ter make a libin' fer me an' johnnie but it was bad goin'; den i comes ter raleigh an' i gits 'long better. atter i gits settled i brings johnnie, an' so we done putty good. dat's all i can tell yo' now miss, but if'n yo'll come back sometime i'll tell yo' de rest of de tales. shortly after the above interview uncle dave who was failing fast was taken to the county home, where he died. he was buried on may th, , the rest of the tale remaining untold. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: ex-slave story person interviewed: clay bobbit editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp "jun "] ex-slave story an interview with clay bobbit, of s. harrington street, raleigh, n. c., may , . i wuz borned may , in warren county to washington an' delisia bobbit. our marster wuz named richard bobbit, but we all calls him massa dick. massa dick ain't good ter us, an' on my arm hyar, jist above de elbow am a big scar dis day whar he whupped me wid a cowhide. he ain't whupped me fer nothin' 'cept dat i is a nigger. i had a whole heap of dem whuppin's, mostly case i won't obey his orders an' i'se seed slaves beat 'most ter deff. i wuz married onct 'fore de war by de broom stick ceremony, lak all de rest of de slaves wuz but shucks dey sold away my wife 'fore we'd been married a year an' den de war come on. i had one brother, henry who am wuckin' fer de city, an' one sister what wuz named deliah. she been daid dese many years now. massa dick owned a powerful big plantation an' ober a hundert slaves, an' we wucked on short rations an' went nigh naked. we ain't gone swimmin' ner huntin' ner nothin' an' we ain't had no pleasures 'less we runs away ter habe 'em. eben when we sings we had ter turn down a pot in front of de do' ter ketch de noise. i knowed some pore white trash; our oberseer wuz one, an' de shim shams[ ] wuz also nigh 'bout also. we ain't had no use fer none of 'em an' we shorely ain't carin' whe'her dey has no use fer us er not. de ku kluxes ain't done nothin' fer us case dar ain't many in our neighborhood. yo' see de yankees ain't come through dar, an' we is skeerd of dem anyhow. de white folks said dat de yankees would kill us if'en dey ketched us. i ain't knowed nothin' 'bout de yankees, ner de surrender so i stays on fer seberal months atter de wahr wuz ober, den i comes ter raleigh an' goes ter wuck fer de city. i wucks fer de city fer nigh on fifty years, i reckon, an' jis' lately i retired. i'se been sick fer 'bout four months an' on, de second day of may. de day when i wuz a hundert years old i warn't able ter git ter de city lot, but i got a lot uv presents. dis 'oman am my third lawful wife. i married her three years ago.[ ] [footnote : shim sham, free issues or negroes of mixed blood.] [footnote : the old man was too ill to walk out on the porch for his picture, and his mind wandered too much to give a connected account of his life.] n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: ex-slave story story teller: henry bobbitt editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: no date stamp] ex-slave stories an interview with henry bobbitt, of raleigh, wake county n. c. may , by mary a. hicks. i wuz borned at warrenton in warren county in . my father wuz named washington, atter general washington an' my mamma wuz named diasia atter a woman in a story. us an' 'bout forty or fifty other slaves belonged ter mr. richard bobbitt an' we wucked his four hundred acres o' land fer him. i jist had one brother named clay, atter henry clay, which shows how massa dick voted, an' delilah, which shows dat ole missus read de bible. we farmed, makin' tobacco, cotton, co'n, wheat an' taters. massa dick had a whole passel o' fine horses an' our sunday job wuz ter take care of 'em, an' clean up round de house. yes mam, we wucked seben days a week, from sunup till sundown six days, an' from seben till three or four on a sunday. we didn't have many tear-downs an' prayer meetin's an' sich, case de fuss sturbed ole missus who wuz kinder sickly. when we did have sompin' we turned down a big wash-pot in front of de do', an' it took up de fuss, an' folkses in de yard can't hyar de fuss. de patterollers would git you iffen you went offen de premises widout a pass, an' dey said dat dey would beat you scandelous. i seed a feller dat dey beat onct an' he had scars as big as my fingers all ober his body. i got one whuppin' dat i 'members, an' dat wuz jist a middlin' one. de massa told me ter pick de cotton an' i sot down in de middle an' didn't wuck a speck. de oberseer come an' he frailed me wid a cotton-stalk; he wuz a heap meaner ter de niggers dan massa dick wuz. i saw some niggers what wuz beat bad, but i ain't neber had no bad beatin'. we libed in log houses wid sand floors an' stick an' dirt chimneys an' we warn't 'lowed ter have no gyarden, ner chickens, ner pigs. we ain't had no way o' makin' money an' de fun wuz only middlin'. we had ter steal what rabbits we et from somebody elses [tr correction: else's] boxes on some udder plantation, case de massa won't let us have none o' our own, an' we ain't had no time ter hunt ner fish. now talkin' 'bout sompin' dat we'd git a whuppin' fer, dat wuz fer havin' a pencil an' a piece of paper er a slate. iffen you jist looked lak you wanted ter larn ter read er write you got a lickin'. dar wuz two colored women lived nigh us an' dey wuz called "free issues," but dey wuz really witches. i ain't really seen 'em do nothin' but i hyard a whole lot 'bout 'em puttin' spells on folkses an' i seed tracks whar day had rid massa dick's hosses an' eber mo'nin' de hosses manes an' tails would be all twisted an' knotted up. i know dat dey done dat case i seed it wid my own eyes. dey doctored lots of people an' our folkses ain't neber had no doctor fer nothin' dat happen. you wuz axin' 'bout de slave sales, an' i want ter tell you dat i has seen some real sales an' i'se seed niggers, whole bunches of' em, gwin' ter richmond ter be sold. dey wuz mostly chained, case dey wuz new ter de boss, an' he doan know what ter 'spect. i'se seed some real sales in warrenton too, an' de mammies would be sold from deir chilluns an' dare would be a whole heap o' cryin' an' mou'nin' 'bout hit. i tell you folkses ain't lak dey uster be, 'specially niggers. uster be when a nigger cries he whoops an' groans an' hollers an' his whole body rocks, an' dat am de way dey done sometime at de sales. speakin' 'bout haints: i'se seed a whole lot o' things, but de worst dat eber happen wuz 'bout twenty years ago when a han'ts hand hit me side o' de haid. i bet dat hand weighed a hundred pounds an' it wuz as cold as ice. i ain't been able ter wuck fer seben days an' nights an' i still can't turn my haid far ter de left as you sees. i reckon 'bout de funniest thing 'bout our plantation wuz de marryin'. a couple got married by sayin' dat dey wuz, but it couldn't last fer longer dan five years. dat wuz so iffen one of 'em got too weakly ter have chilluns de other one could git him another wife or husban'. i 'members de day moughty well when de yankees come. massa dick he walked de floor an' cussed sherman fer takin' his niggers away. all o' de niggers lef', of course, an' me, i walked clean ter raleigh ter find out if i wuz really free, an' i couldn't unnerstan' half of it. well de first year i slept in folkses woodhouses an' barns an' in de woods or any whar else i could find. i wucked hyar an' dar, but de folkses' jist give me sompin' ter eat an' my clothes wuz in strings' fore de spring o' de year. yo' axes me what i thinks of massa lincoln? well, i thinks dat he wuz doin' de wust thing dat he could ter turn all dem fool niggers loose when dey ain't got no place ter go an' nothin' ter eat. who helped us out den? hit wuzn't de yankees, hit wuz de white folkses what wuz left wid deir craps in de fiel's, an' wuz robbed by dem yankees, ter boot. my ole massa, fur instance, wuz robbed uv his fine hosses an' his feed stuff an' all dem kaigs o' liquor what he done make hisself, sides his money an' silver. slavery wuz a good thing den, but de world jist got better an' outgrowed it. eh n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: herndon bogan story teller: herndon bogan editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: no date stamp] herndon bogan ex-slave story an interview with herndon bogan, (?) of state prison, raleigh, n. c. i wus bawned in union county, south carolina on de plantation o' doctor bogan, who owned both my mammy issia, an' my pap edwin. dar wus six o' us chilluns; clara, lula, joe, tux, mack an' me. i doan' member much 'bout slavery days 'cept dat my white folkses wus good ter us. dar wus a heap o' slaves, maybe a hundert an' fifty. i 'members dat we wucked hard, but we had plenty ter eat an' w'ar, eben iffen we did w'ar wood shoes. i kin barely recolleck 'fore de war dat i'se seed a heap o' cocks fightin' in pits an' a heap o' horse racin'. when de marster winned he 'ud give us niggers a big dinner or a dance, but if he lost, oh! my daddy wus gived ter de doctor when de doctor wus married an' dey shore loved each other. one day marster, he comes in an' he sez dat de yankees am aimin' ter try ter take his niggers way from him, but dat dey am gwine ter ketch hell while dey does hit. when he sez dat he starts ter walkin' de flo'. 'i'se gwine ter leave yore missus in yore keer, edwin,' he sez. but pa 'lows, 'wid all respec' fer yore wife sar, she am a yankee too, an' i'd ruther go wid you ter de war. please sar, massa, let me go wid you ter fight dem yanks.' at fust massa 'fuses, den he sez, 'all right.' so off dey goes ter de war, massa on a big hoss, an' my pap on a strong mule 'long wid de blankets an' things. dey tells me dat ole massa got shot one night, an' dat pap grabs de gun 'fore hit hits de earth an' lets de yanks have hit. i 'members dat dem wus bad days fer south carolina, we gived all o' de food ter de soldiers, an' missus, eben do' she has got some yankee folks in de war, l'arns ter eat cabbages an' kush an' berries. i 'members dat on de day of de surrender, leastways de day dat we hyard 'bout hit, up comes a yankee an' axes ter see my missus. i is shakin', i is dat skeerd, but i bucks up an' i tells him dat my missus doan want ter see no blue coat. he grins, an' tells me ter skedaddle, an' 'bout den my missus comes out an' so help me iffen she doan hug dat dratted yank. atter awhile i gathers dat he's her brother, but at fust i ain't seed no sense in her cryin' an' sayin' 'thank god', over an' over. well sar, de massa an' pap what had gone off mad an' healthy an' ridin' fine beastes comes back walkin' an' dey looked sick. massa am white as cotton, an' so help me, iffen my pap, who wuz black as sin, ain't pale too. atter a few years i goes ter wuck in spartanburg as a houseboy, den i gits a job wid de southern railroad an' i goes ter charlotte ter night-watch de tracks. i stays dar eighteen years, but one night i kills a white hobo who am tryin' ter rob me o' my gol' watch an' chain, an' dey gives me eighteen months. i'se been hyar six already. he wus a white man, an' jist a boy, an' i is sorry, but i comes hyar anyhow. i hyard a ole 'oman in charlotte tell onct 'bout witchin' in slavery times, dar in mecklenburg county. she wus roun' ninety, so i reckon she knows. she said dat iffen anybody wanted ter be a witch he would draw a circle on de groun' jist at de aidge o' dark an' git in de circle an' squat down. dar he had ter set an' talk ter de debil, an' he mus' say, 'i will have nothin' ter do wid 'ligion, an' i wants you ter make me a witch.' atter day he mus' bile a black cat, a bat an' a bunch of herbs an' drink de soup, den he wuz really a witch. when you wanted ter witch somebody, she said dat you could take dat stuff, jist a little bit of hit an' put hit under dat puson's doorsteps an' dey'd be sick. you could go thru' de key hole or down de chimney or through de chinks in a log house, an' you could ride a puson jist lak ridin' a hoss. dat puson can keep you outen his house by layin' de broom 'fore de do' an' puttin' a pin cushion full of pins side of de bed do', iffen he's a mind to. dat puson can kill you too, by drawin' yore pitcher an' shootin' hit in de haid or de heart too. dar's a heap o' ways ter tell fortunes dat she done tol' me but i'se done forgot now 'cept coffee groun's an' a little of de others. you can't tell hit wid 'em do', case hit takes knowin' how, hit shore does. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: , subject: andrew boone story teller: andrew boone editor: g. l. andrews andrew boone age years. wake county, north carolina. harris farm. i been living in dese backer barns fifteen years. i built this little shelter to cook under. dey cut me off the wpa cause dey said i wus too ole to work. dey tole us ole folks we need not put down our walkin' sticks to git work cause dey jes' won't goin' to put us on. well, i had some tomatoes cooked widout any grease for my breakfast. i had a loaf of bread yesterday, but i et it. i ain't got any check from the ole age pension an' i have nothin' to eat an' i am hongry. i jes' looks to god. i set down by de road thinkin' bout how to turn an' what to do to git a meal, when you cum along. i thanks you fer dis dime. i guess god made you give it to me. i wus glad to take you down to my livin' place to give you my story. dis shelter, an ole tobacco barn, is better dan no home at all. i is a man to myself an' i enjoy livin' out here if i could git enough to eat. well de big show is coming to town. it's de devil's wurk. yes sir, it's de devil's wurk. why dem show folks ken make snakes an' make 'em crawl too. dere wus one in watson field in de edge of raleigh not long ago an' he made snakes an' made 'em crawl too. all shows is de devil's wurk. i never done anything fer myself in all my life. i always wurked fer de rebels. i stuck right to 'em. didn't have no sense fer doin' dat i guess. one time a rebel saw a yankee wid one eye, one leg an' one arm. de yankee wus beggin'. de rebel went up to him an' give him a quarter. den he backed off an' jes' stood a-lookin' at de yankee, presently he went back an' give him anudder quarter, den anudder, den he said, 'you take dis whole dollar, you is de first yankee i eber seed trimmed up jes' to my notion, so take all dis, jes' take de whole dollar, you is trimmed up to my notion'. i belonged to billy boone in slavery time. he wus a preacher. he lived on an' owned a plantation in northampton county. the plantation wus near woodland. the nearest river to the place wus the roanoke. my ole missus' name wus nancy. when ole marster died i stayed around wid fust one then another of the chilluns, cause marster tole me jes' fore he died fer me to stay wid any of 'em i wanted to stay with. all dem ole people done dead an' gone on. niggers had to go through thick an' thin in slavery time, with rough rations most of de time, wid jes' enough clothin' to make out wid. our houses were built of logs an' covered wid slabs. dey wus rived out of blocks of trees about - and ft in length. de chimleys wus built of sticks and mud, den a coat of clay mud daubed over 'em. de cracks in de slave houses wus daubed wid mud too. we wurked from sun to sun. if we had a fire in cold weather where we wus wurkin' marster or de overseer would come an' put it out. we et frozen meat an' bread many times in cold weather. after de day's wurk in de fields wus over we had a task of pickin' de seed from cotton till we had two ounces of lint or spin two ounces of cotton on a spinnin' wheel. i spun cotton on a spinnin' wheel. dats de way people got clothes in slavery time. i can't read an' write but dey learned us to count. dey learned us to count dis way. 'ought is an' ought, an' a figger is a figger, all for de white man an' nothin' fer de nigger'. hain't you heard people count dat way? dey sold slaves jes' like people sell hosses now. i saw a lot of slaves sold on de auction block. dey would strip 'em stark naked. a nigger scarred up or whaled an' welted up wus considered a bad nigger an' did not bring much. if his body wus not scarred, he brought a good price. i saw a lot of slaves whupped an' i was whupped myself. dey whupped me wid de cat o' nine tails. it had nine lashes on it. some of de slaves wus whupped wid a cabbin paddle. dey had forty holes in' em an' when you wus buckled to a barrel dey hit your naked flesh wid de paddle an' every whur dere wus a hole in de paddle it drawed a blister. when de whuppin' wid de paddle wus over, dey took de cat o' nine tails an' busted de blisters. by dis time de blood sometimes would be runnin' down dere heels. den de next thing wus a wash in salt water strong enough to hold up an egg. slaves wus punished dat way fer runnin' away an' sich. if you wus out widout a pass dey would shore git you. de paterollers shore looked after you. dey would come to de house at night to see who wus there. if you wus out of place, dey would wear you out. sam joyner, a slave, belonged to marster. he wus runnin' from de paterollers an' he fell in a ole well. de pateroller went after marster. marster tole' em to git ole sam out an' whup him jes' as much as dey wanted to. dey got him out of de well an' he wus all wet an' muddy. sam began takin' off his shoes, den he took off his pants an' got in his shirt tail. marster, he say, 'what you takin' off you clothes fer sam?' sam, he say, 'marster, you know you all can't whup dis nigger right over all dese wet clothes.' den sam lit out. he run so fas' he nearly flew. de paterollers got on dere hosses an' run him but dey could not ketch him. he got away. marster got sam's clothes an' carried 'em to de house. sam slipped up next morning put his clothes on an' marster said no more about it. i wus a great big boy when de yankees come through. i wus drivin' a two mule team an' doin' other wurk on de farm. i drove a two hoss wagon when dey carried slaves to market. i went to a lot of different places. my marster wus a preacher, billy boone. he sold an' bought niggers. he had fifty or more. he wurked the grown niggers in two squads. my father wus named isham boone and my mother wus sarah boone. marster boone whupped wid de cobbin paddle an' de cat o' nine tails an' used the salt bath an' dat wus 'nough. plenty besides him whupped dat way. marster had one son, named solomon, an' two girls, elsie an' alice. my mother had four children, three boys an' one girl. the boys were named sam, walter and andrew, dats me, an' de girl wus cherry. my father had several children cause he had several women besides mother. mollie and lila lassiter, two sisters, were also his women. dese women wus given to him an' no udder man wus allowed to have anything to do wid 'em. mollie an' lila both had chilluns by him. dere names wus jim, mollie, liza, rosa, pete an' i can't remember no more of 'em. de yankees took jes' what dey wanted an' nothin' stopped 'em, cause de surrender had come. before de surrender de slave owners begun to scatter de slaves 'bout from place to place to keep de yankees from gittin' 'em. if de yankees took a place de slaves nearby wus moved to a place further off. all i done wus fer de rebels. i wus wid 'em an' i jes' done what i wus tole. i wus afraid of de yankees 'cause de rebels had told us dat de yankees would kill us. dey tole us dat de yankees would bore holes in our shoulders an' wurk us to carts. dey tole us we would be treated a lot worser den dey wus treating us. well, de yankees got here but they treated us fine. den a story went round an' round dat de marster would have to give de slaves a mule an' a year's provisions an' some lan', about forty acres, but dat was not so. dey nebber did give us anything. when de war ended an' we wus tole we wus free, we stayed on wid marster cause we had nothin' an' nowhere to go. we moved about from farm to farm. mother died an' father married maria edwards after de surrender. he did not live wid any of his other slave wives dat i knows of. i have wurked as a han' on de farm most of de time since de surrender and daddy worked most of de time as a han', but he had gardens an' patches most everywhere he wurked. i wurked in new york city for fifteen years with crawford and banhay in de show business. i advertised for 'em. i dressed in a white suit, white shirt, an' white straw hat, and wore tan shoes. i had to be a purty boy. i had to have my shoes shined twice a day. i lived at manilla lane, new york city. it is between mcdougall street and th avenue. i married clara taylor in new york city. we had two children. the oldest one lives in new york. the other died an' is buried in raleigh. in slavery time they kept you down an' you had to wurk, now i can't wurk, an' i am still down. not allowed to wurk an' still down. it's all hard, slavery and freedom, both bad when you can't eat. the ole bees makes de honey comb, the young bee makes de honey, niggers makes de cotton an' corn an' de white folks gets de money. dis wus de case in slavery time an' its de case now. de nigger do mos' de hard wurk on de farms now, and de white folks still git de money dat de nigger's labor makes. le state editorial identification form [ ] state: north carolina received from: (state office) asheville ms: interview with w. l. bost, ex-slave. words: , date: sept. , interview with w. l. bost, ex-slave [hw: years] curve street, asheville, n. c. by--marjorie jones my massa's name was jonas bost. he had a hotel in newton, north carolina. my mother and grandmother both belonged to the bost family. my ole massa had two large plantations one about three miles from newton and another four miles away. it took a lot of niggers to keep the work a goin' on them both. the women folks had to work in the hotel and in the big house in town. ole missus she was a good woman. she never allowed the massa to buy or sell any slaves. there never was an overseer on the whole plantation. the oldest colored man always looked after the niggers. we niggers lived better than the niggers on the other plantations. lord child, i remember when i was a little boy, 'bout ten years, the speculators come through newton with droves of slaves. they always stay at our place. the poor critters nearly froze to death. they always come 'long on the last of december so that the niggers would be ready for sale on the first day of january. many the time i see four or five of them chained together. they never had enough clothes on to keep a cat warm. the women never wore anything but a thin dress and a petticoat and one underwear. i've seen the ice balls hangin' on to the bottom of their dresses as they ran along, jes like sheep in a pasture 'fore they are sheared. they never wore any shoes. jes run along on the ground, all spewed up with ice. the speculators always rode on horses and drove the pore niggers. when they get cold, they make 'em run 'til they are warm again. the speculators stayed in the hotel and put the niggers in the quarters jes like droves of hogs. all through the night i could hear them mournin' and prayin'. i didn't know the lord would let people live who were so cruel. the gates were always locked and they was a guard on the outside to shoot anyone who tried to run away. lord miss, them slaves look jes like droves of turkeys runnin' along in front of them horses. i remember when they put 'em on the block to sell 'em. the ones 'tween and always bring the most money. the auctioneer he stand off at a distance and cry 'em off as they stand on the block. i can hear his voice as long as i live. if the one they going to sell was a young negro man this is what he say: "now gentlemen and fellow-citizens here is a big black buck negro. he's stout as a mule. good for any kin' o' work an' he never gives any trouble. how much am i offered for him?" and then the sale would commence, and the nigger would be sold to the highest bidder. if they put up a young nigger woman the auctioneer cry out: "here's a young nigger wench, how much am i offered for her?" the pore thing stand on the block a shiverin' an' a shakin' nearly froze to death. when they sold many of the pore mothers beg the speculators to sell 'em with their husbands, but the speculator only take what he want. so meybe the pore thing never see her husban' agin. ole' massa always see that we get plenty to eat. o' course it was no fancy rashions. jes corn bread, milk, fat meat, and 'lasses but the lord knows that was lots more than other pore niggers got. some of them had such bad masters. us pore niggers never 'lowed to learn anything. all the readin' they ever hear was when they was carried through the big bible. the massa say that keep the slaves in they places. they was one nigger boy in newton who was terrible smart. he learn to read an' write. he take other colored children out in the fields and teach 'em about the bible, but they forgit it 'fore the nex' sunday. then the paddyrollers they keep close watch on the pore niggers so they have no chance to do anything or go anywhere. they jes' like policemen, only worser. 'cause they never let the niggers go anywhere without a pass from his master. if you wasn't in your proper place when the paddyrollers come they lash you til' you was black and blue. the women got lashes and the men . that is for jes bein' out without a pass. if the nigger done anything worse he was taken to the jail and put in the whippin' post. they was two holes cut for the arms stretch up in the air and a block to put your feet in, then they whip you with cowhide whip. an' the clothes shore never get any of them licks. i remember how they kill one nigger whippin' him with the bull whip. many the pore nigger nearly killed with the bull whip. but this one die. he was a stubborn negro and didn't do as much work as his massa thought he ought to. he been lashed lot before. so they take him to the whippin' post, and then they strip his clothes off and then the man stan' off and cut him with the whip. his back was cut all to pieces. the cuts about half inch apart. then after they whip him they tie him down and put salt on him. then after he lie in the sun awhile they whip him agin. but when they finish with him he was dead. plenty of the colored women have children by the white men. she know better than to not do what he say. didn't have much of that until the men from south carolina come up here and settle and bring slaves. then they take them very same children what have they own blood and make slaves out of them. if the missus find out she raise revolution. but she hardly find out. the white men not going to tell and the nigger women were always afraid to. so they jes go on hopin' that thing won't be that way always. i remember how the driver, he was the man who did most of the whippin', use to whip some of the niggers. he would tie their hands together and then put their hands down over their knees, then take a stick and stick it 'tween they hands and knees. then when he take hold of them and beat 'em first on one side then on the other. us niggers never have chance to go to sunday school and church. the white folks feared for niggers to get any religion and education, but i reckon somethin' inside jes told us about god and that there was a better place hereafter. we would sneak off and have prayer meetin'. sometimes the paddyrollers catch us and beat us good but that didn't keep us from tryin'. i remember one old song we use to sing when we meet down in the woods back of the barn. my mother she sing an' pray to the lord to deliver us out o' slavery. she always say she thankful she was never sold from her children, and that our massa not so mean as some of the others. but the old song it went something like this: "oh, mother lets go down, lets go down, lets go down, lets go down. oh, mother lets go down, down in the valley to pray. as i went down in the valley to pray studyin' about that good ole way who shall wear that starry crown. good lord show me the way." then the other part was just like that except it said 'father' instead of 'mother', and then 'sister' and then 'brother'. then they sing sometime: "we camp a while in the wilderness, in the wilderness, in the wilderness. we camp a while in the wilderness, where the lord makes me happy and then i'm a goin' home." i don't remember much about the war. there was no fightin' done in newton. jes a skirmish or two. most of the people get everything jes ready to run when the yankee sojers come through the town. this was toward the las' of the war. cose the niggers knew what all the fightin' was about, but they didn't dare say anything. the man who owned the slaves was too mad as it was, and if the niggers say anything they get shot right then and thar. the sojers tell us after the war that we get food, clothes, and wages from our massas else we leave. but they was very few that ever got anything. our ole massa say he not gwine pay us anything, corse his money was no good, but he wouldn't pay us if it had been. then the ku klux klan come 'long. they were terrible dangerous. they wear long gowns, touch the ground. they ride horses through the town at night and if they find a negro that tries to get nervy or have a little bit for himself, they lash him nearly to death and gag him and leave him to do the bes' he can. some time they put sticks in the top of the tall thing they wear and then put an extra head up there with scary eyes and great big mouth, then they stick it clear up in the air to scare the poor negroes to death. they had another thing they call the 'donkey devil' that was jes as bad. they take the skin of a donkey and get inside of it and run after the pore negroes. oh, miss them was bad times, them was bad times. i know folks think the books tell the truth, but they shore don't. us pore niggers had to take it all. then after the war was over we was afraid to move. jes like tarpins or turtles after 'mancipation. jes stick our heads out to see how the land lay. my mammy stay with marse jonah for 'bout a year after freedom then ole solomon hall made her an offer. ole man hall was a good man if there ever was one. he freed all of his slaves about two years 'fore 'mancipation and gave each of them so much money when he died, that is he put that in his will. but when he die his sons and daughters never give anything to the pore negroes. my mother went to live on the place belongin' to the nephew of solomon hall. all of her six children went with her. mother she cook for the white folks an' the children make crop. when the first year was up us children got the first money we had in our lives. my mother certainly was happy. we live on this place for over four years. when i was 'bout twenty year old i married a girl from west virginia but she didn't live but jes 'bout a year. i stayed down there for a year or so and then i met mamie. we came here and both of us went to work, we work at the same place. we bought this little piece of ground 'bout forty-two years ago. we gave $ for it. we had to buy the lumber to build the house a little at a time but finally we got the house done. its been a good home for us and the children. we have two daughters and one adopted son. both of the girls are good cooks. one of them lives in new jersey and cooks in a big hotel. she and her husband come to see us about once a year. the other one is in philadelphia. they both have plenty. but the adopted boy, he was part white. we took him when he was a small and did the best we could by him. he never did like to 'sociate with colored people. i remember one time when he was a small child i took him to town and the conductor made me put him in the front of the street car cause he thought i was just caring for him and that he was a white boy. well, we sent him to school until he finished. then he joined the navy. i ain't seem him in several years. the last letter i got from him he say he ain't spoke to a colored girl since he has been there. this made me mad so i took his insurance policy and cashed it. i didn't want nothin' to do with him, if he deny his own color. very few of the negroes ever get anywhere; they never have no education. i knew one negro who got to be a policeman in salisbury once and he was a good one too. when my next birthday comes in december i will be eighty-eight years old. that is if the lord lets me live and i shore hope he does. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: travis jordan subject: mary wallace bowe ex-slave years durham county home durham, n. c. [hw: lovely story about abraham lincoln] [tr: this interview was heavily corrected by hand. i.e. wuz to was, er to a, etc. changes made without comment.] mary wallace bowe ex-slave years my name is mary wallace bowe. i was nine years ole at de surrender. my mammy an' pappy, susan an' lillman graves, first belonged to marse fountain an' mis' fanny tu'berville, but marse fountain sold me, my mammy an' my brother george to mis' fanny's sister, mis' virginia graves. mis' virginia's husban' was marse doctor graves. dey lived on de ole elijah graves estate not far from marse fountain's plantation here in durham county, an' mis' virginia an' mis' fanny seed each other near 'bout every day. i was little when marse fountain an' marse doctor went to de war but i remembers it. i remembers it kaze mis' fanny stood on de po'ch smilin' an' wavin' at marse fountain 'til he went 'roun' de curve in de road, den she fell to de floor like she was dead. i thought she was dead 'till mis' virginia th'owed some water in her face an' she opened her eyes. de nex day mis' virginia took me an' mammy an' we all went over an' stayed wid mis' fanny kaze she was skeered, an' so dey'd be company for each other. mammy waited on mis' virginia an' he'ped surella tu'berville, mis' fanny's house girl, sweep an' make up de beds an' things. i was little but mammy made me work. i shook de rugs, brung in de kindlin' an run 'roun' waitin' on mis' virginia an' mis' fanny, doin' things like totin' dey basket of keys, bringin' dey shawls and such as dat. dey was all de time talkin' about de folks fightin' an' what dey would do if de yankees come. every time dey talk mis' fanny set an' twist her han's an' say: "what is we gwine do, sister, what is we gwine do?" mis' virginia try to pacify mis' fanny. she say, 'don' yo' worry none, honey, i'll fix dem yankees when dey come.' den she set her mouf. when she done dat i run an' hid behin' mis' fanny's chair kaze i done seed mis' virginia set her mouf befo' an' i knowed she meant biznes'. i didn' have sense enough to be skeered den kaze i hadn' never seed no yankee sojers, but 'twaren't long befo' i wuz skeered. de yankees come one mornin', an' dey ripped, oh, lawd, how dey did rip. when dey rode up to de gate an' come stompin' to de house, mis' fanny 'gun to cry. 'tell dem somethin', sister, tell dem somethin'; she tole mis' virginia. mis' virginia she ain' done no cryin'. when she seed dem yankees comin' 'cross de hill, she run 'roun' an' got all de jewelry. she took off de rings an' pins she an' mis' fanny had on an' she got all de things out of de jewelry box an' give dem to pappy. "hide dem, lillmam" she tole pappy, 'hide dem some place whare dem thieves won't find dem'. pappy had on high top boots. he didn' do nothin but stuff all dat jewelry right down in dem boots, den he strutted all' roun' dem yankees laughin' to heself. dey cussed when dey couldn' fin' no jewelry a tall. dey didn' fin' no silver neither kaze us niggers done he'p mis' fanny an' mis' virginia hide dat. we done toted it all down to de cottin gin house an' hid it in de loose cotton piled on de floor. when dey couldn' fin' nothin' a big sojer went up to mis' virginia who wuz standin' in de hall. he look at her an' say: 'yo's skeered of me, ain' yo'?' mis' virginia ain' batted no eye yet. she tole him, "if i was gwine to be skeered, i'd be skeered of somethin'. i sho ain' of no ugly, braggin' yankee." de man tu'ned red an he say: "if you don' tell me where you done hide dat silver i'se gwine to make' you skeered." mis' virginia's chin went up higher. she set her mouf an' look at dat sojer twell he drap his eyes. den she tole him dat some folks done come an' got de silver, dat dey done toted it off. she didn' tell him dat it wuz us niggers dat done toted it down to de cotton gin house. in dem days dey wuz peddlers gwine 'roun' de country sellin' things. dey toted big packs on dey backs filled wid everythin' from needles an' thimbles to bed spreads an' fryin' pans. one day a peddler stopped at mis' fanny's house. he was de uglies' man i ever seed. he was tall an' bony wid black whiskers an' black bushy hair an' curious eyes dat set way back in his head. dey was dark an' look like a dog's eyes after you done hit him. he set down on de po'ch an' opened his pack, an' it was so hot an' he looked so tired, dat mis' fanny give him er cool drink of milk dat done been settin' in de spring house. all de time mis' fanny was lookin' at de things in de pack an' buyin', de man kept up a runnin' talk. he ask her how many niggers dey had; how many men dey had fightin' on de 'federate side, an' what wuz was she gwine do if de niggers wuz was set free. den he ask her if she knowed mistah abraham lincoln. 'bout dat time mis' virginia come to de door an' heard what he said. she blaze up like a lightwood fire an' told dat peddler dat dey didn't want to know nothin' 'bout mistah lincoln; dat dey knowed too much already, an' dat his name wuzn [hw correction: wasn't] 'lowed called in dat [hw correction: her] house. den she say he wuzn [hw correction: wasn't] nothin' but a black debil messin' in other folks biznes' [hw correction: business], an' dat she'd shoot him on sight if she had half a chance. de man laughed. "maybe he [hw correction: mr. lincoln] ain't so bad,' he told her. den he packed his pack an' went off down de road, an' mis' virginia watched him 'till he went out of sight 'roun' de bend." two or three weeks later mis' fanny got a letter. de letter was from dat peddler. he tole her dat he was abraham lincoln hese'f; dat he wuz peddlin' over de country as a spy, an' he thanked her for de res' on her shady po'ch an' de cool glass of milk she give him. when dat letter come mis' virginia got so hoppin' mad dat she took all de stuff mis' fanny done bought from mistah lincoln an' made us niggers burn it on de ash pile. den she made pappy rake up de ashes an' th'ow dem in de creek. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: ex-slave recollections person interviewed: lucy brown editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp "jun "] ex-slave recollections an interview with lucy brown of hecktown, durham, durham county, may , . she does not know her age. i wuz jist a little thing when de war wuz over an' i doan 'member much ter tell yo'. mostly what i does know i hyard my mammy tell it. we belonged to john neal of person county. i doan know who my pappy wuz, but my mammy wuz named rosseta an' her mammy's name 'fore her wuz rosseta. i had one sister named jenny an' one brother named ben. de marster wuz good ter us, in a way, but he ain't 'lowin' no kinds of frolickin' so when we had a meetin' we had ter do it secret. we'd turn down a wash pot outside de do', an' dat would ketch de fuss so marster neber knowed nothin' 'bout hit. on sundays we went ter church at de same place de white folkses did. de white folkses rid an' de niggers walked, but eben do' we wored wooden bottomed shoes we wuz proud an' mostly happy. we had good clothes an' food an' not much abuse. i doan know de number of slaves, i wuz so little. my mammy said dat slavery wuz a whole lot wuser [hw correction: wusser] 'fore i could 'member. she tol' me how some of de slaves had dere babies in de fiel's lak de cows done, an' she said dat 'fore de babies wuz borned dey tied de mammy down on her face if'en dey had ter whup her ter keep from ruinin' de baby. she said dat dar wuz ghostes an' some witches back den, but i doan know nothin' 'bout dem things. naw. i can't tell yo' my age but i will tell yo' dat eber'body what lives in dis block am either my chile or gran'chile. i can't tell yo' prexackly how many dar is o' 'em, but i will tell you dat my younges' chile's baby am fourteen years old, an' dat she's got fourteen youngin's [hw correction: youngun's], one a year jist lak i had till i had sixteen. i'se belonged ter de church since i wuz a baby an' i tells dem eber'day dat dey shore will miss me when i'se gone. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary hicks no. words: subject: plantation life in georgia reference: midge burnett editor: george l. andrews [tr: date stamp "aug "] plantation life in georgia an interview with midge burnett, years old, of s. bloodworth street, raleigh, north carolina. i wus borned in georgia eighty years ago, de son of jim an' henretta burnett an' de slave of marse william joyner. i wurked on de farm durin' slavery times, among de cotton, corn, an' sugar cane. de wurk wusn't so hard an' we had plenty of time ter have fun an' ter git inter meanness, dat's why marse william had ter have so many patterollers on de place. marse william had near three hundret slaves an' he kept seben patterollers ter keep things goin' eben. de slaves ain't run away. naw sir, dey ain't, dey knows good things when dey sees dem an' dey ain't leavin' dem nother. de only trouble wus dat dey wus crazy 'bout good times an' dey'd shoot craps er bust. de patterollers 'ud watch all de paths leadin' frum de plantation an' when dey ketched a nigger leavin' dey whupped him an' run him home. as i said de patterollers watched all paths, but dar wus a number of little paths what run through de woods dat nobody ain't watched case dey ain't knowed dat de paths wus dar. on moonlight nights yo' could hear a heap of voices an' when yo' peep ober de dike dar am a gang of niggers a-shootin' craps an' bettin' eber'thing dey has stold frum de plantation. sometimes a pretty yaller gal er a fat black gal would be dar, but mostly hit would be jist men. dar wus a ribber nearby de plantation an' we niggers swum dar ever' sadday an' we fished dar a heap too. we ketched a big mess of fish ever' week an' dese come in good an' helped ter save rations ter boot. dat's what marse william said, an' he believed in havin' a good time too. we had square dances dat las' all night on holidays an' we had a christmas tree an' a easter egg hunt an' all dat, case marse william intended ter make us a civilized bunch of blacks. marse william ain't eber hit one of us a single lick till de day when we heard dat de yankees wus a-comin'. one big nigger jumps up an' squalls, 'lawd bless de yankees'. marse yells back, 'god damn de yankees', an' he slaps big mose a sumerset right outen de do'. nobody else wanted ter git slapped soe ever'body got outen dar in a hurry an' nobody else dasen't say yankees ter de marster. eben when somebody seed de yankees comin' mose wont go tell de' marster 'bout hit, but when marster william wus hilt tight twixt two of dem big husky yankees he cussed 'em as hard as he can. dey carries him off an' dey put him in de jail at atlanta an' dey keeps him fer a long time. atter de surrender we left dar an' we moves ter star, south carolina, whar i still wurks 'roun' on de farm. i stayed on dar' till fifty years ago when i married roberta thomas an' we moved ter raliegh. we have five chilluns an' we's moughty proud of 'em, but since i had de stroke we has been farin' bad, an' i'se hopin' ter git my ole aged pension. eh n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: travis jordan subject: fanny cannady ex-slave years durham county [tr no. words: , ] [tr: no date stamp] fanny cannady ex-slave years i don' 'member much 'bout de sojers an' de fightin' in de war kaze i wuzn' much more den six years ole at de surrender, but i do 'member how marse jordan moss shot leonard allen, one of his slaves. i ain't never forgot dat. my mammy an' pappy, silo an' fanny moss belonged to marse jordan an' mis' sally moss. dey had 'bout three hundred niggahs an' mos' of dem worked in de cotton fields. marse jordan wuz hard on his niggahs. he worked dem over time an' didn' give den enough to eat. dey didn' have good clothes neither an' dey shoes wuz made out of wood. he had 'bout a dozen niggahs dat didn' do nothin' else but make wooden shoes for de slaves. de chillun didn' have no shoes a tall; dey went barefooted in de snow an' ice same as 'twuz summer time. i never had no shoes on my feets 'twell i wuz pas' ten years ole, an' dat wuz after de yankees done set us free. i wuz skeered of marse jordan, an' all of de grown niggahs wuz too 'cept leonard an' burrus allen. dem niggahs wuzn' skeered of nothin'. if de debil hese'f had come an' shook er stick at dem dey'd hit him back. leonard wuz er big black buck niggah; he wuz de bigges niggah i ever seed, an' burrus wuz near 'bout as big, an' dey 'spized marse jordan wus'n pizen. i wuz sort of skeered of mis' polly too. when marse jordan wuzn' 'roun' she wuz sweet an' kind, but when he wuz 'roun', she wuz er yes, suh, yes, suh, woman. everythin' he tole her to do she done. he made her slap marmy one time kaze when she passed his coffee she spilled some in de saucer. mis' sally hit mammy easy, but marse jordan say: 'hit her, sally, hit de black bitch like she 'zerve to be hit.' den mis' sally draw back her hand an' hit mammy in de face, pow, den she went back to her place at de table an' play like she eatin' her breakfas'. den when marse jordan leave she come in de kitchen an' put her arms 'roun' mammy an' cry, an' mammy pat her on de back an' she cry too. i loved mis' sally when marse jordan wuzn' 'roun'. marse jordan's two sons went to de war; dey went all dressed up in dey fightin' clothes. young marse jordan wuz jus' like mis' sally but marse gregory wuz like marse jordan, even to de bully way he walk. young marse jordan never come back from de war, but 'twould take more den er bullet to kill marse gregory; he too mean to die anyhow kaze de debil didn' want him an' de lawd wouldn' have him. one day marse gregory come home on er furlo'. he think he look pretty wid his sword clankin' an' his boots shinin'. he wuz er colonel, lootenent er somethin'. he wuz struttin' 'roun' de yard showin' off, when leonard allen say under his breath, 'look at dat god damn sojer. he fightin' to keep us niggahs from bein' free.' 'bout dat time marse jordan come up. he look at leonard an' say: 'what yo' mumblin' 'bout?' dat big leonard wuzn' skeered. he say, i say, 'look at dat god damn sojer. he fightin' to keep us niggahs from bein' free.' marse jordan's face begun to swell. it turned so red dat de blood near 'bout bust out. he turned to pappy an' tole him to go an' bring him dis shot gun. when pappy come back mis' sally come wid him. de tears wuz streamin' down her face. she run up to marse jordan an' caught his arm. ole marse flung her off an' took de gun from pappy. he leveled it on leonard an' tole him to pull his shirt open. leonard opened his shirt an' stood dare big as er black giant sneerin' at ole marse. den mis' sally run up again an' stood 'tween dat gun an' leonard. ole marse yell to pappy an' tole him to take dat woman out of de way, but nobody ain't moved to touch mis' sally, an' she didn' move neither, she jus' stood dare facin' ole marse. den ole marse let down de gun. he reached over an' slapped mis' sally down, den picked up de gun an' shot er hole in leonard's ches' big as yo' fis'. den he took up mis' sally an' toted her in de house. but i wuz so skeered dat i run an' hid in de stable loft, an' even wid my eyes shut i could see leonard layin' on de groun' wid dat bloody hole in his ches' an' dat sneer on his black mouf. after dat leonard's brother burrus hated ole marse wus' er snake, den one night he run away. mammy say he run away to keep from killin' ole marse. anyhow, when ole marse foun' he wuz gone, he took er bunch of niggahs an' set out to find him. all day long dey tromped de woods, den when night come dey lit fat pine to'ches an' kept lookin', but dey couldn' find burrus. de nex' day ole marse went down to de county jail an' got de blood houn's. he brung home er great passel of dem yelpin' an' pullin' at de ropes, but when he turned dem loose dey didn' find burrus, kaze he done grease de bottom of his feets wid snuff an' hog lard so de dogs couldn' smell de trail. ole marse den tole all de niggahs dat if anybody housed an' fed burrus on de sly, dat he goin' to shoot dem like he done shot leonard. den he went every day an' searched de cabins; he even looked under de houses. one day in 'bout er week mis' sally wuz feedin' de chickens when she heard somethin' in de polk berry bushes behin' de hen house. she didn' go 'roun' de house but she went inside house an' looked through de crack. dare wuz burrus layin' down in de bushes. he wuz near 'bout starved kaze he hadn' had nothin' to eat since he done run away. mis' sally whisper an' tole him to lay still, dat she goin' to slip him somethin' to eat. she went back to de house an' made up some more cawn meal dough for de chickens, an' under de dough she put some bread an' meat. when she went 'cross de yard she met marse jordan. he took de pan of dough an' say he goin' to feed de chickens. my mammy say dat mis' sally ain't showed no skeer, she jus' smile at ole marse an' pat his arm, den while she talk she take de pan an' go on to de chicken house, but ole marse he go too. when dey got to de hen house ole marse puppy begun sniffin' 'roun'. soon he sta'ted to bark; he cut up such er fuss dat ole marse went to see what wuz wrong. den he foun' burrus layin' in de polk bushes. ole marse drag burrus out an' drove him to de house. when mis' sally seed him take out his plaited whip, she run up stairs an' jump in de bed an' stuff er pillow over her head. dey took burrus to de whippin' post. dey strip off his shirt, den dey put his head an' hands through de holes in de top, an' tied his feets to de bottom, den, ole marse took de whip. dat lash hiss like col' water on er red hot iron when it come through de air, an' every time it hit burrus it lef' er streak of blood. time ole marse finish, burrus' back look like er piece of raw beef. dey laid burrus face down on er plank den dey poured turpentine in all dem cut places. it burned like fire but dat niggah didn' know nothin' 'bout it kaze he done passed out from pain. but, all his life dat black man toted dem scares on his back. when de war ended mis' sally come to mammy an' say: 'fanny, i's sho glad yo's free. yo' can go now an' yo' won' ever have to be er slave no more.' but mammy, she ain't had no notion of leavin' mis' sally. she put her arms' roun' her an' call her baby, an' tell her she goin' to stay wid her long as she live. an' she did stay wid her. me an' mammy bof stayed mis' sally 'twell she died. n. c. district: no. [ ] field worker: esther s. pinnix word total: , editor: p. g. cross subject: "negro folklore of the piedmont". consultants: mrs. p. g. cross, miss kate jones, descendants of dr. beverly jones. sources of information: aunt betty cofer--ex-slave of dr. beverly jones [hw: cofer] negro folk lore of the piedmont. * * * * * the ranks of negro ex-slaves are rapidly thinning out, but, scattered here and there among the ante-bellum families of the south, may be found a few of these picturesque old characters. three miles north of bethania, the second oldest settlement of the "unitas fratrum" in wachovia, lies the acre jones plantation. it has been owned for several generations by the one family, descendants of abraham conrad. conrad's daughter, julia, married a physician of note, dr. beverly jones, whose family occupied the old homestead at the time of the civil war. here, in , was born a negro girl, betty, to a slave mother. here, today, under the friendly protection of this same jones family, surrounded by her sons and her sons' sons, lives this same betty in her own little weather-stained cottage. encircling her house are lilacs, althea, and flowering trees that soften the bleak outlines of unpainted out-buildings. a varied collection of old-fashioned plants and flowers crowd the neatly swept dooryard. a friendly german-shepherd puppy rouses from his nap on the sunny porch to greet visitors enthusiastically. in answer to our knock a gentle voice calls, "come in." the door opens directly into a small, low-ceilinged room almost filled by two double beds. these beds are conspicuously clean and covered by homemade crocheted spreads. wide bands of hand-made insertion ornament the stiffly starched pillow slips. against the wall is a plain oak dresser. although the day is warm, two-foot logs burn on the age-worn andirons of the wide brick fire place. from the shelf above dangles a leather bag of "spills" made from twisted newspapers. in a low, split-bottom chair, her rheumatic old feet resting on the warm brick hearth, sits aunt betty cofer. her frail body stoops under the weight of four-score years but her bright eyes and alert mind are those of a woman thirty years younger. a blue-checked mob cap covers her grizzled hair. her tiny frame, clothed in a motley collection of undergarments, dress, and sweaters, is adorned by a clean white apron. although a little shy of her strange white visitors, her innate dignity, gentle courtesy, and complete self possession indicate long association with "quality folks." her speech shows a noticeable freedom from the usual heavy negro dialect and idiom of the deep south. "yes, ma'am, yes, sir, come in. pull a chair to the fire. you'll have to 'scuse me. i can't get around much, 'cause my feet and legs bother me, but i got good eyes an' good ears an' all my own teeth. i aint never had a bad tooth in my head. yes'm, i'm , going on . marster done wrote my age down in his book where he kep' the names of all his colored folks. muh (mother) belonged to dr. jones but pappy belonged to marse israel lash over yonder. (pointing northwest.) younguns always went with their mammies so i belonged to the joneses. "muh and pappy could visit back and forth sometimes but they never lived together 'til after freedom. yes'm, we was happy. we got plenty to eat. marster and old miss julia (dr. jones' wife, matriarch of the whole plantation) was mighty strict but they was good to us. colored folks on some of the other plantations wasn't so lucky. some of' em had overseers, mean, cruel men. on one plantation the field hands had to hustle to git to the end of the row at eleven o'clock dinner-time 'cause when the cooks brought their dinner they had to stop just where they was and eat, an' the sun was mighty hot out in those fields. they only had ash cakes (corn pone baked in ashes) without salt, and molasses for their dinner, but we had beans an' grits an' salt an' sometimes meat. "i was lucky. miss ella (daughter of the first beverly jones) was a little girl when i was borned and she claimed me. we played together an' grew up together. i waited on her an' most times slept on the floor in her room. muh was cook an' when i done got big enough i helped to set the table in the big dinin' room. then i'd put on a clean white apron an' carry in the victuals an' stand behind miss ella's chair. she'd fix me a piece of somethin' from her plate an' hand it back over her shoulder to me (eloquent hands illustrate miss ella's making of a sandwich.) i'd take it an' run outside to eat it. then i'd wipe my mouth an' go back to stand behind miss ella again an' maybe get another snack. "yes'm, there was a crowd of hands on the plantation. i mind 'em all an' i can call most of their names. mac, curley, william, sanford, lewis, henry, ed, sylvester, hamp, an' juke was the men folks. the women was nellie, two lucys, martha, nervie, jane, laura, fannie, lizzie, cassie, tensie, lindy, an' mary jane. the women mostly, worked in the house. there was always two washwomen, a cook, some hands to help her, two sewin' women, a house girl, an' some who did all the weavin' an' spinnin'. the men worked in the fields an' yard. one was stable boss an' looked after all the horses an' mules. we raised our own flax an' cotton an' wool, spun the thread, wove the cloth, made all the clothes. yes'm, we made the mens' shirts an' pants an' coats. one woman knitted all the stockin's for the white folks an' colored folks too. i mind she had one finger all twisted an' stiff from holdin' her knittin' needles. we wove the cotton an' linen for sheets an' pillow-slips an' table covers. we wove the wool blankets too. i use to wait on the girl who did the weavin' when she took the cloth off the loom she done give me the 'thrums' (ends of thread left on the loom.) i tied 'em all together with teensy little knots an' got me some scraps from the sewin' room and i made me some quilt tops. some of 'em was real pretty too! (pride of workmanship evidenced by a toss of betty's head.) "all our spinnin' wheels and flax wheels and looms was hand-made by a wheel wright, marse noah westmoreland. he lived over yonder. (a thumb indicates north.) those old wheels are still in the family'. i got one of the flax wheels. miss ella done give it to me for a present. leather was tanned an' shoes was made on the place. 'course the hands mostly went barefoot in warm weather, white chillen too. we had our own mill to grind the wheat and corn an' we raised all our meat. we made our own candles from tallow and beeswax. i 'spect some of the old candle moulds are over to 'the house' now. we wove our own candle wicks too. i never saw a match 'til i was a grown woman. we made our fire with flint an' punk (rotten wood). yes'm, i was trained to cook an' clean an' sew. i learned to make mens' pants an' coats. first coat i made, miss julia told me to rip the collar off, an' by the time i picked out all the teensy stitches an' sewed it together again i could set a collar right! i can do it today, too! (again there is manifested a good workman's pardonable pride of achievement) "miss julia cut out all the clothes herself for men and women too. i 'spect her big shears an' patterns an' old cuttin' table are over at the house now. miss julia cut out all the clothes an' then the colored girls sewed 'em up but she looked 'em all over and they better be sewed right! miss julia bossed the whole plantation. she looked after the sick folks and sent the doctor (dr. jones) to dose 'em and she carried the keys to the store-rooms and pantries. [hw: paragraph mark here.] yes'm, i'm some educated. muh showed me my 'a-b-abs' and my numbers and when i was fifteen i went to school in the log church built by the moravians. they give it to the colored folks to use for their own school and church. (this log house is still standing near bethania). our teacher was a white man, marse fulk. he had one eye, done lost the other in the war. we didn't have no colored teachers then. they wasn't educated. we 'tended school four months a year. i went through the fifth reader, the 'north carolina reader'. i can figger a little an' read some but i can't write much 'cause my fingers 're--all stiffened up. miss julia use to read the bible to us an' tell us right an' wrong, and muh showed me all she could an' so did the other colored folks. mostly they was kind to each other. "no'm, i don't know much about spells an' charms. course most of the old folks believed in 'em. one colored man use to make charms, little bags filled with queer things. he called 'em 'jacks' an' sold 'em to the colored folks an' some white folks too. "yes'm, i saw some slaves sold away from the plantation, four men and two women, both of 'em with little babies. the traders got 'em. sold 'em down to mobile, alabama. one was my pappy's sister. we never heard from her again. i saw a likely young feller sold for $ . that was my uncle ike. marse jonathan spease bought him and kept him the rest of his life. "yes'm, we saw yankee soldiers. (stoneman's cavalry in .) they come marchin' by and stopped at 'the house. i wasn't scared 'cause they was all talkin' and laughin' and friendly but they sure was hongry. they dumped the wet clothes out of the big wash-pot in the yard and filled it with water. then they broke into the smokehouse and got a lot of hams and biled 'em in the pot and ate 'em right there in the yard. the women cooked up a lot of corn pone for 'em and coffee too. marster had a barrel of 'likker' put by an' the yankees knocked the head in an' filled their canteens. there wasn't ary drop left. when we heard the soldiers comin' our boys turned the horses loose in the woods. the yankees said they had to have 'em an' would burn the house down if we didn't get 'em. so our boys whistled up the horses an' the soldiers carried 'em all off. they carried off ol' jennie mule too but let little jack mule go. when the soldiers was gone the stable boss said,'if ol' jennie mule once gits loose nobody on earth can catch her unless she wants. she'll be back!' sure enough, in a couple of days she come home by herself an' we worked the farm jus' with her an' little jack. "some of the colored folks followed the yankees away. five or six of our boys went. two of 'em travelled as far as yadkinville but come back. the rest of 'em kep' goin' an' we never heard tell of' em again. "yes'm, when we was freed pappy come to get muh and me. we stayed around here. where could we go? these was our folks and i couldn't go far away from miss ella. we moved out near rural hall (some miles from bethania) an' pappy farmed, but i worked at the home place a lot. when i was about twenty-four marse r. j. reynolds come from virginia an' set up a tobacco factory. he fotched some hands with 'im. one was a likely young feller, named cofer, from patrick county, virginia. i liked 'im an' we got married an' moved back here to my folks.(the jones family) we started to buy our little place an' raise a family. i done had four chillen but two's dead. i got grandchillen and great-grandchillen close by. this is home to us. when we talk about the old home place (the jones residence, now some hundred years old) we just say 'the house' 'cause there's only one house to us. the rest of the family was all fine folks and good to me but i loved miss ella better'n any one or anythin' else in the world. she was the best friend i ever had. if i ever wanted for anythin' i just asked her an she give it to me or got it for me somehow. once when cofer was in his last sickness his sister come from east liverpool, ohio, to see 'im. i went to miss ella to borrow a little money. she didn't have no change but she just took a ten dollar bill from her purse an' says 'here you are, betty, use what you need and bring me what's left'. "i always did what i could for her too an' stood by her--but one time. that was when we was little girls goin' together to fetch the mail. it was hot an' dusty an' we stopped to cool off an' wade in the 'branch'. we heard a horse trottin' an' looked up an' there was marster switchin' his ridin' whip an' lookin' at us. 'git for home, you two, and i'll 'tend to you,' he says, an' we got! but this time i let miss ella go to 'the house' alone an' i sneaked aroun' to granny's cabin an' hid. i was afraid i'd git whupped! 'nother time, miss ella went to town an' told me to keep up her fire whilst she was away. i fell asleep on the hearth and the fire done burnt out so's when miss ella come home the room was cold. she was mad as hops. said she never had hit me but she sure felt like doin' it then. "yes'm, i been here a right smart while. i done lived to see three generations of my white folks come an' go, an' they're the finest folks on earth. there use to be a reg'lar buryin' ground for the plantation hands. the colored chillen use to play there but i always played with the white chillen. (this accounts for aunt betty's gentle manner and speech.) three of the old log cabins (slave cabins) is there yet. one of 'em was the 'boys cabin'. (house for boys and unmarried men) they've got walls a foot thick an' are used for store-rooms now. after freedom we buried out around our little churches but some of th' old grounds are plowed under an' turned into pasture cause the colored folks didn't get no deeds to 'em. it won't be long 'fore i go too but i'm gwine lie near my old home an' my folks. "yes'm, i remember marse israel lash, my pappy's marster. he was a low, thick-set man, very jolly an' friendly. he was real smart an' good too, 'cause his colored folks all loved 'im. he worked in the bank an' when the yankees come, 'stead of shuttin' the door 'gainst 'em like the others did, he bid 'em welcome. (betty's nodding head, expansive smile and wide-spread hands eloquently pantomime the banker's greeting.) so the yankees done took the bank but give it back to 'im for his very own an' he kep' it but there was lots of bad feelin' 'cause he never give folks the money they put in the old bank. (possibly this explains the closing of the branch of the cape fear bank in salem and opening of israel lash's own institution, the first national bank of salem, .) "i saw general robert e. lee, too. after the war he come with some friends to a meeting at five forks baptist church. all the white folks gathered 'round an' shook his hand an' i peeked 'tween their legs an' got a good look at' im. but he didn't have no whiskers, he was smooth-face! (pictures of general lee all show him with beard and mustache) "miss ella died two years ago. i was sick in the hospital but the doctor come to tell me. i couldn't go to her buryin'. i sure missed her. (poignant grief moistens betty's eyes and thickens her voice). there wasn't ever no one like her. miss kate an' young miss julia still live at 'the house' with their brother, marse lucian (all children of the first beverly jones and 'old miss julia',) but it don't seem right with miss ella gone. life seems dif'rent, some how, 'though there' lots of my young white folks an' my own kin livin' round an' they're real good to me. but miss ella's gone! "goodday, ma'am. come anytime. you're welcome to. i'm right glad to have visitors 'cause i can't get out much." a bobbing little curtsy accompanies betty's cordial farewell. although a freed woman for years, property owner for half of them, and now revered head of a clan of self respecting, self-supporting colored citizens, she is still at heart a "jones negro," and all the distinguished descendants of her beloved marse beverly and miss julia will be her "own folks" as long as she lives. n. c. district: no. [ ] no. words: worker: mary a. hicks subject: ex-slave story story teller: john coggin editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: no date stamp] john coggin. ex-slave story. an interview with john coggin , of method, n. c. when the interviewer first visited uncle john he was busy cutting hay for a white family nearby, swinging the scythe with the vigor of a young man. in late afternoon he was found sitting on the doorsteps of his granddaughter's house after a supper which certainly had onions on the menu and was followed by something stronger than water. "i was borned on march , in orange county. my mammy wuz named phillis fenn an' she wuz from virginia. i ain't neber had no paw an' i ain't wanted none, i ain't had no brothers nar sisters nother." "we 'longed ter doctor jim leathers, an' de only whuppin' i eber got wuz 'bout fightin' wid young miss agnes, who wuz sommers long' bout my age. hit wuz jist a little whuppin' but i' members hit all right." "we wucked de fiel's, i totin' water fer de six or seben han's that wucked dar. an' we jist wucked moderate like. we had plenty ter eat an' plenty ter w'ar, do' we did go barefooted most of de year. de marster shore wuz good ter us do'." "i 'members dat de fust i hyard of de yankees wuz when young marster come in an' says, 'lawd pa, de yankees am in raleigh.'" "dat ebenin' i wuz drawin' water when all of a sudden i looks up de road, an' de air am dark wid yankees. i neber seed so many mens, hosses an' mules in my life. de band wuz playin' an' de soldiers wuz hollerin' an' de hosses wuz prancin' high. i done what all of de rest o' de slaves done, i run fer de woods." "atter de surrender we moved ter a place nigh dix hill hyar in raleigh an' my mammy married a coggin, dar's whar i gits my name. all of us slaves moved dar an' farmed." "way long time atter dat ole marster jim come ter visit his niggers, an' we had a big supper in his honor. dat night he died, an' 'fore he died his min' sorta wanders an' he thinks dat hit am back in de slave days an' dat atter a long journey he am comin' back home. hit shore wuz pitiful an' we shore did hate it." "yes 'um honey, we got 'long all right atter de war. you knows dat niggers ain't had no sense den, now dey has. look at dese hyar seben chilluns, dey am my great gran'chillun an' dey got a heap mo' sense dan i has right now." eh n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: mandy coverson story teller: mandy coverson editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp "jun "] mandy coverson ex-slave story an interview with mandy coverson, , of south wilmington street, raleigh. i wuz borned in union county to sarah an' henderson tomberlin. my mother belonged to mr. moses coverson, an' my pappy belonged to mr. jackie tom tomberlin. i stayed wid my mammy, of course, an' marster moses wuz good ter me. dey warn't so good ter my mammy, case dey makes her wuck frum sunup till sundown in de hot summertime, an' she ain't had no fun at all. she plowed two oxes, an' if'en yo' has eber been around a steer yo' knows what aggravatin' things dey is. de oberseer, whose name i'se plumb forget, wuz pore white trash an' he wuz meaner dan de meanest nigger. anyhow i wuz too little ter do much wuck so i played a heap an' i had a big time. my mammy, died 'fore i wuz very old an' missus kept me in de house. i wuz petted by her, an' i reckon spoiled. yo' knows dat den de niggers ain't neber eat no biscuits but missus always gimmie one eber meal an' in dat way she got me interested in waitin' on de table. i wuzn't old enough ter know much, but i does 'member how de fambly hid all de valuables 'fore de yankees come, an' dat marster moses in pickin' up de big brass andirons hurt his back an' dey said dat dat wuz de cause of his death a little while atterwards. anyhow de andirons wuz saved an' dar warn't no trouble wid de yankees who comed our way, an' dey ain't hurt nobody dar. dey did kill all de things dat dey could eat an' dey stold de rest of de feed stuff. dey make one nigger boy draw water fer dere hosses fer a day an' night. de yankees wuz mean 'bout cussin', but de southern soldiers wuz jist as bad. wheeler's cavalry wuz de meanest in de whole bunch, i thinks. de ku kluxes wuz pretty mean, but dey picked dere spite on de free issues. i doan know why dey done dis 'cept dat dey ain't wantin' no niggers a-favorin' dem nigh by, now dat slavery am ober. dey done a heap of beatin' an' chasin' folkses out'n de country but i 'specks dat de carpet bagger's rule wuz mostly de cause of it. i married daniel coverson, a slave on de same plantation i wuz on, an' forty years ago we moved ter raleigh. we had a hard time but i'se glad dat he an' me am free an' doan belong ter two diff'ent famblies. ac n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: ex-slave story story teller: willie cozart editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: no date stamp] ex-slave story an interview by mary a. hicks with willis cozart of zebulon, (wake co. n. c.) age . may , . no mam, mistress, i doan want ter ride in no automobile, thank you, i'se done walked these three miles frum zebulon an' walkin' is what has kept me goin' all dese years. yes'm i'se a bachelor an' i wuz borned on june , in person county. my papa wuz named ed an' my maw wuz named sally. dar wuz ten of us youngins, morris, dallas, stephen, jerry, florence, polly, lena, phillis, caroline, an' me. mr. starling oakley of person county, near roxboro wuz my master an' as long as him an' ole mistress lived i went back ter see dem. he wuz right good to de good niggers an' kinder strick wid de bad ones. pusonly he ain't never have me whupped but two or three times. you's hyard 'bout dese set down strikes lately, well dey ain't de fust ones. onct when i wuz four or five years old, too little to wuck in de fiel's, my master sot me an' some more little chilluns ter wuck pullin' up weeds roun' de house. well, i makes a speech and i tells dem le's doan wuck none so out we sprawls on de grass under de apple tree. atter awhile ole master found us dar, an' when he fin's dat i wuz de ring-leader he gives me a little whuppin'. hit wuz a big plantation, round , acres o' land, i reckon, an' he had 'bout seventy or eighty slaves to wuck de cotton, corn, tobacco an' de wheat an' vege'bles. de big house wuz sumpin to look at, but de slave cabins wuz jist log huts wid sand floors, and stick an' dirt chimneys. we wuz 'lowed ter have a little patch o' garden stuff at de back but no chickens ner pigs. de only way we had er' makin' money wuz by pickin' berries an' sellin' 'em. we ain't had much time to do dat, case we wucked frum sunup till sundown six days a week. de master fed us as good as he knowed how, but it wuz mostly on bread, meat, an' vege'bles. i 'members seberal slave sales whar dey sold de pappy or de mammy 'way frum de chillums an' dat wuz a sad time. dey led dem up one at de time an' axed dem questions an' dey warn't many what wuz chained, only de bad ones, an' sometime when dey wuz travelin' it wuz necessary to chain a new gang. i'se seed niggers beat till da blood run, an' i'se seed plenty more wid big scars, frum whuppin's but dey wuz de bad ones. you wuz whupped 'cordin ter de deed yo' done in dem days. a moderate whuppin' wuz thirty-nine or forty lashes an' a real whuppin' wuz a even hundred; most folks can't stand a real whuppin'. frum all dis you might think dat we ain't had no good times, but we had our co'n shuckin's, candy pullin's an' sich like. we ain't felt like huntin' much, but i did go on a few fox hunts wid de master. i uster go fishin' too, but i ain't been now since , i reckon. we sometimes went ter de neighborhood affairs if'n we wuz good, but if we wuzn't an' didn't git a pass de patter-rollers would shore git us. when dey got through whuppin' a nigger he knowed he wuz whupped too. de slave weddin's in dat country wuz sorta dis way: de man axed de master fer de 'oman an' he jist told dem ter step over de broom an' dat wuz de way dey got married dem days; de pore white folks done de same way. atter de war started de white folks tried ter keep us niggers frum knowin' 'bout it, but de news got aroun' somehow, an' dar wuz some talk of gittin' shet of de master's family an' gittin' rich. de plans didn't 'mout to nothin' an' so de yankees come down. i 'members moughty well when de yankees come through our country. dey stold ever'thing dey could find an' i 'members what ole master said. he says, 'ever' one dat wants ter wuck fer me git in de patch ter pullin' dat forty acres of fodder an' all dat don't git up de road wid dem d---- yankees.' well we all went away. dat winter wuz tough, all de niggers near 'bout starved ter death, an' we ain't seed nothin' of de forty acres of land an' de mule what de yankees done promise us nother. atter awhile we had ter go ter our ole masters an' ax 'em fer bread ter keep us alive. de klu klux klan sprung right up out of de earth, but de yankees put a stop ter dat by puttin' so many of dem in jail. dey do say dat dat's what de state prison wus built fer. i never believed in witches an' i ain't put much stock in hain'ts but i'se seed a few things durin' my life dat i can't 'splain, like de thing wid de red eyes dat mocked me one night; but shucks i ain't believin' in dem things much. i'se plowed my lan', tended it year atter year, lived by myself an' all, an' i ain't got hurted yet, but i ain't never rid in a automobile yet, an' i got one tooth left. b. n. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: hannah crasson story teller: hannah crasson editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: hw notes at bottom of page illegible] hannah crasson my name is hannah crasson. i wuz born on john william walton's plantation miles from garner and miles from raleigh, n. c. in the county of wake. i am years ole the nd day uv dis las' gone march. i belonged to mr. john william walton in slavery time. my missus wuz named miss martha. my father wuz named frank walton. my mother wuz named flora walton. grandma wuz years when she died. she died down at de old plantation. my brothers were named johnnie and lang. my sisters were adeline, violet, mary, sarah, ellen, and annie. four of us are livin', ellen, mary, sarah and me. de old boss man wuz good to us. i wuz talkin' about him the udder night. he didn't whup us and he said, he didn't want nobody else to whup us. it is jis like i tell you; he wuz never cruel to us. one uv his sons wuz cruel to us. we had a plenty to eat, we shore did, plenty to eat. we had nice houses to live in too. grandma had a large room to live in, and we had one to live in. daddy stayed at home with mother. they worked their patches by moonlight; and worked for the white folks in the day time. they sold what they made. marster bought it and paid for it. he made a barrel o' rice every year, my daddy did. mr. bell allen owned slaves too. he had a plenty o' niggers. his plantation wuz miles from ourn. we went to church at the white folks church. when mr. bell allen seed us cummin' he would say, 'yonder comes john walton's free niggers.' our marster would not sell his slaves. he give dem to his children when they married off do'. i swept yards, churned, fed the chickens. in de ebening i would go with my missus a fishin'. we eat collards, peas, corn bread, milk, and rice. we got biskit and butter twice a week. i thought dat de best things i ever et wuz butter spread on biskit. we had a corn mill and a flour mill on the plantation. there wuz about slaves on de place. dey had brandy made on de plantation, and de marster gib all his slaves some for dere own uses. my grandmother and mother wove our clothes. dey were called homespun. dey made de shoes on de plantation too. i wuz not married til atter de surrender. i did not dress de finest in the world; but i had nice clothes. my wedding dress wuz made of cream silk, made princess with pink and cream bows. i wore a pair of morocco store bought shoes. my husband was dressed in a store bought suit of clothes, the coat wuz made pigen [hw correction: pigeon] tail. he had on a velvet vest and a white collar and tie. somebody stole de ves' atter dat. one of our master's daughters wuz cruel. sometimes she would go out and rare on us, but old marster didn't want us whupped. our great grand mother wuz named granny flora. dey stole her frum africa wid a red pocket handkerchief. old man john william got my great grandmother. de people in new england got scured of we niggers. dey were afrid me would rise aginst em and dey pushed us on down south. lawd, why didn't dey let us stay whur we wuz, dey nebber wouldn't a been so menny half white niggers, but the old marster wuz to blame for that. we never saw any slaves sold. they carried them off to sell 'em. the slaves travelled in droves. fathers and mothers were sold from their chilluns. chilluns wuz sold from their parents on de plantations close to us. where we went to church, we sat in a place away from de white folks. the slaves never did run away from marster, because he wuz good to 'em; but they run away from other plantations. yes, we seed the patterollers, we called 'em pore white trash, we also called patterollers pore white pecks. they had ropes around their necks. they came to our house one night when we were singin' and prayin'. it wuz jist before the surrender. dey were hired by de slave owner. my daddy told us to show 'em de brandy our marster gib us, den dey went on a way, kase dey knowed john walton wuz a funny man about his slaves. dey gave us christmas and other holidays. den dey, de men, would go to see dere wives. some of the men's wives belong to other marsters on other plantations. we had corn shuckin's at night, and candy pullin's. sometimes we had quiltings and dances. one of the slaves, my aint, she wuz a royal slave. she could dance all over de place wid a tumbler of water on her head, widout spilling it. she sho could tote herself. i always luved to see her come to church. she sho could tote herself. my oldest sister violet died in slavery time. she wuz ten years old when she died. her uncles were her pall bearers. uncle hyman and uncle handy carried her to the grave yard. if i makes no mistake my daddy made her coffin. dere wuz no singin'. there were seven of the family dere, dat wuz all. dey had no funeral. dere were no white folks dere. dey baptized people in creeks and ponds. we rode corn stalks, bent down small pine trees and rode' em for horses. we also played prison base. colored and white played, yes sir, whites and colored. we played at night but we had a certain time to go to bed. dat wuz nine o'clock. [hw: new paragraph indicated] de boss man looked atter us when we wuz sick. he got doctors. i had the typhoid fever. all my hair came out. dey called it de "mittent fever." dr. thomas banks doctored me. he been dead a long time. oh! i don't know how long he been dead. near all my white folks were found dead. mr. john died outside. walton died in bed. marster joe walton died sitting under a tree side de path. miss hancey died in bed. i 'member the day de war commenced. my marster called my father and my two uncles handy and hyman, our marster called 'em. dey had started back to the field to work in the afternoon. he said, 'cum here boys,' that wuz our young marster, ben walton, says 'cum here boys. i got sumptin' to tell you.' uncle hyman said, 'i can't. i got to go to work.' he said 'come here and set down, i got sumptin' to tell you.' the niggers went to him and set down. he told them; 'there is a war commenced between the north and the south. if the north whups you will be as free a man as i is. if the south whups you will be a slave all your days.' mr. joe walton said when he went to war dat dey could eat breakfast at home, go and whup the north, and be back far dinner. he went away, and it wuz four long years before he cum back to dinner. de table wuz shore set a long time for him. a lot of de white folks said dey wouldn't be much war, dey could whup dem so easy. many of dem never did come back to dinner. i wuz afraid of the yankees because missus had told us the yankees were going to kill every nigger in the south. i hung to my mammy when dey come through. i thought abraham lincoln wuz the medicine man, with grip in his han', cause he said every borned man must be free. i did not think anything of jeff davis. i thank de will of god for setting us free. he got into abraham lincoln and the yankees. we are thankful to the great marster dat got into lincoln and the yankees. dey say booker washington wuz fine, i don't know. the white folks did not allow us to have nuthing to do wid books. you better not be found, tryin' to learn to read. our marster wuz harder down on dat den anything else. you better not be ketched wid a book. day read the bible and told us to obey our marster for de bible said obey your marster. the first band of music i ever herd play the yankees wuz playin' it. they were playin' a song. 'i am tired of seeing de homespun dresses the southern women wear'. i thinks mr. roosevelt is a fine man. jus' what we need. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: ex-slave story story teller: julia crenshaw editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: hw circled "i"] [tr: no date stamp] ex-slave story as julia crenshaw recalled her mother's story. my mammy wuz named jane an' my pappy wuz named richard. dey belonged ter lawyer r. j. lewis in raleigh, dar whar peace institute am ter day. mammy said dat de white folkses wuz good ter dem an' gib 'em good food an' clothes. she wuz de cook, an' fer thirty years atter de war she cooked at peace. before de yankees come mr. lewis said, dat he dreamed dat de yard wuz full uv dem an' he wuz deef. when dey comed he played deef so dat he won't have ter talk ter 'em. him he am dat proud. mammy said dat she ain't cared 'bout been' free case she had a good home, but atter all slavery wusn't de thing fer america. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: , subject: zeb crowder story teller: zeb crowder editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp "jun "] zeb crowder e. cabarrus street i wont nuthin' in slavery time and i aint nuthin' now. all de work i am able ter do now is a little work in de garden. dey say i is too ole ter work, so charity gives me a little ter go upon every week. for one weeks 'lowance o' sumptin' ter eat dey gives me, hold on, i will show you, dat beats guessin'. here it is: / peck meal (corn meal), lbs oat meal, lb dry skim milk, and lb plate meat. dis is what i gits fer one week 'lowance. i can't work much, but de white folks gib me meals fur washin' de woodwork in dere houses, de white folks in hayes's bottom. what little i do, i does fer him. he gives me meals for workin'. de charity gives me about cts worth o' rations a week. i wus seven years old when de yankees come through. all de niggers 'cept me an' de white folks ran to de woods. i didn't have sense enough ter run, so i stayed on de porch where dey were passin' by. one of 'em pointed his gun at me. i remember it as well as it was yisterday. yes sir, i seed de yankees and i remember de clothes dey wore. dey were blue and dere coats had capes on' em and large brass buttons. de niggers and white folks were afraid of' em. de ole house where dey came by, an' me on de porch is still standin', yes sir, and dey are livin' in it now. it belongs to ralph crowder, and he has a fellow by de name o' edward, a colored man, livin' dere now. de house is de udder side o' swift creek, right at rands mill. i belonged ter ole man william crowder durin' slavery, tom crowder's daddy. ralph is tom's son. my missus wus named miss melvina an' if i lives ter be a hundred years old i will never forget dem white folks. yes sir, dey shore wus good ter us. we had good food, good clothes and a good place ter sleep. my mother died before de war, but miss melvina wus so good ter us we didn't know so much difference. mother wus de first person i remember seein' dead. when she died miss melvina, marster's wife, called us chillun in and says, 'chillun your mother is dead, but anything in dis kitchen you wants ter eat go take it, but don't slip nuthin'. if you slip it you will soon be stealin' things.' i had four brothers and one sister, and none of us never got into trouble 'bout stealin'. she taught us ter let other people's things alone. my father wus named waddy crowder. my mother wus named neelie crowder. grandpa was named jacob crowder and grandma was named sylvia crowder. i know dem jist as good as if it wus yisterday. never went ter school a day in my life. i can't read an' write. dey would not 'low slaves ter have books, no sir reee, no, dat dey wouldn't. we went wid de white folks to church; dey were good ter us, dat's de truth. dere aint many people dat knows 'bout dem good times. dey had a lot o' big dinners and when de white folks got through i would go up and eat all i wanted. i 'member choppin' cotton on clabber branch when i wus a little boy before de surrender. when de surrender come i didn't like it. daddy an' de udders didn't like it, 'cause after de surrender dey had to pay marster fer de meat an' things. before dat dey didn't have nuthin' to do but work. dere were eight slaves on de place in slavery time. clabber branch run into swift creek. lord have mercy, i have caught many a fish on dat branch. i also piled brush in de winter time. birds went in de brush ter roost. den we went bird blindin'. we had torches made o' lightwood splinters, and brushes in our han's, we hit de piles o' brush after we got 'round 'em. when de birds come out we would kill 'em. dere were lots o' birds den. we killed' em at night in the sage fields[ ] where broom grass was thick. dem were de good times. no sich times now. we killed robins, doves, patridges and other kinds o' birds. dey aint no such gangs o' birds now. we briled 'em over coals o' fire and fried 'em in fryin' pans, and sometimes we had a bird stew, wid all de birds we wanted. de stew wus de bes' o' all. dere aint no sich stews now. we put flour in de stew. it was made into pastry first, and we called it slick. when we cooked chicken wid it we called it chicken slick. dere were no overseers on our plantation. marster wouldn't let you have any money on sunday. he would not trade on sunday. he would not handle money matters on monday, but 'ceptin' dese two days if you went to him he would keep you. he was who a good ole man. dat's de truf. the ku klux would certainly work on you. if dey caught you out of your place dey would git wid you. i don't remember anything 'bout de freedman's bureau but de ku klux klan was something all niggers wus scared of. yes sir, dey would get wid you. dats right. ha! ha! dat's right. i never seen a slave whupped, no sir, i never see a slave sold. i saw de speculators do'. i saw de patterollers, but dey didn't never whup my daddy. dey run him one time, but dey couldn't cotch him. marster crowder allus give daddy a pass when he asked fer it. i believe ole marster an' ole missus went right on ter heaven, yes, i do believe dat. dat's de truf. yes, my lawd, i would like to see' em right now. dere is only one o' de old crowd livin', an' dat is miss cora. she stays right here in raleigh. we used to have candy pullin's, an' i et more ash cakes den anybody. we cooked ash cakes out o' meal. we had dances in de winter time, and other plays. i played marbles an' runnin' an' jumpin' when i wus a chile. dey give us sasafrac tea sweetened to eat wid bread. it shore wus mighty good. my father never married enny more. he settled right down after de war and farmed fer his old marster and all we chillun stayed. we didn't want ter leave, an' i would be wid 'em right now if dey wus livin'. i got married when i wus years old, and moved ter myself in a little house on de plantation. de house is standin' dere now, de house where i lived den. i seed it de udder day when i went out dere to clean off my wife's grave. i married lula hatcher. she died 'bout ten years ago. i married her in georgia. i stayed dere a long time when missus' brother, wiley clemmons, went ter georgia ter run turpentine an' tuck me wid him. i stayed dere till he died; an' mr. tom crowder went after him an' brought him back home an' buried him at de ole home place. he is buried right dere at de crowder place. i have worked wid some o' de crowders mos' all my life and i miss dem people, when one of 'em dies. dey allus give my daddy outside patches, and he made good on it. he cleaned up seven acres, and do you know how he fenced it? wid nuthin' but bresh. an' hogs an' cows didn't go in dere neither. we had lots o' game ter eat. marster 'lowed my daddy ter hunt wid a gun, and he killed a lot o' rabbits, squirrels, an' game. we trapped birds an' caught rabbits in boxes. daddy caught possums an' coons wid dogs. one o' my brothers is livin' at garner, n. c. i am four years older den he is. from what little judgment i got i thought a right smart o' abraham lincoln, but i tells you de truf mr. roosevelt has done a lot o' good. dats de truf. i likes him. [footnote : the negroes call the tall grass sage.] ac n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: adeline crump story teller: adeline crump editor: daisy bailey waitt adeline crump cannon street my name is adeline crump, and i am years old. my husband's name wus james crump. my mother's wus marie cotton and my father's name wus cotton. my mother belonged to the faucetts; rich faucett wus her marster. father belonged to the cottons; wright cotton wus his marster. my maiden name wus cotton. mother and father said they were treated all right and that they loved their white folks. they gave them patches, clothed them tolerably well, and seed that they got plenty to eat. the hours of work wus long. nearbout everybody worked long hours then, but they said they wus not mistreated 'bout nothing. when they got sick marster got a doctor, if they wus bad off sick. they wus allowed holidays christmas and at lay-by time, an' they wus 'lowed to hunt possums an' coons at night an' ketch rabbits in gums. they also caught birds in traps made of splinters split from pine wood. mother and father had no learnin'. they would not allow them to learn to read and write. marster wus keerful 'bout that. i cannot read an' write. my mother and father told me many stories 'bout the patterollers and ku klux. a nigger better have a pass when he went visitin' or if they caught him they tore up his back. the ku klux made the niggers think they could drink a well full of water. they carried rubber things under their clothes and a rubber pipe leadin' to a bucket o' water. the water bag helt the water they did not drink it. guess you have heard people tell 'bout they drinking so much water. marster didn't have no overseers to look after his slaves. he done that hisself with the help o' some o' his men slaves. sometimes he made 'em foreman and my mother and father said they all got along mighty fine. the colored folks went to the white folk's church and had prayer meeting in their homes. mother lived in the edge o' marster's yard. when the surrender come after the war they stayed on the plantation right on and lived on marster's land. they built log houses after de war cause marster let all his slaves stay right on his plantation. my mother had twenty-one chillun. she had twins five times. i was a twin and emaline wus my sister. she died 'bout thirty years ago. she left chillun when she died. i never had but four chillun. all my people are dead, i is de only one left. marster's plantation was 'bout six miles from merry oaks in chatham county. we moved to merry oaks when i wus fourteen years old. i married at seventeen. i have lived in north carolina all my life. we moved to raleigh from merry oaks long time ago. my husband died here seventeen years ago. i worked after my husband died, washin' and ironin' for white folks till i am not able to work no more. hain't worked any in fo' years. charity don't help me none. my chillun gives me what i gits. slavery wus a bad thing, cause from what mother and father tole me all slaves didn't fare alike. some fared good an' some bad. i don't know enough 'bout abraham lincoln an' mr. roosevelt to talk about 'em. no, i don't know just what to say. i sho' hopes you will quit axin' me so many things cause i forgot a lot mother and father tole me. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: bill crump person interviewed: bill crump editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: no date stamp] [hw: "photo"] bill crump ex-slave story an interview with bill crump, of state prison, raleigh north carolina. i reckon dat i wus borned in davidson county on de plantation of mr. whitman smith, my mammy's marster. my daddy wus named tom an' he 'longed ter mr. ben murry fust an' later ter mr. jimmy crump. daddy wus named atter his young marster. dey lived in randolph, de county next ter davidson whar me mammy an' de rest of de chilluns, alt, george, harriet, sarah, mary an' de baby libed. both of de marsters wus good ter us, an' dar wus plenty ter eat an' w'ar, an' right many jubilees. we ain't none of de dozen er so of us eber got a whuppin', case we ain't desarved no whuppin'; why, dar wusn't eben a cowhide whup anywhar on de place. we wucked in de fie'ls from sunup ter sundown mos' o' de time, but we had a couple of hours at dinner time ter swim or lay on de banks uv de little crick an' sleep. ober 'bout sundown marster let us go swim ag'in iff'en we wanted ter do it. de marster let us have some chickens, a shoat an' a gyarden, an' 'tater patch, an' we had time off ter wuck 'em. in season we preserved our own fruits fer de winter an' so we larned not ter be so heaby on de marster's han's. my daddy wus a fiddler, an' he sometimes played fer de dances at de cross roads, a little village near de marster's place. all what ain't been mean could go, but de mean ones can't, an' de rest o' us has ter habe a pass ter keep de patterollers from gittin us. yes mam, we had our fun at de dances, co'n chuckin's, candy pullin's, an' de gatherin's an' we sarbed de marster better by habin' our fun. i'se seed a bunch o' slaves sold a heap of times an' i neber seed no chains on nobody. dey jist stood dem on de table front of de post office at cross roads an' sol' 'em ter de one what bids de highes'. we hyard a whisper 'bout some slaves bein' beat ter death, but i ain't neber seed a slave git a lick of no kin', course atter de war i seed de ku klux runnin' mean niggers. dar wus no marryin' on de plantation, iffen a nigger wants a 'oman he has got ter buy her or git her marster's permit, den dey am married. when one o' de slaves wus sick he had a doctor fast as lightnin', an' when de died he wus set up wid one night. de marster would gibe de mourners a drink o' wine mebbe, an' dey'd mo'n, an' shout, an' sing all de night long, while de cop'se laid out on de coolin' board, which 'minds me of a tale. onct we wus settin' up wid a nigger, 'fore de war an' hit bein' a hot night de wine wus drunk an' de mo'ners wus settin' front o' de do' eatin' watermillons while de daid man laid on de coolin' board. suddenly one of de niggers looks back in at de do', an' de daid man am settin' up on de coolin' board lookin right at him. de man what sees hit hollers, an' all de rest what has been wishin 'dat de daid man can enjoy de wine an' de watermillons am sorry dat he has comed back. dey doan take time ter say hit do', case dey am gone ter de big house. de marster am brave so he comes ter see, an' he says dat hit am only restrictions o' de muscles. de nex' mornin', as am de way, dey puts de man in a pine box made by 'nother slave an' dey totes him from de cabin ter de marster's buryin' groun' at de cedars; an' de slaves bury's him while de marster an' his fambly looks on. i doan know much 'bout de yankees case de warn't none 'cept de skirtin' parties comed our way. atter de war we stays on fer four or five years mebbe, an' i goes ter school two weeks. de teacher wus mr. edmund knights from de no'th. i'se sarbed four years an' ten months of a eight ter twelve stretch fer killin' a man. dis man an' a whole gang o' us wus at his house gamblin'. i had done quit drinkin' er mont' er so 'fore dat, but dey 'sists on hit, but i 'fuses. atter 'while he pours some on me an' i cusses him, den he cusses me, an' he says dat he am gwine ter kill me, an' he follers me down de road. i turns roun' an' shoots him. dat am all of my story 'cept dat i has seen a powerful heap of ghostes an' i knows dat dey comes in white an' black, an' dat dey am in de shape er dogs, mens, an' eber'thing dat you can have a mind to. le n. c. district: no. . [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: charlie crump person interviewed: charlie crump editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp "--- "] charlie crump ex-slave story an interview with charlie crump of cary (near) i wuz borned at evan's ferry in lee or chatham county, an' i belonged ter mr. davis abernathy an' his wife mis' vick. my pappy wuz named ridge, an' my mammy wuz named marthy. my brothers wuz stokes an' tucker, an' my sisters wuz lula an' liddy ann. dar wuz nine o' us in all, but some o' dem wuz sold, an' some o' dem wuz dead. de abernathy's wuzn't good ter us, we got very little ter eat, nothin' ter wear an' a whole lot o' whuppin's. dey ain't had no slaves 'cept seben or eight, in fact, dey wuz pore white trash tryin' ter git rich; so dey make us wuck. dey wucks us from daylight till dark, an' sometimes we jist gits one meal a day. de marster says dat empty niggers am good niggers an' dat full niggers has got de debil in dem. an' we ain't 'lowed ter go nowhar at night, dat is if dey knowed it. i'se seed de time dat niggers from all ober de neighborhood gang up an' have fun anyhow, but if dey hyard de patterollers comin' gallopin' on a hoss dey'd fly. crap shootin' wuz de style den, but a heap of times dey can't find nothin ter bet. i toted water, case dat's all i wuz big enough ter do, an' lemmie tell yo' dat when de war wuz ober i ain't had nary a sprig of hair on my haid, case de wooden buckets what i toted on it wored it plumb off. when we got hongry an' could fin' a pig, a calf or a chicken, no matter who it had belonged to, it den belonged ter us. we raised a heap o' cane an' we et brown sugar. hit 's funny dat de little bit dey gibed us wuz what dey now calls wholesome food, an' hit shore make big husky niggers. my mammy had more grit dan any gal i now knows of has in her craw. she plowed a hateful little donkey dat wuz about as hongry as she wuz, an' he wuz a cuss if'en dar eber wuz one. mammy wuz a little brown gal, den, tough as nails an' she ain't axin' dat donkey no odds at all. she uster take him out at twelve an' start fer de house an' dat donkey would hunch up his back an' swear dat she wuzn't gwine ter ride him home. mammy would swear dat she would, an' de war would be on. he'd throw her, but she'd git back on an' atter she'd win de fight he'd go fer de house as fast as a scaulded dog. when we hyard dat de yankees wuz comin' we wuz skeerd, case marse abernathy told us dat dey'd skin us alive. i'members hit wuz de last o' april or de fust o' may when dey comed, an' i had started fer de cane fil' wid a bucket o' water on my haid, but when i sees dem yankees comin' i draps de bucket an' runs. de folks thar 'bouts burnt de bridge crost de ribber, but de yankees carried a rope bridge wid 'em, so dey crossed anyhow. dem yankees tuck eber thing dat dey saw eben to our kush, what we had cooked fer our supper. kush wuz cornmeal, onions, red pepper, salt an' grease, dat is if we had any grease. dey killed all de cows, pigs, chickens an' stold all de hosses an' mules. we wuz glad ter be free, an' lemmie tell yo', we shore cussed ole marster out 'fore we left dar; den we comed ter raleigh. i'se always been a farmer an' i'se made right good. i lak de white folkses an' dey laks me but i'll tell yo' miss, i'd ruther be a nigger any day dan to be lak my ole white folks wuz. m. a. h. l. e. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary hicks no. words: , subject: before and after the war story teller: mattie curtis editor: george l. andrews [hw: / / ] before and after the war an interview with mattie curtis, years old, of raleigh, north carolina, route # . i wus borned on de plantation of mr. john hayes in orange county ninety-eight years ago. seberal of de chilluns had been sold 'fore de speculator come an' buyed mammy, pappy an' we three chilluns. de speculator wus named bebus an' he lived in henderson, but he meant to sell us in de tobacco country. we come through raleigh an' de fust thing dat i 'members good wus goin' through de paper mill on crabtree. we traveled on ter granville county on de granville tobacco path till a preacher named whitfield buyed us. he lived near de granville an' franklin county line, on de granville side. preacher whitfield, bein' a preacher, wus supposed to be good, but he ain't half fed ner clothed his slaves an' he whupped 'em bad. i'se seen him whup my mammy wid all de clothes offen her back. he'd buck her down on a barrel an' beat de blood outen her. dar wus some difference in his beatin' from de neighbors. de folks round dar 'ud whup in de back yard, but marse whitfield 'ud have de barrel carried in his parlor fer de beatin'. we ain't had no sociables, but we went to church on sunday an' dey preached to us dat we'd go ter hell alive iffen we sassed our white folks. speakin' 'bout clothes, i went as naked as yo' han' till i wus fourteen years old. i wus naked like dat when my nature come to me. marse whitfield ain't carin', but atter dat mammy tol' him dat i had ter have clothes. marse whitfield ain't never pay fer us so finally we wus sold to mis' fanny long in franklin county. dat 'oman wus a debil iffen dar eber wus one. when i wus little i had picked up de fruit, fanned flies offen de table wid a peafowl fan an' nussed de little slave chilluns. de las' two or three years i had worked in de fiel' but at mis' long's i worked in de backer factory. yes mam, she had a backer factory whar backer wus stemmed, rolled an' packed in cases fer sellin'. dey said dat she had got rich on sellin' chawin' terbacker. we wus at mis' long's when war wus declared, 'fore dat she had been purty good, but she am a debil now. her son am called ter de war an' he won't go. dey comes an' arrests him, den his mammy tries ter pay him out, but dat ain't no good. de officers sez dat he am yaller an' dat day am gwine ter shoot his head off an' use hit fer a soap gourd. de yankees did shoot him down here at bentonville an' mis' long went atter de body. de confederates has got de body but dey won't let her have it fer love ner money. dey laughs an' tells her how yaller he am an' dey buries him in a ditch like a dog. mis' long has been bad enough fore den but atter her son is dead she sez dat she am gwine ter fight till she draps dead. de nex' day she sticks de shot gun in mammy's back an' sez dat she am gwine ter shoot her dead. mammy smiles an' tells her dat she am ready ter go. mis' long turns on me an' tells me ter go ter de peach tree an' cut her ten limbs 'bout a yard long, dis i does an' atter she ties dem in a bundle she wears dem out on me at a hundret licks. lemmie tell yo', dar wus pieces of de peach tree switches stickin' all in my bloody back when she got through. atter dat mis' long ain't done nothin' but whup us an' fight till she shore nuff wore out. de yankee captain come ter our place an tol' us dat de lan' was goin' ter be cut up an' divided among de slaves, dey would also have a mule an' a house apiece. i doan know how come hit but jist 'fore de end of de war we come ter moses mordicia's place, right up de hill from here. he wus mean too, he'd get drunk an' whup niggers all day off' an' on. he'd keep dem tied down dat long too, sometimes from sunrise till dark. mr. mordicia had his yaller gals in one quarter ter dereselves an' dese gals belongs ter de mordicia men, dere friends an' de overseers. when a baby wus born in dat quarter dey'd sen' hit over ter de black quarter at birth. dey do say dat some of dese gal babies got grown an' atter goin' back ter de yaller quarter had more chilluns fer her own daddy or brother. de thompson's sprung from dat set an' dey say dat a heap of dem is halfwits fer de reason dat i has jist tol' yo'. dem yaller wimen wus highfalutin' too, dey though [hw correction: thought] dey wus better dan de black ones. has yo' ever wondered why de yaller wimen dese days am meaner dan black ones 'bout de men? well dat's de reason fer hit, dere mammies raised dem to think 'bout de white men. when de yankees come dey come an' freed us. de woods wus full of rebs what had deserted, but de yankees killed some of dem. some sort of corporation cut de land up, but de slaves ain't got none of it dat i ever heard about. i got married before de war to joshua curtis. i loved him too, which is more dam most folks can truthfully say. i always had craved a home an' a plenty to eat, but freedom ain't give us notin' but pickled hoss meat an' dirty crackers, an' not half enough of dat. josh ain't really care 'bout no home but through dis land corporation i buyed dese fifteen acres on time. i cut down de big trees dat wus all over dese fields an' i milled out de wood an' sold hit, den i plowed up de fields an' planted dem. josh did help to build de house an' he worked out some. all of dis time i had nineteen chilluns an' josh died, but i kep' on an' de fifteen what is dead lived to be near 'bout grown, ever one of dem. right atter de war northern preachers come around wid a little book a-marrying slaves an' i seed one of dem marry my pappy an' mammy. atter dis dey tried to find dere fourteen oldest chilluns what wus sold away, but dey never did find but three of dem. but you wants ter find out how i got along. i'll never fergit my first bale of cotton an' how i got hit sold. i wus some proud of dat bale of cotton, an' atter i had hit ginned i set out wid hit on my steercart fer raleigh. de white folks hated de nigger den, 'specially de nigger what wus makin' somethin' so i dasen't ax nobody whar de market wus. i thought dat i could find de place by myself, but i rid all day an' had to take my cotton home wid me dat night 'case i can't find no place to sell hit at. but dat night i think hit over an' de nex' day i goes' back an' axes a policeman 'bout de market. lo an' behold chile, i foun' hit on blount street, an' i had pass by hit seberal times de day before. i done a heap of work at night too, all of my sewin' an' such an' de piece of lan' near de house over dar ain't never got no work 'cept at night. i finally paid fer de land. some of my chilluns wus borned in de field too. when i wus to de house we had a granny an' i blowed in a bottle to make de labor quick an' easy. dis young generation ain't worth shucks. fifteen years ago i hired a big buck nigger to help me shrub an' 'fore leben o'clock he passed out on me. you know 'bout leben o'clock in july hit gits in a bloom. de young generation wid dere schools an dere divorcing ain't gwine ter git nothin' out of life. hit wus better when folks jist lived tergether. dere loafin' gits dem inter trouble an' dere novels makes dem bad husban's an' wives too. eh by miss nancy woodburn watkins [ ] rockingham county madison, north carolina [tr: no. words: , ] ex-slave biography--charles lee dalton, . in july, , the census taker went to the home of unka challilee dalton and found that soft talking old darky on the porch of his several roomed house, a few hundred feet south of the dirt road locally called the ayersville road because it branches from the hard surfaced highway to mayodan at anderson scales' store, a short distance from unka challilie's. black got its meaning from his face, even his lips were black, but his hair was whitening. his lean body was reclining while the white cased pillows of his night bed sunned on a chair. his granddaughter kept house for him the census taker learned. unka challilie said: "i'se got so i ain't no count fuh nuthin. i wuz uh takin' me a nap uh sleepin' (' am). dem merry-go-wheels keep up sich a racket all nite, sech a racket all nite, ah cyan't sleep." this disturbance was "the red wolfe medicine troop of players and wheels" near anderson scales' store in the forks of the mayodan and the ayresville roads. in in the home of his son, unka challilie ninety-three, told the cause of his no "countness." "i wuz clean-up man in de mill in mayodan ontill three years ago, i got too trimbly to git amongst de machinery. daze frade i'd fall and git cut." i cum tuh madison forty-five yeah ago, and i bought one acre, and built me a house on it, an' razed my leben chillun dyah. my wife was ellen irving of reidsville. we had a cow, pigs, chickens, and gyardum of vegetables to hope out what i got paid at de mill. nome i nevah learned to read an write. ounct i thought mebbe i'd git sum lunnin but aftah i got married, i didn't think i would. my old marse wuz marse lee dalton and i stayed on his plantation till forty-five years ago when i cum tuh madison. his place wuz back up dyah close tuh. mt. herman church. nome we slaves ain't learn no letters, but sumtimes young mistis' 'd read de bible tuh us. day wuz pretty good tuh us, but sumtimes i'd ketch uh whippin'. i wuz a hoe boy and plow man. my mothers' name wuz silvia dalton and my daddy's name wuz peter dalton. day belonged to marse lee and his wife wuz miss matilda steeples (staples). marse lee lived on beaver island creek at the john hampton price place. mr. price bought it. he married miss mollie dalton, marse lee's daughter. dyah's uh ole graveyard dyah whah lots uh daltons is buried but no culled fokes. day is buried to the side uh stoneville wiff no white fokes a-tall berried dyah. de ole daltons wuz berried on de ole jimmy scales plantation. day bought hit, an little john price what runs uh tuhbaccah warehouse in madison owns hit now. ( ) his tenant is marse walt hill, an hits five miles frum madison. i knose whah de old deatherage graveyard is, too, up close to stoneville whah sum daltons is berried. ole marse lee's mother was a deatherage. ole marse was kind to us, an' i stayed on his plantation an' farmed till i kum to madison. dee yankees, day didn't giv us nuthin so we had kinduh to live off'n old marse. fuh ayteen yuz i kin member ah de mefodis church byah in madison. i wuzn't converted unduh de holiness preachment uh james foust but duh de revival of reverend william scales. william didn't bare much lunnin. his wife wuz mittie scales an huh mother wuz chlocy scales, sister to tommie scales, de shoemaker, what died lase summuh (july, ). william jes wanted so much tuh preach, and mittie hoped him. i'se been uh class leader, an uh stewart, an uh trustee in de church. it's st. stephen's and de new brick church was built in , an mistuh john wilson's son wrote uh peace uh bout hit in de papuh. de fuss chuch wuz down dyah cross de street fum jim foust's "tabernacle." but de fuss cullud chuch in madison wuz a union chuch over dyah by de presbyterian graveyard whah now is de gyartuh factry. an' jane richardson wuz de leader. yess'm i got so no count, i had to cum live with mah son, frank dalton. frank married mattie cardwell. you remembuh mary mann? she married anderson cardwell. day's bofe dade long time. days berried jess up hyuh at mayodan whah mr. bollin's house is on and dem new bungyloes is on top um, too. uh whole lots uh cullud people berried in dah with de slaves of ole miss nancy (watkins) webster on till de mayo mills got started and day built mayhodan at de mayo falls. an' dat's whah my daughter-in-law's folks is berried. my leben chillun--frank, one died in west virginia; cora married henry cardwell; hattie married roy current and bafe ob dem in winston; della married arthur adkins, an' joe, an' george an' perry an' nathaniel dalton, an'. yes'm mah daughter-in-law has de writings about de brick chuch, dem whut started hit, an' she'll put it out whah she can git hit fuh you easy, when you coun back fuh hit. nome, up at marse lee dalton's fob de s'renduh us slaves didn't nevuh go tuh chuch. but young miss'ud read de bible to us sometimes. here in the five room, white painted cottage of his son, frank, unka challilie is kindly cared for by his daughter-in-law, mattie. a front porch faces the mayodan hard road a few doors from the "coppubration line." a well made arch accents the entrance to the front walk. a climbing rose flourishes on the arch. well kept grass with flowers on the edges show mattie's love. at the right side is the vegetable garden, invaded by several big domineckuh chickens. a kudzu vine keeps out the hot west sun. unka challilie sits on the front porch and nods to his friends [hw: , or] else back in the kitchen, he sits and watches mattie iron after he has eaten his breakfast. several hens come on the back porch and lay in boxes there. one is "uh settin" fuh fried chicken later! a walnut tree, "uh white wawnut", waves its long dangly green blooms as the leaves are half grown in the early may. well dressed, clean, polite, comforted with his religion, but very "trimbly" even on his stout walking stick, unka challilie often dozes away his "no countness" with "uh napuh sleepin" while the mad rush of traffic and tourist wheels stir the rose climbing over the entrance arch. an ex-slave who started wiff nuffin de yankees gave him, who lived on his old marse's place ontil he wuz forty-eight, who cleaned the mayo mills ontill he wuz too trimbly to get amongst de machinery, who raised eleven children on an acre of red rockingham county hillside, faces the next move with plenty to eat, wear, plenty time to take a nap uh sleepin. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: john daniels story teller: john daniels editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: no date stamp] john daniels ex-slave story [hw: (?)] i'se named fer my pappy's ole massa down in spartanburg, south carolina, course i doan know nothin' 'bout no war, case i warn't borned. i does 'member seein' de ole 'big house' do', maybe you want me ter tell you how hit looked? it wuz a big white two-story house at de end uv a magnolia lane an' a-settin' in a big level fiel'. back o' de big house wuz de ole slave cabins whar my folks uster live. dey said dat de massa wuz good ter 'em, but dat sometimes in de mo'nin' dey jist has lasses an' co'nbread fer breakfas'. i started ter tell you 'bout de joe moe do'. you mebbe doan know hit, but de prisoners hyar doan git de blues so bad if de company comes on visitin' days, an' de mail comes reg'lar. we's always gittin' up somepin' ter have a little fun, so somebody gits up de joe moe. yo' sees dat when a new nigger comes in he am skeerd an' has got de blues. somebody goes ter cheer him up an' dey axes him hadn't he ruther be hyar dan daid. yo' see he am moughty blue den, so mebbe he says dat he'd ruther be daid; den dis feller what am tryin' ter cheer him tells him dat all right he sho' will die dat [hw correction: 'cause] he's got de joe moe put on him. seberal days atter dis de new nigger fin's a little rag full of somepin twix de bed an' mattress an' he axes what hit am. somebody tells him dat hit am de joe moe, an' dey tells him dat de only way he can git de spell off am ter git de bag off on somebody else. ever'body but him knows' bout hit so de joe moe keeps comin' back till a new one comes in an' he l'arns de joke. talkin' 'bout ghostes i wants ter tell you dat de air am full of 'em. dar's a strip from de groun' 'bout four feet high which am light on de darkes' night, case hit can't git dark down dar. git down an' crawl an' yo'll see a million laigs of eber' kin' an' if'en you lis'ens you'll hyar a little groanin' an' den you has gone through a warm spot. b. n. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: harriet ann daves story teller: harriet ann daves editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: no date stamp] harriet ann daves e. cabarrus street my full name is harriet ann daves, i like to be called harriet ann. if my mother called me when she was living, i didn't want to answer her unless she called me harriet ann. i was born june , . milton waddell, my mother's marster was my father, and he never denied me to anybody. my mother was a slave but she was white. i do not know who my mother's father was. my mother was mary collins. she said that her father was an indian. my mother's mother was mary jane collins, and she was white--maybe part indian. my grandfather was old man william d. waddell, a white man. i was born in virginia near orange courthouse. the waddells moved to lexington, missouri, after i was born. i guess some of the family would not like it if they knew i was telling this. we had good food and a nice place to live. i was nothing but a child, but i know, and remember that i was treated kindly. i remember the surrender very well. when the surrender came my grandfather came to mother and told her: 'well, you are as free as i am.' that was william d. waddell. he was one of the big shots among the white folks. my white grandmother wanted mother to give me to her entirely. she said she had more right to me than my indian grandmother that she had plenty to educate and care for me. my mother would not give me to her, and she cried. my mother gave me to my indian grandmother. i later went back to my mother. while we were in missouri some of my father's people, a white girl, sent for me to come up to the great house. i had long curls and was considered pretty. the girl remarked, 'such a pretty child' and kissed me. she afterwards made a remark to which my father who was there, my white father, took exception telling her i was his child and that i was as good as she was. i remember this incident very distinctly. my mother had two children by the same white man, my father. the other was a girl. she died in california. my father never married. he loved my mother, and he said if he could not marry mary he did not want to marry. father said he did not want any other woman. my father was good to me. he would give me anything i asked him for. mother would make me ask him for things for her. she said it was no harm for me to ask him for things for her which she could not get unless i asked him for them. when the surrender came my mother told my father she was tired of living that kind of a life, that if she could not be his legal wife she wouldn't be anything to him, so she left and went to levenworth, kansas. she died there in . i do not know where my father is, living or dead, or what became of him. i can read and write well. they did not teach us to read and write in slavery days. i went to a school opened by the yankees after the surrender. i went with my mother to levenworth, kansas. she sent me to school in flat, nebraska. i met my husband there. my first husband was elisha williams; i ran away from school in flat, and married him. he brought me to raleigh. he was born and raised in wake county. we lived together about a year when he died july st, . there was one child born to us which died in infancy. i married the second time rufus h. daves in . he was practically a white man. he wouldn't even pass for a mulatto. he used to belong to the haywoods. he died in in raleigh. i think abraham lincoln was a fine, conscientious man; my mother worshipped him, but he turned us out without anything to eat or live on. i don't think mr. roosevelt is either hot or cold--just a normal man. ac n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: jerry davis story teller: jerry davis editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp "jun "] jerry davis ex-slave story and folk tale an interview with jerry davis of e. south street, raleigh, north carolina. i wus borned in warren county ter mataldia an' jordan davis. dere wus twenty-two o' us chilluns, an' natu'ally marster sam davis laked my mammy an' daddy. he owned two hundert an' sebenty slaves, an' three, four, or five scopes o' lan'. marster wus good ter us, he gibe us plenty ter eat, an' w'ar, an' he wus good an' kind in his talkin'. i warn't big 'nuff ter do much 'sides min' de chickens, an' sich lak. i doan 'member so much 'bout de yankees comin' 'cept sein' dem, an' dat dey gibe my pappy a new blue overcoat an' dat i slep' on it onct er twict. i knows dat de yankees wus good ter de niggers but dey warn't so good ter de ole issues. dey did 'stroy most eber'thing do'. i can't 'member, but i'se hyard my mammy tell o' dances, co'n shuckin's, wrestlin' matches, candy pullin's an' sich things dat wus had by de slaves dem days. my pappy tol' me 'bout de cock fights in de big pits at warrenton an' how dat when de roosters got killed de owner often gibe de dead bird ter him. i'se also hyard him tell 'bout de hoss races an' 'bout marster sam's fine hosses. i knows dat de marster an' missus wus good case my mammy an' daddy 'sisted on stayin' right on atter de war, an' so dey died an' was buried dar on marster sam's place. i wucked in de dupont powder plant durin' de world war but i wus discharged case i had acid injury. yessum, i'll tell you de only rale ole tale dat i knows an' dat am de story' bout----jack. jack onct dar wus a white man down in beaufort county what owned a nigger named jack. dis man owned a boat an' he was fer ever more goin' boat ridin', fer days an' nights. he larned jack how ter steer an' often he'd go ter sleep leavin' jack at de wheel, wid 'structions ter steer always by de seben stars. one night as jack steered for his master to sleep, jack suddenly fell asleep too. when he awake it wuz jist at de crack of dawn so no stars wus dar. jack went flyin' ter de marster hollerin', 'please sur marster, hang up some mo' stars, i done run by dem seben'. jack and the devil onct jack an' de debil got inter a 'spute 'bout who can throw a rock de ferderest. de debil sez dat he can throw a rock so fur dat hit won't come down in three days. iffen you can throw a rock furder dan dat, sez de debil, i'll give you yer freedom. de debil chunks a rock an' hit goes up an' stays fer three days. when hit comes down jack picks hit up an' he 'lows, 'good lawd, move de stars an' de moon case dar's a rock comin' ter heaben'. de debil sez, 'iffen you can do dat den you can beat me case i can't throw a rock in a mile o' heaben'. ac. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: a slave story story teller: w. s. debnam editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp "jun "] w. solomon debnam. smith street. yes, i remember the yankees coming to raleigh. i don't know very much about those times, i was so young, but i remember the yankees all right in their blue clothes; their horses, and so on. i'll be years old the th of this comin' september an' i've heard mother an' father talk about slavery time a whole lot. we belonged to t. r. debnam at eagle rock, wake county. his wife was named priscilla debnam. my father was named daniel debnam an' my mother was named liza debnam. my master had several plantations an' a lot of slaves. i don't know how many, but i know he had 'em. he fed us well; we had a good place to sleep. we had wove clothes, enough to keep us warm. he treated me just like he had been my father. i didn't know the difference. marster an' missus never hit me a lick in their lives. my mother was the house girl. father tended business around the house an' worked in the field sometimes. our houses were in marster's yard. the slave quarters were in the yard of the great house. i don't remember going to church until after the surrender. i remember the corn shuckin's, but not the christmas and the fourth of july holidays. they had a lot of whiskey at corn shuckin's and good things to eat. i heard pappy talk of patterollers, but i do not know what they were. pappy said he had to have a pass to visit on, or they would whip him if they could ketch him. sometimes they could not ketch a nigger they were after. yes, they taught us to say pappy an' mammy in them days. i remember the coon and possum hunts an' the rabbits we caught in gums. i remember killin' birds at night with thorn brush. when bird blindin' we hunt 'em at night with lights from big splinters. we went to grass patches, briars, and vines along the creeks an' low groun's where they roosted, an' blinded 'em an' killed 'em when they come out. we cooked 'em on coals, and i remember making a stew and having dumplings cooked with 'em. we'd flustrate the birds in their roostin' place an' when they come out blinded by the light we hit 'em an' killed 'em with thorn brush we carried in our han's. marster had a gran'son, the son of alonza hodge an' arabella hodge, 'bout my age an' i stayed with him most of the time. when alonza hodge bought his son anything he bought for me too. he treated us alike. he bought each of us a pony. we could ride good, when we were small. he let us follow him. he let us go huntin' squirrels with him. when he shot an' killed a squirrel he let us race to see which could get him first, while he laughed at us. i didn't sleep in the great house. i stayed with this white boy till bed time then my mammy come an' got me an' carried me home. when marster wanted us boys to go with him he would say, 'let's go boys,' an' we would follow him. we were like brothers. i ate with him at the table. what they et, i et. he made the house girl wait on me just like he an' his son was waited on. my father stayed with marster till he died, when he was an' i was ; we both stayed right there. my white playmate's name was richard hodge. i stayed there till i was married. when i got years old i married ida rawlson. richard hodge became a medical doctor, but he died young, just before i was married. they taught me to read an' write. after the surrender i went to free school. when i didn't know a word i went to old marster an' he told me. during my entire life no man can touch my morals, i was brought up by my white folks not to lie, steal or do things immoral. i have lived a pure life. there is nothing against me. i remember the yankees, yes sir, an' somethings they done. well, i remember the big yeller gobler they couldn't ketch. he riz an' flew an' they shot him an' killed him. they went down to marster's store an' busted the head outen a barrel o' molasses an' after they busted the head out i got a tin bucket an' got it full o' molasses an' started to the house. then they shoved me down in the molasses. i set the bucket down an' hit a yankee on the leg with a dogwood stick. he tried to hit me. the yankees ganged around him, an' made him leave me alone, give me my bucket o' molasses, an' i carried it on to the house. they went down to the lot, turned out all the horses an' tuck two o' the big mules, kentucky mules, an' carried 'em off. one of the mules would gnaw every line in two you tied him with, an' the other could not be rode. so next morning after the yankees carried 'em off they both come back home with pieces o' lines on 'em. the mules was named, one was named bill, an' the other charles. you could ride old charles, but you couldn't ride old bill. he would throw you off as fast as you got on 'im. after i was married when i was years old i lived there ten years, right there; but old marster had died an' missus had died. i stayed with his son nathaniel; his wife was named drusilla. i had five brothers, richard, daniel, rogene, lorenzo, lumus and myself. there wont places there for us all, an' then i left. when i left down there i moved to raleigh. the first man i worked fer here was george marsh company, then w. a. myatt company an' no one else. i worked with the myatt company twenty-six years; 'till i got shot. it was about half past twelve o'clock. i was on my way home to dinner on the th of december, . when i was passing patterson's alley entering lenoir street near the colored park in the block something hit me. i looked around an' heard a shot. the bullet hit me before i heard the report of the pistol. when hit, i looked back an' heard it. capt. bruce pool, o' the raleigh police force, had shot at some thief that had broken into a a&p store an' the bullet hit me. it hit me in my left thigh above the knee. it went through my thigh, a caliber bullet, an' lodged under the skin on the other side. i did not fall but stood on one foot while the blood ran from the wound. a car came by in about a half hour an' they stopped an' carried me to st. agnes hospital. it was not a police car. i stayed there a week. they removed the bullet, an' then i had to go to the hospital every day for a month. i have not been able to work a day since. i was working with w. a. myatt company when i got shot. my leg pains me now and swells up. i cannot stand on it much. i am unable to do a day's work. can't stand up to do a day's work. the city paid me $ . , an' paid my hospital bill. abraham lincoln was all right. i think slavery was wrong because birds an' things are free an' man ought to have the same privilege. franklin roosevelt is a wonderful man. men would have starved if he hadn't helped 'em. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: travis jordan subject: sarah debro ex-slave years durham, n. c. [tr: date stamp "jul "] sarah debro ex-slave years i was bawn in orange county way back some time in de fifties. mis polly white cain an' marse docter cain was my white folks. marse cain's plantation joined mistah paul cameron's land. marse cain owned so many niggers dat he didn' know his own slaves when he met dem in de road. sometimes he would stop dem an' say: 'whose niggers am you?' dey'd say, 'we's marse cain's niggers.' den he would say, 'i'se marse cain,' and drive on. marse cain was good to his niggers. he didn' whip dem like some owners did, but if dey done mean he sold dem. dey knew dis so dey minded him. one day gran'pappy sassed mis' polly white an' she told him dat if he didn' 'have hese'f dat she would put him in her pocket. gran'pappy wuz er big man an' i ax him how mis' polly could do dat. he said she meant dat she would sell him den put de money in her pocket. he never did sass mis' polly no more. i was kept at de big house to wait on mis' polly, to tote her basket of keys an' such as dat. whenever she seed a chile down in de quarters dat she wanted to raise be hand, she took dem up to do big house an' trained dem. i wuz to be a house maid. de day she took me my mammy cried kaze she knew i would never be 'lowed to live at de cabin wid her no more mis' polly was big an' fat an' she made us niggers mind an' we had to keep clean. my dresses an' aprons was starched stiff. i had a clean apron every day. we had white sheets on de beds an' we niggers had plenty to eat too, even ham. when mis' polly went to ride she took me in de carriage wid her. de driver set way up high an' me an' mis' polly set way down low. dey was two hosses with shiney harness. i toted mis' polly's bag an' bundles, an' if she dropped her hank'chief i picked it up. i loved mis' polly an' loved stayin' at de big house. i was 'bout wais' high when de sojers mustered. i went wid mis' polly down to de musterin' fiel' whare dey was marchin'. i can see dey feets now when dey flung dem up an' down, sayin', hep, hep. when dey was all ready to go an' fight, de women folks fixed a big dinner. aunt charity an' pete cooked two or three days for mis' polly. de table was piled wid chicken, ham, shoat, barbecue, young lam', an'all sorts of pies, cakes an' things, but nobody eat nothin much. mis' polly an' de ladies got to cryin.' de vittles got cold. i was so sad dat i got over in de corner an' cried too. de men folks all had on dey new sojer clothes, an' dey didn' eat nothin neither. young marse jim went up an' put his arm 'roun' mis' polly, his mammy, but dat made her cry harder. marse jim was a cavalry. he rode a big hoss, an' my uncle dave went wid him to de fiel' as his body guard. he had a hoss too so if marse jim's hoss got shot dare would be another one for him to ride. mis' polly had another son but he was too drunk to hold a gun. he stayed drunk. de first cannon i heard skeered me near 'bout to death. we could hear dem goin' boom, boom. i thought it was thunder, den mis polly say, 'lissen, sarah, hear dem cannons? dey's killin' our mens.' den she 'gun to cry. i run in de kitchen whare aunt charity was cookin an' tole her mis' polly was cryin. she said: 'she ain't cryin' kaze de yankees killin' de mens; she's doin' all dat cryin' kaze she skeered we's goin' to be sot free.' den i got mad an' tole her mis' polly wuzn' like dat. i 'members when wheelers cavalry come through. dey was 'federates but dey was mean as de yankees. dey stold everything dey could find an' killed a pile of niggers. dey come 'roun' checkin'. dey ax de niggahs if dey wanted to be free. if dey say yes, den dey shot dem down, but if dey say no, dey let dem alone. dey took three of my uncles out in de woods an' shot dey faces off. i 'members de first time de yankees come. dey come gallupin' down de road, jumpin' over de palin's, tromplin' down de rose bushes an' messin' up de flower beds. dey stomped all over de house, in de kitchen, pantries, smoke house, an' everywhare, but dey didn' find much, kaze near 'bout everything done been hid. i was settin' on de steps when a big yankee come up. he had on a cap an' his eyes was mean. 'whare did dey hide do gol' an silver, nigger?' he yelled at me. i was skeered an my hands was ashy, but i tole him i didn' nothin' 'bout nothin; dat if anybody done hid things dey hid it while i was sleep. 'go ax dat ole white headed devil,' he said to me. i got mad den kaze he was tawkin' 'bout mis' polly, so i didn' say nothin'. i jus' set. den he pushed me off de step an' say if i didn' dance he gwine shoot my toes off. skeered as i was, i sho done some shufflin'. den he give me five dollers an' tole me to go buy jim cracks, but dat piece of paper won't no good. 'twuzn nothin' but a shin plaster like all dat war money, you couldn' spend it. dat yankee kept callin' mis' polly a white headed devil an' said she done ramshacked 'til dey wuzn' nothin' left, but he made his mens tote off meat, flour, pigs, an' chickens. after dat mis' polly got mighty stingy wid de vittles an' de didn' have no more ham. when de war was over de yankees was all 'roun' de place tellin' de niggers what to do. dey tole dem dey was free, dat dey didn' have to slave for de white folks no more. my folks all left marse cain an' went to live in houses dat de yankees built. dey wuz like poor white folks houses, little shacks made out of sticks an' mud wid stick an' mud chimneys. dey wuzn' like marse cain's cabins, planked up an' warm, dey was full of cracks, an' dey wuzn' no lamps an' oil. all de light come from de lightwood knots burnin' in de fireplace. one day my mammy come to de big house after me. i didn' want to go, i wanted to stay wid mis' polly. i 'gun to cry an' mammy caught hold of me. i grabbed mis' polly an' held so tight dat i tore her skirt bindin' loose an' her skirt fell down 'bout her feets. 'let her stay wid me,' mis' polly said to mammy. but mammy shook her head. 'you took her away from me an' didn' pay no mind to my cryin', so now i'se takin' her back home. we's free now, mis' polly, we ain't gwine be slaves no more to nobody.' she dragged me away. i can see how mis' polly looked now. she didn' say nothin' but she looked hard at mammy an' her face was white. mammy took me to de stick an' mud house de yankees done give her. it was smoky an' dark kaze dey wuzn' no windows. we didn' have no sheets an' no towels, so when i cried an' said i didn' want to live on no yankee house, mammy beat me an' made me go to bed. i laid on de straw tick lookin' up through de cracks in de roof. i could see de stars, an' de sky shinin' through de cracks looked like long blue splinters stretched 'cross de rafters. i lay dare an' cried kaze i wanted to go back to mis' polly. i was never hungry til we waz free an' de yankees fed us. we didn' have nothin to eat 'cept hard tack an' middlin' meat. i never saw such meat. it was thin an' tough wid a thick skin. you could boil it allday an' all night an' it wouldn' cook dome, i wouldn' eat it. i thought 'twuz mule meat; mules dat done been shot on de battle field den dried. i still believe 'twuz mule meat. one day me an' my brother was lookin' for acorns in de woods. we foun' sumpin' like a grave in de woods. i tole dave dey wuz sumpin' buried in dat moun'. we got de grubbin hoe an' dug. dey wuz a box wid eleven hams in dat grave. somebody done hid it from de yankees an' forgot whare dey buried it. we covered it back up kaze if we took it home in de day time de yankees an' niggers would take it away from us. so when night come we slipped out an' toted dem hams to de house an' hid dem in de loft. dem was bad days. i'd rather been a slave den to been hired out like i was, kaze i wuzn' no fiel' hand, i was a hand maid, trained to wait on de ladies. den too, i was hungry most of de time an' had to keep fightin' off dem yankee mens. dem yankees was mean folks. we's come a long way since dem times. i'se lived near 'bout ninety years an' i'se seen an' heard much. my folks don't want me to talk 'bout slavery, day's shame niggers ever was slaves. but, while for most colored folks freedom is de bes, dey's still some niggers dat out to be slaves now. dese niggers dat's done clean forgot de lawd; dose dat's always cuttin' an' fightin' an' gwine in white folks houses at night, dey ought to be slaves. dey ought to have an' ole marse wid a whip to make dem come when he say come, an' go when he say go, 'til dey learn to live right. i looks back now an' thinks. i ain't never forgot dem slavery days, an' i ain't never forgot mis' polly an' my white starched aprons. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: charles w. dickens story teller: charles w. dickens editor: daisy bailey waitt [hw note: ] [tr: date stamp "jun "] charles w. dickens east lenoir street my name is charles w. dickens. i lives at east lenoir street, raleigh, north carolina, wake county. i wuz born august , , de year de war started. my mother wuz named ferebee dickens. my father wuz named john dickens. i had nine sisters and brothers. my brothers were named allen, douglas, my name [hw: question mark above "my name"], jake, johnnie and jonas. the girls katie, matilda francis, and emily dickens. my grandmother wuz named charity dickens. my grandfather wuz dudley t. dickens. i do not know where dey came from. no, i don't think i do. my mother belonged to washington scarborough, and so did we chilluns. my father he belonged to obediah dickens and missus wuz named silvia dickens. dey lowed mother to go by the name of my father after dey wuz married. we lived in log houses and we had bunks in 'em. master died, but i 'member missus wuz mighty good to us. we had tolerable fair food, and as fur as i know she wuz good to us in every way. we had good clothing made in a loom, that is de cloth wuz made in de loom. my father lived in franklin county. my mother lived in wake county. i 'member hearin' father talk about walkin' so fur to see us. there wuz about one dozen slaves on de plantation. dere were no hired overseers. missus done her own bossing. i have heard my father speak about de patterollers, but i never seed none. i heard him say he could not leave the plantation without a strip o' something. no, sir, the white folks did not teach us to read and write. my mother and father, no sir, they didn't have any books of any kind. we went to white folk's church. my father split slats and made baskets to sell. he said his master let him have all de money he made sellin' de things he made. he learned a trade. he wuz a carpenter. one of the young masters got after father, so he told me, and he went under de house to keep him from whuppin' him. when missus come home she wouldn't let young master whup him. she jist wouldn't 'low it. i 'members de yankees comin' through. when mother heard they were comin', she took us chillun and carried us down into an ole field, and after that she carried us back to the house. missus lived in a two-story house. we lived in a little log house in front of missus' house. my mother had a shoulder of meat and she hid it under a mattress in the house. when the yankees lef, she looked for it; they had stole the meat and gone. yes, they stole from us slaves. the road the yankees wuz travellin' wuz as thick wid' em as your fingers. i 'member their blue clothes, their blue caps. de chickens they were carrying on their horses wuz crowing. dey wuz driving cows, hogs, and things. yes sir, ahead of 'em they come first. the barns and lots were on one side de road dey were trabellin' on and de houses on de other. atter many yankees had passed dey put a bodyguard at de door of de great house, and didn't 'low no one to go in dere. i looked down at de yankees and spit at 'em. mother snatched me back, and said, 'come back here chile, dey will kill you.' dey carried de horses off de plantation and de meat from missus' smokehouse and buried it. my uncle, louis scarborough, stayed wid de horses. he is livin' yet, he is over a hundred years old. he lives down at moores mill, wake county, near youngsville. before de surrender one of de boys and my uncle got to fightin', one of de scarborough boys and him. my uncle threw him down. the young master scarborough jumped up, and got his knife and cut uncle's entrails out so uncle had to carry 'em to de house in his hands. about a year after de war my father carried us to franklin county. he carried us on a steer cart. dat's about all i 'member about de war. abraham lincoln wuz de man who set us free. i think he wuz a mighty good man. he done so much for de colored race, but what he done was intended through de higher power. i don't think slavery wuz right. i think mr. roosevelt is a fine man, one of the best presidents in the world. i voted for him, and i would vote for him ag'in. he has done a lot for de people, and is still doin'. he got a lot of sympathy for 'em. yas sir, a lot of sympathy for de people. mm n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: margaret e. dickens story teller: margaret e. dickens editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp "jun "] margaret e. dickens e. lenoir st. my name is margaret e. dickens and i was born on the th of june . my mother wuz free born; her name wuz mary ann hews, but my mother wuz colored. i don't remember anything about marster and missus. my father was named henry byrd. here is some of father's writing. my mother's father was dark. he had no protection. if he did any work for a white man and the white man didn't like it, he could take him up and whup him. my father was like a stray dog. my name was margaret e. byrd before i got married. here is some of father's writing--"margaret elvira byrd the daughter of henry and mary ann byrd was born on the th june ." my grandfather, my mother's father was a cabinet maker. he made coffins and tables and furniture. if he made one, and it didn't suit the man he would beat him and kick him around and let him go. dis was told to me. my father was a carpenter. he built houses. i can read and write. my father could read and write. my mother could read, but couldn't write very much. i have heerd my mother say when she heerd the yankees were commin' she had a brand new counterpane, my father owned a place before he married my mother, the counterpane was a woolen woven counterpane. she took it off and hid it. the yankees took anything they wanted, but failed to find it. we were living in raleigh, at the time, on the very premises we are living on now. the old house has been torn down, but some of the wood is in this very house. i kin show you part of the old house now. my mother used to pass this place when she wuz a girl and she told me she never expected to live here. she was twenty years younger than my father. my mother, she lived here most of the time except twenty-four years she lived in the north. she died in . my father bought the lan' in from a man named henry morgan. here is the deed.[ ] when we left raleigh, and went north we first stopped in cambridge, mass. this was with my first husband. his name was samuel e. reynolds. he was a preacher. he had a church and preached there. the east winds were so strong and cold we couldn't stan' it. it was too cold for us. we then went to providence, r. i. from there to elmira, n. y. from there we went to brooklyn, n. y. he preached in the state of new york; we finally came back south, and he died right here in this house. i like the north very well, but there is nothing like home, the south. another thing i don't have so many white kin folks up north. i don't like to be called auntie by anyone, unless they admit bein' kin to me. i was not a fool when i went to the north, and it made no change in me. i was raised to respect everybody and i tries to keep it up. some things in the north are all right, i like them, but i like the south better. yes, i guess i like the south better. i was married to charles w. dickens in . he is my second husband. i inherited this place from my father henry byrd. i like well water. there is my well, right out here in the yard. this well was dug here when they were building the first house here. i believe in havin' your own home, so i have held on to my home, and i am goin' to try to keep holdin' on to it. [footnote : an interesting feature of the deed is the fact that henry morgan made his mark while henry byrd's signature is his own.] n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: rev. squire dowd story teller: rev. squire dowd editor: daisy bailey waitt [hw: minister--interesting] [tr: date stamp "jun "] [hw: language not negro, very senternous & interesting.] [tr: the above comment is crossed out.] reverend squire dowd battle street raleigh, n. c. my name is squire dowd, and i was born april , . my mother's name was jennie dowd. my father's name was elias kennedy. my mother died in georgia at the age of , and my father died in moore county at the age of . i attended his funeral. my sister and her husband had carried my mother to georgia, when my sister's husband went there to work in turpentine. my mother's husband was dead. she had married a man named stewart. you could hardly keep up with your father during slavery time. it was a hard thing to do. there were few legal marriages. when a young man from one plantation courted a young girl on the plantation, the master married them, sometimes hardly knowing what he was saying. my master was general w. d. dowd. he lived three miles from carthage, in moore county, north carolina. he owned fifty slaves. the conditions were good. i had only ten years' experience, but it was a good experience. no man is fool enough to buy slaves to kill. i have never known a real slave owner to abuse his slaves. the abuse was done by patterollers and overseers. i have a conservative view of slavery. i taught school for four years and i have been in the ministry fifty years. i was ordained a christian minister in . i lived in moore county until , then i moved to raleigh. i have feeling. i don't like for people to have a feeling that slaves are no more than dogs; i don't like that. it causes people to have the wrong idea of slavery. here is john bectom, a well, healthy friend of mine, years of age. if we had been treated as some folks say, these big, healthy niggers would not be walking about in the south now. the great negro leaders we have now would never have come out of it. the places we lived in were called cabins. the negroes who were thrifty had nice well-kept homes; and it is thus now. the thrifty of the colored race live well; the others who are indolent live in hovels which smell foul and are filthy. prayer meetings were held at night in the cabins of the slaves. on sunday we went to the white folk's church. we sat in a barred-off place, in the back of the church or in a gallery. we had a big time at cornshuckings. we had plenty of good things to eat, and plenty of whiskey and brandy to drink. these shuckings were held at night. we had a good time, and i never saw a fight at a cornshucking in life. if we could catch the master after the shucking was over, we put him in a chair, we darkies, and toted him around and hollered, carried him into the parlor, set him down, and combed his hair. we only called the old master "master". we called his wife "missus." when the white children grew up we called them mars. john, miss mary, etc. we had some money. we made baskets. on moonlight nights and holidays we cleared land; the master gave us what we made on the land. we had money. the darkies also stole for deserters during the war. they paid us for it. i ate what i stole, such as sugar. i was not big enough to steal for the deserters. i was a house boy. i stole honey. i did not know i was free until five years after the war. i could not realize i was free. many of us stayed right on. if we had not been ruined right after the war by carpetbaggers our race would have been, well,--better up by this time, because they turned us against our masters, when our masters had everything and we had nothing. the freedmen's bureau helped us some, but we finally had to go back to the plantation in order to live. we got election days, christmas, new year, etc., as holidays. when we were slaves we had a week or more christmas. the holidays lasted from christmas eve to after new years. sometimes we got passes. if our master would not give them to us, the white boys we played with would give us one. we played cat, jumping, wrestling and marbles. we played for fun; we did not play for money. there were acres on the plantation. we hunted a lot, and the fur of the animals we caught we sold and had the money. we were allowed to raise a few chickens and pigs, which we sold if we wanted to. the white folks rode to church and the darkies walked, as many of the poor white folks did. we looked upon the poor white folks as our equals. they mixed with us and helped us to envy our masters. they looked upon our masters as we did. negro women having children by the masters was common. my relatives on my mother's side, who were kellys are mixed blooded. they are partly white. we, the darkies and many of the whites hate that a situation like this exists. it is enough to say that seeing is believing. there were many and are now mixed blooded people among the race. i was well clothed. our clothes were made in looms. shoes were made on the plantation. distilleries were also located on the plantation. when they told me i was free, i did not notice it. i did not realize it till many years after when a man made a speech at carthage, telling us we were free. i did not like the yankees. we were afraid of them. we had to be educated to love the yankees, and to know that they freed us and were our friends. i feel that abraham lincoln was a father to us. we consider him thus because he freed us. the freedmen's bureau and carpet baggers caused us to envy our masters and the white folks. the ku klux klan, when we pushed our rights, came in between us, and we did not know what to do. the ku klux were after the carpet baggers and the negroes who followed them. it was understood that white people were not to teach negroes during slavery, but many of the whites taught the negroes. the children of the white folks made us study. i could read and write when the war was up. they made me study books, generally a blue-back spelling book as punishment for mean things i done. my missus, a young lady about years old taught a sunday school class of colored boys and girls. this sunday school was held at a different time of day from the white folks. sometimes old men and old women were in these classes. i remember once they asked uncle ben pearson who was meekest man, 'moses' he replied. 'who was the wisest man?' 'soloman', 'who was the strongest man?' was then asked him. to this he said 'they say bill medlin is the strongest, but tom shaw give him his hands full.' they were men of the community. medlin was white, shaw was colored. i do not like the way they have messed up our songs with classical music. i like the songs, 'roll jordan roll', 'old ship of zion', 'swing low sweet chariot'. classical singers ruin them, though. there was no use of our going to town of saturday afternoon to buy our rations, so we worked saturday afternoons. when we got sick the doctors treated us. dr. j. d. shaw, dr. bruce, and dr. turner. they were the first doctors i ever heard any tell of. they treated both whites and darkies on my master's plantation. i married a matthews, anna matthews, august . we have one daughter. her name is ella. she married george cheatam of henderson, n. c. a magistrate married us, mr. pitt cameron. it was just a quiet wedding on saturday night with about one-half dozen of my friends present. my idea of life is to forget the bad and live for the good there is in it. this is my motto. b. n. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: fannie dunn story teller: fannie dunn editor: g. l. andrews [tr: date stamp "aug "] fannie dunn heck street, raleigh, n. c. i don't 'zakly know my age, but i knows and 'members when de yankees come through wake county. i wus a little girl an' wus so skeered i run an hid under de bed. de yankees stopped at de plantation an' along de road fur a rest. i 'members i had diphtheria an' a yankee doctor come an' mopped my throat. dey had to pull me outen under de bed so he could doctor me. one yankee would come along an' give us sumptin' an another would come on behind him an' take it. dats de way dey done. one give mother a mule an' when dey done gone she sold it. a yankee give mother a ham of meat, another come right on behind him an' took it away from her. dere shore wus a long line of dem yankees. i can 'member seeing 'em march by same as it wus yisterday. i wus not old enough to work, but i 'members 'em. i don't know 'zackly but i wus 'bout five years old when de surrender wus. my name before i wus married wus fannie sessoms an' mother wus named della sessoms. we belonged to dr. isaac sessoms an' our missus wus named hanna. my father wus named perry vick, after his marster who wus named perry vick. my missus died durin' de war an' marster never married anymore. i don't 'member much 'bout missus but mother tole me she wus some good woman an' she loved her. marster wus mighty good to us an' didn't allow patterollers to whip us none. de slave houses wus warm and really dey wus good houses, an' didn't leak neither. i don't 'member much 'bout my grandparents, just a little mother tole me 'bout 'em. grandma 'longed to de sessoms an' dr. isaac sessoms brother wus mother's father. mother tole me dat. look at dat picture, mister, you see you can't tell her from a white woman. dats my mother's picture. she wus as white as you wid long hair an' a face like a white woman. she been dead 'bout twenty years. my mother said dat we all fared good, but course we wore homemade clothes an' wooden bottomed shoes. we went to the white folks church at red oak an' rocky mount missionary baptist churches. we were allowed to have prayer meetings at de slave houses, two an' three times a week. i 'members goin' to church 'bout last year of de war wid mother. i had a apple wid me an' i got hungry an' wanted to eat it in meetin' but mother jest looked at me an' touched my arm, dat wus enough. i didn't eat de apple. i can 'member how bad i wanted to eat it. don't 'member much 'bout dat sermon, guess i put my mind on de apple too much. marster had about twenty slaves an' mother said dey had always been allowed to go to church an' have prayer meetings 'fore i wus born. marster had both white an' colored overseers but he would not allow any of his overseers to bulldoze over his slaves too much. he would call a overseer down for bein' rough at de wrong time. charles sessoms wus one of marster's colored overseers. he 'longed to marster, an' mother said marster always listened to what charles said. dey said marster had always favored him even 'fore he made him overseer. charles sessoms fell dead one day an' mother found him. she called marster sessoms an' he come an' jest cried. mother said when marster come he wus dead shore enough, dat marster jest boohooed an' went to de house, an' wouldn't look at him no more till dey started to take him to de grave. everybody on de plantation went to his buryin' an' funeral an' some from de udder plantation dat joined ourn. i 'members but little 'bout my missus, but 'members one time she run me when i wus goin' home from de great house, an' she said, 'i am goin' to catch you, now i catch you'. she pickin' at me made me love her. when she died mother tole me 'bout her bein' dead an' took me to her buryin'. next day i wanted to go an' get her up. i tole mother i wanted her to come home an' eat. mother cried an' took me up in her arms, an' said, 'honey missus will never eat here again.' i wus so young i didn't understand. dr. sessoms an' also dr. drake, who married his daughter, doctored us when we wus sick. dr. joe drake married marster's only daughter harriet an' his only son david died in mississippi. he had a plantation dere. i been married only once. i wus married forty years ago to sidney dunn. i had one chile, she's dead. from what i knows of slavery an' what my mother tole me i can't say it wus a bad thing. mister, i wants to tell de truth an' i can't say its bad 'cause my mother said she had a big time as a slave an' i knows i had a good time an' wus treated right. le n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: jennylin dunn person interviewed: jennylin dunn editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: no date stamp] jennylin dunn ex-slave story an interview with jennylin dunn , of bledsoe avenue, raleigh, n. c. i wuz borned hyar in wake county eighty-seben years ago. me an' my folks an' bout six others belonged ter mis' betsy lassiter who wuz right good ter us, do' she sho' did know dat chilluns needs a little brushin' now an' den. my papa wuz named isaac, my mammy wuz named liza, an' my sisters wuz named lucy, candice an' harriet. dar wuz one boy what died 'fore i can 'member an' i doan know his name. we ain't played no games ner sung no songs, but we had fruit ter eat an' a heap of watermillions ter eat in de season. i seed seberal slabe sales on de block, front of de raleigh cou't house, an' yo' can't think how dese things stuck in my mind. a whole heap o' times i seed mammies sold from dere little babies, an' dar wuz no'min' den, as yo' knows. de patterollers wuz sumpin dat i wuz skeerd of. i know jist two o' 'em, mr. billy allen dunn an' mr. jim ray, an' i'se hyard of some scandelous things dat dey done. dey do say dat dey whupped some of de niggers scandelous. when dey hyard dat de yankees wuz on dere way ter hyar dey says ter us dat dem yankees eats little nigger youngins, an' we shore stays hid. i jist seed squeamishin' parties lookin' fer sumpin' ter eat, an' i'se hyard dat dey tuck ever'thing dey comes 'crost. a whole heap of it dey flunged away, an' atterwards dey got hongry too. one of 'em tried ter tell us dat our white folks stold us from our country an' brung us hyar, but since den i foun' out dat de yankees stole us dereselves, an' den dey sold us ter our white folkses. atter de war my pappy an' mammy brung us ter raleigh whar i'se been libin' since dat time. we got along putty good, an' de yankees sont us some teachers, but most o' us wuz so busy scramblin' roun' makin' a livin' dat we ain't got no time fer no schools. i reckon dat hit wuz better dat de slaves wuz freed, but i still loves my white folkses, an' dey loves me. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: aunt lucy's love story person interviewed: lucy ann dunn editor: g. l. andrews [tr: date stamp "aug "] aunt lucy's love story an interview with lucy ann dunn, years old, cannon street, raleigh, n. c. my pappy, dempsey, my mammy, rachel an' my brothers an' sisters an' me all belonged ter marse peterson dunn of neuse, here in wake county. dar wus five of us chilluns, allen, charles, corina, madora an' me, all borned before de war. my mammy wus de cook, an' fur back as i 'members almost, i wus a house girl. i fanned flies offen de table an' done a heap of little things fer mis' betsy, marse peterson's wife. my pappy worked on de farm, which wus boun' ter have been a big plantation wid two hundert an' more niggers ter work hit. i 'members when word come dat war wus declared, how mis' betsy cried an' prayed an' how marse peter quarreled an' walked de floor cussin' de yankees. de war comes on jist de same an' some of de men slaves wus sent ter roanoke ter hep buil' de fort. yes mam, de war comes ter de great house an' ter de slave cabins jist alike. de great house wus large an' white washed, wid green blinds an' de slave cabins wus made of slabs wid plank floors. we had plenty ter eat an' enough ter wear an' we wus happy. we had our fun an' we had our troubles, lak little whuppin's, when we warn't good, but dat warn't often. atter so long a time de rich folkses tried ter hire, er make de po' white trash go in dere places, but some of dem won't go. dey am treated so bad dat some of dem cides ter be ku kluxes an' dey goes ter de woods ter live. when we starts ter take up de aigs er starts from de spring house wid de butter an' milk dey grabs us an' takes de food fer dereselbes. dis goes on fer a long time an' finally one day in de spring i sets on de porch an' i hear a roar. i wus 'sponsible fer de goslins dem days so i sez ter de missus, 'i reckin dat i better git in de goslins case i hear hit a-thunderin'. 'dat ain't no thunder, nigger, dat am de canon', she sez. 'what canon', i axes? 'why de canon what dey am fightin' wid', she sez. well dat ebenin' i is out gittin' up de goslins when i hears music, i looks up de road an' i sees flags, an' 'bout dat time de yankees am dar a-killin' as dey goes. dey kills de geese, de ducks, de chickens, pigs an' ever'thing. dey goes ter de house an' dey takes all of de meat, de meal, an' ever'thing dey can git dere paws on. when dey goes ter de kitchen whar mammy am cookin' she cuss dem out an' run dem outen her kitchen. dey shore am a rough lot. i aint never fergot how mis' betsy cried when de news of de surrender come. she aint said nothin' but marse peter he makes a speech sayin' dat he aint had ter sell none of us, dat he aint whupped none of us bad, dat nobody has ever run away from him yet. den he tells us dat all who wants to can stay right on fer wages. well we stayed two years, even do my pappy died de year atter de surrender, den we moves ter marse peter's other place at wake forest. atter dat we moves back ter neuse. hit wus in de little baptist church at neuse whar i fust seed big black jim dunn an' i fell in love wid him den, i reckons. he said dat he loved me den too, but hit wus three sundays 'fore he axed ter see me home. we walked dat mile home in front of my mammy an' i wus so happy dat i aint thought hit a half a mile home. we et cornbread an' turnips fer dinner an' hit wus night 'fore he went home. mammy wouldn't let me walk wid him ter de gate. i knowed, so i jist sot dar on de porch an' sez good night. he come ever' sunday fer a year an' finally he proposed. i had told mammy dat i thought dat i ort ter be allowed ter walk ter de gate wid jim an' she said all right iffen she wus settin' dar on de porch lookin'. dat sunday night i did walk wid jim ter de gate an' stood under de honeysuckles dat wus a-smellin' so sweet. i heard de big ole bullfrogs a-croakin' by de riber an' de whipper-wills a-hollerin' in de woods. dar wus a big yaller moon, an' i reckon jim did love me. anyhow he said so an' axed me ter marry him an' he squeezed my han'. i tol' him i'd think hit ober an' i did an' de nex' sunday i tol' him dat i'd have him. he aint kissed me yet but de nex' sunday he axes my mammy fer me. she sez dat she'll have ter have a talk wid me an' let him know. well all dat week she talks ter me, tellin' me how serious gittin' married is an' dat hit lasts a powerful long time. i tells her dat i knows hit but dat i am ready ter try hit an' dat i intends ter make a go of hit, anyhow. on sunday night mammy tells jim dat he can have me an' yo' orter seed dat black boy grin. he comes ter me widout a word an' he picks me up outen dat cheer an' dar in de moonlight he kisses me right 'fore my mammy who am a-cryin'. de nex' sunday we wus married in de baptist church at neuse. i had a new white dress, do times wus hard. we lived tergether fifty-five years an' we always loved each other. he aint never whup ner cuss me an' do we had our fusses an' our troubles we trusted in de lawd an' we got through. i loved him durin' life an' i love him now, do he's been daid now fer twelve years. the old lady with her long white hair bowed her head and sobbed for a moment then she began again unsteadily. we had eight chilluns, but only four of dem are livin' now. de livin' are james, sidney, helen an' florence who wus named fer florence nightingale. i can't be here so much longer now case i'se gittin' too old an' feeble an' i wants ter go ter jim anyhow. the old woman wiped her eyes, 'i thinks of him all de time, but seems lak we're young agin when i smell honeysuckles er see a yaller moon. le n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: travis jordan subject: tempie herndon durham ex-slave years old pine st., durham, n. c. [tr: date stamp "aug "] tempie herndon durham ex-slave years old pine st., durham, n. c. i was thirty-one years ole when de surrender come. dat makes me sho nuff ole. near 'bout a hundred an' three years done passed over dis here white head of mine. i'se been here, i mean i'se been here. 'spects i'se de olest nigger in durham. i'se been here so long dat i done forgot near 'bout as much as dese here new generation niggers knows or ever gwine know. my white fo'ks lived in chatham county. dey was marse george an' mis' betsy herndon. mis betsy was a snipes befo' she married marse george. dey had a big plantation an' raised cawn, wheat, cotton an' 'bacca. i don't know how many field niggers marse george had, but he had a mess of dem, an' he had hosses too, an' cows, hogs an' sheeps. he raised sheeps an' sold de wool, an' dey used de wool at de big house too. dey was a big weavin' room whare de blankets was wove, an' dey wove de cloth for de winter clothes too. linda hernton an' milla edwards was de head weavers, dey looked after de weavin' of de fancy blankets. mis' betsy was a good weaver too. she weave de same as de niggers. she say she love de clackin' soun' of de loom, an' de way de shuttles run in an' out carryin' a long tail of bright colored thread. some days she set at de loom all de mawnin' peddlin' wid her feets an' her white han's flittin' over de bobbins. de cardin' an' spinnin' room was full of niggers. i can hear dem spinnin' wheels now turnin' roun' an' sayin' hum-m-m-m, hum-m-m-m, an' hear de slaves singin' while dey spin. mammy rachel stayed in de dyein' room. dey wuzn' nothin' she didn' know' bout dyein'. she knew every kind of root, bark, leaf an' berry dat made red, blue, green, or whatever color she wanted. dey had a big shelter whare de dye pots set over de coals. mammy rachel would fill de pots wid water, den she put in de roots, bark an' stuff an' boil de juice out, den she strain it an'put in de salt an' vinegar to set de color. after de wool an' cotton done been carded an' spun to thread, mammy take de hanks an' drap dem in de pot of bollin' dye. she stir dem' roun' an' lif' dem up an' down wid a stick, an' when she hang dem up on de line in de sun, dey was every color of de rainbow. when dey dripped dry dey was sent to de weavin' room whare dey was wove in blankets an' things. when i growed up i married exter durham. he belonged to marse snipes durham who had de plantation 'cross de county line in orange county. we had a big weddin'. we was married on de front po'ch of de big house. marse george killed a shoat an' mis' betsy had georgianna, de cook, to bake a big weddin' cake all iced up white as snow wid a bride an' groom standin' in de middle holdin' han's. de table was set out in de yard under de trees, an' you ain't never seed de like of eats. all de niggers come to de feas' an' marse george had a dram for everybody. dat was some weddin'. i had on a white dress, white shoes an' long white gloves dat come to my elbow, an' mis' betsy done made me a weddin' veil out of a white net window curtain. when she played de weddin ma'ch on de piano, me an' exter ma'ched down de walk an' up on de po'ch to de altar mis' betsy done fixed. dat de pretties' altar i ever seed. back 'gainst de rose vine dat was full or red roses, mis' betsy done put tables filled wid flowers an' white candles. she done spread down a bed sheet, a sho nuff linen sheet, for us to stan' on, an' dey was a white pillow to kneel down on. exter done made me a weddin' ring. he made it out of a big red button wid his pocket knife. he done cut it so roun' an' polished it so smooth dat it looked like a red satin ribbon tide 'roun' my finger. dat sho was a pretty ring. i wore it 'bout fifty years, den it got so thin dat i lost it one day in de wash tub when i was washin' clothes. uncle edmond kirby married us. he was de nigger preacher dat preached at de plantation church. after uncle edmond said de las' words over me an' exter, marse george got to have his little fun: he say, 'come on, exter, you an' tempie got to jump over de broom stick backwards; you got to do dat to see which one gwine be boss of your househol'.' everybody come stan' 'roun to watch. marse george hold de broom 'bout a foot high off de floor. de one dat jump over it backwards an' never touch de handle, gwine boss de house, an' if bof of dem jump over widout touchin' it, dey won't gwine be no bossin', dey jus' gwine be 'genial. i jumped fus', an' you ought to seed me. i sailed right over dat broom stick same as a cricket, but when exter jump he done had a big dram an' his feets was so big an' clumsy dat dey got all tangled up in dat broom an' he fell head long. marse george he laugh an' laugh, an' tole exter he gwine be bossed 'twell he skeered to speak less'n i tole him to speak. after de weddin' we went down to de cabin mis' betsy done all dressed up, but exter couldn' stay no longer den dat night kaze he belonged to marse snipes durham an' he had to back home. he lef' de nex day for his plantation, but he come back every saturday night an' stay 'twell sunday night. we had eleven chillun. nine was bawn befo' surrender an' two after we was set free. so i had two chillun dat wuzn' bawn in bondage. i was worth a heap to marse george kaze i had so manny chillun. de more chillun a slave had de more dey was worth. lucy carter was de only nigger on de plantation dat had more chillun den i had. she had twelve, but her chillun was sickly an' mine was muley strong an' healthy. dey never was sick. when de war come marse george was too ole to go, but young marse bill went. he went an' took my brother sim wid him. marse bill took sim along to look after his hoss an' everything. dey didn' neither one get shot, but mis' betsy was skeered near 'bout to death all de time, skeered dey was gwine be brung home shot all to pieces like some of de sojers was. de yankees wuzn' so bad. de mos' dey wanted was sumpin' to eat. dey was all de time hungry, de fus' thing dey ax for when dey came was sumpin' to put in dey stomach. an' chicken! i ain' never seed even a preacher eat chicken like dem yankees. i believes to my soul dey ain' never seed no chicken 'twell dey come down here. an' hot biscuit too. i seed a passel of dem eat up a whole sack of flour one night for supper. georgianna sif' flour 'twell she look white an' dusty as a miller. dem sojers didn' turn down no ham neither. dat de onlies' thing dey took from marse george. dey went in de smoke house an' toted off de hams an' shoulders. marse george say he come off mighty light if dat all dey want, 'sides he got plenty of shoats anyhow. we had all de eats we wanted while de war was shootin' dem guns, kaze marse george was home an' he kep' de niggers workin'. we had chickens, gooses, meat, peas, flour, meal, potatoes an' things like dat all de time, an' milk an' butter too, but we didn' have no sugar an' coffee. we used groun' pa'ched cawn for coffee an' cane 'lasses for sweetnin'. dat wuzn' so bad wid a heap of thick cream. anyhow, we had enough to eat to 'vide wid de neighbors dat didn' have none when surrender come. i was glad when de war stopped kaze den me an' exter could be together all de time 'stead of saturday an' sunday. after we was free we lived right on at marse george's plantation a long time. we rented de lan' for a fo'th of what we made, den after while be bought a farm. we paid three hundred dollars we done saved. we had a hoss, a steer, a cow an' two pigs, 'sides some chickens an' fo' geese. mis' betsy went up in de attic an' give us a bed an' bed tick; she give us enough goose feathers to make two pillows, den she give us a table an' some chairs. she give us some dishes too. marse george give exter a bushel of seed cawn an some seed wheat, den he tole him to go down to de barn an' get a bag of cotton seed. we got all dis den we hitched up de wagon an' th'owed in de passel of chillun an' moved to our new farm, an' de chillun was put to work in de fiel'; dey growed up in de fiel' kaze dey was put to work time dey could walk good. freedom is all right, but de niggers was better off befo' surrender, kaze den dey was looked after an' dey didn' get in no trouble fightin' an' killin' like dey do dese days. if a nigger cut up an' got sassy in slavery times, his ole marse give him a good whippin' an' he went way back an' set down an' 'haved hese'f. if he was sick, marse an' mistis looked after him, an' if he needed store medicine, it was bought an' give to him; he didn' have to pay nothin'. dey didn' even have to think' bout clothes nor nothin' like dat, dey was wove an' made an' give to dem. maybe everybody's marse an' mistis wuzn' good as marse george an' mis' betsy, but dey was de same as a mammy an' pappy to us niggers. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: ex-slave story story teller: george eatman editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp "jun "] ex-slave story an interview on may , with george eatman, , of cary, r. # . i belonged ter mr. gus eatman who lived at de ole templeton place on de durham highway back as fer as i can 'member. i doan r'member my mammy an' pappy case dey wuz sold 'fore i knowed anything. i raised myself an' i reckon dat i done a fair job uv it. de marster an' missus wuz good to dere twenty-five slaves an' we ain't neber got no bad whuppin's. i doan 'member much playin' an' such like, but i de 'members dat i wuz de handy boy 'round de house. de confederate soldiers camp at ephesus church one night, an' de nex' day de marster sent me ter de mill on crabtree. yo' 'members where ole company mill is, i reckon? well, as i rode de mule down de hill, out comes wheeler's calvalry, which am as mean as de yankees, an' dey ax me lots uv questions. atter awhile dey rides on an' leaves me 'lone. while i am at de mill one uv wheeler's men takes my mule an' my co'n, an' i takes de ole saddle an' starts ter walkin' back home. all de way, most, i walks in de woods, case wheeler's men am still passin'. when i gits ter de morgan place i hyars de cannons a-boomin', ahh--h i ain't neber hyar sich a noise, an' when i gits so dat i can see dar dey goes, as thick as de hairs on a man's haid. i circles round an' gits behin' dem an' goes inter de back uv de-house. well, dar stan's a yankee, an' he axes missus mary fer de smokehouse key. she gibes it ter him an' dey gits all uv de meat. one big can uv grease am all dat wuz saved, an' dat wuz burried in de broom straw down in de fiel'. dey camps roun' dar dat night an' dey shoots ever chicken, pig, an' calf dey sees. de nex' day de marster goes ter raleigh, an' gits a gyard, but dey has done stole all our stuff an' we am liven' mostly on parched co'n. de only patterollers i knowed wuz kenyan jones an' billy pump an' dey wuz called po' white trash. dey owned blood houn's, an' chased de niggers an' whupped dem shamful, i hyars. i neber seed but one ku klux an' he wuz sceered o' dem. atter de war we stayed on five or six years case we ain't had no place else ter go. we ain't liked abraham lincoln, case he wuz a fool ter think dat we could live widout de white folkses, an' jeff davis wuz tryin' ter keep us, case he wuz greedy an' he wanted ter be de boss dog in politics. district: no. . [ ] worker: daisy whaley subject: ex-slave story. interviewed: doc edwards, ex-slave. yrs staggville, n. c. [hw: capital a--circled] [tr: date stamp "aug "] doc edwards ex-slave, yrs. i was bawn at staggville, n. c., in . i belonged to marse paul cameron. my pappy was murphy mccullers. mammy's name was judy. dat would make me a mccullers, but i was always knowed as doc edwards an' dat is what i am called to dis day. i growed up to be de houseman an' i cooked for marse benehan,--marse paul's son. marse benehan was good to me. my health failed from doing so much work in de house an' so i would go for a couple of hours each day an' work in de fiel' to be out doors an' get well again. marse paul had so many niggers dat he never counted dem. when we opened de gate for him or met him in de road he would say, "who is you? whare you belong?" we would say, "we belong to marse paul." "alright, run along" he'd say den, an' he would trow us a nickel or so. we had big work shops whare we made all de tools, an' even de shovels was made at home. dey was made out of wood, so was de rakes, pitchforks an' some of de hoes. our nails was made in de blacksmith shop by han' an' de picks an' grubbin' hoes, too. we had a han' thrashing machine. it was roun' like a stove pipe, only bigger. we fed de wheat to it an' shook it' til de wheat was loose from de straw an' when it come out at de other end it fell on a big cloth, bigger den de sheets. we had big curtains all roun' de cloth on de floor, like a tent, so de wheat wouldn' get scattered. den we took de pitchfork an' lifted de straw up an' down so de wheat would go on de cloth. den we moved de straw when de wheat was all loose den we fanned de wheat wid big pieces of cloth to get de dust an' dirt outen it, so it could be taken to de mill an' groun' when it was wanted. when de fall come we had a regular place to do different work. we had han' looms an' wove our cotton an' yarn an' made de cloth what was to make de clothes for us to wear. we had a shop whare our shoes was made. de cobbler would make our shoes wid wooden soles. after de soles was cut out dey would be taken down to de blacksmiyh an' he would put a thin rim of iron aroun' de soles to keep dem from splitting. dese soles was made from maple an' ash wood. we didn' have any horses to haul wid. we used oxen an' ox-carts. de horse and mules was used to do de plowin'. when de yankees come dey didn' do so much harm, only dey tole us we was free niggers. but i always feel like i belong to marse paul, an' i still live at staggville on de ole plantation. i has a little garden an' does what i can to earn a little somethin'. de law done fixed it so now dat i will get a little pension, an' i'll stay right on in dat little house 'til de good lawd calls me home, den i will see marse paul once more. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mrs. w. n. harriss no. words: subject: john evans born in slavery editor: mrs. w. n. harriss interviewed john evans on the street and in this office. residence changes frequently. [tr: date stamp "sep-- "] story of john evans born in slavery. i was born august th, . i am years old. dat comes out right, don't it? my mother's name was hattie newbury. i don't never remember seein' my pa. we lived on middle sound an' dat's where i was born. i knows de room, 'twas upstairs, an' when i knowed it, underneath, downstairs dat is, was bags of seed an' horse feed, harness an' things, but it was slave quarters when i come heah. me an' my mother stayed right on with mis' newberry after freedom, an' never knowed no diffunce. they was jus' like sisters an' i never knowed nothin' but takin' keer of mistus newberry. she taught me my letters an' the bible, an' was mighty perticler 'bout my manners. an' i'm tellin' you my manners is brought me a heap more money than my readin'--or de bible. i'm gwine tell you how dat is, but fust i want to say the most i learned on middle sound was' bout fishin' an' huntin'. an' dawgs. my! but there sho' was birds an' possums on de sound in dem days. pa'tridges all over de place. why, even me an' my mammy et pa'tridges fer bre'kfust. think of dat now! but when i growed up my job was fishin'. i made enough sellin' fish to the summer folks all along wrightsville and greenville sounds to keep me all winter. my mammy cooked fer mis' newberry. after a while they both died. i never did'nt git married. i don't know nothin' 'bout all the mean things i hear tell about slaves an' sich. we was just one fam'ly an' had all we needed. we never paid no 'tention to freedom or not freedom. i remember eve'ybody had work to do in slavery an' dey gone right on doin' it sence. an' nobody don't git nowheres settin' down holdin' their han's. it do'n make so much diffunce anyhow what you does jes so's you does it. one time when i was carryin' in my fish to "airlie" [tr: difficult to read] mr. pem jones heard me laff, an' after i opened dis here mouf of mine an' laffed fer him i didn't have to bother 'bout fish no mo'. lordy, dose rich folks he used to bring down fum new yo'k is paid me as much as _sixty_ dollars a week to laff fer 'em. one of 'em was named mr. _fish_. now you know dat tickled _me_. i could jes laff an' laff 'bout dat. mr. pem give me fine clo'es an' a tall silk hat. i'd eat a big dinner in de kitchen an' den go in' mongst de quality an' laff fer' em an' make my noise like a wood saw in my th'oat. dey was crazy 'bout dat. an' then's when i began to be thankful 'bout my manners. i's noticed if you has nice manners wid eve'ybody people gwine to be nice to you. well, (with a long sigh) i don't pick up no sich money nowadays; but my manners gives me many a chance to laff, an' i never don't go hungry. john has been a well known character for fifty years among the summer residents along the sounds and on wrightsville beach. he was a fisherman and huckster in his palmy days, but now john's vigor is on the wane, and he has little left with which to gain a livelihood except his unusually contagious laugh, and a truly remarkable flow of words. "old john" could give walter winchel a handicap of twenty words a minute and then beat him at his own game. his mouth is enormous and his voice deep and resonant. he can make a noise like a wood saw which he maintains for or minutes without apparent effort, the sound buzzing on and on from some mysterious depths of his being with amazing perfection of imitation. any day during the baseball season john may be seen sandwiched between his announcement boards, a large bell in one hand, crying the ball game of the day. "old john" to the youngsters; but finding many a quarter dropped in his hand by the older men with memories of gay hours and hearty laughter. district: no. [ ] worker: daisy whaley subject: ex-slave storyteller: lindsay faucette ex-slave church street, durham, n. c. [tr: date stamp "jul "] lindsey faucette, yrs. ex-slave. yes, mis', i wuz bawn in , de th of november, on de occoneechee plantation, owned by marse john norwood an' his good wife, mis' annie. an' when i say 'good' i mean jus dat, for no better people ever lived den my marse john an' mis' annie. one thing dat made our marse an' mistis so good wuz de way dey brought up us niggers. we wuz called to de big house an' taught de bible an' dey wuz bible readin's every day. we wuz taught to be good men an' women an' to be hones'. marse never sold any of us niggers. but when his boys and girls got married he would give dem some of us to take with dem. marse never allowed us to be whipped. one time we had a white overseer an' he whipped a fiel' han' called sam norwood, til de blood come. he beat him so bad dat de other niggers had to take him down to de river an' wash de blood off. when marse come an' foun' dat out he sent dat white man off an' wouldn' let him stay on de plantation over night. he jus' wouldn' have him roun' de place no longer. he made uncle whitted de overseer kase he wuz one of de oldest slaves he had an' a good nigger. when any of us niggers got sick mis' annie would come down to de cabin to see us. she brung de best wine, good chicken an' chicken soup an' everything else she had at de big house dat she thought we would like, an' she done everything she could to get us well again. marse john never worked us after dark. we worked in de day an' had de nights to play games an' have singin's. we never cooked on a sunday. everything we ett on dat day was cooked on saturday. dey wuzn' lighted in de cook stoves or fire places in de big house or cabins neither. everybody rested on sunday. de tables wuz set an' de food put on to eat, but nobody cut any wood an' dey wuzn' no other work don' on dat day. mammy beckie wuz my gran'mammy an' she toted de keys to de pantry an' smoke house, an' her word went wid marse john an' mis' annie. marse john wuz a great lawyer an' when he went to pittsboro an' other places to practice, if he wuz to stay all night, mis' annie had my mammy sleep right in bed wid her, so she wouldn' be 'fraid. marse an mistis had three sons an' three daughters,--de oldest son wuz not able to go to war. he had studied so hard dat it had 'fected his mind, so he stayed at home. de secon' son, named albert, went to war an' wuz brought back dead with a bullet hole through his head. dat liked to have killed marse john an' mis' annie. dey wuz three girls, named, mis' maggie, mis' ella bella and mis' rebena. i wuz de cow-tender. i took care of de cows an' de calves. i would have to hold de calf up to de mother cow 'til de milk would come down an' den i would have to hold it away 'til somebody done de milkin'. i tended de horses, too, an' anything else dat i wuz told to do. when de war started an' de yankees come, dey didn' do much harm to our place. marse had all de silver an' money an' other things of value hid under a big rock be de river an' de yankees never did fine anything dat we hid. our own sojers did more harm on our plantation den de yankees. dey camped in de woods an' never did have nuff to eat an' took what dey wanted. an' lice! i ain't never seed de like. it took fifteen years for us to get shed of de lice dat de sojers lef' behind. you jus' couldn' get dem out of your clothes les' you burned dem up. dey wuz hard to get shed of. after de war wuz over marse john let pappy have eighteen acres of land for de use of two of his boys for a year. my pappy made a good crop of corn, wheat an' other food on dis land. dey wuz a time when you couldn' find a crust of bread or piece of meat in my mammy's pantry for us to eat, an' when she did get a little meat or bread she would divide it between us chillun, so each would have a share an' go without herself an' never conplained. when pappy wuz makin' his crop some of de others would ask him why he didn' take up some of his crop and get somethin' to eat. he would answer an' say dat when he left dat place he intended to take his crop with him an' he did. he took plenty of corn, wheat, potatoes an' other food, a cow, her calf, mule an' hogs an' he moved to a farm dat he bought. later on in years my pappy an mammy come here in durham an' bought a home. i worked for dem' til i wuz thirty-two years old an' give dem what money i earned. i worked for as little as twenty-five cents a day. den i got a dray an' hauled for fifteen cents a load from de durham depo' to west durham for fifteen years. little did i think at dat time dat i would ever have big trucks an' a payroll of $ , . a year. de good lawd has blest me all de way, an' all i have is his'n, even to my own breath. den one day i went back home to see my old marse an' i foun' him sittin' in a big chair on de po'ch an' his health wuzn' so good. he sed, "lindsey, why don' you stop runnin' roun' wid de girls an' stop you cou't 'n? you never will get nowhere makin' all de girls love you an' den you walk away an' make up with some other girl. go get yourself a good girl an' get married an' raise a family an' be somebody." an' i did. i quit all de girls an' i foun' a fine girl and we wuz married. i sho got a good wife; i got one of de best women dat could be foun' an' we lived together for over forty-five years. den she died six years ago now, an' i sho miss her for she wuz a real help-mate all through dese years. we raised five chillun an' educated dem to be school teachers an' other trades. i have tried to live de way i wuz raised to. my wife never worked a day away from home all de years we wuz married. it wuz my raisin an' my strong faith in my lawd an' marster dat helped me to get along as well as i have, an' i bless him every day for de strength he has given me to bring up my family as well as i have. der is only one way to live an' dat is de right way. educate your chillun, if you can, but be sho you give dem de proper moral training at home. de right way to raise your chillun is to larn dem to have manners and proper respect for their parents, be good citizens an' god fearin' men an' women. when you have done dat you will not be ashamed of dem in your old age. i bless my maker dat i have lived so clos' to him as i have all dese years an' when de time comes to go to him i will have no regrets an' no fears. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: a slave story story teller: ora m. flagg editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: no date stamp] ora m. flagg oberlin road my name is ora m. flagg. i wus born in raleigh near the professional building, in the year , october . my mother wus named jane busbee. her marster wus quent busbee, a lawyer. her missus wus julia busbee. she wus a taylor before she married mr. busbee. now i tell you, i can't tell you exactly, but the old heads died. the old heads were the scurlocks who lived in chatham county. i heard their names but i don't remember them. their children when they died drawed for the slaves and my mother wus brought to raleigh when she wus eight years old. she came from the scurlocks to the busbees. the taylors were relatives of the scurlocks, and were allowed to draw, and julia taylor drawed my mother. it wus fixed so the slaves on this estate could not be sold, but could be drawed for by the family and relatives. she got along just middlin' after her missus died. when her missus died, mother said she had to look after herself. mr. busbee would not allow anyone to whip mother. he married miss lizzie bledsoe the second time. i wus only a child and, of course, i thought as i could get a little something to eat everything wus all right, but we had few comforts. we had prayer meeting and we went to the white people's church. i heard mother say that they had to be very careful what they said in their worship. lots of time dey put us children to bed and went off. about the time of the surrender, i heard a lot about the patterollers, but i did not know what they were. children wus not as wise then as they are now. they didn't know as much about things. yes sir, i remember the yankees coming to raleigh, we had been taken out to moses bledsoe's place on holleman's road to protect mr. bledsoe's things. they said if they put the things out there, and put a family of negroes there the yankees would not bother the things. so they stored a lot of stuff there, and put my mother an' a slave man by the name o' tom gillmore there. two negro families were there. we children watched the yankees march by. the yankees went through everything, and when mother wouldn't tell them where the silver wus hid they threw her things in the well. mother cried, an' when the yankee officers heard of it they sent a guard there to protect us. the colored man, tom gillmore, wus so scared, he and his family moved out at night leaving my mother alone with her family. the yankees ate the preserves and all the meat and other things. they destroyed a lot they could not eat. mother and me stayed on with marster after the surrender, and stayed on his place till he died. after that we moved to peck's place, called peck's place because the property wus sold by louis peck. it wus also called the 'save-rent' section, then in later years oberlin road. i think slavery wus a bad thing, while it had its good points in building good strong men. in some cases where marsters were bad it wus a bad thing. abraham lincoln wus our friend, he set us free. i don't know much about booker t. washington. mr roosevelt is all right. jim young seemed to be all right. jeff davis didn't bother me. i guess he wus all right. eh n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary hicks no. words: subject: ex-slave story story teller: analiza foster. editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: no date stamp] ex-slave story an interview with analiza foster, of south blount street, raleigh, north carolina. i wuz borned in person county ter tom line an' harriet cash. my mammy belonged ter a mr. cash an' pappy belonged ter miss betsy woods. both of dese owners wuz mean ter dere slaves an' dey ain't carin' much if'en dey kills one, case dey's got plenty. dar wuz one woman dat i hyard mammy tell of bein' beat clean ter death. de 'oman wuz pregnant an' she fainted in de fiel' at de plow. de driver said dat she wuz puttin' on, an' dat she ort ter be beat. de master said dat she can be beat but don't ter hurt de baby. de driver says dat he won't, den he digs a hole in de sand an' he puts de 'oman in de hole, which am nigh 'bout ter her arm pits, den he kivers her up an' straps her han's over her haid. he takes de long bull whup an' he cuts long gashes all over her shoulders an' raised arms, den he walks off an' leabes her dar fer a hour in de hot sun. de flies an' de gnats dey worry her, an' de sun hurts too an' she cries a little, den de driver comes out wid a pan full of vinegar, salt an' red pepper an' he washes de gashes. de 'oman faints an' he digs her up, but in a few minutes she am stone dead. dat's de wust case dat i'se eber hyard of but i reckon dar wuz plenty more of dem. ter show yo' de value of slaves i'll tell yo' 'bout my gran'ma. she wuz sold on de block four times, an' eber time she brung a thousand dollars. she wuz valuable case she wuz strong an' could plow day by day, den too she could have twenty chilluns an' wuck right on. de yankees come through our country an' dey makes de slaves draw water fer de horses all night. course dey stold eber'thing dey got dere han's on but dat wuz what ole abraham lincoln tol' dem ter do. mh:eh n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: a slave story story teller: georgianna foster editor: george l. andrews [tr: date stamp "aug "] georgianna foster poole road, route # . raleigh, north carolina. i wus born in . i jes' can 'member de yankees comin' through, but i 'members dere wus a lot of 'em wearin' blue clothes. i wus born at kerney upchurch's plantation twelve miles from raleigh. he wus my marster an' missus enny wus his wife. my father wus named axiom wilder and my mother wus mancy wilder. de most i know 'bout slavery dey tole it to me. i 'members i run when de yankees come close to me. i wus 'fraid of 'em. we lived in a little log houses at marsters. de food wus short an' things in general wus bad, so mother tole me. she said dey wus a whole lot meaner den dey had any business bein'. dey allowed de patterollers to snoop around an' whup de slaves, mother said dey stripped some of de slaves naked an' whupped 'em. she said women had to work all day in de fields an' come home an' do de house work at night while de white folks hardly done a han's turn of work. marse kerney had a sluice of chilluns. i can't think of 'em all, but i 'members calvin, james, allen, emily, helen, an' i jest can't think of de rest of de chilluns names. mother said dey gathered slaves together like dey did horses an' sold 'em on de block. mother said dey carried some to rolesville in wake county an' sold 'em. dey sold henry temples an' lucinda upchurch from marster's plantation, but dey carried 'em to raleigh to sell 'em. we wore homemade clothes an' shoes wid wooden bottoms. dey would not allow us to sing an' pray but dey turned pots down at de door an' sung an' prayed enyhow an' de lord heard dere prayers. dat dey did sing an' pray. mother said dey whupped a slave if dey caught him wid a book in his hand. you wus not 'lowed no books. larnin' among de slaves wus a forbidden thing. dey wus not allowed to cook anything for demselves at de cabins no time 'cept night. dere wus a cook who cooked fur all durin' de day. sometimes de field han's had to work 'round de place at night after comin' in from de fields. mother said livin' at marster's wus hard an' when dey set us free we left as quick as we could an' went to mr. bob perry's plantation an' stayed there many years. he wus a good man an' give us all a chance. mother wus free born at upchurch's but when de war ended, she had been bound to wilder by her mother, an' had married my father who wus a slave belongin' to bob wilder. dey did not like de fare at marster upchurch's or marster wilder's, so when dey wus set free dey lef' an' went to mrs. perry's place. dey had overseers on both plantations in slavery time but some of de niggers would run away before dey would take a whuppin'. fred perry run away to keep from bein' sold. he come back do' an' tole his marster to do what he wanted to wid him. his marster told him to go to work an' he stayed dere till he wus set free. god heard his prayer 'cause he said he axed god not to let him be sold. mother an' father said abraham lincoln come through there on his way to jeff davis. jeff davis wus de southern president. lincoln say, 'turn dem slaves loose, jeff davis,' an' jeff davis said nuthin'. den he come de second time an' say, 'is you gwine to turn dem slaves loose?' an' jeff davis wouldn't do it. den lincoln come a third time an' had a cannon shootin' man wid him an' he axed, 'is you gwine to set dem slaves free jeff davis?' an' jeff davis he say, 'abraham lincoln, you knows i is not goin' to give up my property, an' den lincoln said, 'i jest as well go back an' git up my crowd den.' dey talked down in south carolina an' when jeff davis 'fused to set us free, lincoln went home to the north and got up his crowd, one hundred an' forty thousand men, dey said, an' de war begun. dey fighted an' fighted an' de yankees whupped. dey set us free an' dey say dat dey hung jeff davis on a ole apple tree. eh [hw in margin:--illegible] n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: frank freeman story teller: frank freeman editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: no date stamp] frank freeman tappers lane i was born near rolesville in wake county christmas eve, of december . i am years old. my name is frank freeman and my wife's name is mary freeman. she is years old. we live at tuppers lane, raleigh, wake county, north carolina. i belonged to ole man jim wiggins jus' this side o' roseville, fourteen miles from raleigh. the great house is standin' there now, and a family by the name o' gill, a colored man's family, lives there. the place is owned by ole man jim wiggins's grandson, whose name is o. b. wiggins. my wife belonged to the terrells before the surrender. i married after the war. i was forty years ole when i was married. old man jim wiggins was good to his niggers, and when the slave children were taken off by his children they treated us good. missus dressed mother up in her clothes and let her go to church. we had good, well cooked food, good clothes, and good places to sleep. some of the chimneys which were once attached to the slave houses are standing on the plantation. the home plantation in wake county was acres. marster also owned three and a quarter plantations in franklin county. he kept about ten men at home and would not let his slave boys work until they were years old, except tend to horses and do light jobs around the house. he had slaves on all his plantations but they were under colored overseers who were slaves themselves. marster had three boys and five girls, eight children of his own. one of the girls was siddie wiggins. when she married alfred holland, and they went to smithfield to live she took me with her, when i was two years old. she thought so much o' me mother was willing to let me go. mother loved miss siddie, and it was agreeable in the family. i stayed right on with her after the surrender three years until . my father decided to take me home then and went after me. they never taught us books of any kind. i was about years old when i began to study books. when i was christmas eve , father told me i was my own man and that was all he had to give me. i had decided many years before to save all my nickles. i kept them in a bag. i did not drink, chew, smoke or use tobacco in any way during this time. when he told me i was free i counted up my money and found i had $ . . i had never up to this tasted liquor or tobacco. i don't know anything about it yet. i have never used it. with that money i entered shaw university. i worked eight hours a week in order to help pay my way. later i went into public service, teaching four months a year in the public schools. my salary was $ . per month. i kept going to school at shaw until i could get a first grade teacher's certificate. i never graduated. i taught in the public schools for years. i would be teaching now, but i have high blood pressure. i was at master hollands at smithfield when the yankees came through. they went into my marster's store and began breaking up things and taking what they wanted. they were dressed in blue and i did not know who they were. i asked and someone told me they were the yankees. my father was named burton, and my mother was named queen anne. father was a freeman and mother was a wiggins. there were no churches on the plantation. my father told me a story about his young master, joe freeman and my father's brother soloman. marster got soloman to help whip him. my father went in to see young missus and told her about it, and let her know he was going away. he had got the cradle blade and said he would kill either of them if they bothered him. father had so much indian blood in him that he would fight. he ran away and stayed four years and passed for a free nigger. he stayed in the bancomb settlement in johnson county. when he came home before the war ended, old marster said, 'soloman why didn't you stay?' father said, 'i have been off long enough'. marster said 'go to work', and there was no more to it. father helped build the breastworks in the eastern part of the state down at ft. fisher. he worked on the forts at new bern too. i think abraham lincoln worked hard for our freedom. he was a great man. i think mr. roosevelt is a good man and is doing all he can for the good of all. le n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: addy gill story teller: addy gill editor: g. l. andrews [tr: date stamp "sep "] addy gill "b" st. lincoln park raleigh, north carolina. i am seventy four years of age. i wus born a slave jan. , on a plantation near millburnie, wake county, owned by major wilder, who hired my father's time. his wife wus named sarah wilder. i don't know anything 'bout slavery 'cept what wus tole me by father and mother but i do know that if it had not been for what de southern white folks done for us niggers we'd have perished to death. de north turned us out wid out anything to make a livin' wid. my father wus david gill and, my mother wus emily gill. my father wus a blacksmith an he moved from place to place where dey hired his time. dats why i wus born on major wilders place. marster gill who owned us hired father to major wilder and mother moved wid him. for a longtime atter de war, nine years, we stayed on wid major wilder, de place we wus at when dey set us free. mr. wilder had a large plantation and owned a large number of slaves before de surrender. i only 'members fourteen of de ones i know belonged to him. mr. wilder wus a mighty good man. we had plenty to eat an plenty work to do. dere wus seven in the major's family. three boys, two girls, he an his wife. his boys wus named sam, will and crockett. de girls wus named florence and flora. dey are all dead, every one of 'em. de whole set. i don't know nary one of 'em dats livin. if dey wus livin i could go to 'em an' git a meal any time. yes sir! any time, day or night. i farmed for a long time for myself atter i wus free from my father at years of age. den 'bout twelve years ago i come to raleigh and got a job as butler at st. augustine episcopal college for colored. i worked dere eight years, wus taken sick while workin dere an has been unable to work much since. dat wus four years ago. since den sometimes i ain't able to git up outen my cheer when i is settin down. i tells you, mister, when a nigger leaves de farm an comes to town to live he sho is takin a mighty big chance wid de wolf. he is just a riskin parishin, dats what he is a doin. i married forty five years ago this past november. i wus married on de second thursday night in november to millie ruffin of wake county, north carolina. we had leben chilluns, six boys an five gals. four of the boys an one of de gals is livin now. some of my chilluns went north but dey didn't stay dere but two months. de one dat went north wus sam, dat wus de oldest one. he took a notion to marry so he went up to pennsylvania and worked. just as soon as he got enough money to marry on he come back an got married. he never went back north no more. mother belonged to sam krenshaw before she wus bought by marster gill. her missus when she was a girl growin up wus mrs. louise krenshaw. de missus done de whuppin on mr. krenshaw's plantation an she wus mighty rough at times. she whupped mother an cut her back to pieces so bad dat de scars wus on her when she died. father died in raleigh an mother died out on miss annie ball's farm 'bout seven miles from raleigh. mother an father wus livin there when mother died. father den come to raleigh an died here. i caint read an write but all my chilluns can read and write. mother and father could not read or write. i haint had no chance. i had no larnin. i had to depend on white folks i farmed wid to look atter my business. some of em cheated me out of what i made. i am tellin you de truth 'bout some of de landlords, dey got mighty nigh all i made. mr. richard taylor who owned a farm near raleigh whur i stayed two years wus one of em. he charged de same thing three times an i had it to pay. i stayed two years an made nothin'. dis is de truth from my heart, from here to glory. i members payin' fur a middlin of meat twice. some of de white folks looked out fur me an prospered. mr. dave faulk wus one of 'em. i stayed wid him six years and i prospered. mr. john bushnell wus a man who took up no time wid niggers. i rented from him a long time. he furnished a nigger cash to run his crap on. de nigger made de crap sold it an carried him his part. he figgered 'bout what he should have an de nigger paid in cash. he wus a mighty good man to his nigger tenants. i never owned a farm, i never owned horses or mules to farm with. i worked de landlords stock and farmed his land on shares. farmin' has been my happiest life and i wushes i wus able to farm agin cause i am happiest when on de farm. i had a quiet home weddin' an i wus married by a white magistrate. i got up one night an' wus married at o'clock. atter de weddin she went back home wid me. we have had our ups and downs in life. sometimes de livin' has been mighty hard, but dere has never been a time since i been free when i could not git a handout from de white folks back yard. le n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: , subject: a slave story story teller: robert glenn editor: george l. andrews [tr: date stamp "sep "] robert glenn idlewild avenue raleigh, north carolina. i was a slave before and during the civil war. i am years old. i was born sept. , . i was born in orange county, north carolina near hillsboro. at that time durham was just a platform at the station and no house there whatever. the platform was lighted with a contraption shaped like a basket and burning coal that gave off a blaze. there were holes in this metal basket for the cinders to fall through. i belonged to a man named bob hall, he was a widower. he had three sons, thomas, nelson, and lambert. he died when i was eight years old and i was put on the block and sold in nelson hall's yard by the son of bob hall. i saw my brother and sister sold on this same plantation. my mother belonged to the halls, and father belonged to the glenns. they sold me away from my father and mother and i was carried to the state of kentucky. i was bought by a negro speculator by the name of henry long who lived not far from hurdles mill in person county. i was not allowed to tell my mother and father goodbye. i was bought and sold three times in one day. my father's time was hired out and as he knew a trade he had by working overtime saved up a considerable amount of money. after the speculator, henry long, bought me, mother went to father and pled with him to buy me from him and let the white folks hire me out. no slave could own a slave. father got the consent and help of his owners to buy me and they asked long to put me on the block again. long did so and named his price but when he learned who had bid me off he backed down. later in the day he put me on the block and named another price much higher than the price formerly set. he was asked by the white folks to name his price for his bargain and he did so. i was again put on the auction block and father bought me in, putting up the cash. long then flew into a rage and cursed my father saying, 'you damn black son of a bitch, you think you are white do you? now just to show you are black, i will not let you have your son at any price.' father knew it was all off, mother was frantic but there was nothing they could do about it. they had to stand and see the speculator put me on his horse behind him and ride away without allowing either of them to tell me goodbye. i figure i was sold three times in one day, as the price asked was offered in each instance. mother was told under threat of a whupping not to make any outcry when i was carried away. he took me to his home, but on the way he stopped for refreshments, at a plantation, and while he was eating and drinking, he put me into a room where two white women were spinning flax. i was given a seat across the room from where they were working. after i had sat there awhile wondering where i was going and thinking about mother and home, i went to one of the women and asked, 'missus when will i see my mother again?' she replied, i don't know child, go and sit down. i went back to my seat and as i did so both the women stopped spinning for a moment, looked at each other, and one of them remarked. "almighty god, this slavery business is a horrible thing. chances are this boy will never see his mother again." this remark nearly killed me, as i began to fully realize my situation. long, the negro trader, soon came back, put me on his horse and finished the trip to his home. he kept me at his home awhile and then traded me to a man named william moore who lived in person county. moore at this time was planning to move to kentucky which he soon did, taking me with him. my mother found out by the "grapevine telegraph" that i was going to be carried to kentucky. she got permission and came to see me before they carried me off. when she started home i was allowed to go part of the way with her but they sent two negro girls with us to insure my return. we were allowed to talk privately, but while we were doing so, the two girls stood a short distance away and watched as the marster told them when they left that if i escaped they would be whipped every day until i was caught. when the time of parting came and i had to turn back, i burst out crying loud. i was so weak from sorrow i could not walk, and the two girls who were with me took me by each arm and led me along half carrying me. this man moore carried me and several other slaves to kentucky. we traveled by train by way of nashville, tenn. my thoughts are not familiar with the happenings of this trip but i remember that we walked a long distance at one place on the trip from one depot to another. we finally reached kentucky and moore stopped at his brother's plantation until he could buy one, then we moved on it. my marster was named william moore and my missus was named martha whitfield moore. it was a big plantation and he hired a lot of help and had white tenants besides the land he worked with slaves. there were only six slaves used as regular field hands during his first year in kentucky. the food was generally common. hog meat and cornbread most all the time. slaves got biscuits only on sunday morning. our clothes were poor and i worked barefooted most of the time, winter and summer. no books, papers or anything concerning education was allowed the slaves by his rules and the customs of these times. marster moore had four children among whom was one boy about my age. the girls were named atona, beulah, and minnie, and the boy was named crosby. he was mighty brilliant. we played together. he was the only white boy there, and he took a great liking to me, and we loved each devotedly. once in an undertone he asked me how would i like to have an education. i was overjoyed at the suggestion and he at once began to teach me secretly. i studied hard and he soon had me so i could read and write well. i continued studying and he continued teaching me. he furnished me books and slipped all the papers he could get to me and i was the best educated negro in the community without anyone except the slaves knowing what was going on. all the slaves on marster's plantation lived the first year we spent in kentucky in a one room house with one fireplace. there was a dozen or more who all lived in this one room house. marster built himself a large house having seven rooms. he worked his slaves himself and never had any overseers. we worked from sun to sun in the fields and then worked at the house after getting in from the fields as long as we could see. i have never seen a patteroller but when i left the plantation in slavery time i got a pass. i have never seen a jail for slaves but i have seen slaves whipped and i was whipped myself. i was whipped particularly about a saddle i left out in the night after using it during the day. my flesh was cut up so bad that the scars are on me to this day. we were not allowed to have prayer meetings, but we went to the white folks church to services sometimes. there were no looms, mills, or shops on the plantation at marster moore's. i kept the name of glenn through all the years as marster moore did not change his slaves names to his family name. my mother was named martha glenn and father was named bob glenn. i was in the field when i first heard of the civil war. the woman who looked after henry hall and myself (both slaves) told me she heard marster say old abraham lincoln was trying to free the niggers. marster finally pulled me up and went and joined the confederate army. kentucky split and part joined the north and part the south. the war news kept slipping through of success for first one side then the other. sometimes marster would come home, spend a few days and then go again to the war. it seemed he influenced a lot of men to join the southern army, among them was a man named enoch moorehead. moorehead was killed in a few days after he joined the southern army. marster moore fell out with a lot of his associates in the army and some of them who were from the same community became his bitter enemies. tom foushee was one of them. marster became so alarmed over the threats on his life made by foushee and others that he was afraid to stay in his own home at night, and he built a little camp one and one half miles from his home and he and missus spent their nights there on his visits home. foushee finally came to the great house one night heavily armed, came right on into the house and inquired for marster. we told him marster was away. foushee lay down on the floor and waited a long time for him. marster was at the little camp but we would not tell where he was. foushee left after spending most of the night at marster's. as he went out into the yard, when leaving, marster's bull dog grawled at him and he shot him dead. marster went to henderson, kentucky, the county seat of henderson county, and surrendered to the federal army and took the oath of allegiance. up to that time i had seen a few yankees. they stopped now and then at marster's and got their breakfast. they always asked about buttermilk, they seemed to be very fond of it. they were also fond of ham, but we had the ham meat buried in the ground, this was about the close of the war. a big army of yankees came through a few months later and soon we heard of the surrender. a few days after this marster told me to catch two horses that we had to go to dickenson which was the county seat of webster county. on the way to dickenson he said to me, 'bob, did you know you are free and lincoln has freed you? you are as free as i am.' we went to the freedmen's bureau and went into the office. a yankee officer looked me over and asked marster my name, and informed me i was free, and asked me whether or not i wanted to keep living with moore. i did not know what to do, so i told him yes. a fixed price of seventy-five dollars and board was then set as the salary i should receive per year for my work. the yankees told me to let him know if i was not paid as agreed. i went back home and stayed a year. during the year i hunted a lot at night and thoroughly enjoyed being free. i took my freedom by degrees and remained obedient and respectful, but still wondering and thinking of what the future held for me. after i retired at night i made plan after plan and built aircastles as to what i would do. at this time i formed a great attachment for the white man, mr. atlas chandler, with whom i hunted. he bought my part of the game we caught and favored me in other ways. mr. chandler had a friend, mr. dewitt yarborough, who was an adventurer, and trader, and half brother to my ex-marster, mr. moore, with whom i was then staying. he is responsible for me taking myself into my own hands and getting out of feeling i was still under obligations to ask my marster or missus when i desired to leave the premises. mr. yarborough's son was off at school at a place called kiloh, kentucky, and he wanted to carry a horse to him and also take along some other animals for trading purposes. he offered me a new pair of pants to make the trip for him and i accepted the job. i delivered the horse to his son and started for home. on the way back i ran into uncle squire yarborough who once belonged to dewitt yarborough. he persuaded me to go home with him and go with him to a wedding in union county, kentucky. the wedding was twenty miles away and we walked the entire distance. it was a double wedding, two couples were married. georgianna hawkins was married to george ross and steve carter married a woman whose name i do not remember. this was in the winter during the christmas holidays and i stayed in the community until about the first of january, then i went back home. i had been thinking for several days before i went back home as to just what i must tell mr. moore and as to how he felt about the matter, and what i would get when i got home. in my dilema i almost forgot i was free. i got home at night and my mind and heart was full but i was surprised at the way he treated me. he acted kind and asked me if i was going to stay with him next year. i was pleased. i told him, yes sir! and then i lay down and went to sleep. he had a boss man on his plantation then and next morning he called me, but i just couldn't wake. i seemed to be in a trance or something, i had recently lost so much sleep. he called me the second time and still i di [hw: d] not get up. then he came in and spanked my head. i jumped up and went to work feeding the stock and splitting wood for the day's cooking and fires. i then went in and ate my breakfast. mr. moore told me to hitch a team of horses to a wagon and go to a neighbors five miles away for a load of hogs. i refused to do so. they called me into the house and asked me what i was going to do about it. i said i do not know. as i said that i stepped out of the door and left. i went straight to the county seat and hired to dr. george rasby in webster county for one hundred dollars per year. i stayed there one year. i got uneasy in kentucky. the whites treated the blacks awful bad so i decided to go to illinois as i thought a negro might have a better chance there, it being a northern state. i was kindly treated and soon began to save money, but all through the years there was a thought that haunted me in my dreams and in my waking hours, and this thought was of my mother, whom i had not seen or heard of in many years. finally one cold morning in early december i made a vow that i was going to north carolina and see my mother if she was still living. i had plenty of money for the trip. i wrote the postmaster in roxboro, north carolina, asking him to inform my mother i was still living, and telling him the circumstances, mailing a letter at the same time telling her i was still alive but saying nothing of my intended visit to her. i left illinois bound for north carolina on december th and in a few days i was at my mother's home. i tried to fool them. there were two men with me and they called me by a ficticious name, but when i shook my mother's hand i held it a little too long and she suspicioned something still she held herself until she was more sure. when she got a chance she came to me and said ain't you my child? tell me ain't you my child whom i left on the road near mr. moore's before the war? i broke down and began to cry. mother nor father did not know me, but mother suspicioned i was her child. father had a few days previously remarked that he did not want to die without seeing his son once more. i could not find language to express my feeling. i did not know before i came home whether my parents were dead or alive. this christmas i spent in the county and state of my birth and childhood; with mother, father and freedom was the happiest period of my entire life, because those who were torn apart in bondage and sorrow several years previous were now united in freedom and happiness. eh n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: travis jordan subject: sarah anne green ex-slave, years durham county [tr: no date stamp] sarah anne green ex-slave years my mammy an' pappy wuz anderson an' hannah watson. we fus' belonged to marse billy an' mis roby watson, but when marse billy's daughter, mis' susie ma'ied young marse billy headen, ole marse give her me, an' my mammy an' my pappy for er weddin' gif'. so, i growed up as sarah anne headen. my pappy had blue eyes. dey wuz jus' like marse billy's eyes, kaze ole marse wuz pappy's marster an' his pappy too. ole marse wuz called hickory billy, dey called him dat kaze he chewed hickory bark. he wouldn' touch 'bacca, but he kept er twis' of dis bark in his pocket mos' all de time. he would make us chillun go down whare de niggers wuz splittin' rails an' peel dis bark off de logs befo' dey wuz split. de stuff he chewed come off de log right under de bark. after dey'd skin de logs we'd peel off dis hickory 'bacca in long strips an' make it up in twis's for ole marse. it wuz yellah an' tas' sweet an' sappy, an' he'd chew an' spit, an' chew an' spit. mis' roby wouldn' 'low no chewin' in de house, but ole marse sho done some spittin' outside. he could stan' in de barn door an' spit clear up in de lof'. ole marse an' mis roby lived on er big plantation near goldston an' dey had 'bout three hundred slaves. hannah, my mammy, wuz de head seamstress. she had to 'ten' to de makin' of all de slaves clothes. de niggers had good clothes. de cloth wuz home woven in de weavin' room. ten niggers didn' do nothin' but weave, but every slave had one sunday dress a year made out of store bought cloth. ole marse seed to dat. ole marse made de niggers go to chu'ch too. he had er meetin' house on plantation an' every sunday we wuz ma'ched to meetin'. dey wuz preachin' every other sunday an' sunday school every sunday. marse billy an' mis' roby teached de sunday school, but dey didn' teach us to read an' write, no suh, dey sho didn'. if dey'd see us wid er book dey'd whip us. dey said niggers didn' need no knowledge; dat dey mus' do what dey wuz tole to do. marse billy wuz er doctor too. he doctored de slaves when dey got sick, an' if dey got bad off he sen' for er sho nuff doctor an' paid de bills. every chris'mas marse billy give de niggers er big time. he called dem up to de big house an' give dem er bag of candy, niggertoes, an' sugar plums, den he say: 'who wants er egg nog, boys?' all dem dat wants er dram hol' up dey han's.' yo' never seed such holdin' up of han's. i would hol' up mine too, an' ole marse would look at me an say, 'go 'way from hear, sarah anne, yo' too little to be callin' for nog.' but he fill up de glass jus' de same an' put in er extra spoon of sugar an' give it to me. dat sho wuz good nog. 'twuz all foamy wid whipped cream an' rich wid eggs. marse billy an' mis' roby served it demselves from dey sunday cut glass nog bowl, an' it kept estella an' rosette busy fillin' it up. marse billy wuz er good man. when de war come on marse billy was too ole to go, but young marse billy an' marse gaston went. dey wuz ole marse's two boys. young marse billy headen, mis' susie's husban' went too. de day ole marse heard dat de yankees wuz comin' he took all de meat 'cept two or three pieces out of de smoke house, den he got de silver an' things an' toted dem to de wood pile. he dug er hole an' buried dem, den he covered de place wid chips, but wid dat he wuzn' satisfied, so he made pappy bring er load of wood an' throw it on top of it, so when de yankees come dey didn' fin' it. when de yankees come up in de yard marse billy took mis' roby an' locked her up in dey room, den he walk 'roun' an' watched de yankees, but dey toted off what dey wanted. i wuzn' skeered of de yankees; i thought dey wuz pretty mens in dey blue coats an' brass buttons. i followed dem all 'roun' beggin' for dey coat buttons. i ain't never seed nothin' as pretty as dem buttons. when dey lef' i followed dem way down de road still beggin', 'twell one of dem yankees pull off er button an' give it to me. 'hear, nigger,' he say, 'take dis button. i's givin' it to you kaze yo's got blue eyes. i ain't never seed blue eyes in er black face befo'.' i had blue eyes like pappy an' marse billy, an' i kept dat yankee button 'twell i wuz ma'ied, den i los' it. de wus' thing i know dat happened, in de war wuz when mis' roby foun' de yankee sojer in de ladies back house. down at de back of de garden behin' de row of lilac bushes wuz de two back houses, one for de mens an' one for de ladies. mis' roby went down to dis house one day, an' when she opened de door, dare lay er yankee sojer on de floor. his head wuz tied up wid er bloody rag an' he look like he wuz dead. mammy say she seed mis' roby when she come out. she looked skeered but she didn' scream nor nothin'. when she seed mammy she motioned to her. she tole her 'bout de yankee. 'he's jus' er boy, hannah,' she say, 'he ain't no older den marse gaston, an' he's hurt. we got to do somethin' an' we can't tell nobody.' den she sen' mammy to de house for er pan of hot water, de scissors an' er ole sheet. mis' roby cut off de bloody ran an' wash dat sojer boy's head den she tied up de cut places. den she went to de house an' made mammy slip him er big milk toddy. 'bout dat time she seed some ho'seman comin' down de road. when dey got closer she seed dey wuz 'federate sojers. dey rode up in de yard an' marse billy went out to meet dem. dey tole him dat dey wuz lookin' for er yankee prisoner dat done got away from dey camp. after ole marse tole dem dat he ain't seed no yankee sojer, dey tole him dat dey got to search de place kaze dat wuz orders. when mis roby heard dem say dat she turned an' went through de house to do back yard. she walk 'roun' 'mong de flowers, but all de time she watchin' dem 'federates search de barns, stables, an' everywhare. but, when dey start to de lilac bushes, mis' roby lif' her head an' walk right down de paf to de ladies back house, an' right befo' all dem mens, wid dem lookin' at her, she opened de door an' walk in. she sholy did. dat night when 'twuz dark mis' roby wrap' up er passel of food an' er bottle of brandy an' give it to dat sojer yankee boy. she tole him dey wuz ho'ses in de paster an' dat de yankee camp wuz over near laurinburg or somewhare like dat. nobody ain't seed dat boy since, but somehow dat ho'se come back an' in his mane wuz er piece of paper. marse billy foun' it an' brung it to mis' roby an' ax her what it meant. mis' roby took it an' 'twuz er letter dat sojer boy done wrote tellin' her dat he wuz safe an' thankin' her for what she done for him. mis' roby tole marse billy she couldn' help savin' dat yankee, he too much of er boy. marse billy he look at mis' roby, den he say: 'roby, honey, yo's braver den any sojer i ever seed.' n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: dorcas griffeth person interviewed: dorcas griffeth editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp "jun "] dorcas griffeth e. south street you know me every time you sees me don't you? who tole you i wus dorcas griffith? i seed you up town de other day. yes, yes, i is old. i is years old. i remember all about dem yankees. the first biscuit i ever et dey give it to me. i wus big enough to nus de babies when de yankees came through. dey carried biscuits on dere horses, i wus jist thinkin' of my young missus de other day. i belonged to doctor clark in chatham county near pittsboro. my father wus named billy dismith, and my mother wus named peggy council. she belonged to the councils. father, belonged to the dismiths and i belonged to the clarks. missus wus named winnie. dey had tolerable fine food for de white folks, but i did not get any of it. de food dey give us wus mighty nigh nuthin'. our clothes wus bad and our sleepin' places wus not nuthin' at all. we had a hard time. we had a hard time then and we are havin' a hard time now. we have a house to live in now, and de chinches eat us up almos, and we have nuthin' to live on now, jist a little from charity. i fares mighty bad. dey gives me a half peck of meal and a pound o' meat, a little oat meal, and canned grape juice, a half pound o' coffee and no sugar or lard and no flour. dey gives us dat for a week's eatin'. de yankees called de niggers who wus plowin' de mules when dey came through an' made 'em bring 'em to 'em an' dey carried de mules on wid em. de niggers called de yankees blue jackets. i had two brothers, both older dan me. george de oldest and jack. let me see i had four sisters , , , ; one wus named annie, one named rosa, annie, and francis and myself dorcas. all de games i played wus de wurk in de field wid a hoe. dere wus no playgrounds like we has now. no, no, if you got your work done you done enough. if i could see how to write like you i could do a lot o' work but i can't see. i kin write. i got a good education acording to readin', spellin, and writin'. i kin say de nd chapter of matthey by heart, the chapter of ezelial by heart, or most of ezekial by heart. i learned it since i got free. i went to school in raleigh to de washington school. dey wouldn't let us have books when i wus a slave. i wus afraid ter be caught wid a book. de patterollers scared us so bad in slavery time and beat so many uv de slaves dat we lef' de plantation jus' as soon as we wus free. dat's de reason father lef' de plantation so quick. i also remember de ku klux. i wus afraid o' dem, and i did not think much of 'em. i saw slaves whupped till de blood run down dere backs. once dey whupped some on de plantation and den put salt on de places and pepper on 'em. i didn't think nuthin in de world o' slavery. i think de it wus wrong. i didn't think a thing o' slavery. all my people are dead, and i am unable to work. i haven't been able to work in six years. i thought abraham lincoln wus a good man. he had a good name. i don't know much about mr. roosevelt but i hopes he will help me, cause i need it mighty bad. [tr: no header page] sarah gudger [ ] ex-slave, years investigation of the almost incredible claim of aunt sarah gudger, ex-slave living in asheville, that she was born on sept. , , discloses some factual information corroborating her statements. aunt sarah's father, smart gudger, belonged to and took his family name from joe gudger, who lived near oteen, about six miles east of asheville in the swannanoa valley, prior to the war between the states. family records show that joe gudger married a miss mcrae in , and that while in a despondent mood he ended his own life by hanging, as vividly recounted by the former slave. john hemphill, member of the family served by aunt sarah until "freedom," is recalled as being "a few y'ars younge' as me," and indeed his birth is recorded for . alexander hemphill, mentioned by aunt sarah as having left to join the confederate army when about years of age, is authentic and his approximate age in tallies with that recalled by the ex-slave. when alexander went off to the war aunt sarah was "gettin' t' be an ol' woman." aunt sarah lives with distant cousins in a two-story frame house, comfortably furnished, at dalton street in south asheville (the negro section lying north of kenilworth). a distant male relative, years of age, said he has known aunt sarah all his life and that she was an old woman when he was a small boy. small in stature, about five feet tall, aunt sarah is rathered rounded in face and body. her milk-chocolate face is surmounted by short, sparse hair, almost milk white. she is somewhat deaf but understands questions asked her, responding with animation. she walks with one crutch, being lame in the right leg. on events of the long ago her mind is quite clear. recalling the confederate "sojers, marchin', marchin'" to the drums, she beat a tempo on the floor with her crutch. as she described how the hands of slaves were tied before they were whipped for infractions she crossed her wrists. owen gudger, asheville postmaster ( - ), member of the buncombe county historical association, now engaged in the real estate business, says he has been acquainted with aunt sarah all his life; that he has, on several occasions, talked to her about her age and early associations, and that her responses concerning members of the gudger and hemphill families coincide with known facts of the two families. interviewed by a member of the federal writers' project, aunt sarah seemed eager to talk, and needed but little prompting. sarah gudger (born september , ) interview with mrs. marjorie jones, may , i wah bo'n 'bout two mile fum ole fo't on de ole mo'ganton road. i sho' has had a ha'd life. jes wok, an' wok, an' wok. i nebbah know nothin' but wok. mah boss he wah ole man andy hemphill. he had a la'ge plantation in de valley. plenty ob ebbathin'. all kine ob stock: hawgs, cows, mules, an' hosses. when marse andy die i go lib wif he son, william hemphill. i nebbah fo'git when marse andy die. he wah a good ole man, and de missie she wah good, too. she usta read de bible t' us chillun afoah she pass away. mah pappy, he lib wif joe gudgah (gudger). he ole an' feeble, i 'membahs. he 'pend on mah pappy t' see aftah ebbathin' foah him. he allus trust mah pappy. one mo'nin' he follah pappy to de field. pappy he stop hes wok and ole marse joe, he say: "well, smart (pappy, he name smart), i's tard, wurried, an' trubble'. all dese yeahs i wok foah mah chillun. dey nevah do de right thing. dey wurries me, smart. i tell yo', smart, i's a good mind t' put mahself away. i's good mind t' drown mahself right heah. i tebble wurried, smart." pappy he take hole ole marse joe an' lead him t' de house. "now marse joe, i wudden talk sich talk effen i's yo'. yo' ben good t' yo' fambly. jest yo' content yo'self an' rest." but a few days aftah dat, ole marse joe wah found ahangin' in de ba'n by de bridle. ole marse had put heself away. no'm, i nebbah knowed whut it wah t' rest. i jes wok all de time f'om mawnin' till late at night. i had t' do ebbathin' dey wah t' do on de outside. wok in de field, chop wood, hoe cawn, till sometime i feels lak mah back sholy break. i done ebbathin' 'cept split rails. yo' know, dey split rails back in dem days. well, i nevah did split no rails. ole marse strop us good effen we did anythin' he didn' lak. sometime he get hes dandah up an' den we dassent look roun' at him. else he tie yo' hands afoah yo' body an' whup yo', jes lak yo' a mule. lawdy, honey, i's tuk a thousand lashins in mah day. sometimes mah poah ole body be soah foah a week. ole boss he send us niggahs out in any kine ob weathah, rain o' snow, it nebbah mattah. we had t' go t' de mountings, cut wood an' drag it down t' de house. many de time we come in wif ouh cloes stuck t' ouh poah ole cold bodies, but 'twarn't no use t' try t' git 'em dry. ef de ole boss o' de ole missie see us dey yell: "git on out ob heah yo' black thin', an' git yo' wok outen de way!" an' lawdy, honey, we knowed t' git, else we git de lash. dey did'n cah how ole o' how young yo' wah, yo' nebbah too big t' git de lash. de rich white folks nebbah did no wok; dey had da'kies t' do it foah dem. in de summah we had t' wok outdoo's, in de wintah in de house. i had t' ceard an' spin till ten o'clock. nebbah git much rest, had t' git up at foah de nex' mawnin' an' sta't agin. didn' get much t' eat, nuthah, jes a lil' cawn bread an' 'lasses. lawdy, honey, yo' caint know whut a time i had. all cold n' hungry. no'm, i aint tellin' no lies. it de gospel truf. it sho is. i 'membah well how i use t' lie 'wake till all de folks wah sleepin', den creep outen de do' and walk barfoot in de snow, 'bout two mile t' mah ole auntie's house. i knowed when i git dar she fix hot cawn pone wif slice o' meat an' some milk foah me t' eat. auntie wah good t' us da'kies. i nebbah sleep on a bedstead till aftah freedom, no'm till [hw: asterisk] aftah freedom. jes' an ole pile o' rags in de conah. ha'dly 'nuf t' keep us from freezin'. law, chile, nobuddy knows how mean da'kies wah treated. wy, dey wah bettah t' de animals den t' us'ns. mah fust ole marse wah a good ole man, but de las'n, he wah rapid--- he sho wah rapid. wy, chile, times aint no mo' lak dey usta be den de day an' night am lak. in mah day an' time all de folks woked. effen dey had no niggahs dey woked demselves. effen de chillun wah too small tuh hoe, dey pull weeds. now de big bottom ob de swannano (swannanoa) dat usta grow hunners bushels ob grain am jest a playgroun'. i lak t' see de chillun in de field. wy, now dey fight yo' lak wilecat effen it ebben talked 'bout. dat's de reason times so ha'd. no fahmin'. wy, i c'n 'membah ole missie she say: "dis gene'ation'll pass away an' a new gene'ation'll cum 'long." dat's jes' it--ebbah gene'ation gits weakah an' weakah. den dey talk 'bout goin' back t' ole times. dat time done gone, dey nebbah meet dat time agin. wahn't none o' de slaves offen ouh plantation ebbah sold, but de ones on de othah plantation ob marse william wah. oh, dat wah a tebble time! all de slaves be in de field, plowin', hoein', singin' in de boilin' sun. ole marse he cum t'ru de field wif a man call de specalater. day walk round jes' lookin', jes'lookin', all de da'kies know whut dis mean. dey didn' dare look up, jes' wok right on. den de specalater he see who he want. he talk to ole marse, den dey slaps de han'cuffs on him an' tak him away to de cotton country. oh, dem wah awful times! when de specalater wah ready to go wif de slaves, effen dey wha enny whu didn' wanta go, he thrash em, den tie em 'hind de waggin an' mek em run till dey fall on de groun', den he thrash em till dey say dey go 'thout no trubble. sometime some of dem run 'way an cum back t' de plantation, den it wah hardah on dem den befoah. when de da'kies wen' t' dinnah de ole niggah mammy she say whar am sich an' sich. none ob de othahs wanna tell huh. but when she see dem look down to de groun' she jes' say: "de specalater, de specalater." den de teahs roll down huh cheeks, cause mebbe it huh son o' husban' an' she know she nebbah see 'em agin. mebbe dey leaves babies t' home, mebbe jes' pappy an' mammy. oh, mah lawdy, mah ole boss wah mean, but he nebbah sen' us to de cotton country. dey wah ve'y few skules back in day day an time, ve'y few. we da'kies didn' dah look at no book, not ebben t' pick it up. ole missie, dat is, mah firs' ole missie, she wah a good ole woman. she read to de niggahs and t' de white chillun. she cum fum cross de watah. she wahn't lak de sma't white folks livin' heah now. when she come ovah heah she brung darky boy wif huh. he wah huh pussonal su'vant. co'se, dey got diffent names foah dem now, but in dat day dey calls 'em ginney niggahs. she wah good ole woman, not lak othah white folks. niggahs lak ole missie. when de da'kies git sick, dey wah put in a lil' ole house close t' de big house, an' one of the othah da'kies waited on 'em. dey wah ve'y few doctahs den. ony three in de whole section. when dey wanted med'cine dey went t' de woods an' gathahed hoahhound, slipperelm foah poltices an' all kinds ba'k foah teas. all dis yarbs bring yo' round. dey wah ve'y few lawyers den too, but lawsy me, yo' cain't turn round fer dem now. i 'membahs when mah ole mammy die. she live on rims (reems) crick with othah hemphills. she sick long time. one day white man cum t' see me. he say: "sarah, did yo' know yo' manmy wah daid?" "no," i say, "but i wants t' see mah mothah afoah dey puts huh away." i went t' de house and say t' ole missie: "mah mothah she die tofay. i wants t' see mah mothah afoah dey puts huh away," but she look at me mean an' say: "git on outen heah, an' git back to yo' wok afoah i wallup yo' good." so i went back t' mah wok, with the tears streamin' down mah face, jest awringin' mah hands, i wanted t' see mah manmy so. 'bout two weeks latah, ole missie she git tebble sick, she jes' lingah 'long foah long time, but she nebbah gits up no mo'. wa'nt long afoah dey puts huh away too, jes' lak mah mammy. i 'membahs de time when mah mammy wah alive, i wah a small chile, afoah dey tuk huh t' rims crick. all us chilluns wah playin' in de ya'd one night. jes' arunnin' an' aplayin' lak chillun will. all a sudden mammy cum to de do' all a'sited. "cum in heah dis minnit," she say. "jes look up at what is ahappenin'", and bless yo' life, honey, de sta's wah fallin' jes' lak rain.[ ] mammy wah tebble skeered, but we chillun wa'nt afeard, no, we wa'nt afeard. but mammy she say evah time a sta' fall, somebuddy gonna die. look lak lotta folks gonna die f'om de looks ob dem sta's. ebbathin' wah jes' as bright as day. yo' cudda pick a pin up. yo' know de sta's don' shine as bright as dey did back den. i wondah wy dey don'. dey jes' don' shine as bright. wa'nt long afoah dey took mah mammy away, and i wah lef' alone. on de plantation wah an ole woman whut de boss bought f'om a drovah up in virginny. de boss he bought huh f'om one ob de specalaters. she laff an' tell us: "some ob dese days yo'all gwine be free, jes' lak de white folks," but we all laff at huh. no, we jes' slaves, we allus hafta wok and nevah be free. den when freedom cum, she say: "i tole yo'all, now yo' got no larnin', yo' got no nothin', got no home; whut yo' gwine do? didn' i tell yo'?" i wah gittin along smartly in yeahs when de wah cum. ah 'membah jes' lak yestiddy jes' afoah de wah. marse william wah atalkin' t' hes brothah. i wah standin' off a piece. marse's brothah, he say: "william, how ole aunt sarah now?" marse william look at me an' he say: "she gittin' nigh onta fifty." dat wah jes' a lil while afoah de wah. dat wah awful time. us da'kies didn' know whut it wah all bout. ony one of de boys f'om de plantation go. he alexander, he 'bout twenty-five den. many de time we git word de yankees comin'. we take ouh food an' stock an' hide it till we sho' dey's gone. we wan't bothahed much. one day, i nebbah fo'git, we look out an' see sojers ma'chin'; look lak de whole valley full ob dem. i thought: "poah helpless crittahs, jes' goin' away t' git kilt." de drums wah beatin' an' de fifes aplayin'. dey wah de foot comp'ny. oh, glory, it wah a sight. sometime dey cum home on furlough. sometime dey git kilt afoah dey gits th'ough. alexander, he cum home a few time afoah freedom. when de wah was ovah, marse william he say: "did yo'all know yo'all's free, yo' free now." i chuckle, 'membahin' whut ole woman tell us 'bout freedom, an' no larnin. lotta men want me t' go t' foreign land, but i tell 'em i go live wif mah pappy, long as he live. i stay wif de white folks 'bout twelve months, den i stay wif mah pappy, long as he live. i had two brothahs, dey went t' califonny, nebbah seed 'em no mo', no' mah sistah, nuther. i cain't 'membah sech a lot 'bout it all. i jes' knows i'se bo'n and bred heah [hw correction: here] in dese pa'ts, nebbah been outten it. i'se well; nebbah take no doctah med'cine. jes' ben sick once; dat aftah freedom. [footnote : (one of the most spectacular meteoric showers on record, visible all over north america, occurred in .)] n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: thomas hall person interviewed: thomas hall editor: g. l. andrews [tr: date stamp "sep "] thomas hall age years tarboro road, raleigh, n. c. my name is thomas hall and i was born in orange county, n. c. on a plantation belonging to jim woods whose wife, our missus, was named polly. i am eighty one years of age as i was born feb. , . my father daniel hall and my mother becke hall and me all belonged to the same man but it was often the case that this wus not true as one man, perhaps a johnson, would own a husband and a smith own the wife, each slave goin' by the name of the slave owners, family. in such cases the children went by the name of the family to which the mother belonged. gettin married an' having a family was a joke in the days of slavery, as the main thing in allowing any form of matrimony among the slaves was to raise more slaves in the same sense and for the same purpose as stock raisers raise horses and mules, that is for work. a woman who could produce fast was in great demand and brought a good price on the auction block in richmond, va., charleston, s. c., and other places. the food in many cases that was given the slaves was not given them for their pleasure or by a cheerful giver, but for the simple and practical reason that children would not grow into a large healthy slave unless they were well fed and clothed; and given good warm places in which to live. conditions and rules were bad and the punishments were severe and barbarous. some marsters acted like savages. in some instances slaves were burned at the stake. families were torn apart by selling. mothers were sold from their children. children were sold from their mothers, and the father was not considered in anyway as a family part. these conditions were here before the civil war and the conditions in a changed sense have been here ever since. the whites have always held the slaves in part slavery and are still practicing the same things on them in a different manner. whites lynch, burn, and persecute the negro race in america yet; and there is little they are doing to help them in anyway. lincoln got the praise for freeing us, but did he do it? he give us freedom without giving us any chance to live to ourselves and we still had to depend on the southern white man for work, food and clothing, and he held us through our necessity and want in a state of servitude but little better than slavery. lincoln done but little for the negro race and from living standpoint nothing. white folks are not going to do nothing for negroes except keep them down. harriet beecher stowe, the writer of uncle tom's cabin, did that for her own good. she had her own interests at heart and i don't like her, lincoln, or none of the crowd. the yankees helped free us, so they say, but they let us be put back in slavery again. when i think of slavery it makes me mad. i do not believe in giving you my story 'cause with all the promises that have been made the negro is still in a bad way in the united states, no matter in what part he lives it's all the same. now you may be all right; there are a few white men who are but the pressure is such from your white friends that you will be compelled to talk against us and give us the cold shoulder when you are around them, even if your heart is right towards us. you are going around to get a story of slavery conditions and the persecusions of negroes before the civil war and the economic conditions concerning them since that war. you should have known before this late day all about that. are you going to help us? no! you are only helping yourself. you say that my story may be put into a book, that you are from the federal writer's project. well, the negro will not get anything out of it, no matter where you are from. harriet beecher stowe wrote uncle tom's cabin. i didn't like her book and i hate her. no matter where you are from i don't want you to write my story cause the white folks have been and are now and always will be against the negro. le n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: travis jordan subject: hecter hamilton ex-slave years. [tr: date stamp "jun "] hecter hamilton ex-slave years dey wuz two general lee's, in de 'federate war. one los' his fight, but de other won his. one of dese generals wuz a white man dat rode a white hoss, an' de other wuz a mean fightin' gander dat i named general lee, though i didn' know den dat he wuz goin' to live up to his name. but when de time come dat long neck gander out fit de whole 'federate army. my white fo'ks lived in virginia. dey wuz marse peter an' mis' laura hamilton. dey lived on de big hamilton plantation dat wuz so big dat wid all de niggers dey had dey couldn' 'ten' half of it. dis lan' done been handed down to marse peter from more den six gran'pappys. dey wuz cotton an' 'bacca fields a mile wide; de wheat fields as far as yo' could see wuz like a big sheet of green water, an' it took half hour to plow one row of cawn, but dey wuz plenty of slaves to do de work. mistah sidney effort, marse peter's overseer, rode all over de fields every day, cussin' an' crackin' his long blacksnake whip. he drove dem niggers like dey wuz cattle, but marse peter wouldn' 'low no beatin' of his niggers. marse peter had acres an' acres of woods dat wuz his huntin' 'zerve. dey wuz every kind of bird an' animal in dem woods in shootin' season. dey wuz snipes, pheasants, patridges, squirrels, rabbits, deers, an' foxes; dey wuz even bears, an' dey wuz wolfs too dat would come an' catch de sheeps at night. dey wuz always a crowd at easy acres huntin' ridin' dancin' an' havin' a good time. marse peter's stables wuz full of hunters an' saddlers for mens an' ladies. de ladies in dem days rode side saddles. mis' laura's saddle wuz all studded wid sho nuff gol' tacks. de fringe wuz tipped wid gol', an' de buckles on de bridle wuz solid gol'. when de ladies went to ride dey wore long skirts of red, blue, an' green velvet, an' dey had plumes on dey hats dat blew in de win'. dey wouldn' be caught wearin' britches an' ridin' straddle like de womens do dese days. in dem times de women wuz ladies. marse peter kept de bes' sideboa'd in princess anne county. his cut glass decanters cos' near 'bout as much as mis' laura's diamon' ear rings i's goin' tell yo' 'bout. de decanters wuz all set out on de sideboard wid de glasses, an' de wine an' brandy wuz so ole dat one good size dram would make yo' willin' to go to de jail house for sixty days. some of dat wine an' likker done been in dat cellar ever since ole marse caleb hamilton's time, an' de done built easy acres befo' mistah george washington done cut down his pappy's cherry tree. dat likker done been down in dat cellar so long dat yo' had to scrape de dus' off wid a knife. i wuz marse peter's main sideboa'd man. when he had shootin' company i didn' do nothin' but shake drams. de mens would come in from de huntin' field col' an' tired, an' marse peter would say: 'hustle up, hecter, fix us a dram of so an' so.' dat mean dat i wuz to mix de special dram dat i done learned from my gran'pappy. so, i pours in a little of dis an' a little of dat, den i shakes it 'twell it foams, den i fills de glasses an' draps in de ice an' de mint. time de mens drink dat so an' so dey done forgot dey's tired; dey 'lax, an' when de ladies come down de stairs all dredd up, dey thinks dey's angels walkin' in gol' shoes. dem wuz good times befo' de war an' befo' marse peter got shot. from de day marse peter rode his big grey hoss off to fight, we never seed him no more. mis' laura never even know if dey buried him or not. after de mens all went to de war dey won't no use for no more drams, so mis' laura took me away from de sideboa'd an' made me a watchman. dat is, i wuz set to watch de commissary to see dat de niggers wuzn' give no more den dey share of eats, den i looked after de chickens an' things, kaze de patter-rollers wuz all 'roun' de country an' dey'd steal everythin' from chickens to sweet taters an cawn, den dey'd sell it to de yankees. dat's when i named dat ole mean fightin' gander general lee. everywhare i went 'roun' de place dat gander wuz right at my heels. he wuz de bigges' gander i ever seed. he weighed near 'bout forty pounds, an' his wings from tip to tip wuz 'bout two yards. he wuz smart too. i teached him to drive de cows an' sheeps, an' i sic'd him on de dogs when dey got 'streperous. i'd say, sic him, general lee, an' dat gander would cha'ge. he wuz a better fighter den de dogs kaze he fit wid his wings, his bill, an wid his feets. i seed him skeer a bull near 'bout to death one day. dat bull got mad an' jump de fence an' run all de niggers in de cabins, so i called general lee an' sic'd him on dat bull. dat bird give one squawk an' lit on dat bull's back, an' yo' never seed such carryin's on. de bull reared an' snorted an' kicked, but dat gander held on. he whipped dat bull wid his wings 'twell he wuz glad to go back in de lot an' 'have hese'f. after dat all i had to do to dat bull wuz show him general lee an' he'd quiet down. now i's goin' to tell yo' 'bout mis' laura's diamon' ear rings. de fus' yankees dat come to de house wuz gentlemens, 'cept dey made us niggers cook dey supper an' shine dey muddy boots, den dey stole everythin' dey foun' to tote away, but de nex ones dat come wuz mean. dey got made kaze de fus' yankees done got de pickin's of what mis' laura hadn' hid. dey cut open de feather beds lookin' for silver; dey ripped open de chair cushings lookin' for money, dey even tore up de carpets, but dey didn' fin' nothin' kaze all de valuables done been buried. even mos' of de wine done been hid, 'twuz' all buried in de ole graves down in de family grave yard wid de tombstones at de head an' foots. no yankee ain't goin' be diggin' in no grave for nothin'. dey wuz one yankee in dis las' bunch dat wuz big an' bustin'. he strut bigoty wid his chist stuck out. he walk 'roun' stickin' his sword in de chair cushions, de pictures on de walls an' things like dat. he got powerful mad kaze he couldn' fin' nothin', den he look out de window an' seed mis' laura. she wuz standin' on de po'ch an' de sun wuz shinin' on de diamon' ear rings in her ears. dey wuz de ear rings dat belonged to marse peter's great-great-gran'mammy. when de sojer seed dem diamon's his eyes 'gun to shine. he went out on de po'ch an' went up to mis' laura. 'gim me dem ear rings,' he say jus' like dat. mis' laura flung her han's up to her ears an' run out in de yard. de sojer followed her, an' all de other sojers come too. dat big yankee tole mis' laura again to give him de ear rings, but she shook her head. i wuz standin' 'side de house near 'bout bustin' wid madness when dat yankee reach up an' snatch mis' laura's hands down an' hold dem in his, den he laugh, an' all de other sojers 'gun to laugh too jus' like dey thought 'twuz funny. 'bout dat time ole general lee done smell a fight. he come waddlin' 'roun' de house, his tail feathers bristled out an' tawkin' to he'sef. i point to dem sojers an say, "sic him, general lee, sic him." dat gander ain't waste no time. he let out his wings an' cha'ged dem yankees an' dey scatter like flies. den he lit on dat big sojer's back an' 'gun to beat him wid his wings. dat man let out a yell an' drap mis' laura's hands; he try to shake dat goose, but general bit into his neck an' held on like a leech. when de other sojers come up an' try to pull him off, dat gander let out a wing an' near about slap dem down. i ain't never seed such fightin! every time i holler, sic him, general lee start 'nother 'tack. 'bout dat time dem yankees took a runnin' nothin. dey forgot de ear rings an' lit out down de road, but dat gander beat dat bigoty yellin' sojer clear down to de branch befo' he turned him loose, den he jump in de water an' wash hese'f off. yes, suh, dat wuz sho some fightin' goose; he near 'bout out fit de sho nuff marse general lee. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: george w. harris story teller: george w. harris editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: no date stamp] george w. harris e. cabarrus street, raleigh, n. c. hey, don't go 'roun' dat post gitting it 'tween you and me, it's bad luck. don't you know it's bad luck? don't want no more bad luck den what i'se already got. my name is george harris. i wuz born november , years ago. i have been living in the city of raleigh onto years. i belonged to john andrews. he died about de time i wuz born. his wife betsy wuz my missus and his son john wuz my marster. deir plantation wuz in jones county. dere were about er dozen slaves on de plantation. we had plenty o' food in slavery days during my boyhood days, plenty of good sound food. we didn't have 'xactly plenty o' clothes, and our places ter sleep needed things, we were in need often in these things. we were treated kindly, and no one abused us. we had as good owners as there were in jones county; they looked out for us. they let us have patches to tend and gave us what we made. we did not have much money. we had no church on the plantation, but there wuz one on marster's brother's plantation next ter his plantation. we had suppers an' socials, generally gatherings for eatin', socials jist to git together an' eat. we had a lot o' game ter eat, such as possums, coons, rabbits and birds. de plantation wuz fenced in wid rails about ft. in length split from pine trees. de cattle, hogs an' hosses run out on de free range. the hosses ran on free range when de crap wuz laid by. there wuz an ole mare dat led de hosses. she led 'em an' when she come home at night dey followed her. de first work i done wuz drappin' tater sprouts, drappin' corn, thinnin' out corn and roundin' up corn an' mindin' the crows out of de field. dey did not teach us to read an' write, but my father could read, and he read de hymn book and testament to us sometimes. i do not remember ever goin' to church durin' slavery days. i have never seen a slave whipped and none ever ran away to the north from our plantation. when i wuz a boy we chillun played marbles, prison base, blind fold and tag, hide an' seek. dey gave us christmas holidays, an' th of july, an' lay-by time. dey also called dis time "crap hillin' time." most o' de time when we got sick our mother doctored us with herbs which she had in de garden. when we had side plurisy, what dey calls pneumonia now, dey sent fer a doctor. doctor hines treated us. we lived near trenton. when de yankees took new bern, our marster had us out in de woods in jones county mindin' hosses an' takin' care o' things he had hid there. we got afraid and ran away to new bern in craven county. we all went in a gang and walked. de yankees took us at deep gully ten miles dis side o' new bern an' carried us inside de lines. dey asked us questions and put us all in jail. dey put my father ter cookin' at de jail and give us boys work 'roun' de yard. dey put de others at work at de horse stables and houses. de smallpox and yaller fever caught us dere and killed us by de hundreds. thirteen doctors died dere in one day. jist 'fore gen. lee surrendered dey carried us to petersburg, va., and i waited on major emory and de others worked fer de yankees. when de surrender came we went back home to craven county, next to jones county, and went to farmin'. sumpin' to eat could not hardly be found. de second year atter de war we went back to old marster's plantation. he wuz glad ter see us, we all et dinner wid him. we looked over de place. i looked over de little log cabin where i wuz born. some of de boys who had been slaves, farmed wid old marster, but i worked at my trade. i wuz a brick moulder. yes, a brick maker. my mother was named jennie andrews and my father was quash harris. my father belonged to de harris family on de nex' plantation in jones county. atter de surrender we all went in his name. we changed from andrews to harris. i do not recollect my grandmother and grandfather. i can't recollect them. marster told us directly after dey declared war dat he expected we would all soon be free. de majority of de slaves did not want to be free. dey were stirred up. dey didn't want it to be. dey didn't want no fightin'. dey didn't know. i married mary boylan first, of johnston county, at wilsons mills, jan. , . here is de family record. ole marster made me copies after de war, and i copied dis. 'george harris was married the year , january the th. george harris was born the year november the th.' i had five brothers, but they are all dead, fur as i know: john nathan, louis, david, jefferson, donald and my name george. my sisters, mary ann, sara, lucy, penny, emaline, lizzie, nancy, leah and one i can't remember. dats all. i thought abraham lincoln wuz a great man. i remember him well. i think he done de best he knowed how to settle de country. mr. roosevelt is a smart man. he is doing de best he can. i think he is goin' to help de country. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: an ex-slave story story teller: sarah harris editor: daisy bailey waitt [hw: good points] [tr: date stamp "jun "] sarah harris interviewed may , . sarah harris is my name. i wuz borned april , on the plantation of master john william walton. my father wuz name frank walton and my mother wuz name flora walton. my brothers wuz name lang and johnny. my sisters: hannah, mary, ellen, violet and annie. my grandmother wuz name ellen walton. she wuz years old when she died. my mother wuz years old when she died; she has been dead years. she died in october, years this pas' october. i 'member seeing the yankees. i wuz not afraid of 'em, i thought dey were the prettiest blue mens i had ever seed. i can see how de chickens and guineas flew and run from 'em. de yankees killed 'em and give part of 'em to the colored folks. most of de white folks had run off and hid. i can't read and write. i nebber had no chance. de yankees had their camps along the fayetteville road. dey called us dinah, sam, and other names. dey later had de place dey call de bureau. when we left de white folks we had nothing to eat. de niggers wait there at de bureau and they give 'em hard tack, white potatoes, and saltpeter meat. our white folks give us good things to eat, and i cried every day at o'clock to go home. yes, i wanted to go back to my white folks; they were good to us. i would say, 'papa le's go home, i want to go home. i don't like this sumptin' to eat.' he would say, 'don't cry, honey, le's stay here, dey will sen' you to school.' we had nothing to eat 'cept what de yankees give us. but mr. bill crawford give my father and mother work. yes, he wuz a southern man, one o' our white folks. daddy wuz his butcher. my mother wuz his cook. we were turned out when dey freed us with no homes and nuthin'. master said he wuz sorry he didn't give us niggers part of his lan'. while i wuz big enough to work i worked for porter steadman. i got cent a week and board. we had a good home then. i just shouted when i got dat cent, and i just run. i couldn't run fas' anuff to git to my mother to give dat money to her. my father died, and my mother bought a home. she got her first money to buy de home by working for de man who give her work after de surrender. the first money she saved to put on de home wuz a dime. some weeks she only saved cents. lan' sold fur $ a acre den. just after de war de white and colored children played together. dey had a tent in our neighborhood. i wuz de cook for de white chilluns parties. we played together fer a long time after de war. i married silas cooper of norfolk va. he worked in the navy yard. i wuz married in raleigh. i had a church wedding. i think abraham lincoln wuz a great man. he would cure or kill. but i like my ole master. the lord put it into abraham lincoln to do as he done. the lord knowed he would be killed. i think slavery wuz wrong. i have a horror of being a slave. you see all dis lan' aroun' here. it belongs to colored folks. dey were cut off wid nothin', but dey is strugglin' an' dey are comin' on fast. de bible say dat de bottom rail will be on top, and it is comin' to pass. sometime de colored race will git up. de bible say so. i think mr. roosevelt is one of the greatest mans in de world. he wants to help everybody. i doan think much of mr. jeff davis. dey used to sing songs uv hanging him to a apple tree. dey say he libed a long time atter de war dressed like a 'oman, he wuz so skeered. tpm:eh n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: daisy whaley subject: cy hart ex-slave, years. durham, n. c. [hw: ] [tr: date stamp: "aug "] cy hart, yrs. ex-slave. ephram hart was my pappy and my mammy's name was nellie. he belonged to marse ephram hart. one day marse hart took some of his niggers to de slave market an' my pappy was took along too. when he was put on de block an' sold marse paul cameron bought him. den marse hart felt so sorry to think he done let my pappy be sold dat he tried to buy him back from marse paul, an' offered him more den marse paul paid for him. but marse paul said, "no, suh. i done bought him an' i want det nigger myself an' i am goin' take him home wid me to snow hill farm." pappy married my mammy an' raised a family on marse paul's plantation. we had to be eight years ole before we 'gun to work. i tended de chickens an' turkeys an' sech. i helped tend de other stock too as i growed older, an' do anythin' else dat i was tole to do. when i got bigger i helped den wid de thrashin' de wheat an' i helped dem push de straw to de stack. we had what wuz den called a 'groun' hog. it wuz a cylinder shaped contraption. we put de wheat straw an all in it an' knock de grain loose from de straw. den we took de pitchforks an' tossed de straw up an' about, an' dat let de wheat go to de bottom on a big cloth. den we fan de wheat, to get de dust an' dirt out, an' we had big curtains hung 'roun' de cloth whar de wheat lay, so de wheat wouldn' get all scattered, on de groun'. dis wheat was sacked an' when wanted 'twus took to de mill an' groun' into flour. de flour wuz made into white bread an' de corn wuz groun' into meal an' grits. when de war started der wuz some bad times. one day some of wheeler's men come an' dey tried to take what dey wanted, but marge paul had de silver money another things hid. dey wanted us niggers to tell dem whar everythin' wuz, but we said we didn' know nuthin'. marse paul wuz hid in de woods wid de horses an' some of de other stock. den wheeler's men saw de yankees comin' an' dey run away. de yankees chased dem to de bridge an' dey done some fightin' an' one or two of wheeler's men wuz killed an' de rest got away. den de captain of de yankees come to mammy's cabin an' axed her whar de meat house an' flour an' sech at. she tole him dat pappy had de keys to go an' ax him. "ax him nothin'", de captain said. he called some of his mens an' dey broke down de door to de meat house. den dey trowed out plenty of dose hams an' dey tole mammy to cook dem somethin' to eat and plenty of it. mammy fried plenty of dat ham an' made lots of bread an' fixed dem coffee. how dey did eat! dey wuz jus' as nice as dey could be to mammy an' when dey wuz through, dey tole mammy dat she could have de rest, an' de captain gave her some money an' he tole her dat she wuz free, dat we didn' belong to marse paul no longer. dey didn' do any harm to de place. dey wuz jus' looking for somethin' to eat. den dey left. we didn' leave marse paul but stayed on an' lived wid him for many years. i lived wid marse paul 'til he died an' he done selected eight of us niggers to tote his coffin to de chapel, an' de buryin' groun'. he said, "i want dese niggers to carry my body to de chapel an' de grave when i die." we did. it wuz a lood [hw correction: load] i would have been glad had der been two or four more to help tote marse paul for he sho wuz heavy. after everythin' wuz ready we lifted him up an' toted him to de chapel an' we sat down on de floor, on each side of de coffin, while de preacher preached de funeral sermon. we didn' make any fuss while sittin' dere on de floor, but we sho wuz full of grief to see our dear ole marse paul lying dere dead. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: the blacksmith person interviewed: alonzo haywood editor: g. l. andrews [tr: date stamp "aug-- "] the blacksmith an interview with alonzo haywood, years old of oberlin road. on east cabarrus street is a blacksmith shop which is a survival of horse and buggy days, and the smiling blacksmith, a negro, although he has hazel eyes, recounts the story of his father's life and his own. my father was willis haywood and in slavery days he belonged to mr. william r. pool. mr. pool liked father because he was quick and obedient so he determined to give him a trade. wilson morgan run the blacksmith shop at falls of neuse and it was him that taught my father the trade at mr. pool's insistence. while father, a young blade, worked and lived at falls of neuse, he fell in love with my mother, mirana denson, who lived in raleigh. he come to see her ever' chance he got and then they were married. when the yankees were crossing the neuse bridge at the falls, near the old paper mill, the bridge broke in. they were carrying the heavy artillery over and a great many men followed, in fact the line extended to raleigh, because when the bridge fell word passed by word of mouth from man to man back to raleigh. father said that the yankees stopped in the shop to make some hoss shoes and nails and that the yankees could do it faster than anybody he ever saw. father told me a story once 'bout de devil traveling and he got sore feet and was awful lame but he went in a blacksmith shop and the blacksmith shoed him. the devil traveled longer and the shoes hurt his feet and made him lamer than ever so he went back and asked the blacksmith to take off de shoes. the blacksmith took them off under the condition that wherever the devil saw a horse shoe over a door he would not enter. that's the reason that people hang up horseshoes over their door. mother died near twenty years ago and father died four years later. he had not cared to live since mother left him. i've heard some of the young people laugh about slave love, but they should envy the love which kept mother and father so close together in life and even held them in death. le n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: aunt barbara's love story story teller: barbara haywood editor: geo. l. andrews [tr: date stamp "aug "] aunt barbara's love story an interview with barbara haywood, years old. address mark street, raleigh, north carolina. anything dat i tells you will near 'bout all be 'bout frank haywood, my husban'. i wus borned on de john walton place seben miles southeast of raleigh. my father, handy sturdivant, belonged to somebody in johnston county but mother an' her chilluns 'longed ter marse john walton. marse john had a corn shuckin' onct an' at dat corn shuckin' i fust saw frank. i wus a little girl, cryin' an' bawlin' an' frank, who wus a big boy said dat he neber wanted ter spank a youngin' so bad, an' i ain't liked him no better dan he did me. he 'longed ter mr. yarborough, what runned de hotel in raleigh, but he wus boun' out ter anybody what'ud hire him, an' i doan know whar he got his name. i seed frank a few times at de holland's methodist church whar we went ter church wid our white folks. you axes iffen our white folks wus good ter us, an' i sez ter yo' dat none of de white folks wus good ter none of de niggers. we done our weavin' at night an' we wurked hard. we had enough ter eat but we was whupped some. jest 'fore de war wus ober we wus sent ter mr. william turner's place down clost ter smithfield an' dats whar we wus when de yankees come. one day i wus settin' on de porch restin' atter my days wurk wus done when i sees de hoss-lot full of men an' i sez ter marse william, who am talkin' ter a soldier named cole, 'de lot am full of men.' marse cole looks up an' he 'lows, 'hits dem damned yankees,' an' wid dat he buckles on his sword an' he ain't been seen since. de yankees takes all de meat outen de smokehouse an' goes 'roun' ter de slave cabins an' takes de meat what de white folkses has put dar. dat wus de fust hams dat has eber been in de nigger house. anyhow de yankees takes all de hams, but dey gibes us de shoulders. atter de war we moved ter raleigh, on davie street an' i went ter school a little at saint paul's. frank wus wurkin' at de city market on fayetteville street an' i'd go seberal blocks out of my way mornin' an' night on my way ter school ter look at him. you see i has been in love with him fer a long time den. atter awhile frank becomes a butcher an' he am makin' pretty good. i is thirteen so he comes ter see me an' fer a year we cou'ts. we wus settin' in de kitchen at de house on davie street when he axes me ter have him an' i has him. i knows dat he tol' me dat he warn't worthy but dat he loved me an' dat he'd do anything he could ter please me, an' dat he'd always be good ter me. when i wus fourteen i got married an' when i wus fifteen my oldes' daughter, eleanor, wus borned. i had three atter her, an' frank wus proud of dem as could be. we wus happy. we libed together fifty-four years an' we wus always happy, havin' a mighty little bit of argument. i hopes young lady, dat you'll be as lucky as i wus wid frank. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mrs. edith s. hibbs no. words: subject: story of isabell henderson, negro interviewed: isabell henderson rankin st., wilmington, n. c. edited: mrs. w. n. harriss [tr: no date stamp] story of isabell henderson, negro * * * * * rankin st., wilmington, n. c. i'll be years old come august . my gran'-daughter can tell you what year it was i was born i don' 'member but we has it down in the bible. i lived near the "clock church" (jewish synagogue)[ ], th and market. we had a big place there. my gran'mother did the cookin'. my mother did the sewin'. i was jus five years old when the men went away. i guess to the war, i don' know. some men came by and conscip' dem. i don' know where they went but i guess dey went to war. i was such a little girl i don't 'member much. but i does know my missus was good to me. i used to play with her little boy. i was jes' one of the family. i played with the little boy around the house' cause i was never 'lowed to run the streets. they was good to me. they kept me in clothes, pretty clothes, and good things to eat. yes'm we was slaves but we had good times. interviewer: "what did you eat?" isabell: "oh i don't 'member 'special but i et jes what the family et." maybe my father was killed in the war maybe he run away i don' know, he jus' neber come back no mo'. yes'm i remember when the soldiers came along and freed us. they went through breakin' down peoples shops and everything. my mother married again. she married edward robertson. he was good to me. yes'm he was better to me than my father was. he was a preacher and a painter. my mother died. when my father, (step-father) went off to preach, me and my sister stayed in the house. i stayed home all my life. i just wasn't 'llowed to run around like most girls. i never been out of wilmington but one year in my life. that year i went to augusta. no'm i don't likes to go away. i don't like the trains, nor the automobiles. but i rides in 'em (meaning the latter). i remember when the th street bridge was built. i was married over there in st. stephen's church, th and red cross. yes m'am my auntie she gib me a big weddin'. i was and my husband was too not quite . not a year older than i was. he was a cooper. yes ma'm i had a big weddin'. the church was all decorated with flowers. i had six attendants. four big ones and two little ones. my husband he had the same number i did four big ones and two little ones. i had on a white dress. carried flowers. had carriages and everything. my husband was good to me. i didn't stay home with my father but about a month. we wanted to go to ourselves. we went in our own home and stayed there until i got a "sickness." (she looked shy) i didn't know what was the matter with me. my father told me i better come home. so i went home to my father and stayed there about two years. i have had five children. three are livin'. two are dead. i never worked until after he died. he left me with five little children to raise. he was the only man i ever 'knowed' in all my life from girlhood up. [footnote : the synagogue has no clock on the exterior, but isabell persisted with her name of "clock church."] n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: ex-slave story story teller: essex henry editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp "jun "] essex henry ex-slave story an interview with essex henry of s. east street, raleigh, n. c. i wus borned five miles north of raleigh on de wendell road, years ago. my mammy wus nancy an' my pappy wus louis. i had one sister, mary, an' one bruder, louis. we 'longed ter mr. jake mordecai, an' we lived on his six hundert acres plantation 'bout a mile from millbrook. right atter de war he sold dis lan' ter doctor miller an' bought de betsy hinton tract at milburnie. mr. jake had four or five hundert niggers hyar an' i doan know how many at de edgecombe county place. de wuck wus hard den, i knows case i'se seed my little mammy dig ditches wid de best of 'em. i'se seed her split rails a day many's de time. dat wus her po'tion you knows, an' de mens had ter split . i wus too little ter do much but min' de chickens outen de gyarden, an' so i fared better dan most of 'em. you see miss tempie 'ud see me out at de gate mornin's as dey wus eatin' breakfas' on de ferander, an' she'ud call me ter her an' give me butter toasted lightbread or biscuits. she'd give me a heap in dat way, an' do de rest of de slaves got hungry, i doan think dat i eber did. i know dat miss jenny perry, on a neighborin' plantation, 'ud give my mammy food, fer us chilluns. mo'nin's we sometimes ain't had nothin' ter eat. at dinner time de cook at de big house cooked nuff turnip salet, beans, 'taters, er peas fer all de han's an' long wid a little piece of meat an' a little hunk of co'nbread de dinner wus sont ter de slaves out in de fiel' on a cart. de slaves 'ud set roun' under de trees an' eat an' laugh an' talk till de oberseer, bob gravie, yells at 'em ter git back ter wuck. iffen dey doan git back right den he starts ter frailin' lef' an' right. dar wus a few spirited slaves what won't be whupped an' my uncle wus one. he wus finally sold fer dis. hit wus different wid my gran'mother do'. de oberseer tried ter whup her an' he can't, so he hollers fer mr. jake. mr. jake comes an' he can't, so he hauls off an' kicks granny, mashin' her stomick in. he has her carried ter her cabin an' three days atterward she dies wid nothin' done fer her an' nobody wid her. mr. jake orders de coffinmaker ter make de pine box, an' den he fergits hit. de slaves puts de coffin on de cyart hin' de two black hosses an' wid six or maybe seben hundert niggers follerin' dey goes ter de simms' graveyard an' buries her. all de way ter de graveyard dey sings, 'swing low sweet chariot,' 'de promised lan', 'de road ter jordan,' an' 'ole time religion.' hit's a good thing dat none of de white folkses ain't went to de funerals case iffen dey had de niggers can't sing deir hymns. does you know dat dey warn't no 'ligion 'lowed on dat plantation. ole lady betsy holmes wus whupped time an' ag'in fer talkin' 'ligion er fer singin' hymns. we sometimes had prayermeetin' anyhow in de cabins but we'd turn down de big pot front o' de door ter ketch de noise. dey won't gib us no pass hardly, an' iffen we runs 'way de patterollers will git us. dey did let us have some dances do' now an' den, but not offen. dey let us go possum huntin' too case dat wus gittin' something ter eat widout mr. jake payin' fer hit. mr. henry, mr. jake's bruder an' his uncle moses uster come a-visitin' ter de house fer de day. mr. henry wus little wid a short leg an' a long one, an' he had de wust temper dat eber wus in de worl'; an' he loved ter see slaves suffer, near 'bout much as he loved his brandy. we knowed when we seed him comin' dat dar wus gwine ter be a whuppin' frolic 'fore de day wus gone. dar wus three niggers, john lane, ananias ruffin an' dick rogers what got de blame fer eber'thing what happens on de place. fer instance mr. henry 'ud look in de hawg pen an' 'low dat hit 'peared dat he bruder's stock wus growin' less all de time. den mr. jake sez dat dey done been stold. 'why doan you punish dem thievin' niggers, jake'? jake gits mad an' has dese three niggers brung out, deir shirts am pulled off an' dey am staked down on deir stomichs, an' de oberseer gits wored out, an' leavin' de niggers tied, dar in de sun, dey goes ter de house ter git some brandy. dey more dey drinks from de white crock de better humor dey gits in. dey laughs an' talks an' atter awhile dey think o' de niggers, an' back dey goes an' beats 'em some more. dis usually lasts all de day, case hit am fun ter dem. atter so long dey ketched jack ashe, a free issue, wid one of de pigs, an' dey whups him twixt drinks all de day, an' at night dey carried him ter de raleigh jail. he wus convicted an' sent ter bald head island ter wuck on de breastworks durin' de war an' he ain't neber come back. [hw: asterisk in margin] dar wus a man in raleigh what had two blood houn's an' he made his livin' by ketchin' runaway niggers. his name wus beaver an' he ain't missed but onct. pat norwood took a long grass sythe when he runned away, an' as de fust dog come he clipped off its tail, de second one he clipped off its ear an' dem dawgs ain't run him no more. de war lasted a long time, an' hit wus a mess. some of marster jake's [hw: asterisk] slaves lef' him an' when de yankees got ter raleigh dey come an' tol' 'em 'bout de way mr. jake done. well in a few days hyar comes de yankees a-ridin', an' dey sez dat dey had tentions o' hangin' mr. jake on de big oak in de yard iffen he 'uv been dar, but he ain't. he an' his family had flewed de coop. dem yankees went in de big house an' dey tored an' busted up all dey pleased, dey eben throwed de clothes all ober de yard. dey took two big barns o' corn an' haul hit off an' down devil's jump on morris creek dey buried ever so much molasses an' all. at rattlesnake spring de yankees fin's whar marster jake's still had been, an' dar buried, dey fin's five barrels o' brandy. atter de war we stayed on as servants o' doctor miller fer seberal years. i 'members de only time dat i eber got drunk wus long den. de doctor an' his frien's wus splurgin', an' i went wid another nigger ter git de brandy from de cellar fer de guests. when i tasted hit, hit drunk so good, an' so much lak sweetin water dat i drunk de pitcher full. i wus drunk three days. i married milly, an' sixty years ago we moved ter town. we scuffled along till twenty-eight years ago we buyed dis shack. i hopes dat we can git de ole age pension, case we shore need hit. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks subject: ex-slave story story teller: milly henry editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp "jun "] ex-slave story an interview with milly henry of south east street, raleigh, n. c. i wus borned a slave ter mr. buck boylan in yazoo city, mississippi. i doan know nothin' 'bout my family 'cept my gran'maw an' she died in mississippi durin' de war. marster buck owned three plantations dar, de mosley place, middle place, an' de hill place. me an' gran'maw lived at de mosley place. one day marster buck comes in, an' we sees dat he am worried stiff; atter awhile he gangs us up, an' sez ter us: de yankees am a-comin' to take my slaves 'way from me an' i don't 'pose dat dey am gwine ter do dat. fer dem reasons we leaves fer no'th carolina day atter termorror an' i ain't gwine ter hyar no jaw 'bout hit.' dat day he goes over de slaves an' picks out 'roun' five hundret ter go. he picks me out, but my gran'maw he sez dat he will leave case she am so old an' feeble. i hates dat, but i don't say nothin' at all. we leaves home in kivered wagons, wid a heap walkin' an' in 'bout three weeks, i reckon, we gits ter raleigh. you should have been 'long on dat trip, honey; when we camps side of de road an' sleeps on de groun' an' cooks our rations at de camp fires. i think dat dat wus one spring 'fore de surrender wus de nex'. marster buck carries us ter boylan avenue dar whar de bridge am now an' we camps fer a few days, but den he sen's us out ter de crabtree plantation. he also buys a place sommers east o' raleigh an' sen's some dar. i misses my gran'maw fer awhile, but at last uncle green comes from mississippi an' he sez dat gran'maw am daid, so i pretty quick stops worrin' over hit. marster' cides ter hire some o' us out, an' so i gits hired out ter miss mary lee, who i wucks fer till she got so pore she can't feed me, den i is hired out ter miss sue blake an' sent ter de company shop up above durham. miss mary wus good, but miss sue she whup me, so i runs away. i went barefooted an' bareheaded ter de train, an' i gits on. atter awhile de conductor comes fer a ticket an' i ain't got none. he axes me whar i'se gwine an' i tells him home, so he brung me on ter raleigh. i went right home an' tol' mr. buck dat miss sue whupped me, an' dat i runned away. he said dat hit wus all right, an' he hired me out ter mis' lee hamilton who lived dar on de fayetteville street. she wus a widder an' run a boardin' house an' dar's whar i seed de first drunk man dat eber i seed. he put de back o' his knife ginst my neck an' said dat he wus gwine ter cut my throat. i tell you dat i is knowed a drunk eber since dat time. i wus drawin' water at de well at de end of fayetteville street when de yankees comed. i seed 'em ridin' up de street wid deir blue coats shinin' an' deir hosses steppin' high. i knowed dat i ought ter be skeered but i ain't, an' so i stands dar an' watches. suddenly as dey passes de bank out rides two mens frum wheeler's calvary an' dey gits in de middle o' de street one of de hosses wheels back an' de man shot right at de yankees, den he flewed frum dar. two of de yankees retracts frum de army an' dey flies atter de rebs. when de rebs git ter de capitol one o' dem flies down morgan street an' one goes out hillsboro street wid de yankees hot in behin' him. dey ketched him out dar at de hillsboro bridge when his hoss what wus already tired, stumbles an' he falls an' hurts his leg. durin' dat time de big man wid de red hair what dey calls kilpatrick brung his men up on de square an' sets under de trees an' a gang o' people comes up. when dey brung de young good lookin' reb up ter de redheaded gen'l he sez 'what you name reb?' de boy sez, 'robert walsh, sir. what for did you done go an' shoot at my army? "case i hates de yankees an' i wush dat dey wus daid in a pile," de reb sez, an' laughs. "de gen'l done got his dander up now, an' he yells," 'carry de reb sommers out'r sight o' de ladies an' hang him.' de reb laughs an' sez, 'kin' o' you sir,' an' he waves goodbye ter de crowd an' dey carried him off a laughin' fit ter kill. dey hanged him on a ole oak tree in de lovejoy grove, whar de governor's mansion am now standin' an' dey buried him under de tree. way atter de war dey moved his skileton ter oakwood cemetery an' put him up a monument. his grave wus kivered wid flowers, an' de young ladies cry. he died brave do', an' he kep' laughin' till his neck broke. i wus dar an' seed hit, furdermore dar wus a gang of white ladies dar, so dey might as well a hanged him on de capitol square. de yankees wus good ter me, but hit shore wus hard ter git a job do', an' so i ain't fared as good as i did' fore de war. mr. buck wus good ter us. sometimes he'd lose his temper an' cuss, den he'd say right quick, 'god forgive me, i pray.' dat man believed in 'ligion. when de oberseer, george harris, 'ud start ter beat a slave dey larned ter yell fer mr. buck an' make lak dey wus gittin' kilt. mr. buck'd come stompin' an' yellin' 'stop beatin' dat nigger. course dis ruint de slaves, case dey could talk lak dey pleased ter mr. harris, an' iffen dey could yell loud nuff dey ain't got no whuppin'. yessum, i'se glad slavery am over; we owns dis home an' some chickens, but we shore does need de ole age pension. i'se got two fine gran'sons, but let me tell you dey needs ter wuck harder, eat less, an' drink less. on de count o' dem boys i wants de abc stores so's dey won't drink box lye. eh n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: chaney hews person interviewed: chaney hews editor: g. l. andrews [tr: no date stamp] chaney hews years old. cotton street, raleigh, north carolina. my age, best of my recollection, is about eighty years. i was 'bout eight years ole when de yankees come through. chillun in dem days wus not paid much mind like dey is now. white chillun nor nigger chillun wus not spiled by tenshun. i got enough to eat to live on an' dat wus 'bout all i keered 'bout. des so i could git a little to eat and could play all de time. i stayed outen de way of de grown folks. no, chillun wus not noticed like dey is now. i heard de grown folks talkin' 'bout de yankees. de niggers called 'em blue jackets. den one mornin', almost 'fore i knowed it, de yard wus full of 'em. dey tried to ride de hosses in de house, dey caught de chickens, killed de shoats and took de horses an' anything else dey wanted. dey give de nigger hardtack an' pickled meat. i 'members eating some of de meat, i didn't like. we had reasonably good food, clothin', and warm log houses wid stick an' dirt chimleys. de houses wus warm enough all de time in winter, and dey didn't leak in rainy weather neither. dere wus a lot of slaves an' marster an' missus wus good to father an' mother. when dey had a cornshuckin' we slaves had a good time, plenty to eat, whiskey for de grown folks and a rastlin' match after de corn wus shucked. a nigger dat shucked a red ear of corn got a extra drink of whiskey. dat wus de custom in dem days. no prayermeetings wus allowed on de plantation but we went to salem to white folks church and also to white folks church at cary. dey whupped mother 'cause she tried to learn to read, no books wus allowed. mother said dat if de blue jackets had not come sooner or later i would have got de lash. mother belonged to sam atkins who owned a plantation about ten miles down de ramkatte road in wake county. father belonged to turner utley and father wus named jacob utley and mother wus named lucy utley. my maiden name wus chaney utley. dey wurked from sun to sun on de plantation. when de surrender come father an' mother come to town an' stayed about a year an' den went back to ole marster's plantation. dey wus fed a long time on hardtack and pickled meat, by de yankees, while in town. dey stayed a long time wid ole marster when dey got back. mother wus his cook. rats got after mother in town an' she went back to marsters an' tole him 'bout it an' tole him she had come back home, dat she wus fraid to stay in town an' marster jes' laughted an' tole us all to come right in. he tole mother to go an' cook us all sumptin to eat an' she did. we wus all glad to git back home. i wus too little to wurk much but i played a lot an' swept yards. we drank water outen gourds an' marster would tell me to bring him a gourd full of cool water when he wus settin' in his arm chair on de porch. i thought big of waitin' on marster, yes, dat i did. dere wus fourteen of us in family, father, mother an' twelve chilluns. dere is three of us livin', two of de boys an' me. slavery wus a good thing from what i knows 'bout it. while i liked de yankees wid dere purty clothes, i didn't like de way dey took marster's stuff an' i tole 'em so. mother made me hush. dey took chickens, meat, hogs an' horses. we finally left ole marster's plantation an' moved jes' a little way over on another plantation. mother an' father died there. i married sam hews in wake county when i wus fifteen years old. i had no children. after we wus married we stayed on de farm a year or two den we moved to raleigh. we have wurked for white folks ever since, an' i am still wurkin' for 'em now all i am able. i washes an' irons clothes. sometimes i can't wash, i ain't able, but i does de bes' i can. de white folks is still good to me an' i likes' em. le district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: joe high person interviewed: joe high editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp "jun "] [hw: interesting first & last paragraph glad slavery ended but loved missus] joe high [hw:-- years] joe high interviewed may , has long been one of the best independent gardners in raleigh, working variously by the hour or day. my name is joe high. i lives at so. haywood. st. raleigh, n. c. now dere is one thing i want to know, is dis thing goin' to cost me anything. hold on a minute, and le' me see. i want to be square, and i must be square. now le' me see, le' me see sumpin'. sometimes folks come here and dey writes and writes; den dey asts me, is you goin' to pay dis now? what will it cost? well, if it costs nothin' i'll gib you what i knows. let me git my bible. i wants to be on de square, because i got to leave here some of dese days. dis is a record from de slave books. i've been tryin' to git my direct age for years. my cousin got my age. i wuz born april , . my mother's name wuz sarah high. put down when she wuz born, oct. , . this is from the old slave books. we both belonged to green high, the young master. the old master, i nebber seed him; but i saw old missus, mis' laney high. the old master died before i wuz born. we lived two miles north uv zebulon. you know where zebulon is in wake county? i had two brothers, one brother named taylor high, 'nother named ruffin high. my sister died mighty young. she come here wrong; she died. i' member seeing my uncle take her to the grave yard. i don't know whe're there's enny rec'ord o' her or not. my work in slavery times wuz ridin' behin' my missus, clara griffin, who wuz my old missus' sister's daughter. she came to be our missus. when she went visiting i rode behind her. i also looked atter de garden, kept chickens out uv de garden, and minded de table, fanned flies off de table. they were good to us. dey whupped us sometime. i wuz not old enough to do no fiel' work. one time i slep' late. it wuz in the fall uv the year. the other chilluns had lef' when i got up. i went out to look for 'em. when i crossed the tater patch i seen the ground cracked and i dug in to see what cracked it. i found a tater and kept diggin' till i dug it up. i carried it to the house. they had a white woman for a cook that year. i carried the tater and showed it to her. she took me and the tater and told me to come on. we went from the kitchen to the great house and she showed the tater to the old missus sayin', 'look here missus, joe has been stealin' taters. here is the tater he stole'. old missus said, 'joe belongs to me, the tater belongs to me, take it back and cook it for him. when the cook cooked the tater she asked me for half uv it. i gave it to her. if i had known den lak i knows now, she wuz tryin' to git me to git a whoppin' i wouldn't 'er give her none uv dat tater. there were some frame houses, an part log houses, we called 'em the darkey houses. the master's house wuz called 'the great house'. we had very good places to sleep and plenty to eat. i got plenty uv potlicker, peas, and pumpkins. all us little darkies et out uv one bowl. we used mussel shells, got on the branch, for spoons. dey must not er had no spoons or sumpin. the pea fowls roosted on de great house evey night. i didn't know whut money nor matches wuz neither. i 'member seein' henry high, my first cousin, ketch a pike once, but i never done no fishin' or huntin'. i 'member seein' the grown folks start off possum huntin' at night, but i did not go. i wore wooden bottom shoes and i wore only a shirt. i went in my shirt tail until i wuz a great big boy, many years atter slavery. there were or more slaves on the plantation. old women wove cloth on looms. we made syrup, cane syrup, with a cane mill. we carried our corn to foster's mill down on little river to have it ground. it wuz called little river den; i don't know whut it is called in dis day. there wuz a block in de yard, where missus got up on her horse. there were two steps to it. slaves were sold from this block. i 'member seein' them sold from this block. george high wuz one, but they got him back. dey did not teach us anything about books; dey did not teach us anything about readin' and writin'. i went to church at the eppsby church near buffalo, not far from wakefield. we sat in a corner to ourselves. my brother taylor ran away. young master sent him word to come on back home; he won't goin' to whup him, and he come back. yes, he come back. we played the games uv marbles, blind fold, jumpin', and racin', and jumpin' the rope. the doctor looked atter us when we were sick, sometimes, but it wuz mostly done by old women. dey got erbs and dey gib us wormfuge. dey worked us out. i wuz not old enough to pay much attention to de doctor's name. i 'members one day my young master, green high, and me wuz standin' in de front yard when two men come down the avenue from de main road to the house. dey wanted to know how fer it wuz to green high's. master told 'em it wuz about miles away and gave 'em the direction. dey were yankees. dey got on their horses and left. dey didn't know dey wuz talking to green high then. when dey left, master left. i didn't see him no more in a long time. soon next day the yard wuz full uv yankee soldiers. i 'members how de buttons on dere uniforms shined. dey got corn, meat, chickens, and eveything they wanted. day didn't burn the house. old man bert doub or domb kept nigger hounds. when a nigger run away he would ketch him for de master. de master would send atter him and his dogs when a nigger run away. i 'member one overseer, a negro, hamp high and another coff high. nobody told me nothin' about being free and i knowed nothin' 'bout whut it meant. i married rosetta hinton. she belonged to the hintons during slavery. she is dead; she's been dead fourteen years. we were married at her mother's home; the river plantation belonging to the hintons. i wuz married by a preacher at this home. atter the wedding we had good things to eat and we played games. all stayed there that night and next day we went back to whar i wuz workin' on de gen. cox's farm. i wuz workin' dere. we had chillun. two died at birth. all are dead except one in durham named tommie high and one in new york city. tommie high works in a wheat mill. eddie high is a cashermiser, (calciminer) works on walls. i thought slavery wuz right. i felt that this wuz the way things had to go, the way they were fixed to go. i wuz satisfied. the white folks treated me all right. my young missus loved me and i loved her. she whupped me sometimes. i think just for fun sometimes, when i wuz ridin' behind her, she would tell me to put my arms around her and hold to her apron strings. one day she wuz sittin' on the side saddle; i wuz sittin' behind her. she wud try to git old dave, the horse she wuz a ridin to walk; she would say, 'ho dave', den i wud kick de horse in de side and she wud keep walkin' on. she asked me, 'joe, why does dave not want to stop?' i saw a lot of yankees, i wuz afraid of 'em. they called us johnnie, susie, and tole us they wouldn't hurt us. i think abraham lincoln is all right, i guess, the way he saw it. i think he was like i wuz as a boy from what i read, and understand; he wuz like me jest the way he saw things. i liked the rules, and ways o' my old master and missus, while the yankees and abraham lincoln gave me more rest. how did i learn to read? atter de war i studies. i wonts ter read de hymms an' songs. i jis picks up de readin' myself. it's quare to me, i cannot remember one word my mother ever said to me, not nary a word she said can i remember. i remember she brought me hot potlicker and bread down to the house of mornings when i wuz small; but i'se been tryin to 'member some words she spoke to me an' i cain't. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: susan high story teller: susan high editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: no date stamp] susan high haywood street raleigh, n. c. my name is susan high. i wus born in june. i am years old. my mother wus named piety an' she belonged to de ole man giles underhill before de surrender. my father he wus george merritt an' he belonged to ben merritt, ivan proctor's grandfather. dey lived on a plantation near eagle rock, wake county. dey called de creek near by mark's creek. my parents said dat dey had a mighty hard time, an' dat durin' slavery time, de rules wus mighty strict. de hours of work on de farm wus from sun to sun wid no time 'cept at christmas and at lay-by time, th of july for anything but work. dey were not 'lowed no edication, and very little time to go to church. sometimes de went to de white folks church. mother said dey whupped de slaves if dey broke de rules. dey said de overseers were worse den de slave owners. de overseers were ginerally white men hired by de marster. my father said dey had poor white men to overseer, and de slave owner would go on about his business and sometimes didn't know an' didn't eben care how mean de overseer wus to de slaves. dere wus a lot o' things to drink, dey said, cider, made from apples, whiskey, an' brandy. dey said people didn't notice it lak dey do now, not many got drunk, cause dere wus plenty of it. father said it wus ten cents a quart, dat is de whiskey made outen corn, and de brandy wus cheap too. dey said de clothes were wove, an' dat mos' chillun went barefooted, an' in dere shirt tails; great big boys, goin' after de cows, and feedin' de horses, an' doin' work around de house in deir shirt tails. grown slaves got one pair o' shoes a year an' went barefooted de res' o' de time. biscuit wus a thing dey seldom got. women cleared land by rollin' logs into piles and pilin' brush in de new grounds. dey were 'lowed patches, but dey used what dey made to eat. daddy said dey didn't have time to fish and hunt any. dey were too tired for dat. dey had to work so hard. daddy said he wus proud o' freedom, but wus afraid to own it. dey prayed fer freedom secretly. when de yankees come daddy saved a two horse wagon load of meat for marster by takin' it off in de swamp and hidin' it, an' den marster wouldn't give him nary bit uv it. after de surrender, dey turned him out wid a crowd o' little chillun wid out a thing. dey give him nothin'. my mother saved her marster's life, charles underhill. well you see he wus takin' care uv a lot o' meat and whiskey for dick jordon, an' de yankees come an' he treated 'em from whiskey he had in a bottle, an' tole 'em he had no more. dey searched his home an' found it in a shed room, an' den dey said dey were goin' to kill him for tellin' 'em a lie. she herd [hw correction: heard] 'em talkin' and she busted through de crowd and told 'em dat de stuff belonged to anudder man and dat her marster was not lyin', an' not to hurt 'im. de yankees said, 'you have saved dis ole son of a bitch, we won't kill' em den.' dey took all de meat, whiskey, an' everything dey wanted. marster promised mother a cow, and calf, a sow, and pigs for what she had done for him an' to stay on an' finish de crop. when de fall o' de year come he did not give her de wrappin's o' her finger. dat's what my mudder tole me. we wus teached to call 'em mammie and pappie. i is gwine to tell you just zackly like it is we were taught dese things. i wants to be pasidefily right in what i tell you. we lef' dat place an' mammie an' pappie farmed wid solomon morgan a free issue for several years. de family had typhoid fever an' five were down with it at one time. but de lawd will provide. sich as dat makes me say people wont die till deir time comes. dere is some mighty good white people in dis place in america, and also bad. if it hadn't been for 'em we colored folks would have ben in a mighty bad fix. we got our jobs and help from 'em to git us to de place we are at. dr. henry montague doctored us and none died. it wusn't dere time to go. no, no, hit wasn't deir time to go. we then moved back to marster's for a year, and then we moved to rolesville in wake county. i married den and moved to raleigh. i married robert high. he is dead. he been dead 'bout years. i don't know much 'bout abraham lincoln i think he wus a fine man. mr. roosevelt's ideas is fine if he can carry 'em out. ac n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: kitty hill person interviewed: kitty hill editor: g. l. andrews [tr: date stamp "aug "] kitty hill west south street, raleigh, north carolina. i tole you yisterday dat my age wus years old, but my daughter come home, an' i axed her' bout it an' she say i is years old. i don't know exactly the date but i wus born in april. i wus a little girl 'bout five years ole when de surrender come, but i don't' member anything much' bout de yankees. i wus born in virginia, near petersburg, an' mother said de yankees had been hanging' round dere so long dat a soldier wus no sight to nobody. 'bout de time de yankees come i' member hearin' dem talk 'bout de surrender. den a jew man by the name of isaac long come to petersburg, bought us an' brought us to chatham county to a little country town, named pittsboro. ole man isaac long run a store an' kept a boarding house. we stayed on de lot. my mother cooked. we stayed there a long time atter de war. father wus sent to manassas gap at the beginning of de war and i do not 'member ever seein' him. my mother wus named viney jefferson an' my father wus named thomas jefferson. we 'longed to the jeffersons there and we went by the name of jefferson when we wus sold and brought to n. c. i do not 'member my grandparents on my mother's or father's side. mother had one boy an' three girls. the boy wus named robert, an' the girls were kate, rosa and kitty. marster long bought mother an' all de chilluns, but mother never seed father anymore atter he wus sent off to de war. i married green hill in chatham county. i married him at moncure about nine miles from pittsboro. we lived at moncure and mother moved there an' we lived together for a long time. when we left moncure we come ter raleigh. mother had died long time 'fore we left moncure, chatham county. we moved ter raleigh atter de world war. mother used ter tell we chilluns stories of patterollers ketchin' niggers an' whuppin' 'em an' of how some of de men outrun de patterollers an' got away. dere wus a song dey used to sing, it went like dis. yes sir, ha! ha! i wants ter tell you dat song, here it is: 'somefolks say dat a nigger wont steal, i caught two in my corn field, one had a bushel, one had a peck, an' one had rosenears, strung 'round his neck. 'run nigger run, patteroller ketch you, run nigger run like you did de udder day.' my mother said she wus treated good. yes she said dey wus good ter her in virginia. mother said de slave men on de jefferson plantation in virginia would steal de hosses ter ride ter dances at night. one time a hoss dey stole an' rode ter a dance fell dead an' dey tried ter tote him home. mother laughted a lot about dat. i heard my mother say dat de cavalry southern folks was bout de meanest in de war. she talked a lot about wheeler's cavalry. dere wus a lot of stealin' an' takin' meat, silver, stock an' anything. hosses, cows an' chickens jist didn't have no chance if a yankee laid his eyes on 'em. a yankee wus pisen to a yard full of fowls. dey killed turkeys, chickens and geese. now dats de truth. mother said de yankees skinned turkeys, chickens and geese 'fore dey cooked 'em. sometimes dey would shoot a hog an' jist take de hams an' leave de rest dere to spile. dey would kill a cow, cut off de quarters an' leave de rest ter rot. mother said no prayer meetings wus allowed de slaves in virginia where she stayed. dey turned pots down ter kill de noise an' held meetings at night. dey had niggers ter watch an' give de alarm if dey saw de white folks comin'. dey always looked out for patterollers. dey were not allowed any edication an' mother could not read and write nuther. i 'member de ku klux an' how dey beat people. one night a man got away from 'em near whar we lived in chatham county. he lived out in de edge of de woods; and when dey knocked on de door he jumped out at a back window in his night clothes wid his pants in his hands an' outrun 'em. dere wus rocks in de woods whar he run an' dat nigger jist tore his feet up. dey went ter one nigger's house up dere an' de door' wus barred up. dey got a ax an' cut a hole in de door. when de hole got big enough de nigger blammed down on 'em wid a gun an' shot one of dere eyes out. you know de ku klux went disguised an' when dey got ter your house dey would say in a fine voice, ku klux, ku klux, ku klux, ku klux. [hw correction: new paragraph] some people say dey are in slavery now an' dat de niggers never been in nothin' else; but de way some of it wus i believe it wus a bad thing. some slaves fared all right though an' had a good time an' liked slavery. le n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: jerry hinton person interviewed: jerry hinton editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: no date stamp] jerry hinton my full name is jerry hinton. i wus borned in february, . i am not able ter work. i work all i can. i am trying ter do de best i can ter help myself. yes, just tryin' ter do sumpin, ain't able ter work much. i am ruptured, an' old. my old house looks 'bout old as i do, it's 'bout to fall down, ain't able ter fix it up. it needs repairing. i ain't able ter make no repairs. i wus born on a plantation in wake county. my master wus richard seawell, an' missus wus named adelaide. his plantation wus on neuse river. he had two plantations, but i wus a little boy, an' don't remember how many acres in de plantation or how many slaves. there wus a lot of 'em tho'. i would follow master 'round an' look up in his face so he would give me biscuit an' good things ter eat. my mother, before marriage, wus named silvia seawell, an' father wus named andrew hinton. atter they wus married mother went by the name of hinton, my father's family name. i had--i don't know--mos' anything wus good ter me. master brought me biscuit an' i thought that wus the greatest thing at all. yes, i got purty good food. our clothes wus not fine, but warm. i went barefooted mos' o' the time, an' in summer i went in my shirt tail. dey called de slave houses 'quarters', de house where de overseer lived wus de 'overseer's house'. master had a overseer to look atter his men; de overseer wus named bridgers. de house where master lived wus de 'great house'. dey would not allow us any books. i cannot read an' write. i have seen de patterollers, but i neber saw' em whip nobody; but i saw' em lookin' fer somebody ter whup. i've neber seen a slave sold. i've neber seen a jail fer slaves or slaves in chains. i have seen master whup slaves though. i wus neber whupped. dey wrung my ears an' pulled my nose to punish me. dere wus no churches on de plantation, but we had prayer meetin's in our homes. we went to de white folks church. my father used to take me by de hand an' carry me ter church. daddy belonged ter de iron side baptist church. we called our fathers 'daddy' in slavery time. dey would not let slaves call deir fathers 'father'. dey called 'em 'daddy', an' white children called deir father, 'pa'. i didn't work any in slavery time, 'cept feed pigs, an' do things fer my master; waited on him. i went 'round wid him a lot, an' i had rather see him come on de plantation any time dan to see my daddy. i do not remember any possums or other game being eaten at our house. i do not remember eber goin' a-fishin durin' slavery time. master had two boys ter go off ter de war. dey carried 'em off ter de war. i don't know how many children dey had, but i remember two of 'em goin' off ter de war. don't know what became of 'em. i shore remember de yankees. yes sir, ha! ha! i shore remember dem. dem yankees tore down an' drug out ever'thing, dey come across. dey killed hogs, an' chickens. dey took only part of a hog an' lef' de rest. dey shot cows, an' sometimes jest cut off de hind quarters an' lef de rest. dey knocked de heads out o' de barrels o' molasses. dey took horses, cows an' eber'thing, but they did not hurt any o' de children. dey wus folks dat would tear down things. atter de surrender my mother moved over on de plantation where my father stayed. we stayed dere a long time, an' den we moved back to richard seawell's, old master's plantation, stayin' dere a long time. den we moved to jessie taylor's place below raleigh between crabtree creek an' neuse river. when we lef' taylor's we moved ter banner dam northeast of raleigh near boone's pond. mother an' father both died dere. atter leaving dere i come here. i have lived in oberlin ebery since. guess i'll die here; if i can git de money to pay my taxes, i know i will die here. i think slavery wus good because i wus treated all right. i think i am 'bout as much a slave now as ever. i don't think any too much o' abraham lincoln, jeff davis or any o' dem men. don't know much 'bout 'em. guess mr. roosevelt is all right. 'bout half the folks both black an' white is slaves an' don't know it. when i wus a slave i had nothin' on me, no responsibility on any of us, only to work. didn't have no taxes to pay, neber had to think whur de next meal wus comin' from. dis country is in a bad fix. looks like sumptin got to be done someway or people, a lot of 'em, are goin' to parish to death. times are hard, an' dey is gettin' worse. don't know how i am goin' to make it, if i don't git some help. we been prayin' fer rain. crops are done injured, but maybe de lawd will help us. yes, i trust in de lawd. i been married twice. i married henritta nunn first, an' den henritta jones. i had three children by first marriage, an' none b [hw: y] second marriage. my wife is over seventy years old. we have a hard time making enough to git a little sumptin to eat. i wus mighty glad to see you when you come up dis mornin', an' i hopes what i have told you will help some one to know how bad we need help. i feels de lawd will open up de way. yes sir, i do. le n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: martha adeline hinton person interviewed: martha adeline hinton editor: g. l. andrews [tr: hw date " / / "] martha adeline hinton # --star st., route , raleigh, north carolina. i wus born may , at willis thompson's plantation in wake county about fifteen miles from raleigh. he wus my marster an' his wife muriel wus my missus. my father's name wus jack emery an' mother's name was minerva emery. my mother belonged to willis thompson and my father belonged to ephriam emery. mother stayed with my marster's married daughter. she married johnny k. moore. marster had three children, all girls; dere names wus margaret, caroline and nancy. there wus only one slave house dere 'cause dey only had one slave whur my mother stayed. marster thompson had five slaves on his plantation. he wus good to slaves but his wife wus rough. we had a reasonably [hw correction] good place to sleep an' fair sumptin to eat. you sees i wus mighty young an' i members very little 'bout some things in slavery but from what my mother an father tole me since de war it wus just 'bout middlin' livin' at marster's. slaves wore homemade clothes an' shoes. de shoes had wooden bottoms but most slave chilluns went barefooted winter an' summer till dey wus ole 'nough to go to work. de first pair of shoes i wore my daddy made 'em. i 'member it well. i will never furgit it, i wus so pleased wid 'em. all slave chillun i knows anything 'bout wore homemade clothes an' went barefooted most of the time an' bareheaded too. i member de yankees an' how dey had rods searchin' for money an' took things. i members a yankee goin' to mother an' sayin' we was free. when he lef' missus come an' axed her what he say to her an' mother tole missus what he said an' missus says 'no he didn't tell you you is free, you jes axed him wus you free.' father wus hired out to frank page of gary. he wus cuttin cord wood for him, when he heard de yankees wus coming he come home. when he got dere de yankees had done been to de house an' gone. durin' slavery dey tried to sell daddy. de speculator wus dere an 'daddy suspicion sumpin. his marster tole him to go an' shuck some corn. dey aimed to git him in de corn crib an' den tie him an' sell him but when he got to the crib he kept on goin'. he went to mr. henry buffaloe's an' stayed two weeks den he went back home. dere wus nuthin' else said 'bout sellin him. dey wanted to sell him an buy a 'oman so dey could have a lot of slave chilluns cause de 'oman could multiply. dey hired men out by the year to contractors to cut cord wood an' build railroads. father wus hired out dat way. ole man rome harp wus hired out day way. he belonged to john harp. daddy said his marster never did hit him but one blow. daddy said he wurked hard everyday, an' done as near right as he knowed how to do in everything. his marster got mad ah' hit him wid a long switch. den daddy tole him he wus workin' bes' he could for him an' dat he wus not goin' to take a whuppin. his marster walked off an' dat wus de last of it, an' he never tried to whup him again. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: robert hinton story teller: robert hinton editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: no date stamp] robert hinton smith street, raleigh, n. c. my name is robert hinton. i ain't able to work, ain't been able to do any work in five years. my wife, mary hinton, supports me by workin' with the wpa. she was cut off las' may. since she has had no job, we have to live on what she makes with what little washin' she gets from de white folks; an' a little help from charity; dis ain't much. dey give you for one week, one half peck meal, one pound meat, one pound powdered milk, one half pound o' coffee. dis is what we git for one week. i wus borned in on de fayetteville road three miles from raleigh, south. i belonged to lawrence hinton. my missus wus named jane hinton. de hintons had 'bout twenty slaves on de plantation out dere. dey had four chillun, de boy ransom an' three girls: belle, annie an' miss mary. all are dead but one, miss mary is livin' yit. my mother wus named liza hinton an' my father wus named bob hinton. my gran'mother wus named mary hinton an' gran'father harry hinton. we had common food in slavery time, but it wus well fixed up, an' we were well clothed. we had a good place to sleep, yes sir, a good place to sleep. we worked from sunrise to sunset under overseers. dey were good to us. i wus small at dat time. i picked up sticks in de yard an' done some work around de house, but when dey turned deir backs i would be playin' most o' de time. we played shootin' marbles, an' runnin', an' jumpin'. we called de big house de dwelling house an' de slave quarters de slave houses. some of 'em were in marster's yard and some were outside. dey give all de families patches and gardens, but dey did not sell anything. we had prayer meetin' in our houses when we got ready, but dere were no churches for niggers on de plantation. we had dances and other socials durin' christmas times. dey give us de christmas holidays. no sir, dey did not whup me. i wus mighty young. dey didn't work chillun much. i have seen 'em whup de grown ones do'. i never saw a slave sold and never saw any in chains. dey run away from our plantation but dey come back again. william brickell, sidney cook, willis hinton all run away. i don't know why dey all run away but some run away to keep from being whupped. i have lived in north carolina all my life, right here in wake county. we used to set gums and catch rabbits, set traps and caught patridges and doves. yes sir, i went blindin'. i 'members gittin' a big light an' jumpin' 'round de bresh heaps, an' when a bird come out we frailed him down. we went gigging fish too. we found 'em lying on de bottom o' de creeks an' ponds at night, an' stuck de gig in 'em an' pulled 'em out. de white folks, ole missus, teached us de catechism, but dey didn't want you to learn to read and write. i can read and write now; learned since de surrender. sometimes we went to de white folks church. i don't know any songs. when we got sick our boss man sent for a doctor, dr. burke haywood, dr. johnson, or dr. hill. i 'members when de north folks and de southern folks wus fightin'. de northern soldiers come in here on de fayetteville road. i saw 'em by de hundreds. dey had colored folks soldiers in blue clothes too. in de mornin' white soldiers, in de evenin' colored soldiers; dats de way dey come to town. i married first almeta harris. i had six children by her. second, i married mary jones. she is my wife now. we had six children. my wife is now years old and she has to support me. i am done give out too much to work any more. yes sir, that i have seen de patterollers, but my old boss didn't 'low 'em to whup his niggers. marster give his men passes. i know when de ku klux was here, but i don't know much about 'em. i thought slavery wus a bad thing' cause all slaves did not fare alike. it wus all right for some, but bad for some, so it wus a bad thing. i joined the church because i got religion and thought the church might help me keep it. i think abraham lincoln wus a good man, but i likes mr. roosevelt; he is a good man, a good man. ac n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: william george hinton person interviewed: william george hinton editor: g. l. andrews [tr: hw date: " / / "] william george hinton star street, r. f. d. # , box i was born in wake county in de year . august th. i 'members seeing de yankees, it seems like a dream. one come along ridin' a mule. dey sed he wus a yankee bummer, a man dat went out raging on peoples things. he found out whur the things wus located an' carried the rest there. the bummers stole for de army, chickens, hogs, an' anything they could take. atter de bummer come along in a few minutes de whole place wus crowded wid yankees. de blue coats wus everywhere i could look. marster didn't have but five slaves, an' when de yankees come dere wus only me an' my oldest sister dere. all de white folks had left except missus and her chillun. her baby wus only three weeks ole then. a yankee come to my oldest sister an' said, 'whur is dem horses?' he pulled out a large pistol an' sed, 'tell me whur dem horses is or i will take your damn sweet life.' marster hid de horses an' sister didn't know, she stuck to it she didn't know an' de yankees didn't shoot. dey come back, de whole crowd, de next day an' made marster bring in his horses. bey took de horses an' bought some chickens an' paid for 'em, den dey killed an' took de rest. ha! ha! dey shore done dat. paid for some an' took de rest. i seed de yankees atter de surrender. dey wus staying at de ole soldiers home on new bern avenue. one day mother carried me there to sell to 'em. one time she went there an' she had a rooster who wus a game. his eyes wus out from fighting another game rooster belonging to another person near our home, mr. emory sewell. she carried de rooster in where dere wus a sick yankee. de yankee took him in his hands an' de rooster crowed. he give mother thirty-five cents for him. de yankee said if he could crow an' his eyes out he wanted him. he said, he called dat spunk. dere wus a man who wus a slave dat belonged to mr. kerney upchurch come along riding a mule. my oldest sister, de one de yankees threatened, tole him de yankees are up yonder. he said, 'dad lim de yankees.' he went on, when he got near de yankees dey tole him to halt.' instead of haltin' he sold out runnin' the mule fur de ole field. der wus a gang of young fox hounds dere. when he lit out on de mule, dey thought he wus goin' huntin' so dey took out atter him, jest like dey wus atter a fox. some of de yankees shot at him, de others just almost died a laughin'. we didn't git much to eat. mother said it wus missus fault, she was so stingy. we had homemade clothes an' wooden bottom shoes for de grown folks, but chillun did not wear shoes den, dey went barefooted. all de slaves lived in one house built about one hundred yards from the great house, marsters house wus called the great house. my father wus named robin hinton an' my mother wus named dafney hinton. my father belonged to betsy ransom hinton an' mother belonged first to reddin cromb in lenoir county an' then to james thompson of wake county. i wus borned after mother wus brought to wake county. marster had one boy named beuregard, four girls, caroline, alice, lena and nellie. i do not remember my grandparents. i saw a slave named lucinda, sold to ole man askew, a speculator, by kerney upchurch. i seed 'em carry her off. one of de slave men who belonged to ole man burl temples wus sent to wurk for mr. temples' son who had married. his missus put him to totin' water before goin' to wurk in de mornin'. three other slaves toted water also. he refused to tote water an' ran. she set de blood hounds atter him an' caught him near his home, which wus his ole marster's house. ole marster's son come out, an' wouldn't let 'em whup him, an' they wouldn't make him go back. missus harriet temples wus a terrible 'oman, a slave jest couldn't suit her. de slave dat run away from young marster wus finally sent back. his marster give him a shoulder of meat before he left. he hung it in a tree. missus tole him to put it in the smoke house. he refused, sayin' he would see it no more. a slave by the name of sallie temples run away 'cause her missus, mary temples, wus so mean to her. she stuck hot irons to her. made 'em drink milk an' things for punishment is what my mother an' father said. sallie never did come back. nobody never did know what become of her. soon as de war wus over father an' mother left dere marsters. dey went to mr. tom bridgers. we lived on de farm atter dis. mother cooked, sister an' i worked on de farm. sister plowed like a man. de first help my mammy got wus from de yankees, it wus pickle meat an' hardtack. i wus wid her an' dey took me in an' give me some clothes. mother drawed from 'em a long time. we have farmed most our lives. sometimes we worked as hirelings and den as share croppers. i think slavery wus a bad thing. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: eustace hodges story teller: eustace hodges editor: geo. l. andrews [tr: date stamp "aug "] eustace hodges an interview with eustace hodges, years old, of w. lenoir street, raleigh, north carolina. i doan know when i wus borned, ner where but at fust my mammy an' me 'longed ter a mcgee here in wake county. my mammy wurked in de fiel's den, ditchin' an' such, even plowin' while we 'longed ter mcgee, but he sold us ter mr. rufus jones. my daddy still 'longed ter him but at de close of de war he comed ter mr. jones' plantation an' he tuck de name of jones 'long wid us. marse rufus wus gooder dan marse mcgee, dey said. he give us more ter eat an' wear an' he ain't make us wurk so hard nother. we had our wurk ter do, of course, but mammy ain't had ter ditch ner plow no mo'. she wurked in de house den, an' none of de wimmen done men's wurk. course she can't wurk so hard an' have 'leben chilluns too. she had a baby one day an' went ter wurk de nex' while she 'longed ter mcgee, but at marse rufus' she stayed in de bed seberal days an' had a doctor. marse rufus uster let us take sadday evenin' off an' go swimmin' er fishin' er go ter raleigh. i 'members dat somebody in town had a fuss wid marse rufus 'bout lettin' his niggers run loose in town. marse rufus atter dat had a oberseer in town ter see 'bout his niggers. i got a whuppin' once fer punchin' out a frog's eyes. miss sally giv' hit ter me long wid a lecture 'bout bein' kin' ter dumb brutes, but i ain't neber seed whar a frog am a brute yit. yes'um i heard a heap 'bout de yankees but i ain't prepared fer dere takin' eben our bread. miss sally ain't prepared nother an' she tells' em whar ter go, den she goes ter bed sick. i wus sorry fer miss sally, dat i wus. de day dat news of de surrender come miss sally cried some more an' she ain't wanted mammy ter go, so marse rufus said dat we can stay on. dey said dat mister mcgee runned his niggers offen his place wid a bresh broom dat day. atter de war we stayed on marse rufus' place till when pa died. i had married a feller by de name of charlie hodges, what lived on a nearby plantation an' we wus livin' on marse rufus' place wid pa an' ma. we moved ter raleigh den an' atter seberal years mammy moved hear too. you can fin' her on cannon street, but i'll tell you dat she's pretty puny now, since her stroke. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mrs. edith s. hibbs and mrs. w. n. harriss no. words: subject: alex huggins' story interviewed: alex huggins, dawson st, wilmington, n. c. edited: mrs. w. n. harriss [tr: no date stamp] story of alex huggins, ex-slave dawson street, wilmington, n. c. i was born in new bern on july , . my father and mother belonged to mr. l. b. huggins. my father was a carpenter and ship builder an' the first things i remember was down on myrtle grove sound, where mr. huggins had a place. i was a sort of bad boy an' liked to roam 'round. when i was about twelve years old i ran away. it was in when the war was goin' on. nobody was bein' mean to me. no, i was'nt bein' whipped. don't you know all that story 'bout slaves bein' whipped is all _bunk_, (with scornful emphasis). what pusson with any sense is goin' to take his horse or his cow an' beat it up. it's prope'ty. we was prope'ty. val'able prope'ty. no, indeed, mr. luke give the bes' of attention to his colored people, an' mis' huggins was like a mother to my mother. twa'nt anythin' wrong about home that made me run away. i'd heard so much talk 'bout freedom i reckon i jus' wanted to try it, an' i thought i had to get away from home to have it. well, i coaxed two other boys to go with me, an' a grown man he got the boat an' we slipped off to the beach an' put out to sea. yes'm, we sho' was after adventure. but, we did'n get very far out from sho', an' i saw the lan' get dimmer an' dimmer, when i got skeered, an' then i got seasick, an' we was havin' more kinds of adventure than we wanted, an' then we saw some ships. there was two of 'em, an' they took us on board. they was the north star an' the eastern star of the aspinwal line, a mail an' freighter runnin' between aspinwal near the isthmus of panama and new york. we used to put in off charleston. then, in i joined the union navy. went on board our convoy, the nereus. we convoyed to keep the alabama, a confederate privateer, away. the commander of the nereus asked me how's i like to be his cabin boy. so i was nd class cabin boy an' waited on the captain. he was five stripe commander j. c. howell. he was commander of the whole fleet off fort fisher. when the captain wanted somethin' good to eat he used to send me ashore for provisions. he liked me. he was an old man. he didn't take much stock in fun, but he was a real man. i was young an' was'nt serious. i jus' wanted a good time. i don't know much about the war, but i do know two men of our boat was killed on shore while we was at fort fisher. after the battle of fort fisher, we was on our way to aspinwal. layin' off one day at navassa island, the mast head reported a strange sail. 'where away?' 'just ahead'. 'she seems to be a three mast steamer!' 'which way headed?' we decided it was the alabama going to st. nicholas mole, west indies. our captain called the officers together an' held a meetin'. says he: 'we'll go under one bell (slow). lieutenant will go ashore an' get some information.' when we got there she had a coal schooner alongside taking on coal. our captain prepared to capture her when she came out. but she did'n come out 'til night. she dodged. good thing too. she'd a knocked hells pete out o' us. she was close to the water and could have fought us so much better than we could her. we didn't want to fight 'cause we knowed enough to jest natu'ally be skeered. she was a one decker man o' war. we was a two decker with six guns on berth deck, an' five guns on spar deck. i never saw her after that, but i heard she was contacted by the kearsage which sunk her off some island. i stayed in the navy eighteen months. was discharged at the brooklyn navy yard. admiral porter was admiral of the u. s. navy at that time. i stayed in new york five or six years, then i cane home to my mother. i was in the crude drug business in wilmington for twenty years. yes'm i went to church and sunday school when i was a child, when they could ketch me. whilst i was in new york i went to church regular. i married after awhile. my wife died about ten years ago. we had one son. i b'lieve he's in baltimore, but i ain't heard from him in a long time. he don't keer nothin' about me. of co'se i'm comfortable. i gits my pension, $ a month. i give $ of it to my nephew who's a cripple. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: t. pat matthews no. words: subject: charlie h. hunter story teller: c. h. hunter editor: geo. l. andrews [tr: date stamp "aug "] charlie h. hunter, years old, barker street west raleigh my full name is charlie h. hunter. i wus borned an' reared in wake county, n. c., born may, . my mother wus rosa hunter an' my father wus named jones. i never saw my father. we belonged to a family named jones first, an' then we wus sold to a slave owner seven miles northwest by the name joe hayes an' a terrible man he wus. he would get mad 'bout most anything, take my mother, chain her down to a log and whup her unmercifully while i, a little boy, could do nothing but stan' there an' cry, an' see her whupped. we had fairly good food an' common clothing. we had good sleeping places. my mother wus sold to a man named smith. i married first annie hayes who lived sixteen months. no prayer meetings wus allowed on de plantations an' no books of any kind. i can read an' write, learned in a school taught by northern folks after the surrender, mr. an' mrs. graves who taught in raleigh in the rear of the african methodist episcopal church. the school house wus owned by the church. we played no games in slavery times. i saw slaves sold on the block once in raleigh. i wus to be sold but the surrender stopped it. when the yankees come they asked me where wus my marster. i told them i didn't know. marster told me not to tell where he wus. he had gone off into the woods to hide his silver. in a few minutes the ground wus covered with yankees. the yankees stole my pen knife. i thought a lot of it. knives wus scarce and hard to get. i cried about they taking it. they got my marster's carriage horses, two fine gray horses. his wife had lost a brother, who had been in the army but died at home. he wus buried in the yard. the yankees thought the grave wus a place where valuables wus buried and they had to get a guard to keep them from diggin' him up. they would shoot hogs, cut the hams and shoulders off, stick them on their bayonetts, throw them over the'r shoulders an' go on. we called our houses shanties in slavery time. i never saw any patterollers. i don't remember how many slaves on the plantation wus taken to richmond an' sold. my mother looked after us when we wus sick. i had four brothers an' no sisters. they are all dead. i did house work an' errands in slavery time. i have seen one gang of ku klux. they wus under arrest at raleigh in governor holden's time. i don't remember the overseer. we moved to raleigh at the surrender. marster give us a old mule when we left him, an' i rode him into raleigh. we rented a house on wilmington street, an' lived on hard tack the yankees give us 'til we could git work. mother went to cooking for the white folks, but i worked for mr. jeff fisher. i held a job thirty-five years driving a laundry truck for l. r. wyatt. the laundry wus on the corner of jones an' salisbury street. i married cenoro freeman. we lived together fifty-six years. she wus a good devoted wife. we wus married dec. , . she died in may . [hw: bracket] booker t. washington wus a good man. i have seen him. abraham lincoln wus one of my best friends. he set me free. the lawd is my best friend. i don't know much 'bout jefferson davis. jim young an' myself wus pals. my object in joining the church wus to help myself an' others to live a decent life, a life for good to humanity an' for god. n. c. district: no. [ ] worker: mary a. hicks no. words: subject: ex-slave story story teller: elbert hunter editor: daisy bailey waitt [tr: date stamp "jun "] ex-slave story an interview on may , with elbert hunter of method, n. c., years old. i wuz borned eight miles from raleigh on de plantation of mr. jacob hunter in . my parents were stroud and lucy an' my brothers wuz tom, jeems an' henderson. i had three sisters who wuz named caroline, emiline an' ann. massa hunter wuz good to us, an' young massa knox wuz good too. my mammy wuz de cook an' my pappy wuz a field hand. massa ain't 'lowed no patterollers on his place, but one time when he wuzn't ter home my mammy sent me an' caroline ter de nex' door house fer something an' de patterollers got us. dey carried us home an' 'bout de time dat dey wuz axin' questions young massa knox rid up. he look dem over an' he sez, 'git off dese premises dis minute, yo' dad-limb sorry rascals, if us needs yo' we'll call yo'. 'my pappy patterolls dis place hisself.' dey left den, an' we ain't been bothered wid 'em no more. i toted water 'fore de war, minded de sheeps, cows and de geese; an' i ain't had many whuppin's neither. dar wuz one thing dat massa ain't 'low an' dat wuz drinkin' 'mong his niggers. dar wuz a ole free issue named denson who digged ditches fer massa an' he always brung long his demijohn wid his whiskey. one ebenin' missus tells me an' caroline ter go ter de low groun's an' git up de cows an' on de way we fin' ole man denson's demijohn half full of whiskey. caroline sez ter lets take er drink an' so we does, an' terreckly i gits wobbly in de knees. dis keeps on till i has ter lay down an' when i wakes up i am at home. dey says dat massa jacob totes me, an' dat he fusses wid denson fer leavin' de whiskey whar i can fin' it. he give me a talkin' to, an' i ain't neber drunk no more. when we hyard dat de yankees wuz comin' ole massa an' me takes de cattle an' hosses way down in de swamp an' we stays dar wid dem fer seberal days. one day i comes ter de house an' dar dey am, shootin' chickens an' pigs an' everthing. i'se seed dem cut de hams off'n a live pig or ox an' go off leavin' de animal groanin'. de massa had 'em kilt den, but it wuz awful. dat night dey went away but de nex' day a bigger drove come an' my mammy cooked fer 'em all day long. dey killed an' stold ever'thing, an' at last ole massa went to raleigh an' axed fer a gyard. atter we got de gyard de fuss ceased. one of de officers what spent de night dar lost his pocket book an' in it wuz seven greenback dollars, de fust i eber seed. we wuz glad ter be free even do' we had good white folks. de wuck hours wuz frum daybreak till dark, an' de wimmens had ter card an' spin so much eber night. we had our own chickens an' gyarden an' little ways of makin' money, but not so much fun. we played cat, which wuz like base ball now, only different. de children played a heap but de grown folks wucked hard. de cruelest thing i eber seed wuz in raleigh atter slavery time, an' dat wuz a nigger whuppin'. de pillory wuz whar de co'rthouse am now an' de sheriff, mr. ray whupped dat nigger till he bled. i neber seed a slave sale, an' i neber seed much whuppin's. i larned some long wid de white chilluns, 'specially how ter spell. no mam, i doan know nothin' 'bout witches, but i seed a ghos'. hit wuz near hyar, an' hit wuz a animal as big as a yearlin' wid de look of a dog. i can't tell you de color of it case i done left frum dar. b. n. images provided by the library of congress, manuscript division. [tr: ***] = transcriber note [hw: ***] = handwritten note slave narratives a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress washington volume ii arkansas narratives part prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of arkansas informants mcclendon, charlie mccloud, lizzie mcconico, avalena mccoy, ike mcdaniel, richard h. mcintosh, waters mack, cresa mckinney, warren mcmullen, victoria madden, nannie p. madden, perry mann, lewis martin, angeline martin, josie mathis, bess matthews, caroline maxwell, malindy maxwell, nellie may, ann mayes, joe meeks, rev. jesse metcalf, jeff miller, hardy miller, henry kirk miller, matilda miller, nathan miller, sam miller, w.d. minser, mose minton, gip mitchell, a.j. mitchell, gracie mitchell, hettie mitchell, mary mitchell, moses moon, ben moore, emma moore, patsy moorehead, ada mooreman, mary jane (mattie) morgan, evelina morgan, james morgan, olivia morgan, tom morris, charity morris, emma moss, claiborne moss, frozie moss, mose mullins, s.o. murdock, alex myers, bessie myhand, mary myrax, griffin neal, tom wylie nealy (neely), sally nealy, wylie neland, emaline nelson, henry nelson, iran nelson, james henry nelson, john nelson, lettie nelson, mattie newborn, dan newsom, sallie newton, pete norris, charlie oats, emma odom, helen oliver, jane osborne, ivory osbrook, jane page, annie parker, fannie parker, j.m. parker, judy parker, r.f. parks, annie parnell, austin pen parr, ben patterson, frank a. patterson, john patterson, sarah jane pattillo, solomon p. patton, carry allen payne, harriett mcfarlin payne, john payne, larkin perkins, cella perkins, marguerite (maggie) perkins, rachel perry, dinah peters, alfred peters, mary estes peterson, john pettis, louise pettus, henry c. phillips, dolly piggy, tony pittman, ella pittman, sarah poe, mary pollacks, w.l. pope, john (doc) porter, william potter, bob prayer, louise interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: charlie mcclendon e. fourth avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i don't know exactly how old i am. i was six or seven when the war ended. i member dis--my mother said i was born on christmas day. old master was goin' to war and he told her to take good care of that boy--he was goin' to make a fine little man. "did i live up to it? i reckon i was bout as smart a man as you could jump up. the work didn't get too hard for _me_. i farmed and i sawmilled a lot. most of my time was farmin'. "i been in jefferson county all my life. i went to school three or four sessions. "about the war, i member dis--i member they carried us to camden and i saw the guards. i'd say, 'give me a pistol.' they'd say, 'come back tomorrow and we'll give you one.' they had me runnin' back there every day and i never did get one. they was yankee soldiers. "our folks' master was william e. johnson. oh lord, they was just as good to us as could be to be under slavery. "after they got free my people stayed there a year or two and then our master broke up and went back to south carolina and the folks went in different directions. oh lord, my parents sho was well treated. yes ma'm. if he had a overseer, he wouldn't low him to whip the folks. he'd say, 'just leave em till i come home.' then he'd give em a light breshin'. "my father run off and stay in the woods one or two months. old master say, 'now, jordan, why you run off? now i'm goin' to give you a light breshin' and don't you run off again.' but he'd run off again after awhile. "he had one man named miles johnson just stayed in the woods so he put him on the block and sold him. "i seed the ku klux. we colored folks had to make it here to pine bluff to the county band. if the rebels kotch you, you was dead. "oh lord yes, i voted. i voted the publican ticket, they called it. you know they had this australia ballot. you was sposed to go in the caboose and vote. they like to scared me to death one time. i had a description of the man i wanted to vote for in my pocket and i was lookin' at it so i'd be sure to vote for the right man and they caught me. they said, 'what you doin' there? we're goin' to turn you over to the sheriff after election!' they had me scared to death. i hid out for a long time till i seed they wasn't goin' to do nothin'. "my wife's brother was one of the judges of the election. some of the other colored folks was constables and magistrates--some of em are now--down in the country. "i knew a lot about things but i knew i was in the united states and had to bow to the law. there was the compromise they give the colored folks--half of the offices and then they got em out afterwards. john m. clayton was runnin' for the senate and say he goin' to see the colored people had equal rights, but they killed him as he was gwine through the country speakin'. "the white people have treated me very well but they don't pay us enough for our work--just enough to live on and hardly that. i can say with a clear conscience that if it hadn't been for this relief, i don't know what i'd do--i'm not able to work. i'm proud that god almighty put the spirit in the man (roosevelt) to help us." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: lizzie mccloud short th street, pine bluff, arkansas age: ? "i was one of 'em bless your heart. yes ma'm, yes ma'm, i wouldn't tell you a lie 'bout that. if i can't tell you the truth i'm not goin' tell you nothin'! "oh yes, i was a young lady in slavery times--bred and born in tennessee. miss lizzie and marse john williams--i belonged to them--sho did! i was scared to death of the white folks. miss lizzie--she mean as the devil. she wouldn't step her foot on the ground, she so rich. no ma'm wouldn't put her foot on the ground. have her carriage drive up to the door and have that silk carpet put down for her to walk on. yes lord. wouldn't half feed us and they went and named me after her. "i know all about the stars fallin'. i was out in the field and just come in to get our dinner. got so dark and the stars begin to play aroun'. mistress say, 'lizzie, it's the judgment.' she was just a hollerin'. yes ma'm i was a young woman. i been here a long time, yes ma'm, i been here a long time. worked and whipped, too. i run off many a time. run off to see my mammy three or four miles from where i was. "i never was sold but they took we young women and brought us down in the country to another plantation where they raised corn, wheat, and hay. overseer whipped us too. marse john had a brother named marse andrew and he was a good man. he'd say to the overseer, 'now don't whip these girls so much, they can't work.' oh, he was a good man. oh, white folks was the devil in slavery tines. i was scared to death of 'em. they'd have these long cow hide whips. honey, i was treated bad. i seen a time in this world. "oh lord, yes, that was long 'fore the war. i was right down on my master's place when it started. they said it was to free the niggers. oh lord, we was right under it in davidson county where i come from. oh lord, yes, i knowed all about when the war started. i'se a young woman, a young woman. we was treated just like dogs and hogs. we seed a hard time--i know what i'm talkin' about. "oh god, i seed the yankees. i saw it all. we was so scared we run under the house and the yankees called 'come out dinah' (didn't call none of us anything but dinah). they said 'dinah, we're fightin' to free you and get you out from under bondage.' i sure understood that but i didn't have no better sense than to go back to mistress. "oh lord, yes, i seed the ku klux. they didn't bother me cause i didn't stay where they could; i was way under the house. "yankees burned up everything marse john had. i looked up the pike and seed the yankees a coming'. they say 'we's a fightin' for you, dinah!' yankees walked in, chile, just walked right in on us. i tell you i've seed a time. you talkin' 'bout war--you better wish no more war come. i know when the war started. the secessors on this side and the yankees on that side. yes, miss, i seen enough. my brother went and jined the secessors and they killed him time he got in the war. "no, missy, i never went to no school. white folks never learned me nothin'. i believes in tellin' white folks the truth. "white folks didn't 'low us to marry so i never married till i come to arkansas and that was one year after surrender. "first place i landed on was john clayton's place. mr. john clayton was a yankee and he was good to us. we worked in the field and stayed there two years. i been all up and down the river and oh lord, i had a good time after i was free. i been treated right since i was free. my color is good to me and the white folks, too. i ain't goin' to tell only the truth. uncle sam goin' send me 'cross the water if i don't tell the truth. better _not fool_ with dat man!" interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: lizzie mccloud e. short th street, pine bluff, arkansas age: [tr: appears to be same as previous informant despite age discrepancy.] "well, where you been? i been wonderin' 'bout you. yes lawd. you sure is lookin' fine. "yes, honey, i was bred and bawn in davidson county, tennessee. come here one year after surrender. "my daughter there was a baby jus' sittin' alone, now, sittin' alone when i come here to this arkansas. i know what i'm talkin' about. "lizzie williams, my old missis, was rich as cream. yes lawd! i know all about it 'cause i worked for 'em. "i was a young missis when the war started. i was workin' for my owners then. i knowed when they was free--when they said they was free. "the yankees wouldn't call any of the colored women anything but dinah. i didn't know who they was till they told us. said, 'dinah, we's comin' to free you.' "the white folks didn't try to scare us 'bout the yankees 'cause they was too scared theirselves. them yankees wasn't playin'; they was fitin'. yes, jesus! "had to work hard--and whipped too. wasn't played with. mars andrew come in the field a heap a times and say, 'don't whip them women so hard, they can't work.' i thought a heap of mars andrew. "i used to see the yankees ridin' hosses and them breastplates a shining'. yes lawd. i'd run and they'd say, 'dinah, we ain't gwine hurt you.' lawd, them yankees didn't care for nothin'. oh, they was fine. "my husband was a soldier--a yankee. yes ma'am. they sends me thirty dollars every month, before the fourth. postman brings it right to me here at the house. they treats me nice. "when i come here, i landed on john clayton's place. he was a yankee and he was a good white man too. "i'm the onliest one left now in my family." interviewer: mrs. irene robertson person interviewed: avalena mcconico on the [tr: ---- ----] west of brinkley, arkansas age: [tr: ?] [tr: much of this interview smeared and difficult to decipher; illegible words indicated by "----", questionable words followed by "?".] "grandma was a slave woman. her name was emma harper. she was born in chesterville, mississippi. her young master was jim and miss corrie burton. the old man was john burton. i aimed[?] to see them once. i seen both miss corrie and mr. jim. my grandparents was never sold. they left out after freedom. they stayed there a long time but they left. "the first of the war was like dis: our related folks was having a dance. the yankees come in and was dancing. some "fry boys" [---- ----] them. the next day they were all in the field and heard something. they went to the house and told the white folks there was [----] a fire. they heard it. [----] he [----] about. master told them it was war. miss burton was crying. they heard about [----] in [----] at harrisburg where they could hear the shooting. "they put the slaves to digging. they dug two weeks. they buried their meat and money and a whole heap of things. they never found it. a little white,[?] mollita[?], was out where they were digging. she went in the house. she said, mama, is the devil coming? they said he was." master had them come to him. he questioned them. they told him they got so tired [----] of them said he [----] he [---- ----] the [----] yankees come he'd tell them where all this was, but he was just talking. but when the yankees did come they was so scared they never got close to a yankee. they was scared to death. they never found the meat and money. they [----] and cut the turkeys' heads off and the turkey fell off the rail fence, the head drop on one side and the body on the other. they milked a cow and cut both hind quarters off and leave the rest of the cow there and the cow not dead yet. "mr. south[?] strange at chesterville, mississippi had a pony named zane. the yankees hemmed him and four more men in at malone creek and killed the four men. zane rared up on hind legs and went up a steep cliff and ran three miles. mr. strange's coat was cut off from him. it was a gray coat. mr. strange was a white man. "uncle frank jones was forty years old when they gathered him up out of the woods and put him in the battle lines. all the runaway black folks in the woods was hunted out and put in the yankee lines. uncle frank lived in a cave up till about then. his master made him mean. he got better as he got old. his master would sell him and tell him to run away and come back to his cave. he'd feed him. he never worked and he went up for his provisions. he was sold over and over and over. his master learnt him in books and to how to cuss. he learnt him how to trick the dogs and tap trees like a coon. at the end of the trail the dogs would turn on the huntsman. uncle frank was active when he was old. he was hired out to race other boys sometimes. he never wore glasses. he could see well when he was old. he told me he was raised out from england, arkansas. "when freedom was told 'em uncle frank said all them in the camps hollered and danced, and marched and sung. they was so glad the war was done and so glad they been freed. "grandma was sold in south carolina to mississippi and sold again to dr. shelton. now that was my father's father and mother. she said they rode and walked all the way. they came on ox wagons. she said on the way they passed some children. they was playing. a little white boy was up in a persimmon tree settin' on a limb eating persimmons. he was so pretty and clean. grandma says, 'you think you is some pumpkin, don't you, honey child.' he says, 'some pumpkin and some 'simmon too.' grandma was a house girl. she got to keep her baby and brought him. he was my father. uncle was born later. then they was freed. grandma lived to be ninety-five years old. mrs. dolphy wooly and mrs. shelton was her young mistresses. they kept her till she died. they kept her well. "grandma told us about freedom. she was hired out to the browns to make sausage and dry out lard. five girls was in the field burning brush. they was white girls--mrs. brown's girls. they come to the house and said some blue coats come by and said, 'you free.' they told them back, 'that's no news, we was born free.' grandma said that night she melted pewter and made dots on her best dress. it was shiny. she wore it home next day 'cause she was free, and she never left from about her own white folks till she died and left them. "times seem very good on black folks till hard cold winter and spring come, then times is mighty, mighty bad. it is so hard to keep warm fires and enough to eat. times have been good. black folks in the young generation need more heart training and less book learning. times is so fast the young set is too greedy. they is wasteful too. some is hard workers and tries to live right. "i wash and irons and keep a woman's little chile so she can work. i owns my home." interviewer: mrs. irene robertson person interviewed: ike mccoy, biscoe, arkansas age: [tr: illegible words indicated by "----", questionable words followed by "?".] "my parents named harriett and isaac mccoy. far as i knew they was natives of north kaline (carolina). he was a farmer. he raised corn and cabbage, a little corn and wheat. he had tasks at night in winter i heard him say. she muster just done anything. she knit for us here in the last few years. she died several years ago. now my oldest sister was born in slavery. i was next but i came way after slavery. "in war time mccoys hid their horses in the woods. the yankees found them and took all the best ones and left their [----] (nags). old boss man mccoy hid in the closet and locked himself up. the yankees found him, broke in on him and took him out and they nearly killed him beating him so bad. he told all of 'em on the place he was going off. they wore him out. he didn't live long after that. "things got lax. i heard her say one man sold all his slaves. the war broke out. they run away and went back to him. she'd see 'em pass going back home. they been sold and wouldn't stay. folks got to running off to war. they thought it look like a frolic. i heard some of them say they wish they hadn't gone off to war 'fore it was done. niggers didn't know that[tr: ?] war no freedom was 'ceptin' the yankees come tell them something and then they couldn't understand how it all be. black folks was mighty ignant then. they is now for that matter. they look to white folks for right kind of doings[?]. "ma said every now and then see somebody going back to that man tried to get rid of them. they traveled by night and beg along from black folks. in daytime they would stay in the woods so the pettyrollers wouldn't run up on them. the pettyrollers would whoop 'em if they catch 'em. "ma told about one day the yankees come and made the white women came help the nigger women cook up a big dinner. ma was scared so bad she couldn't see nothing she wanted. she said there was no talking. they was too scared to say a word. they sot the table and never a one of them told 'em it was ready. "she said biscuits so scarce after the war they took 'em 'round in their pockets to nibble on they taste so good. "i was eighteen years old when pa and ma took the notion to come out here. all of us come but one sister had married, and pa and one brother had a little difference. pa had children ma didn't have. they went together way after slavery. we got transportation to memphis by train and took a steamboat to pillowmount. that close to forrest city. later on i come to biscoe. they finally come too. "i been pretty independent all my life till i getting so feeble. i work a sight now. i'm making boards to kiver my house out at the lot now. i goiner get somebody to kiver it soon as i get my boards made. "we don't get no pwa aid 'ceptin' for two orphant babies we got. they are my wife's sister's little boys. "well sir-ree, folks could do if the young ones would. young folks don't have no consideration for the old wore-out parents. they dance and drink it bodaciously out on saturday ebening and about till sunday night. i may be wrong but i sees it thater way. whan we get old we get helpless. i'm getting feebler every year. i see that. times goiner be hard ag'in this winter and next spring. money is scarce now for summer time and craps laid by. i feels that my own self now. every winter times get tough." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: richard h. mcdaniel, brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born in newton county, mississippi the first year of the surrender. i don't think my mother was sold and i know my father was never sold. jim mcdaniel raised my father and one sister after his mother died. one sister was married when she died. i heard him say when he got mad he would quit work. he said old master wouldn't let the mistress whoop him and she wouldn't let him whoop my father. my father was a black man but my mother was light. her father was a white man and her mother part indian and white mixed, so what am i? my mother was owned by people named wash. dick wash was her young master. my parents' names was willis and elsie mcdaniel. when it was freedom i heard them say moster mcdaniel told them they was free. he was broke. if they could do better go on, he didn't blame them, he couldn't promise them much now. they moved off on another man's place to share crop. they had to work as hard and didn't have no more than they had in slavery. that is what they told me. they could move around and visit around without asking. they said it didn't lighten the work none but it lightened the rations right smart. moster mcdaniel nor my father neither one went to war. "from the way i always heard it, the ku klux was the law like night watchman. when i was a boy there was a lot of stealing and bushwhacking. folks meet you out and kill you, rob you, whoop you. a few of the black men wouldn't work and wanted to steal. that ku klux was the law watching around. folks was scared of em. i did see them. i would run hide. "i farmed up till . then i been doing jobs. i worked on relief till they turned me off, said i was too old to work but they won't give me the pension. i been trying to figure out what i am to do. lady, could you tell me? work at jobs when i can get them. "i allus been voting till late years. if they let some folks vote in the first lection, they would be putting in somebody got no business in the gover'ment. all the fault i see in white folks running the gover'ment is we colored folks ain't got work we can do all the time to live on. i thought all the white folks had jobs what wanted jobs. the conditions is hard for old men like me. i pay $ for a house every month. it is a cold house. "this present generation is living a fast life. what all don't they do?" interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: waters mcintosh howard street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born july , at : in the morning at lynchburg, sumter county, south carolina. parents "my mother was named lucy sanders. my father was named sumter durant. our owner was dr. j.m. sanders, the son of mr. bartlett sanders. sumter durant was a white man. my mother was fourteen years old when i was born i was her second child. durant was in the confederate army and was killed during the war in the same year i was born, and before my birth. sold "when i was a year old, my mother was sold for $ in gold, and i was sold for $ in gold to william carter who lived about five miles south of cartersville. the payment was made in fine gold. i was sold because my folk realized that freedom was coming and they wanted to obtain the cash value of their slaves. name "my name is spelled 'waters' but it is pronounced 'waiters.' when i was born, i was thought to be a very likely child and it was proposed that i should be a waiter. therefore i was called waters (but it was pronounced waiters). they did not spell it w-a-i-t-e-r-s, but they pronounced it that way. how freedom came "my mother said that they had been waiting a long time to hear what had become of the war, perhaps one or two weeks. one day when they were in the field moulding corn, going round the corn hoeing it and putting a little hill around it, the conk sounded at about eleven o'clock, and they knew that the long expected time had come. they dropped their hoes and went to the big house. they went around to the back where the master always met the servants and he said to them, 'you are all free, free as i am. you can go or come as you please. i want you to stay. if you will stay, i will give you half the crop.' that was the beginning of the share cropping system. "my mother came at once to the quarters, and when she found me she pulled the end out of a corn sack, stuck holes on the sides, put a cord through the top, pulled out the end, put it on me, put on the only dress she had, and made it back to the old home (her first master's folk). what the slaves expected "when the slaves were freed, they got what they expected. they were glad to get it and get away with it, and that was what mother and them did. slave time preaching "one time when an old white man come along who wanted to preach, the white people gave him a chance to preach to the niggers. the substance of his sermon was this: "'now when you servants are working for your masters, you must be honest. when you go to the mill, don't carry along an extra sack and put some of the meal or the flour in for yourself. and when you women are cooking in the big house, don't make a big pocket under your dress and put a sack of coffee and a sack of sugar and other things you want in it." "they took him out and hanged him for corrupting the morals of the slaves. conditions after the war "immediately after the war, there was a great scarcity of food. neither negroes nor white folk had anything to eat. the few white people who did have something wouldn't let it be known. my grandmother who was sixty-five years old and one of the old and respected inhabitants of that time went out to find something for us to eat. a white woman named mrs. burton gave her a sack of meal and told her not to tell anybody where she got it. "my grandmother brought the meal home and cooked it in a large skillet in a big cake. when it got done, she cut it into slices in the way you would cut up a pie and divided it among us. that all we had to eat. house "the white people in those days built their houses back from the front. in south carolina, there were lots of farms that had four to twelve thousand acres. from what mother told me, master bill's place set back from the road. then there was a great square place they called the yard. a fence divided the house and the yard adjoining it from that part of the grounds which held the barn. the yard in front and back of the house held a grove. [illustration] the square around the house and the negro quarters were all enclosed so that the little slaves could not get out while parents were at work. the negroes assembled on the porch when the gong called them in the morning. the boss gave orders from the porch. there was an open space between the quarters and the court (where the little slaves played). there was a gate between the court and the big house. "on the rear of the house, there was a porch from which the boss gave orders usually about four o'clock in the morning and at which they would disband in the evening between nine and ten--no certain time but more or less not earlier than nine and not often later than ten. back of the house and beyond it was a fence extending clear across the yard. in one corner of this fence was a gate leading into the court. leading out of the court was an opening surrounded by a semi-circular fence which enclosed the negro quarters. "the cabins were usually built on the ground--no floors. the roofs were covered with clapboards. "when i was a boy we used to sing, 'rather be a nigger than a poor white man.' even in slavery they used to sing that. it was the poor white man who was freed by the war, not the negroes. furniture "there wasn't any furniture. beds were built with one post out and the other three _sides_ fastened to the sides of the house. marrying time "i remember one night the people were gone to marry. that was when all the people in the community married immediately after slavery. ghosts "we had an open fireplace. that was at bartlett sanders' place. he had close on to three thousand acres. every grown person had gone to the marrying, and i was at home in the bed i just described. "my grandfather's mother[hw: ?] had a chair and that was hers only. she was named senia and was about eighty years old. we burned nothing but pine knots in the hearth. you would put one or two of those on the fire and they would burn for hours. we were all in bed and had been for an hour or two. there were some others sleeping in the same room. there came a peculiar knocking on grandmother's[hw: great grandmother?] chair. it's hard to describe it. it was something like the distant beating of a drum. grandmother was dead, of course. the boys got up and ran out and brought in some of the hands. when they came in, a little thing about three and a half feet high with legs about six or eight inches long ran out of the room. ku klux klan "whenever there was a man of influence, they terrorized him. they were at their height about the time of grant's election. many a time my mother and i have watched them pass our door. they wore gowns and some kind of helmet. they would be going to catch same leading negro and whip him. there was scarcely a night they couldn't take a leading negro out and whip him if they would catch him alone. on that account, the negro men did not stay at home in sumter county, south carolina at night. they left home and stayed together. the ku klux very seldom interfered with a woman or a child. "they often scared colored people by drinking large quantities of water. they had something that held a lot of water, and when they would raise the bucket to their mouths to drink, they would slip the water into it. white caps "the white caps operated further to the northwest of where i lived. i never came in contact with them. they were not the same thing as the ku klux. voting "in south carolina under the reconstruction, we voted right along. in there were soldiers at all of the election places to see that you did vote. career since the war "in i married. the year after that, in ' ,[hw: ?] i merchandised a little. then i got converted. i got it in my head that it was wrong to take big profits from business, so i sold out. then i was asked to assist the keeper of the jail. "in i went to school for the first time. i was then twenty-six years old. by the end of the first term, i knew all that the teacher could teach, so he sent me to claflin university. i left there in the third year normal. "when i returned home, i taught school, at first in a private school and later in a public school for $ a month. "a man named boyle told me that he had some ground to sell. i saved up $ , the price he asked for it. when i offered it to him, he said that he had decided not to sell it. i went to town and spent my $ . a few days later, he met me and offered me the place again. i told him i had spent my money. he then offered it to me on time. there was plenty of timber on the place, so i got some contracts with a man named roland and delivered wood to him. when i went to collect the money, he said he would not pay me in money. "a man named pennington offered me ¢ a day for labor. i asked if he would pay in money. "he replied, 'if you're looking for money, don't come.' "i went home and said to my wife, 'i am going to leave here.' "i came to forrest city, arkansas january , . i farmed in forrest city, making one crop, and then i entered the ministry, and then i preached at spring park for two years. "then i entered philander smith college where i stayed from - . i preached from the time i left philander until . "then i studied law and completed the american correspondence course in law when i was fifty years old. i am still practicing. wife and family "in , when i graduated from philander, my wife and six children were sitting on the front seat. "i have eleven sons and daughters, of whom six are living. i had seven brothers and sisters. "my wife and i have been married fifty-six years. i had to steal her away from her parents, and she has never regretted coming to me nor i taking her." interviewer's comment "brother mack" as he is familiarly and affectionately known to his friends is a man keen and vigorous, mentally and physically. he attends sunday school, church both in the morning and evening, and all departments of the epworth league. he takes the epworth herald, the southwestern christian advocate, the literary digest, some poultry and farm magazines, the arkansas gazette, and the st. louis democrat, and several other journals. he is on omnivorous reader and a clear thinker. he raises chickens and goats and plants a garden as avocations. he has on invincible reputation for honesty as well as for thrift and thought. nothing is pleasanter than to view the relationship between him and his wife. they have been married fifty-six years and seem to have achieved a perfect understanding. she is an excellent cook and is devoted to her home. she attends church regularly. seems to be four or five years younger than her husband. like him, however, she seems to enjoy excellent health. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: cresa mack short indiana st., pine bluff, ark. age: "i can tell you something about slavery days. i was born at south bend, arkansas on the old joe clay place. i 'member they used to work 'em scandalous. they used me at the house and i used to wait on old mistress' brother. he was a old man named cal fletcher. "i 'member when they said the yankees was comin' the boss man put us in wagons and runned us to texas. they put the women and chillun in the wagons but the men had to walk. i know i was something over twelve years old. "old mistress, miss sarah clay, took her chillun and went to memphis. "my white folks treated us very well. i never seed 'em whip my mother but once, but i seen some whipped till they's speechless. yes ma'm i have. "i can 'member a lot 'bout the war. the lord have mercy, i'se old. i 'member they used to sing 'run nigger run, the paddyrollers'll ketch you, run nigger run.' "corse if they ketch you out without a pass they'd beat you nearly to death and tell you to go home to your master. "one time i was totin' water for the woman what did the washin'. i was goin' along the road and seed somethin' up in a tree that look like a dog. i said 'look at that dog.' the overseer was comin' from the house and said 'that ain't no dog, that's a panther. you better not stop' and he shot it out. then i've seen bears out in the cane brakes. i thought they was big black bulls. i was young then--yes mam, i was young. "when the yankees come through they sot the house afire and the gin and burned up 'bout a hundred bales a cotton. they never bothered the niggers' quarters. that was the time the overseer carried us to texas to get rid of the yankees. "after the surrender the yankees told the overseer to bring us all up in the front yard so he could read us the ceremony and he said we was as free as any white man that walked the ground. i didn't know what 'twas about much cause i was too busy playin'. "i didn't know what school was 'fore freedom, but i went about a month after peace was declared. then papa died and mama took me out and put me in the field. "i was grown, 'bout twenty-four or five, when i married. now my chillun and grand chillun takes care of me." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: warren mckinney, hazen, arkansas age: i was born in edgefield county, south carolina. i am eighty-five years old. i was born a slave of george strauter. i remembers hearing them say "thank god ize free as a jay bird." my ma was a slave in the field. i was eleven years old when freedom was declared. when i was little, mr. strauter whipped my ma. it hurt me bad as it did her. i hated him. she was crying. i chunked him with rocks. he run after me, but he didn't catch me. there was twenty-five or thirty hands that worked in the field. they raised wheat, corn, oats, barley, and cotton. all the children that couldn't work stayed at one house. aunt mat kept the babies and small children that couldn't go to the field. he had a gin and a shop. the shop was at the fork of the roads. when de war come on my papa went to build forts. he quit ma and took another woman. when de war closed ma took her four children, bundled em up and went to augusta. the government give out rations there. my ma washed and ironed. people died in piles. i don't know till yet what was de matter. they said it was the change of living. i seen five or six wooden, painted coffins piled up on wagons pass by our house. loads passed every day lack you see cotton pass here. some said it was cholorea and some took consumption. lots of de colored people nearly starved. not much to get to do and not much house room. several families had to live in one house. lots of the colored folks went up north and froze to death. they couldn't stand the cold. they wrote back about them dieing. no they never sent them back. i heard some sent for money to come back. i heerd plenty bout the ku klux. they scared the folks to death. people left augusta in droves. about a thousand would all meet and walk going to hunt work and new homes. some of them died. i had a sister and brother lost that way. i had another sister come to louisiana that way. she wrote back. i don't think the colored folks looked for a share of land. they never got nothing cause the white folks didn't have nothing but barren hills left. about all the mules was wore out hauling provisions in the army. some folks say they ought to done more for de colored folks when dey left, but dey say dey was broke. freeing all de slaves left em broke. that reconstruction was a mighty hard pull. me and ma couldn't live. a man paid our ways to carlisle, arkansas and we come. we started working for mr. emenson. he had a big store, teams, and land. we liked it fine, and i been here fifty-six years now. there was so much wild game living was not so hard. if a fellow could get a little bread and a place to stay he was all right. after i come to dis state i voted some. i have farmed and worked at odd jobs. i farmed mostly. ma went back to her old master. he persuaded her to come back home. me and her went back and run a farm four or five years before she died. then i come back here. i first had acres at carlisle. i sold it and bought acres at green grove. i married in south carolina. we had a fine weddin, home weddin. each of our families furnished the weddin supper. we had waiters. that is all the wife i ever had. we lived together years. it is hard for me to keep up with my mind since she died. she been dead five years nearly now. i used to sing but i forgot all the songs. we had song books. i joined the church when i was twelve years old. i think the times are worse than they use to be. the people is living mighty fast i tell you. i don't get no help from the government. they won't give me the pension. i can't work and i can't pay taxes on my place. they just don't give me nothing but a little out of the store. i can't get no pension. little rock district folklore subjects name of interviewer: irene robertson subject: ex-slave--history story:--information this information given by: warren mckinney place of residence: hazen, green grove settlement, arkansas occupation: farming age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] warren mckinney was born in edgefield county, south carolina. he was born a slave. his master was george strauter. he had a big plantation and worked twenty-five or thirty work hands. there were twenty-five or thirty children too small to work in the field. they raised cotton, corn, oats, and wheat. his mother washed and ironed and cooked. he was small but well remembers once when his mother had been sick and had just gotten out. george strauter whipped her with a switch on her legs. warren did not approve of it. rocks were plentiful and he began throwing at him. he said mr. george took out after him but didn't catch or whip him. george strauter tried to teach them all how to be good farmers and be saving. warren knew war was going on but he didn't see any of it. his father came home several times. he was off building forts. he said he remembered a big "hurly-burly" and he heard 'em saying, "thank god i'ze free as a jay bird." he didn't know why they were fighting so he didn't know then why they were saying that. george strauter had a shop at the fork of the roads. he had his own gin. they sold cotton and bought provisions at augusta, georgia. they made some of their meal and flour and raised all their meat and made enough lard to do the year around. he heard them talking about the "yankees" burning up augusta, but he saw where they had burned hamburg, south carolina or north augusta they call it. after they were free he remembers his mother bundling up her things and her family and them all going in an ox cart to augusta to live. warren's mother washed, cooked and ironed for a living. her husband went off and lived with another woman after freedom. warren was about eleven years old then. the government furnished food for them too. one thing that distressed warren was _the way people died for more than a year_. he saw five or six coffins piled up on a wagon being taken out to be buried. he thought it was changing houses and changing ways of living. they didn't have shoes and warm clothes and weren't fed from white folks smoke house. _lots of the slaves had consumption and died right now_. stout men and women didn't live two years after they were freed. lots of them said they didn't like that freedom and wanted to go back but the masters were broke and couldn't keep many of them if they went back. when warren was about fifteen years old, there was a white man or two, but colored leaders mostly got about a thousand colored people to start for the west walking. warren had sisters and brothers who started on this trip. warren had some fussy brothers, his mother was afraid would get in jail. they kept her uneasy. they shipped their "stuff" by boat and train. he never saw them any more but he heard from them in louisiana. louisiana had a bad name in those days. when warren was about fourteen and fifteen, his mother had them on a farm, farming near hamburg. when he was sixteen or seventeen, his mother and the other children came on the train to about where carlisle now is but it wasn't called by that name. there were very few houses of any kind. mr. emerson had a big store and lots of land. he worked black and white. mr. emerson let them have seven or eight mules and wagons and they farmed near there. he remembers pretty soon there was a depot where the depot now stands, a bank, a post office, and two or three more stores, all small buildings. he liked coming to arkansas because he got to ride on the train a long ways. it was easy to live here. there were lots of game and fish. warren never shot anything in his life. he was no hunter. _nats_ were awful. warren made smoke to run the nats from the cows. four or five deer would come to the smoke. cows were afraid of them and would leave the smoke. when he would go the deer would leap four or five feet in the air at the sight of him. when warren lived in augusta, georgia, they had schools a month at a time but warren never did get to go to any, so he can't read or write. but he learned to save his money. he joined a church when he was twelve years old in south carolina and belongs to the baptist church at green grove now. the old master in south carolina persuaded his mother to come back. they all went back four or five years before his mother died. while warren was there he married a woman on a joining farm. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: victoria mcmullen e. valmar, little rock, arkansas age: occupation: seamstress "my mother was born march , , and knew nothing of slavery. "both my grandmothers and both grandfathers were slaves. my father was born in the same year as my mother and like my mother knew nothing of slavery although both of them might have been born slaves. "i knew my mother's mother and father and my father's mother, but i didn't know my father's father. "he was from texas and he always stayed there. he never did come out to louisiana where i was born. my mother was born in louisiana, but my father was born in texas. i don't know what county or city my father was born in. i just heard my grandmother on his side say he was born in texas. "during the war (he was born in ' when the war ceased), grandmother katy--that was her name, katy, katy elmore--she was in louisiana at first--she was run out in texas, i suppose, to be hidden from the yankees. my father was born there and my grandfather stayed there. he died in texas and then grandma katy come back to louisiana with my father and settled in ouachita parish. "grandma katy was sold from south carolina into louisiana to bob mcclendon, and she kept the name of elmore who was her first owner in south carolina. it was bob mcclendon who run her out in texas to hide her from the yankees. my grandfather in texas kept the name of jamison. that was the name of his master in texas. but grandma kept the name of elmore from south carolina because he was good to her. he was better than bob mcclendon. the eastern states sold their slaves to the southern states and got all the money, then they freed the slaves and that left the south without anything. "grandma katy had creek indian blood in her. she was of medium size and height, copper colored, high cheek bones, small squinchy eyes, black curly hair. her hair was really pretty but she didn't curl it. it was just naturally curly. she was a practical nurse as they call it, but she did more of what some people call a midwife. they call it something else now. they got a proper word for it. "they got it in these government agencies. that is what she was even in slavery times. she worked for colored people and white people both. that was after she was freed until she went blind. she went blind three years before she died. she died at the age of exactly one hundred years. she treated women and babies. they said she was a real good doctor in her day. that is been fifty-four years ago. [i will be fifty-four years old tomorrow--september , .] in slavery times my grandma was almost as free as she was in freedom because of her work. "she said that bob mcclendon was cruel to her. sometimes he'd get angry and take the shovel and throw hot ashes on the slaves. and then he'd see them with blisters on them and he would take a handsaw or a flat plank and bust the blisters. louisiana was a warm country and they wouldn't have much clothes on. when the slaves were freed, he went completely broke. he had scarcely a place to live. "i seen him once. be look like on old possum. he had a long beard down to his waist and he had long side burns too. just a little of his face showed. he was tall and stooping and he wore his hair long and uncut down on his neck. you know about what he looked like. he had on blue jeans pants and brogan shoes and a common shirt--a work shirt. he wore very common clothes. when they freed the negroes, it broke him up completely. he had been called a 'big-to-do' in his life but he wasn't nothing then. he owned grandma katy. "grandma katy had a sister named maria and a brother named peter. he owned all three of them. i have seen all of them. grandma katy was the oldest. she and uncle peter stayed close together. he didn't have no wife and she didn't have no husband. but aunt maria had a husband. she lived off from them after freedom. it was about twelve miles away. my great-aunt and great-uncle--they were maria and peter--that was what they were. uncle peter died first before i left louisiana, but aunt maria and grandma katy died after i came to arkansas. grandma katy lived four years after i came here. "after they was free and my father had gotten large enough to work and didn't have no horse, my grandma was going 'round waiting on women--that is all she did--all the rest of the people had gotten large and left home. papa made a crop with a hoe. he made three bales of cotton and about twelve loads of corn with that hoe. he used to tell me, 'you don't know nothin' 'bout work. you oughter see how i had to work.' after that he bought him a horse. money was scarce then and it took something to buy the place and the horse both. they were turned loose from slavery without anything. hardly had a surname--just katy, maria, and peter. "i knew more about the slave-time history of my mother's folks than i did about my father's but i'll tell you that some other time. my grandmother on my mother's side was born in richmond, virginia. she was owned by a doctor but i can't call his name. she gets her name from her husband's owners. they came from virginia. they didn't take the name of their owners in louisiana. they took the name of the owners in virginia. she was a twin--her twin was a boy named june and her name was hetty. her master kept her brother to be a driver for him. she was sent from virginia to louisiana to people that were related to her virginia people. she called her louisiana mistress 'white ma;' she never did call her 'missis.' the white folks and the colored folks too called her indian because she was mixed with choctaw. that's the indian that has brown spots on the jaw. they're brownskin. it was an indian from the oklahoma reservation that said my mother belonged to the choctaws. "she rode from virginia to louisiana on a boat at the age of twelve years. she was separated from her mother and brothers and sisters and never did see them again. she was kept in the house for a nurse. she was not a midwife. she nursed the white babies. that was what she was sent to louisiana for--to nurse the babies. the louisiana man that owned her was named george dorkins. but i think this white woman came from virginia. she married this louisiana man, then sent back to her father's house and got grandma; she got her for a nurse. she worked only a year and a half in the field before peace was declared. after she got grown and married, my grandfather--she had to stay with him and cook and keep house for him. that was during slavery time but after george dorkins died. dorkins went and got hisself a barrel of whiskey--one of these great big old barrels--and set it up in his house, and put a faucet in it and didn't do nothin' but drink whiskey. he said he was goin' to drink hisself to death. and he did. "he was young enough to go to war and he said he would drink hisself to death before he would go, and he did. my grandma used to steal newspapers out of his house and take them down to the quarters and leave them there where there were one or two slaves that could read and tell how the war was goin' on. i never did learn how the slaves learned to read. but she was in the house and she could steal the papers and send them down. later she could slip off and they would tell her the news, and then she could slip the papers back. "her master drank so much he couldn't walk without falling and she would have to help him out. her mistress was really good. she never allowed the overseer to whip her. she was only whipped once in slave time while my father's mother was whipped more times than you could count. "her master often said, 'i'll drink myself to death before i'll go to war and be shot down like a damn target.' she said in living with them in the house, she learned to cuss from him. she said she was a cussin' soul until she became a christian. she wasn't 'fraid of them because she was kin to them in some way. there was another woman there who was some kin to them and she looked enough like my grandma for them to be kin to each other. we talked it over several times and said we believed we were related; but none of us know for sure. "when the slaves wanted something said they would have my grandma say it because they knew she wouldn't be whipped for it. 'white ma' wouldn't let nobody whip her if she knew it. she cussed the overseer out that time for whipping her. "when grandma was fourteen or fifteen years old they locked her up in the seed house once or twice for not going to church. you see they let the white folks go to the church in the morning and the colored folks in the evening, and my grandma didn't always want to go. she would be locked up in the seed bin and she would cuss the preacher out so he could hear her. she would say, 'master, let us out.' and he would say, 'you want to go to church?' and she would say, 'no, i don't want to hear that same old sermon: "stay out of your missis' and master's hen house. don't steal your missis' and master's chickens. stay out of your missis' and master's smokehouse. don't steal your missis' and master's hams." i don't steal nothing. don't need to tell me not to.' "she was tellin' the truth too. she didn't steal because she didn't have to. she had plenty without stealin'! she got plenty to eat in the house. but the other slaves didn't git nothin' but fat meat and corn bread and molasses. and they got tired of that same old thing. they wanted something else sometimes. they'd go to the hen house and get chickens. they would go to the smokehouse and get hams and lard. and they would get flour and anything else they wanted and they would eat something they wanted. there wasn't no way to keep them from it. "the reason she got whipped that time, the overseer wanted her to help get a tree off the fence that had been blown down by a storm. she told him that wasn't her work and she wasn't goin' to do it. old miss was away at that time. he hit her a few licks and she told old miss when she came back. old 'white ma' told the overseer, 'don't never put your hands on her no more no matter what she does. that's more than i do. i don't hit her and you got no business to do it.' "her husband, my grandfather, was a blacksmith, and he never did work in the field. he made wagons, plows, plowstocks, buzzard wings--they call them turning plows now. they used to make and put them on the stocks. he made anything-handles, baskets. he could fill wagon wheels. he could sharpen tools. anything that come under the line of blacksmith, that is what he did. he used to fix wagons all the time i knowed him. in harvest time in the fall he would drive from bienville where they were slaves to monroe in ouachita parish. he kept all the plows and was sharpening and fixing anything that got broke. he said he never did get no whipping. "his name was tom eldridge. they called him 'uncle tom'. they was the mother and father of twelve children. six lived and six died. one boy and five girls lived. and one girl and five boys died--half and half. he died at the age of seventy-five, june , . she died january . "i came out here in january . i lived in pine bluff. from louisiana i came to pine bluff in . in i went to kerr in lonoke county and lived there eight years and then i came to little rock. i farmed at kerr and just worked 'round town those few months in pine bluff. excusing the time i was in pine bluff and little rock i farmed. i farmed in ouachita parish, louisiana." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: nannie p. madden west memphis, arkansas age: "i am martha johnson's sister. i was born at lake village, arkansas. i am years old. i was born on mr. ike wethingtons place. pa was renting. mother died in on this farm. we called it red leaf plantation. father died at martha johnson's here in west memphis when he was years old. "mother was not counted a slave. her master's southern wife (white wife) disliked her very much but kept her till her death. mother had three white children by her master. after freedom she married a black man and had four children by him. we are in the last set. "we was born after slavery and all we know is from hearing our people talk. father talked all time about slavery. he was a soldier. i couldn't tell you straight. i can give you some books on slavery: booker t. washington's own story of his life and work, page supplement, by albon l. holsey authentic edition--in office of library of congress, washington, d.c., , copywrighted by j.l. nichols co. the master mind of a child of slavery--booker t. washington, by frederick e. drinker, washington, d.c. i have read them both. yes, they are my own books. "i farmed and cooked all my life." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: perry madden, thirteenth street, south side, one block east of boyle park road, route , care l.g. cotton, little rock, arkansas age: about birth and age "i have been here quite a few years. this life is short. a man ought to prepare for eternity. i had an uncle who used to say that a person who went to torment stayed as long as there was a grain of sand on the sea. "i was a little boy when slavery broke. i used to go out with my brother. he watched gaps. i did not have to do anything; i just went out with him to keep him company. i was scared of the old master. i used to call him the 'big bear.' he was a great big old man. "i was about six years old when the war ended, i guess. i don't know how old i am. the insurance men put me down as seventy-three. i know i was here in slavery time, and i was just about six years old when the war ended. schooling "i got my first learning in alabama. i didn't learn anything at all in slavery times. i went to school. i would go to the house in slavery tine, and there wouldn't be nobody home, and i would go to the bed and get under it because i was scared. when i would wake up it would be way in the night and dark, and i would be in bed. "i got my schooling way after the surrender. we would make crops. the third time we moved, dad started me to school. i had colored teachers. i was in talladega county. i made the fifth grade before i stopped. my father died and then i had to stop and take care of my mother. an "aunt caroline" story "i know that some people can tell things that are goin' to happen. old man julks lived at pumpkin bend. he had a colt that disappeared. he went to 'aunt caroline'--that's caroline dye. she told him just where the colt was and who had it and how he had to get it back. she described the colt and told him that was what he come to find out about before he had a chance to ask her anything. she told him that white people had it and told him where they lived and told him he would have to have a white man go and git it for him. he was working for a good man and he told him about it. he advertised for the colt and the next day, the man that stole it came and told him that a colt had been found over on his place and for him to come over and arrange to git it. but he said, 'no, i've placed that matter in the hands of my boss.' he told his boss about it, but the fellow brought the horse and give it to the boss without any argument. family and masters "my old master's slaves were called free niggers. he and his wife never mistreated their slaves. when any of madden's slaves were out and the pateroles got after them, if they could make it home, that ended it. nobody beat madden's niggers. "my father's name was allen madden and my mother's name was amy madden. i knew my grandfather and grandmother on my mother's side. my grandfather and grandmother never were 'round me though that i can remember. "when the old man died, the negroes were divided out. this boy got so many and that one got so many. the old man, mabe madden, had two sons, john and little mabe. my mother and father went to john. they were in talladega because john stayed there. "my father's mother and father fell to little mabe madden. they never did come to alabama but i have heard my father talk about them so much. my father's father was named harry. his last name must have been madden. "my grandfather on my mother's side was named charlie hall. he married into the madden family. he belonged to the halls before he married. old man charlie, his master, had a plantation that wasn't far from the madden's plantation. in those days, if you met a girl and fell in love with her, you could git a pass and go to see her if you wanted to. you didn't have to be on the same plantation at all. and you could marry her and go to see her, and have children by her even though you belonged to different masters. the maddens never did buy hall. grandma never would change her name to hall. he stayed at my house after we married, stayed with me sometimes, and stayed with his other son sometimes. "my mother was born a madden. she was born right at madden's place. when grandma married hall, like it is now, she would have been called hall. but she was born a madden and stayed madden and never did change to her husband's name. so my mother was born a madden although her father's name was hall. "i don't know what sort of man mabe was, and i only know what my parents said about john. they said he was a good man and i have to say what they said. he didn't let nobody impose on his niggers. pateroles did git after them and bring them in with the hounds, but when they got in, that settled it. madden never would allow white people to beat on his niggers. "they tried to git my daddy out so that they could whip him, but they couldn't catch him. they shot him--the pateroles did--but he whipped them. my daddy was a coon. i mean he was a good man. early life "my brother was big enough to mind gaps. that was in slavery times. they had good fences around the field. they didn't have gates like they do now. they had gaps. the fence would zigzag, and the rails could be lifted down at one section, and that would leave a gap. if you left a gap, the stock would go into the field. when there was a gap, my brother would stay in it and keep the stock from passing. when the folks would come to dinner, he would go in and eat dinner with them just as big as anybody. when they would leave, the gap would stay down till night. it stayed down from morning till noon and from one o'clock till the men come in at night. the gap was a place in the rails like i told you where they could take down the rails to pass. it took time to lay the rails down and more time to place then back up again. they wouldn't do it. they would leave them down till they come back during the work hours and a boy that was too small to do anything else was put to mind them. my brother used to do that and i would keep him company. when i heard old master coming there, i'd be gone, yes siree. i would see him when he left the house and when he got to the gap, i would be home or at my grandfather's. occupational experiences "i have followed farming all my life. that is the sweetest life a man can lead. i have been farming all my life principally. my occupation is farming. that is it was until i lost my health. i ain't done nothin' for about four years now. i would follow public work in the fall of the year and make a crop every year. never failed till i got disabled. i used to make all i used and all i needed to feed my stock. i even raised my own wheat before i left home in alabama. that is a wheat country. they don't raise it out here.[hw: ?] "i came here--lemme see, about how many years ago did i come here. i guess i have been in arkansas about twenty-eight years since the first time i come here. i have gone in and out as i got a chance to work somewheres. i have been living in this house about three years. "i preached for about twenty or more years. i don't know that i call myself a preacher. i am a pretty good talker sometimes. i have never pastored a church; somehow or 'nother the word come to me to go and i go and talk. i ain't no pulpit chinch. i could have taken two or three men's churches out from under them, but i didn't. freedom and soldiers "i can't remember just how my father got freed. old folks then didn't let you stan' and listen when they talked. if you did it once, you didn't do it again. they would talk while they were together, but the children would have business outdoors. yes siree, i never heard them say much about how they got freedom. "i was there when the yankees come through. that was in slave time. they marched right through old man madden's grove. they were playing the fifes and beating the drums. and they were playing the fiddle. yes sir, they were playing the fiddle too. it must have been a fiddle; it sounded just like one. the soldiers were all just a singin'. they didn't bother nobody at our house. if they bothered anything, nothing was told me about it. i heard my uncle say they took a horse from my old manager. i didn't see it. they took the best horse in the lot my uncle said. pardon me, they didn't take him. a peckerwood took him and let the yankees get him. i have heard that they bothered plenty of other places. took the best mules, and left old broken down ones and things like that. broke things up. i have heard that about other places, but i didn't see any of it. right after the war "right after the war, my father went to farming--renting land. i mean he sharecropped and done around. thing is come way up from then when the negroes first started. they didn't have no stock nor nothin' then. they made a crop just for the third of it. when they quit the third, they started givin' them two-fifths. that's more than a third, ain't it? then they moved up from that, and give them half, and they are there yet. if you furnish, they give you two-thirds and take one-third. or they give you so much per acre or give him produce in rent. marriage "i was married in . my wife's name was mary elston. her mother died when she was an infant. her grandmother was an elston at first. then she changed her name to cunningham. but she always went in the name of elston, and was an elston when she married me. my wife i mean. i married on a thursday in the christmas week. this december i will be married fifty-five years. this is the only wife i have ever had. we had three children and all of them are dead. all our birthed children are dead. one of them was just three months old when he died. my baby girl had three children and she lived to see all of them married. opinions "our own folks is about the worst enemies we have. they will come and sweet talk you and then work against you. i had a fellow in here not long ago who came here for a dollar, and i never did hear from him again after he got it. he couldn't get another favor from me. no man can fool me more than one time. i have been beat out of lots of money and i have got hurt trying to help people. "the young folks now is just gone astray. i tell you the truth, i wouldn't give you forty cents a dozen for these young folks. they are sassy and disrespectful. don't respect themselves and nobody else. when they get off from home, they'll respect somebody else better 'n they will their own mothers. "if they would do away with this stock law, they would do better everywhere. if you would say fence up your place and raise what you want, i could get along. but you have to keep somebody to watch your stock. if you don't, you'll have to pay something out. it's a bad old thing this stock law. it's detrimental to the welfare of man." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: lewis mann bell street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "as nigh as i can come at it, i was bout five or six time of the war. i remember when the war ceasted. i was a good-sized chap. "durin' the war my mother's master sent us to texas; western texas is whar they stopped me. we stayed there two years and then they brought us back after surrender. "i remember when the war ceasted and remember the soldiers refugeein' through the country. i'm somewhar round eighty-one. i'm tellin' you the truf. i ain't just now come here. "i was born right here in arkansas. my mother's master was old b.d. williams of tennessee and we worked for his son mac h. williams here in arkansas. they was good to my mother. always had nurses for the colored childrun while the old folks was in the field. "after the war i used to work in the house for my white folks--for dr. bob williams way up there in the country on the river. i stayed with his brother mac williams might near twenty-five or thirty years. worked around the house servin' and doin' arrands different places. "i went to school a little bit a good piece after the war and learned to read and write. "i've heard too much of the ku klux. i remember when they was ku kluxin' all round through here. "lord! i don't know how many times i ever voted. i used to vote every time they had an election. i voted before i could read. the white man showed me how to vote and asked me who i wanted to vote for. oh lord, i was might near grown when i learned to read. "i been married just one time in my life and my wife's been dead thirteen years. "i tell you, miss, i don't know hardly what to think of things now. everything so changeable i can't bring nothin' to remembrance to hold it. "i didn't do nothin' when i was young but just knock around with the white folks. oh lord, when i was young i delighted in parties. don't nothin' like that worry me now. don't go to no parades or nothin'. don't have that on my brain like i did when i was young. i goes to church all the place i does go. "i ain't never had no accident. don't get in the way to have no accident cause i know the age i is if i injure these bones there ain't anything more to me. "my mother had eight childrun and just my sister and me left. i can't do a whole day's work to save my life. i own this place and my sister-in-law gives me a little somethin' to eat. i used to be on the bureau but they took me off that." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: angeline martin, kansas city, missouri visiting at louisiana st., pine bluff, arkansas age "well, i was livin' then. i was born in georgia. honey, i don't know what year. i was born before the war. i was about ten when freedom come. i don't remember when it started but i remember when it ended. i think i'm in the 's--that's the way i count it. "my master was dead and my mistress was a widow--miss sarah childs. she had a guardeen. "when the war come, old mistress and her daughter refugeed to mississippi. the guardeen wouldn't let me go, said i was too young. "my parents stayed on the plantation. my white folks' house was vacant and the yankees come and used it for headquarters. they never had put shoes on me and when the yankees shot the chickens i'd run and get em. they didn't burn up nothin', just kill the hogs and chickens and give us plenty. "i didn't know what the war was about. you know chillun in them days didn't have as much sense as they got now. "after freedom, my folks stayed on the place and worked on the shares. i want to school right after the war. i went every year till we left there. we come to this country in seventy something. we come here and stopped at the cummins place. i worked in the field till i come to town bout fifty years ago. since then i cooked some and done laundry work. "i married when i was seventeen. had six children. i been livin' in kansas city twenty-three years. followed my boy up there. i like it up there a lot better than i do here. oh lord, yes, there are a lot of colored people in kansas city." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: josie martin r.f.d., madison, arkansas age: "i was born up near cotton plant but took down near helena to live. my parents named sallie and bob martin. they had seven children. i heard mother say she was sold on a block in mississippi when she was twelve years old. my father was a creek indian; he was dark. mother was a choctaw indian; she was bright. mother died when i was but a girl and left a family on my hands. i sent my baby brother and sister to school and i cooked on a boarding train. the railroad hands working on the tracks roomed and et on the train. they are all dead now and i'm 'lone in the world. "my greatest pleasure was independence--make my money, go and spend it as i see fit. i wasn't popular with men. i never danced. i did sell herbs for diarrhea and piles and 'what ails you.' i don't sell no more. folks too close to drug stores now. i had long straight hair nearly to my knees. it come out after a spell of typhoid fever. it never come in to do no good." (baldheaded like a man and she shaves. she is a hermaphrodite, reason for never marrying.) "i made and saved up at one time twenty-three thousand dollars cooking and field work. i let it slip out from me in dribs. "i used to run from the yankees. i've seen them go in droves along the road. they found old colored couple, went out, took their hog and made them barbecue it. they drove up a stob, nailed a piece to a tree stacked their guns. they rested around till everything was ready. they et at one o'clock at night and after the feast drove on. they wasn't so good to negroes. they was good to their own feelings. they et up all that old couple had to eat in their house and the pig they raised. i reckon their owners give them more to eat. they lived off alone and the soldiers stopped there and worked the old man and woman nearly to death. "our master told us about freedom. his name was master martin. he come here from mississippi. i don't recollect his family. "i get help from the welfare. i had paralysis. i never got over my stroke. i ain't no 'count to work." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: bess mathis, hazen, arkansas age: "i was born in de sota county, mississippi. my parents' owners was mars hancock. mama was a cook and field hand. papa milked and worked in the field. mama had jes' one child, that me. i had six childern. i got five livin'. they knowed they free. it went round from mouth to mouth. mama said mars hancock was good er slave holder as ever lived she recken. i heard her come over that er good many times. but they wanted to be free. i jes' heard em talk bout the ku klux. they said the ku klux made lot of em roamin' round go get a place to live and start workin'. they tell how they would ride at night and how scarry lookin' they was. i heard em say if mars hancock didn't want to give em meat they got tree a coon or possum. cut the tree down or climb it and then come home and cook it. they had no guns. they had dogs or could get one. game helps out lots. "the women chewed for their children after they weaned em. they don't none of em do that way now. women wouldn't cut the baby's finger nails. they bite em off. they said if you cut its nails off he would steal. they bite its toe nails off, too. and if they wanted the children to have long pretty hair, they would trim the ends off on the new of the moon. that would cause the hair to grow long. white folks and darkies both done them things. "i been doin' whatever come to hand--farmin', cookin', washin', ironin'. "i never expects to vote neither. i sure ain't voted. "conditions pretty bad sometimes. i don't know what cause it. you got beyond me now. i don't know what going become of the young folks, and they ain't studyin' it. they ain't kind. got no raisin' i call it. i tried to raise em to work and behave. they work some. my son is takin' care of me now." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: caroline matthews spruce street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm, i was born in slavery times in mississippi. now, the only thing i remember was some soldiers come along on some mules. i remember my mother and father was sittin' on the gallery and they say, 'look a there, them's soldiers.' "and i remember when my parents run off. i was with 'em and i cried for 'em to tote me. "my mother's first owner was named armstrong. she said she was about eleven years old when he bought her. i heard her say they just changed around a lot. "freedom was comin' and her last owners had carried her to a state where it hadn't come yet. that's right--it was texas. "her first owners was good. she said they wouldn't 'low the overseer to 'buke the women at all. "but her last owners was cruel. she said one day old missis was out in the yard and backed up and fell into a pan of hot water and when her husband come she told him and he tried to 'buke my mother. you know if somebody tryin' to get the best of you and you can help yourself, you gwine do it. so mama throwed up her arm and old master hit it with a stick and cut it bad. so my parents run off. that was in texas. "she said we was a year comin' back and i know they stopped at the dillard place and made a crop. and they lost one child on the way--that was kittie. "i heard mama say they got back here to arkansas and got to the bureau and they freed 'em. i know the war wasn't over yet 'cause i know i heard mama say, 'just listen to them guns at vicksburg.' "when i was little, i was so sickly. i took down with the whoopin' cough and i was sick so long. but mama say to the old woman what stayed with me, 'this gal gwine be here to see many a winter 'cause she so stout in the jaws i can't give her no medicine.' "when i commenced to remember anything, i heered 'em talkin' 'bout grant and colfax. used to wear buttons with grant and colfax. "but i was livin' in abraham lincoln's time. chillun them days didn't know nothin'. why, woman, i was twelve years old 'fore i knowed babies didn't come out a holler log. i used to go 'round lookin' in logs for a baby. "i had seven sisters and three brothers and they all dead but me. had three younger than me. they was what they called freeborn chillun. "after freedom my parents worked for major ross. i know when mama fixed us up to go to sunday-school we'd go by major ross for him to see us. i know we'd go so early, sometimes he'd still be in his drawers. "i know one thing--when i was about sixteen years old things was good here. ever'body had a good living." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: malindy maxwell, madison, arkansas age: up in 's "i was born close to como and sardis, mississippi. my master and mistress was sam shans and miss cornelia shans. i was born a slave. they owned mama and master rube sanders owned pa. neither owner wouldn't sell but they agreed to let ma and pa marry. they had a white preacher and they married out in the yard and had a big table full of weddin' supper, and the white folks et in the house. they had a big supper too. ma said they had a big crowd. the preacher read the ceremony. miss cornelia give her a white dress and white shoes and miss cloe wilburn give her a veil. miss cloe was some connection of rube sanders. "they had seven children. i'm the oldest--three of us living. "after 'mancipation pa went to see about marrying ma over agen and they told him that marriage would stand long as ever he lived. "mama was sold at twelve years old in atlanta, georgia. ma and pa was always field hands. grandma got to be one of john sanders' leading hands to work mong the women folks. they said john sanders was meanest man ever lived or died. according to pa's saying, mars ruben was a good sorter man. pa said john sanders was too mean a man to have a wife. he was mean to miss sarah. they said he beat her, his wife, like he beat a nigger woman. "miss sarah say, 'come get your rations early saturday morning, clean up your house, wash and iron, and we'll go to preaching tomorrow--sunday. i want you to all come out clean monday morning.' they go ask mars john sanders if they could go to preaching. i recken from what they said they walked. mars john, when they git their best clothes on, make them turn round and go to the field and work all day long. he was just that mean. work all day long sunday. "miss sarah was a primitive baptist and that is what i am till this day. some folks call us hardshell baptist. the colored folks set in the back of the church. the women all set on one side and the men on the other. if they had a middle row, there was a railing dividing mens' seats from the womens' seats on the very same benches. "miss cloe, miss cornelia, and miss sarah cook up a whole lot of good things to eat and go to camp meeting. sometimes they would stay a week and longer. they would take time bout letting the colored folks go long. we had big times. my grandpa took a gingercake cutter with him and sold gingercakes when they come out of the church. he could keep that money his own. i don't know how he sold them. my sister has the cutter now i expect. my girl has seen it. it was a foot long, this wide ( inches), and fluted all around the edges, and had a handle like a biscuit cutter. they was about an inch thick. he made good ones and he sold all he could ever make. grandpa took carpet sacks to carry his gingercakes in to sell them. i remember that mighty well. (the shape of the cutter was like this: [illustration].) he purt nigh always got to go to all the camp meetings. folks got happy and shouted in them days. it would be when somebody got religion. at some big meetings they didn't shout. "when i was born they had a white mid-wife, miss martin. my mistress was in the cabin when i was born. i was born foot foremost and had a veil on my face and down on my body a piece. they call it a 'caul.' sometimes i see forms and they vanish. i can see some out of one eye now. but i've always seen things when my sight was good. it is like when you are dreaming at night but i see them at times that plain in day. "i don't know how old i am but i was a good size girl when 'mancipation come on. miss cornelia had my age in her bible. they done took me from the cabin and i was staying at the house. i slept on a trundle bed under miss cornelia's bed. her bed was a teaster--way high up, had a big stool to step on to go up in there and she had it curtained off. i had a good cotton bed and i slept good up under there. her bed was corded with sea grass rope. it didn't have no slats like beds do now. "colored folks slept on cotton beds and white folks--some of em at least--picked geese and made feather beds and down pillows. they carded and washed sheep's wool and put in their quilts. some of them, they'd be light and warm. colored folks' bed had one leg. then it was holes hewed in the wall on the other three sides and wooden slats across it. now that wasn't no bad bed. some of them was big enough for three to sleep on good. when the children was small four could sleep easy cross ways, and they slept that way. "they had shelves and tables and chairs. they made chests and put things in there and set on top of it too. white folks had fine chests to keep their bed clothes in. some of them was made of oak, and pine, and cypress. they would cook walnut hulls and bark and paint them dark with the tea. "i recollect a right smart of the civil war. we was close nough to hear the roar and ramble and the big cannons shake the things in the house. i don't know where they was fighting--a long ways off i guess. "i saw the soldiers scouting. they come most any time. they go in and take every drop of milk out of the churn. they took anything they could find and went away with it. i seen the cavalry come through. i thought they looked so pretty. their canteens was shining in the sun. miss cornelia told me to hide, the soldiers might take me on with them. i didn't want to go. i was very well pleased there at miss cornelia's. "i seen the cavalry come through that raised the 'white sheet.' i know now it must have been a white flag but they called it a white sheet to quit fighting. it was raised a short time after they passed and they said they was the ones raised it. i don't know where it was. i reckon it was a big white flag they rared up. it was so they would stop fighting. "mars sam shan didn't go to no war; he hid out. he said it was a useless war, he wasn't going to get shot up for no use a tall, and he never went a step. he hid out. i don't know where. i know charles would take the baskets off. charles tended to the stock and the carriage. he drove the wagon and carriage. he fetched water and wood. he was a black boy. mars sam shan said he wasn't goiner loose his life for nothing. "miss cornelia would cook corn light bread and muffins and anything else they had to cook. rations got down mighty scarce before it was done wid. they put the big round basket nearly big as a split cotton basket out on the back portico. charles come and disappear with it. "chess and charles was colored overseers. he didn't have white overseers. miss cornelia and miss cloe would walk the floor and cry and i would walk between. i would cry feeling sorry for them, but i didn't know why they cried so much. i know now it was squally times. war is horrible. "mars sam shan come home, went down to the cabins--they was scattered over the fields--and told them the war was over, they was free but that they could stay. then come some runners, white men. they was yankee men. i know that now. they say you must get pay or go off. we stayed that year. another man went to pa and said he would give him half of what he made. he got us all up and we went to pleasant hill. we done tolerable well. "then he tried to buy a house and five acres and got beat out of it. the minor heirs come and took it. i never learnt in books till i went to school. seem like things was in a confusion after i got big nough for that. i'd sweep and rake and cook and wash the dishes, card, spin, hoe, scour the floors and tables. i would knit at night heap of times. we'd sing some at night. "colored folks couldn't read so they couldn't sing at church lessen they learnt the songs by hearing them at home. colored folks would meet and sing and pray and preach at the cabins. "my first teacher was a white man, mr. babe willroy. i went to him several short sessions and on rainy days and cold days i couldn't work in the field. i worked in the field all my life. cook out in the winter, back to the field in the spring till fall again. "well, i jes' had this one girl. i carried her along with me. she would play round and then she was a heap of help. she is mighty good to me now. "i never seen a ku klux in my life. now, i couldn't tell you about them. "my parents' names was lou sanders and anthony sanders. ma's mother was a rockmore and her husband was a cherokee indian. i recollect them well. he was a free man and was fixing to buy her freedom. her young mistress married mr. joe bues and she heired her. mr. joe bues drunk her up and they come and got her and took her off. they run her to memphis before his wife could write to her pa. he was mars rockmore. "grandma was put on a block and sold fore grandpa could cumerlate nough cash to buy her for his wife. grandma never seen her ma no more. grandpa followed her and mr. sam shans bought her and took her to mississippi with a lot more he bought. "my pa's ma b'long to john sanders and grandpa b'long to rube sanders. they was brothers. rube sanders bought grandpa from enoch bobo down in mississippi. the bobo's had a heap of slaves and land. now, he was the one that sold gingercakes. he was a blacksmith too. both my grandpas was blacksmiths but my indian grandpa could make wagons, trays, bowls, shoes, and things out of wood too. him being a free man made his living that way. but he never could cumolate enough to buy grandma. "my other grandma was blacker than i am and grandpa too. when grandpa died he was carried back to the bobo graveyard and buried on enoch bobo's place. it was his request all his slaves be brought back and buried on his land. i went to the burying. i recollect that but ma and pa had to ask could we go. we all got to go--all who wanted to go. it was a big crowd. it was john sanders let us go mean as he was. "miss cornelia had the cistern cleaned out and they packed up their pretty china dishes and silver in a big flat sorter box. charles took them down a ladder to the bottom of the dark cistern and put dirt over it all and then scattered some old rubbish round, took the ladder out. the yankees never much as peared to see that old open cistern. i don't know if they buried money or not. they packed up a lot of nice things. it wasn't touched till after the war was over. "i been farming and cooking all my life. i worked for major black, mr. ben tolbert, mr. williams at pleasant hill, mississippi. i married and long time after come to arkansas. they said you could raise stock here--no fence law. "i get $ and commodities because i am blind. i live with my daughter here." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: nellie maxwell, biscoe, arkansas age: "mama was harriett baldwin. she was born in virginia. her owners was mistress mollie fisher and master coon fisher. it was so cold one winter that they burned up their furniture keeping a fire. said seemed like they would freeze in spite of what all they could do. "grandpa was sold away from grandma and three children. he didn't want to be sold nary bit. when they would be talking about selling him he go hide under the house. they go on off. he'd come out. when he was sold he went under there. he come out and went on off when they found him and told him he was sold to this man. grandma said he was obedient. they never hit him. he was her best husband. they never sold grandma and she couldn't 'count for him being let go. grandma had another husband after freedom and two more children. they left there in a crowd and all come to arkansas. grandma was a cook for the field hands. she had charge of ringing a big dinner-bell hung up in a tree. she was black as charcoal. mama and grandma said master coon and old mistress mollie was good to them. that the reason grandpa would go under the house. he didn't want to be sold. he never was seen no more by them. "grandma said sometimes the meals was carried to the fields and they fed the children out of troughs. they took all the children to the spring set them in a row. they had a tubful of water and they washed them dried them and put on their clean clothes. they used homemade lye soap and greased them with tallow and mutton suet. that made them shine. they kept them greased so their knees and knuckles would ruff up and bleed. "grandma and mama stopped at fourche dam. they was so glad to be free and go about. then it scared them to hear talk of being sold. it divided them and some owners was mean. "in my time if i done wrong most any grown person whoop me. then mama find it out, she give me another one. i got a double whooping. "times is powerful bad to raise up a family. drinking and gambling, and it takes too much to feed a family now. times is so much harder that way then when i was growing." interviewer: miss sallie c. miller person interviewed: ann may, clarksville, arkansas age: "i was born at cabin creek (lamar now, but i still call it cabin creek. i can't call it anything else). i was sold with my mother when i was a little girl and lived with our white folks until after the war and was freed. we lived on a farm. my father belong to another family, a neighbor of ours. we all lived with the white folks. my mother took care of all of them. they was always as good as they could be to us and after the war we stayed on with the white folks who owned my father and worked on the farm for him. his master gave us half of everything we made until we could get started our selves, then our white folks told my father to homestead a place near him, and he did. we lived there until after father died. we paid taxes and lived just like the white folks. we did what the white folks told us to do and never lost a thing by doing it. after i married my husband worked at the mill for your father and made a living for me and i worked for the white folks. now i am too old to cook but i have a few washin's for the white folks and am getting my old age pension that helps me a lot. "i don't know what i think about the young generation. i aim at my stopping place. "the songs we sang were 'come ye that love the lord and let your joys be known' 'when you and i were young, maggie' 'juanita' 'just before the battle, mother' 'darling nellie gray' 'carry me back to old virginia' 'old black joe' of course we sang 'dixie.' we had to sing that, it was the leading song." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: joe mayes, madison, arkansas age: ? "i was born a slave two years. i never will forget man come and told mother she was free. she cooked. she never worked in the field till after freedom. in a few days another man come and made them leave. they couldn't hold them in kentucky. the owners give her provisions, meat, lasses, etc. they give her her clothes. she had four children and i was her youngest. the two oldest was girls. father was dead. i don't remember him. mother finally made arrangements to go to will bennett's place. "another thing i remember: frank hayes sold mother to isaac tremble after she was free. she didn't know she was free. neither did isaac tremble. i don't know whether frank mayes was honest or not. the part i remember was that us boys stood on the block and never was parted from her. we had to leave our sisters. one was sold to miss margaret moxley, the other to miss almyra winder. (he said "miss" but they may have been widows. he didn't seem to know--ed.) father belong to a master mills. all our family got together after we found out we had been freed. "the ku klux: i went to the well little after dark. it was a good piece from our house. i looked up and saw a man with a robe and cap on. it scared me nearly to death. i nearly fell out. i had heard about the 'booger man' and learned better then. but there he was. i had heard a lot about ku klux. "there was a big gourd hanging up by the well. we kept it there. there was a bucket full up. he said, 'give me water.' i handed over the gourd full. he done something with it. he kept me handing him water. he said, 'hold my crown and draw me up another bucket full.' i was so scared i lit out hard as i could run. it was dark enough to hide me when i got a piece out of his way. "the owners was pretty good to mother to be slavery. she had clothes and enough to eat all the time. i used to go back to see all our white folks in kentucky. they are about all dead now i expect. mother was glad to be free but for a long time her life was harder. "after we got up larger she got along better. i worked on a steamboat twelve or thirteen years. i was a roustabout and freight picker. i was on passenger boats mostly but they carried freight. i went to school some. i always had colored teachers. i farmed at hughes and madison ever since excepting one year in mississippi. "i live alone. i get $ and commodities from the sociable welfare. "the young folks would do better, work better, if they could get work all time. it is hard at times to get work right now. the times is all right. better everything but work. i know colored folks is bad managers. that has been bad on us always. "i worked on boats from evansville, st. louis, memphis to new orleans mostly. it was hard work but a fine living. i was stout then." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: jesse meeks elm street, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: minister "i am seventy-six. 'course i was young in slavery times, but i can remember some things. i remember how they used to feed us. put milk and bread or poke salad and corn-meal dumplin's in a trough and give you a wooden spoon and all the children eat together. "we stayed with our old master fourteen years. they were good folks and treated us right. my old master's name was sam meeks--in longview, drew county, arkansas, down here below monticello. "i got a letter here about a month ago from the daughter of my young mistress. i wrote to my young mistress and she was dead, so her daughter got the letter. she answered it and sent me a dollar and asked me was i on the old age pension list. "as far as i know, i am the onliest one of the old darkies living that belonged to sam meeks. "i remember when the ku klux run in on my old master. that was after the war. he was at the breakfast table with his wife. you know in them days they didn't have locks and keys. had a hole bored through a board and put a peg in it, and i know the ku klux come up and stuck a gun through the auger hole and shot at old master but missed him. he run to the door and shot at the ku klux. i know us children found one of 'em down at the spring bathin' his leg where old master had shot him. "oh! they were good folks and treated us right." folklore subjects name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: superstitions story:--information this information given by: jesse meeks place of residence: elm street, pine bluff, arkansas occupation: minister age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] "i remember there was on old man called billy mann lived down here at noble lake. he said he could 'give you a hand.' if you and your wife wasn't gettin' along very well and you wanted to get somebody else, he said he could 'give you a hand' and that would enable you to get anybody you wanted. that's what he said. "and i've heard 'em say they could make a ring around you and you couldn't get out. "i don't believe in that though 'cause i'm in the ministerial work and it don't pay me to believe in things like that. that is the work of the devil." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: jeff metcalf r.f.d., brinkley, arkansas age: "my mother's name was julia metcalf and my father's name was jim metcalf. they belong to an old bachelor named bill metcalf. i think i was born in lee county, mississippi. they did not leave when the war was over. they stayed on the bill metcalf place till they died. i reckon i do remember him. "i can't tell you 'bout the war nor slavery. i don't know a thing 'bout it. i heard but i couldn't tell you it been so long ago. they didn't expect nothing but freedom. they got along in the reconstruction days about like they had been getting along. seemed like they didn't know much about the war. they heard they was free. i don't remember the ku klux klan. i heard old folks talk 'bout it. "i don't know if my father ever voted but i guess he did. i have voted but i don't vote now. in part i 'proves of the women votin'. i think the men outer vote and support his family fur as he can. "i come here in from mississippi. i got busted farmin'. i knowed a heap o' people said they was doing so well i come too. i come on the train. "i ain't got no home, no land. i got a hog. no garden. two times in the year now is hard--winter and simmer. in some ways times is better. in some ways they is worser. when a trade used to be made to let you have provisions, you know you would not starve. now if you can't get work you 'bout starve and can't get no credit. crops been good last few years and prices fair fur it. but money won't buy nothin' now. everything is so high. meat is so high. working man have to eat meat. if he don't he get weak. "the young folks do work. they can't save much farmin'. if they could do public work between times it be better. i had a hard time in july and august. i got six children, they grown and gone. my wife is years old. she ain't no 'count for work no more. the government give me an' her $ a month between us two. her name is hannah metcalf. "i wish i did know somethin' to tell you, lady, 'bout the civil war and the slavery times. i done forgot 'bout all i heard 'em talkin'. when you see hannah she might know somethin'." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: hardy miller - / w. second avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: yardman "mistress, i'll tell you what my mother said. she said she birthed me on christmas morning in in sumpter county, georgia. it was on her old master's place. bright herring was his name. old mistress' name was miss lizzie. my father belonged to a different owner. "mac mcclendon and john mourning was two nigger traders and they brought my mother and sister nancy and sister liza and my sister anna and hardy miller--that's me--out here on the train from americus, georgia to memphis and put us on a steamboat and brought us here to pine bluff and sold me to dr. pope. he was a poor white man and he wanted a pair of niggers. he bought me and laura beckwith. in them days a doctor examined you and if your heart was sound and your lungs was sound and you didn't have no broken bones--have to pay one hundred dollars for every year you was old. that was in and i was ten years old so they sold me for one thousand dollars and one thousand dollars for laura cause she was sound too. carried us down to monticello and when i got free my mammy come after me. "fore i left georgia, my daddy belonged to a man named bill ramsey. you see niggers used the name of their masters. "i can remember when i was a boy bill ramsey set my father free and give him a free pass and anybody hire him have to pay just like they pay a nigger now. my daddy hired my mammy from her master. my mammy was her master's daughter by a colored woman. "my daddy had a hoss named salem and had a cart and he would take me and my mammy and my sister liza and go to americus and buy rations for the next week. "i member when the war started in my mammy hired me out to mrs. brewer and she used to git after me and say, 'you better do that good or i'll whip you. my husband gone to war now on account of you niggers and it's a pity you niggers ever been cause he may get killed and i'll never see him again.' "i member seein' general bragg's men and general steele and general marmaduke. had a fight down at mark's mill. we just lived six miles from there. seen the yankees comin' by along the big public road. the yankees whipped and fought em so strong they didn't have time to bury the dead. we could see the buzzards and carrion crows. i used to hear old mistress say, 'there goes the buzzards, done et all the meat off.' i used to go to mill and we could see the bones. used to got out and look at their teeth. no ma'm, i wasn't scared, the white boys was with me. "dr. pope was good to me, better to me than he was to master walter and master billy and my young miss, aurelia, cause me and laura was scared of em and we tried to do everything they wanted. "when the war ended in we was out in the field gettin' pumpkins. old master come out and said, 'hardy, you and laura is free now. you can stay or you can go and live with somebody else.' we stayed till and then our mammies come after us. i was seventeen. "after freedom my mammy sent me to school. teacher's name was w.h. young. name was william young but he went under the head of w.h. young. "i went to school four years and then i got too old. i learned a whole lot. learned to read and spell and figger. i done pretty good. i learned how to add and multiply and how to cancel and how to work square root. "what i've been doin' all my life is farmin' down at fairfield on the murphy place. "vote? good lord! i done more votin'. voted for all the presidents. yankees wouldn't let us vote democrat, had to vote republican. they'd be there agitatin'. stand right there and tell me the ones to vote for. i done quit votin'. i voted for coolidge--we called him college--that's the last votin' i did. one of my friends, levi hunter, he was a colored magistrate down at fairfield. "ku klux? what you talkin' about? ku klux come to our house. my sister ellen's husband went to war on the yankee side durin' the war--on the republican side and fought the democrats. "after the war the ku klux came and got the colored folks what fought and killed em. i saw em kill a nigger right off his mule. fell off on his sack of corn and the old mule kep' on goin'. "ku klux used to wear big old long robe with bunches of cotton sewed all over it. i member one time we was havin' church and a ku klux was hid up in the scaffold. the preacher was readin' the bible and tellin' the folks there was a man sent from god and say an angel be here directly. just then the ku klux fell down and the niggers all thought 'twas the angel and they got up and flew. "ku klux used to come to the church well and ask for a drink and say, 'i ain't had a bit of water since i fought the battle of shiloh.' "might as well tell the truth--had just as good a time when i was a slave as when i was free. had all the hog meat and milk and everything else to eat. "i member one time when old master wasn't at home the yankees come and say to old mistress, 'madam, we is foragin'.' old mistress say, 'my husband ain't home; i can't let you.' yankees say, 'well, we're goin' to anyway.' they say, 'where you keep your milk and butter?' old mistress standin' up there, her face as red as blood and say, 'i haven't any milk or butter to spare.' but the yankees would hunt till they found it. "after a battle when the dead soldiers was layin' around and didn't have on no uniform cause some of the other soldiers took em, i've heard the old folk what knowed say you could tell the yankees from the rebels cause the yankees had blue veins on their bellies and the rebels didn't. "now you want me to tell you bout this young nigger generation? i never thought i'd live to see this young generation come out and do as well as they is doin'. i'm goin' tell you the truth. when i was young, boys and girls used to wear long white shirt come down to their ankles, cause it would shrink, with a hole cut out for their head. i think they is doin' a whole lot better. got better clothes. almost look as well as the white folks. i just say the niggers dressin' better than the white folks used to. "then i see some niggers got automobiles. just been free bout seventy-two years and some of em actin' just like white folks now. "well, good-bye--if i don't see you again i'll meet you in heaven." interviewer: beulah sherwood hagg person interviewed: [hw: henry kirk] h.k. miller state street, little rock, arkansas age: "no ma'am, it will not bother me one bit if you want to have a long visit with me.... yes, i was a little busy, but it can wait. i was getting my dishes ready for a party tomorrow night. "yes ma'am, i was born during slavery. i was born at a little place called fort valley in georgia, july , . fort valley is about miles from macon. i came to little rock in . my old mistress was a widow. as well as i can remember she did not have any slaves but my father and mother and the six children. no ma'am, her name was not miller, it was wade.... where did i get my name, then? it came from my grandfather on my father's side.... well, now, miss, i can't tell you where he got that name. from some white master, i reckon. "we got free in georgia june , . i'll never forget that date. what i mean is, that was the day the big freedom came. but we didn't know it and just worked on. my father was a shoemaker for old mistress. only one in town, far as i recollect. he made a lot of money for mistress. mother was houseworker for her. as fast as us children got big enough to hire out, she leased us to anybody who would pay for our hire. i was put out with another widow woman who lived about miles. she worked me on her cotton plantation. old mistress sold one of my sisters; took cotton for pay. i remember hearing them tell about the big price she brought because cotton was so high. old mistress got bales of cotton for sister, and it was only a few days till freedom came and the man who had traded all them bales of cotton lost my sister, but old mistress kept the cotton. she was smart, wasn't she? she knew freedom was right there. sister came right back to my parents. "just give me time, miss, and i'll tell you the whole story. this woman what had me hired tried to run away and take all her slaves along. i don't remember just how many, but a dozen or more. lots of white folks tried to run away and hide their slaves until after the yankee soldiers had been through the town searching for them what had not been set free. she was trying to get to the woods country. but she got nervous and scared and done the worst thing she could. she run right into a yankee camp. course they asked where we all belonged and sent us where we belonged. they had always taught us to be scared of the yankees. i remember just as well when i got back to where my mother was she asked me: "boy, why you come here? don't you know old mistress got you rented out? you're goin' be whipped for sure." i told her, no, now we got freedom. that was the first they had heard. so then she had to tell my father and mother. she tole them how they have no place to go, no money,--nothing to start life on; they better stay on with her. so my father and mother kept on with her; she let them have a part of what they made; she took some for board, as was right. the white ladies what had me between them fixed it up that i would serve out the time i was rented out for. it was about six months more. my parents saved money and we all went to a farm. i stayed with them till i was years old. of course they got all the money i made. i married when i was , still living in georgia. we tried to farm on shares. a man from arkansas came there, getting up a colony of colored to go to arkansas to farm. told big tales of fine land with nobody to work it. not half as many negroes in arkansas as in georgia. me and my wife joined up to go. "well, ma'am, i didn't get enough education to be what you call a educated man. my father paid for a six months night course for me after peace. i learned to read and write and figure a little. i have used my tablespoon full of brains ever since, always adding to that start. i learned everything i could from the many white friends i have had. any way, miss, i have known enough to make a good living all these years. "now i'll get on with the story. first work i got in arkansas was working on a farm; me and her both; we always tried to stay together. we could not make anything on the garner farm, and it was mighty unhealthy down in fourche bottoms. i carried her back to little rock and i got work as house man in the bunch home. from there i went to the home of dudley e. jones and stayed there years. that was the beginning of my catering. i just naturally took to cooking and serving. white folks was still used to having colored wait on them and they liked my style. mr. jones was so kind. he told his friends about how i could plan big dinners and banquets; then cook and serve them. right soon i was handling most of the big swell weddings for the society folks. child, if i could call off the names of the folks i have served, it would be mighty near everybody of any consequence in little rock for more than years. yes ma'am, i'm now being called on to serve the grandchildren of my first customers. "during the years i lived in mr. jones' family i was serving banquets, big public dinners, all kinds of big affairs. i have had the spring and fall banquets for the scottish rite masons for more than years. i have served nearly all the governor's banquets, college graduation and reunion parties; i took care of president roosevelt--not this one, but teddy----. served about that day. any big parties for colored people?... yes ma'am! don't you remember when booker t. washington was here?... no ma'am. white folks didn't have a thing to do with it, excepting the city let us have the new fire station. it was just finished but the fire engines ain't moved in yet. i served about that time. yes ma'am, there was a lot of white folks there. then, i have been called to other places to do the catering. lonoke, benton, malvern, conway--a heap of places like that. "no miss, i didn't always have all the catering business; oh, no. there was mr. rossner. he was a fine man. white gentleman. i used to help him a lot. but when he sold out to bott, i got a lot of what business mr. rossner had had, mr. bott was a jew. all that time my wife was my best helper. i took a young colored fellow named freeling alexander and taught him the business. he never been able to make it go on his own, but does fine working on salary. he has a cafeteria now. "well thank you miss, speaking about my home like that. yes ma'am, i sure do own it. fifty-two years i been living right here. first i bought the lot; it took me two years to pay for it. next i build a little house. the big pin oak trees out front was only saplings when i set them out. come out in the back yard and see my pecan tree.... it is a giant, ain't it? yes ma'am, it was a tiny thing when i set it out fifty-two years ago. our only child was born in this house,--a dear daughter--and her three babies were born here too. after my wife and daughter died, me and the children kept on trying to keep the home together. i have taught them the catering business. both granddaughters are high school graduates. the boy is in mexico. before he went he signed his name to a check and said: "here, grandpa. you ain't going to want for a thing while i'm gone. if something happens to your catering business, or you get so you can't work, fill this in for whatever you need." but thank the good lord, i'm still going strong. nobody has ever had to take care of h.k. miller. now let me tell you something else about this place. for more than ten years i have been paying $ . every year for my part of that asphalt paving you see out in front. yes ma'am, the lot is foot front, and i am paying for only half of it; from my curb line to the middle of the street. maybe if i live long enough i'll get it paid for sometime. "i haven't tried to lay by much money. i don't suppose there is any other colored man--uneducated like me--what has done more for his community. i have given as high as $ and $ at one time to help out on the church debt or when they wanted to build. i always help in times of floods and things like that. i've helped many white persons in my lifetime. "well, now, i'll tell you what i think about the voting system. i think this. of course we are still in subjection to the white people; they are in the majority and have most of the government on their side. but i think that, er,--er,--well i'll tell you, while it is all right for them to be at the head of things, they ought to do what is right. being educated, they ought to know right from wrong. i believe in the bible, miss. look here. this little book--gospel of st. john--has been carried in my pocket every day for years and years. and i never miss a day reading it. i don't see how some people can be so unjust. i guess they never read their bible. the reason i been able to make my three-score years and ten is because i obeys what the good book says. "now, let me see. i can remember that i been voting mighty near ever since i been here. i never had any trouble voting. i have never been objected from voting that i remember of. "now you ask about what i think of the young people. well, i tell you. i think really that the young people of today had better begin to check up, a little. they are going too fast. they don't seem to have enough consideration. when i see so many killed in automobile accidents, and know that drinking is the cause of so many car accidents,--well, yes ma'am, drinking sure does have a lot to do with it. i think they should more consider the way they going to make a living. make a rule to look before they act. another thing--the education being given them--they are not taking advantage of it. if they would profit by what they learn they could benefit theirselves. a lot of them now spend heap of time trying to get to be doctors and lawyers and like that. that is a mistake. there is not enough work among colored people to support them. i know. negroes do not have confidence in their race for this kind of business. no ma'am. colored will go for a white doctor and white lawyer 'cause they think they know more about that kind of business. i would recommend as the best means of making a living for colored young people is to select some kind of work that is absolutely necessary to be done and then do it honestly. the trades, carpentering, paper hanging, painting, garage work. some work that white people need to have done, and they just as soon colored do it as white. white folks ain't never going to have negro doctors and lawyers, i reckon. that's the reason i took up catering--even that long ago. fifty-five years ago i knew to look around and find some work that white folks would need done. there's where your living comes from. "yes, miss, my business is slack--falling off, as you say. catering is not what it used to be. you see, or years ago, people's homes were grand and big; big dining rooms, built for parties and banquets. but for the big affairs with or guests, they went to the hotels. even the hotels had to rent my dishes, silver and linens.... oh, lord, yes, miss. i always had my own. it took me ten years to save enough money to start out with my first of everything.... you want to see them?... sure, i keep them here at home.... look. here's my silver chests, all packed to go. i have them divided into different sizes. this one has fifty of every kind of silver, so if fifty guests are to be provided for. i keep my linens, plates of different sizes, glasses and everything the same way. a -guest outfit is packed in those chests over there. no, ma'am, i don't have much trouble of losing silver, because it all has my initials on; look: h.k.m. on every piece. heap of dishes are broken every time i have a big catering. i found one plate yesterday--the last of a full pattern i had fifteen years ago. about every ten years is a complete turnover of china. glassware goes faster, and of course, the linen is the greatest overhead. yes ma'am, as i was telling you, catering is slack because of clubs. so many women take their parties to clubs now. another thing, the style of food has changed. in those old days, the table was loaded with three four meats, fish, half dozen vegetable dishes, entrees, different kinds of wine, and an array of desserts. now what do they have? liquid punch, frozen punch and cakes. in june i had a wedding party for , and that's all they served. i had to have punch bowls, but borrowed about half from my white friends. "you have got that wrong about me living with my grandchildren. no ma'am! they are living with me. they make their home with me. i don't expect ever to marry again. i'm . in my will i am leaving everything i have to my three grandchildren. "well, miss, you're looking young and blooming. guess your husband is right proud of you? say you're a widow? well, now, my goodness. some of these days a fine man going to find you and then, er--er, lady, let me cater for the wedding?" interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: henry kirk miller [hw: same as h.k. miller] state street, little rock, arkansas age [hw: ] "i am eighty-six years old-eighty-six years and six months. i was born july , . i was a slave. didn't get free till june . i was a boy fifteen years old when i got free. "i have been living in this house fifty years. i have been living in arkansas ever since . that makes about sixty-five years. "the engineer who got killed in that wreck the other day (a wreck which occurred february , , monday morning at three and in which the engineer and five other people were killed) came right from my town, fort valley, georgia. i came here from there in . i don't know anybody living in fort valley now unless it's my own folks. and i don't 'spect i'd know them now. when i got married and left there, i was only twenty-one years old. parents and relatives "my mother and father were born in south carolina. after their master and missis married they came to georgia. back there i don't know. when i remember anything they were in georgia. they said they came from south carolina to georgia. i don't know how they came. both of my parents were negroes. they came to arkansas ahead of me. i have their pictures." (he carried me into the parlor and showed me life-sized bust portraits of his mother and father.) "there were eighteen of us: six boys and twelve girls. they are all dead now but myself and one sister. she lives in atlanta, georgia. i am older than she is. occupation "i am a caterer. i have been serving the scottish rite masons in their annual reunion every six months for forty-one years. we are going to the seventh street entrance this friday. one of the orders will have a dinner and i am going down to serve it. i served the dinner for teddy roosevelt there, thirty years ago. this roosevelt is a cousin of his. masters "my parents' master was named wade. when he died, i was so little that they had to lift me up to let me see into the coffin so i could look at him. i went to his daughter. my name is after my father's father. my grandfather was named miller. i took his name. he was a white man. "wade's daughter was named riley, but i keep my grandfather's name. my mother and father were then transferred to the rileys too, and they took the name of riley. it was after freedom that i took the name miller from my original people. haven riley's father was my brother." (haven riley lives in little rock and was formerly an instructor at philander smith college. now he is a public stenographer and a private teacher.) "wade owned all of my brothers and sisters and parents and some of my kin--father's sister and brother. there might have been some more i can't remember. wade was a farmer. "i remember once when my mother and father were going to the field to work, i went with them as usual. that was before wade died and his daughter drew us. "my wife died six years ago. if she had lived till tomorrow, she would have been married to me sixty years. she died on the tenth of february and we were married on the sixth. we just lacked five years of being married sixty years when she died. food "for food, i don't know anything more than bread and meat. meal, meat, molasses were the only rations i saw. in those times the white people had what was known as the white people's house and then what was known as nigger quarters. the children that weren't big enough to work were fed at the white people's house. we got milk and mush for breakfast. when they boiled cabbage we got bread and pot-liquor. for supper we got milk and bread. they had cows and the children were fed mostly on milk and mush or milk and bread. we used to bake a corn cake in the ashes, ash cake, and put it in the milk. "the chickens used to lay out in the barn. if we children would find the nests and bring the eggs in our missis would give us a biscuit, and we always got biscuits for christmas. houses in the negro quarters "in the nigger quarters there were nothing but log houses. i don't remember any house other than a log house. they'd just go out in the woods and get logs and put up a log house. put dirt and mud or clay in the cracks to seal it. notch the logs in the end to hitch them at corners. nailed planks at the end of the logs to make a door frame. "my people all ate and cooked and lived in the same room. some of the slaves had dirt floors and some of them had plank floors. "food was kept in the house in a sort of box or chest, built in the wall sometimes. mostly it was kept on the table. "in cooking they had a round oven made like a pot only the bottom would be flat. it had an iron top. the oven was a bought oven. it was shaped like a barrel. the top lifted up. coal was placed under the oven and a little on top. tables and chairs "tables were just boards nailed together. nothing but planks nailed together. i don't remember nothing but homemade benches for chairs. they sometimes made platted or split-bottom chairs out of white oak. strips of oak were seven feet long. they put them in water so they would bend easily and wove them while they were flexible and fresh. the whole chair bottom was made out of one strip just like in caning. those chairs were stouter than the chairs they make now." (to be continued) [tr: no continuation found.] interviewer: mrs. annie l. lacotts person interviewed: matilda miller humphrey, ark. age: the day of the interview matilda, a nice clean-looking negro woman, was in bed, suffering from some kind of a pain in her head. she lives in a little two-room unpainted boxed house beside the highway in humphrey. her house is almost in the shadow of the big tank which was put up recently when the town acquired its water system. when told that the visitor wanted to talk with her about her early life, matilda said, "well, honey, i'll tell you all i can, but you see, i was just a little girl when the war was, but i've heard my mother tell lots of things about then. "i was born a slave; my mother and daddy both were owned by judge richard gamble at crockett's bluff. i was born at boone hill--about twelve miles north of dewitt--and how come it named boone hill, that farm was my young mistress's. her papa give it to her, just like he give me to her when i was little, and after she married mr. oliver boone and lived there the farm always went by the name of 'boone hill.' the house is right on top of a hill, you know, it shure was a pretty place when miss georgia lived there, with great big magnolia trees in the front yard. i belonged to miss georgia, my young mistress, and when the niggers were freed my mamma staid on with her. she was right there when both of his chillun were born, mr. john boone and miss mary, too. i nursed _both_ of them chillun. you know who miss mary is now, don't you? yes'um, she's mr. lester black's wife and he's good, too. "i was de oney child my mother had till twelve years after the surrender. you see, my papa went off with yankees and didn't come back till twelve years after we was free, and then i had some brothers and sisters. exactly nine months from the day my daddy come home, i had a baby brother born. my mother said she knew my daddy had been married or took up with some other woman, but she hadn't got a divorce and still counted him her husband. they lived for a long time with our white folks, for they were good to us, but you know after the boys and girls got grown and began to marry and live in different places, my parents wanted to be with them and left the white folks. "no mam, i didn't see any fighting, but we could hear the big guns booming away off in the distance. i was married when i was to henry miller and lived with him years and ten months; he died from old age and hard work. we had two chillun, both girls. one of them lives here with me in that other room. mamma said the yankees told the negroes when they got em freed they'd give em a mule and a farm or maybe a part of the plantation they'd been working on for their white folks. she thought they just told em that to make them dissatisfied and to get more of them 'to join up with em' and they were dressed in pretty blue clothes and had nice horses and that made lots of the negro men go with them. none of em ever got anything but what their white folks give em, and just lots and lots of em never come back after the war cause the yankees put them in front where the shooting was and they was killed. my husband henry miller died four years ago. he followed public work and made plenty of money but he had lots of friends and his money went easy too. i don't spect i'll live long for this hurtin' in my head is awful bad sometime." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: nathan miller, madison, arkansas age: born in "lady, i'll tell you what i know but it won't nigh fill your book. "i was born in south of lockesburg, arkansas. my parents was marther and burl miller. "they told me their owners come here from north carolina in . they owned lots of slaves and lots of land. mother was medium light--about my color. see, i'm mixed. my hair is white. i heard mother say she never worked in the field. father was a blacksmith on the place. he wasn't a slave. his grandfather willed him free at ten years of age. it was tried in the supreme court. they set him free. said they couldn't break the dead man's will. "my father was a real bright colored man. it caused some disturbance. father went back and forth to kansas. they tried to make him leave if he was a free man. they said i would have to be a slave several years or leave the state. freedom settled that for me. "my great grandmother on my mother's side belong to thomas jefferson. he was good to her. she used to tell me stories on her lap. she come from virginia to tennessee. they all cried to go back to virginia and their master got mad and sold them. he was a meaner man. her name was sarah jefferson. mariah was her daughter and marther was my mother. they was real dark folks but mother was my color, or a shade darker. "grandmother said she picked cotton from the seed all day till her fingers nearly bled. that was fore gin day. they said the more hills of tobacco you could cultivate was how much you was worth. "i don't remember the ku klux. they was in my little boy days but they never bothered me. "all my life i been working hard--steamboat, railroad, farming. wore clean out now. "times is awful hard. i am worn clean out. i am not sick. i'm ashamed to say i can't do a good day's work but i couldn't. i am proud to own i get commodities and $ from the relief." interviewer: thomas elmore lacy person interviewed: sam miller, morrilton, arkansas age: "i is ninety-eight years old, suh. my name's sam miller, and i was born in texas in --don't know de month nor de day. my parents died when i was jes' a little chap, and we come to conway county, arkansas fifty years ago; been livin' here ever since. my wife's name was annie williamson. we ain't got no chillun and never had none. i don't belong to no chu'ch, but my wife is a baptis'. "can't see to git around much now. no, suh, i can't read or write, neither. my memory ain't so good about things when i was little, away back yonder, but i sure members dem ku klux klans and de militia. they used to ketch people and take em out and whup em. "don't rickolleck any of de old songs but one or two--oh, yes, dey used to sing 'old time religion's good enough for me' and songs like dat. "de young people! lawzy, i jest dunno how to take em. can't understand em at all. dey too much for me!" note: the old fellow chuckled and shook his head but said very little more. he could have told much but for his faulty memory, no doubt. he was almost non-committal as to facts of slavery days, the war between the states, and reconstruction period. has the sense of humor that seems to be a characteristic of most of the old-time negroes, but aside from a whimsical chuckle shows little of the interest that is usually associated with the old generation of negroes. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: w.d. miller, west memphis, arkansas age: ? "grandpa was sold twice in raleigh, north carolina. he was sold twice to the same people, from the millers to the robertsons (robersons, robinsons, etc.?). he said the robertsons were not so very good to him but the millers were. grandma was washing when a yank come and told them they had been sot free. they quit washing and went from house to house rejoicing. my parents' names was jesse and mary miller, and grandma agnes and grandpa peter miller. the robertsons was hill wheat farmers. the millers had a cloth factory. dan miller owned it and he raised wheat. mama was a puny woman and they worked her in the factory. she made cloth and yarn. "i was born in raleigh, north carolina or close by there. my father's uncle john house brought about one hundred families from north carolina to quittenden county, mississippi. i was seven years old. he said they rode mules to pick cotton, it growed up like trees. we come in car boxes. i came to heath and helena eleven years ago. papa stayed with his master dan miller till my uncle tolled him away. he died with smallpox soon after we come to mississippi. "it is a very good country but they don't pick cotton riding on mules, at least i ain't seed none that way." el dorado district folklore subjects name of interviewer: pernella anderson subject: slavery customs story:--information information given by: mose minser--farmer--age-- place of residence: miles from el dorado--section [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] ah use ter could tawk an tell a thing plum well but ah been broke up by a cah. cah run ovah mah haid an ah couldn' tawk fuh days. so now ah aint no good fuh nothin. ah recollect one night ah dream a dream. de dream at ah dreamt, next morning dat dream come true. jes like ah dreamt hit. yes hit did. ah wuz heah in slavery time. ah membuh when dey freed us niggers. se here, ah wuz a purty good size kid when dey free us. ah kin membuh our house. sot dis way. an ole marster called all his niggers up. dey all come along roun in a squad on de porch. ah did not heah whut he said tuh em. but mah step-pa wuz dere an tole us we wuz free. ah atter dey freed mah step-pa ah recollect he went on home and fried some aigs (eggs) in de ubben. know we didn have no stove we cooked on de fiuhplace. as ah said cook dem aigs, gimme some uv hit, an he lef' den. went east and ah aint nevah seed dat man since. ah membuhs once ah got a whoopin bout goin tuh de chinquepin tree. some uv um tole me ole master wuz gwianter let us quit at dinnuh an so in place uv me goin ter dinnuh ah went on by de chinquepin tree tuh git some chanks. ah had a brothuh wid me. so ah come tuh fine out dat dey gin tuh callin us. dey hollered tuh come on dat we wuz gointer pick cotton. so in place uv us goin on tuh de house we went on back tuh de fiel'. our fiel wuz bout a mile fum de house. ole moster waited down dere at de gate. he call me when ah got dere an wanted tuh know why ah didn come and git mah dinnah sos ah could pick cotton. so he taken mah britches down dat day. mah chinks all run out on de groun' an he tole mah brothah tuh pick um up. ah knocked mah brothuh ovah fuh pickin um up an aftuh ah done dat ole moster taken his red pocket han'cher out and tied hit ovah mah eyes tuh keep me fum seein mah brothuh pick um up. so when he got through wid me and put mah britches back on me ah went on tuh de fiel and went tuh pickin cotton. dat evenin when us stop pickin cotton ah took mah brothah down and taken mah chinquapins. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: gip minton, des arc, arkansas age: "i was born at jackson, alabama on the tennessee river. it was sho a putty river. i never did know my grandfolks. i think my father was a soldier. my master was a soldier, i think. he was in de war. i do remember the civil war. i remember the last battle at scottsboro. there was several but one big battle and they got to belfontain. that is where it seemed they were trying to go. i don't recollect who won the battle. i heard them fighting and saw the smoke and after they went on saw the bodies dead and all that was left was like a cyclone had swept by. there was a big regiment stationed at scottsboro. it was just like any war fought with guns and they lived in tents. they took everything they could find. looked like starvation was upon de land. "i had two sisters and one brother and my mother died when i was a baby. i come out here to arkansas with my mothers old master and mistress and never did see nor hear of none of them. no i never did hear from none of them. i come out here when i was ten or twelve years old. it was, it was right after the war. i recken i was freed, but i was raised by white folks and i stayed right on wid em. dat freedom ain't never bothered me. "my master and mistress names was master alfred minton. dey call me gip for him. gip minton is what they always called me. my mistress was miss annie minton. i stayed right wid em. they raised me and i come on here wid em. i don't know nothin about that freedom. "i recken they was good to me. i et in de kitchen when they got through or on a table out in de back yard sometimes. i slept in an outhouse they fixed up mostly, when i got up big. "we come on the train to memphis and they come on thater way to lonoke whar we settled. don shirley was the man i come on horseback with from memphis to lonoke. he was a man what dealt in horses. sure he was a white man. he's where we got some horses. i don't remember if he lived at lonoke or not. "i have voted, yes ma'am, a heap of times. i don't remember what kind er ticket i votes. i'm a democrat, i think so. i ain't voted fur sometime now. i don't know if i'll vote any more times or not. i don't know what is right bout votin and what ain't right. "when i was a boy i helped farm. we had what we made. i guess it was plenty. i had more to eat and i didn't have as many changes of clothes as folks has to have nowdays bout all de difference. they raised lots more. they bought things to do a year and didn't be allus goin to town. it was hard to come to town. yes mam it did take a long time, sometimes in a ox wagon. the oxen pulled more over muddy roads. took three days to come to town and git back. i farmed one-half-for-the-other and on shear crop. well one bout good as the other. bout all anybody can make farmin is plenty to eat and a little to wear long time ago and nows the same way. the most i reckon i ever did make was on surrounded hill (biscoe) when i farmed one-half-fur-de-udder for sheriff reinhardt. the ground was new and rich and the seasons hit just fine. no maam i never owned no farm, no livestock, no home. the only thing i owned was a horse one time. i worked or years for mr. brown and for mr. plunkett and son. i drayed all de time fur em. hauled freight up from the old depot (wharf) down on the river. long time fore a railroad was thought of. i helped load cotton and hides on the boats. we loaded all day and all night too heap o'nights. we worked till we got through and let em take the ship on. "the times is critical for old folks, wages low and everything is so high. the young folks got heap better educations but seems like they can't use it. they don't know how to any avantage. i know they don't have as good chances at farmin as de older folks had. i don't know why it is. my son works up at the lumber yard. yes he owns this house. that's all he owns. he make nough to get by on, i recken. he works hard, yes maam. he helps me if he can. i get $ a month janitor at the farmers and merchants bank (des arc). i works a little garden and cleans off yards. no maam it hurts my rheumatism to run the yard mower. i works when i sho can't hardly go. nothin matter cept i'm bout wo out. i plied for the old folks penshun but i ain't got nuthin yet. i signed up at the bank fur it agin not long ago. i has been allus self sportin. didn't pend on no livin soul but myself." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: a.j. mitchell e. th avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: garbage hauler "i was 'bout seven when they surrendered. i can remember when my old master sold aunt susan. she raised me. i seen old master when he was tryin' to whip old aunt susan. she was the cook. she said, 'i ain't goin' let you whip me' and i heard my sister say next day he done sold aunt susan. i ain't seed her since. i called her ma. my mother died when i was two years old. she was full injun. my father was black but his hair was straight. his face was so black it shined. looked like it was greased. my father said he was freeborn and i've seen stripes on his back look like the veins on back of my hand where they whipped him tryin' to make him disown his freedom. "old jack clifton was my master. yes ma'm, that was his name. "i 'member when they had those old looms--makin' cloth and old shuttle to put the thread on. i can see 'em now. "i can 'member when this used to be a injun place. i've seen old injun mounds. white folks come and run 'em out and give 'em injun territory. "i heered the guns in the war and seed the folks comin' home when the war broke. they said they was fitin' 'bout freedom, tryin' to free the people. i 'member when they was fitin' at marks mill. i know some of the people said that was where they was sot free. "i don't know as i seed any ku klux when they was goin' round. hearin' 'bout 'em scared me. i have a good recollection. i can remember the first dream i ever had and the first time i whistled. i can remember when i was two or three years old. remember when they had a big old conch shell. old master would blow it at twelve o'clock for 'em to come in. "old master was good to us but i 'member he had a leather strap and if we chillun had done anything he'd make us younguns put our head 'tween his legs and put that strap on us. my goodness! he called me pat and called his own son bug--his own son junie. we played together. old master had nicknames for everybody. "my first mistress was named miss mary but she died. i 'member when old master married and brought miss becky home. "marse john (he was old master's oldest son) he used to tote me about in his saddle bags. he was the overseer. "i 'member old master's ridin' hoss--a little old bay pony--called him hardy. i never remember nobody else bein' on it--that was his ridin' hoss. "old master had dogs. one was gus and one named brute (he was a red bone hound). and one little dog they called trigger. old master's head as white as cotton. "i do remember the day they said the people was free--after the war broke. my father come and got me. "now i'm givin' you a true statement. i've been stayin' by myself twenty-three years. i been here in pine bluff--well i jest had got here when the people was comin' back from that german war. "my god, we had the finest time when we killed hogs--make sausage. we'd eat cracklin's--oh, we thought they wasn't nothin' like cracklin's. the lord have mercy, there was an old beech tree set there in my master's yard. you could hear that old tree pop ever' day bout the same time, bout twelve o'clock. we used to eat beech mass. good? yes ma'm! i think about it often and wonder why it was right in old master's yard. "i've cast a many a vote. not a bit of trouble in the world. hope elect most all the old officers here in town. i had a brother was a constable under squire gaines. well of course, miss, i don't think it's right when they disfranchised the colored people. i tell you, miss, i read the bible and the bible says every man has his rights--the poor and the free and the bound. i got good sense from the time i leaped in this world. i 'member well i used to go and cast my vote just that quick but they got so they wouldn't let you vote unless you could read. "i've had 'em to offer me money to vote the democrat ticket. i told him, no. i didn't think that was principle. the colored man ain't got no representive now. colored men used to be elected to the legislature and they'd go and sell out. some of 'em used to vote the democrat ticket. god wants every man to have his birthright. "i tell you one thing they did. this here no fence law was one of the lowest things they ever did. i don't know what the governor was studyin' 'bout. if they would let the old people raise meat, they wouldn't have to get so much help from the government. god don't like that, god wants the people to raise things. i could make a livin' but they won't let me. "the first thing i remember bout studyin' was junie, old master's son, studyin' his book and i heard 'em spell the word 'baker'. that was when they used the old blue back speller. "i went to school. i'm goin' tell you as nearly as i can. that was, madam, let me see, that was in sixty-nine as near as i can come at it. miss, i don't know how long i went. my father wouldn't let me. i didn't know nothin' but work. i weighed cotton ever since i was a little boy. i always wanted to be weighin'. looked like it was my gift--weighin' cotton. "i'm a missionary baptist preacher. got a license to preach. you go down and try to preach without a license and they put you up. "madam, you asked me a question i think i can answer with knowledge and understanding. the young people is goin' too fast. the people is growin' weaker and wiser. you take my folks--goin' to school but not doin' anything. i don't think there's much to the younger generation. don't think they're doin' much good. i was brought up with what they called fireside teachin'." circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--bernice bowden address-- oak street, pine bluff, arkansas date--november , subject--exslaves [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] . name and address of informant--gracie mitchell . date and time of interview--november , , : p.m. . place of interview-- worthen street . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant--bernice wilburn, miller street, pine bluff, arkansas . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you--none . description of room, house, surroundings, etc.--a frame house (rented), bare floors, no window shades; a bed and some boxes and three straight chairs. in an adjoining room were another bed, heating stove, two trunks, one straight chair, one rocking chair. a third room the kitchen, contained cookstove and table and chairs. text of interview "they said i was born in alabama. my mother's name was sallie and my father was andrew wheeler. i couldn't tell when i was born--my folks never did tell me that. belonged to dr. moore and when his daughter married he give my mother to her and she went to mobile. they said i wasn't weaned yet. my grandmother told me that. she is dead now. don't know nothin' bout nary one o' my white folks. i don't recollect nothin' bout a one of 'em 'cept my old boss. he took us to texas and stayed till the niggers was all free and then he went back. good to me? no ma'm--no good there. and if you didn't work he'd see what was the matter. lived near coffeyville in upshaw county. that's whar my husband found me. i was living with my aunt and uncle. they said the reason i had such a good gift makin' quilts was cause my mother was a seamstress. "i cooked 'fore i married and i could make my own dresses, piece quilts and quilt. that's mostly what i done. no laundry work. i never did farm till i was married. after we went to chicago in , i took care of other folks chillun, colored folks, while they was working in laundries and factories. i sure has worked. i ain't nobody to what i was when i was first married. i knowed how to turn, but i don't know whar to turn now--i ain't able. "i use to could plow just as good as any man. i could put that dirt up against that cotton and corn. i'd mold it up. lay it by? yes ma'm i'd lay it by, too. "they didn't send me to school but they learned me how to work. "i had a quilt book with a lot o' different patterns but i loaned it to a woman and she carried it to oklahoma. mighty few people you can put confidence in nowdays. "i don't go out much 'cept to church--folks is so critical. "you have to mind how you walk on the cross; if you don't, your foot will slip, and your soul will be lost." "i was a motherless chile but the lord made up for it by givin' me a good husband and i don't want for anything." interviewer's comment according to her husband, gracie spends every spare moment piecing quilts. he said they use to go fishing and that gracie always took her quilt pieces along and if the fish were not biting she would sew. she showed me twenty-two finished quilt tops, each of a different design and several of the same design, or about thirty quilts in all. two were entirely of silk, two of applique design which called "laid work". they were folded up in a trunk and as she took them out and spread them on the bed for me to see she told me the name of the design. the following are the names of the designs: . breakfast dish . sawtooth (silk) . tulip design (laid work) . "prickle" pear . little boy's breeches . birds all over the elements . drunkard's path . railroad crossing . cocoanut leaf ("that's laid work") . cotton leaf . half an orange . tree of paradise . sunflower . ocean wave (silk) . double star . swan's nest . log cabin in the lane . reel . lily in de valley (silk) . feathered star . fish tail . whirligig gracie showed me her winter coat bought in chicago of fur fabric called moleskin, and with fur collar and cuffs. she sells the quilt tops whenever she can. many are made of new material which they buy. personal history of informant . ancestry--father, andrew wheeler; sallie wheeler, mother. . place and date of birth--alabama. no date known, about years old. . family--husband and one grown son. . places lived in, with dates--alabama, texas till , arkansas - , chicago, to . arkansas to date. . education, with dates--no education. . occupations and accomplishments, with dates--cooked before marriage at ; farmed after marriage; home sewing. . special skills and interests--quilt making and knitting. . community and religious activities--assisted husband in ministry. . description of informant--hair divided into many pigtails and wrapped with rags. skin, dark. medium height, slender, clothing soiled. . other points gained in interview--spends all her time piecing quilts, aside from housework. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: hettie mitchell (mulatto) brinkley, arkansas age: "i am sixty-nine years old. i was raised in dyersburg, tennessee. i can tell you a few things mother told us. my own grandma on mother's side was in south carolina. she was stole when a child and brought to tennessee in a covered wagon. her mother died from the grief of it. she was hired out to nurse for these people. the people that stole her was named spence. she was a house woman for them till freedom. she was never sold. spences was not cruel people. mother was never sold. she was the mother of twelve and raised nine to a good age--more than grown. the spences seemed to always care for her children. when i go to dyersburg they always want us to come to see them and they treat us mighty well. "mother was light. she said she had indian strain (blood) but father was very light and it was white blood but he never discussed it before his children. so i can't tell you excepting he said he was owned by the brittians in south carolina. he said his mother died soon after he was sold. he was sold to a nigger trader and come in the gang to memphis, tennessee and was put on the block and auctioned off to the highest bidder. he was a farm hand. "mother married father when she was nineteen years old. she was a house girl. she lived close to her old mistress. she was very, very old before she died she nearly stayed at my mother's house. her mind wasn't right and mother understood how to take care of her and was kind to her. the spences heard about grandma. they wrote and visited years after when mother was a girl. "the way that father found out about his kin folks was this: one day a creek was named and he told the white man, 'i was born close to that creek and played there in the white sand and water when i was a little boy.' the white man asked his name, said he knew the creek well too. father told him he never was named till he was sold and they named him sam--sam barnett. he was sold to barnett in memphis. but his dear own mother called him 'candy.' the white man found out about his people for him and they found out his own dear mother died that same year he was taken from south carolina from grief. he heard from some of his people from that time on till he died. "i worked on the farm in tennessee till i married. i ironed, washed, and have kept my own house and done the work that goes along with raising a small family. we own our home. we have saved all we could along. i have never had a real hard time like some i know. i guess my time is at hand now. i don't know which way to turn since my husband got down sick. "i don't vote. seem like it used to not be a nice place for women to go where voting was taking place. now they go mix up and vote. that is one big change. time is changing and changing the people. maybe it is the people is changing up the world as time goes by. we colored folks look to the white folks to know the way to do. we have always done it." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mary mitchell, hazen, arkansas age: "i was born in trenton, tennessee. my parents had five children. they were named william and charlotte wells. my father ran away and left my mother with all the children to raise. by birth mother was a mississippian. she had been a nurse and my father was a timber man and farmer. my mother said she had her hardest time raising her little children. she was taken from her parents when a small girl and put on a block and sold. she never said if her owners was bad to her, but she said they was rough on uncle peter. he would fight. she said they would tie uncle peter and whoop him with a strap. from what she said there was a gang of slaves on mr. wade's place. he owned her. i never heard her mention freedom but she said they had a big farm bell on a tall post in the back yard and they had a horn to blow. it was a whistle made of a cow's horn. "she said they was all afraid of the ku klux. they would ride across the field and they could see that they was around, but they never come up close to them." circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--bernice bowden address-- oak street, pine bluff, arkansas date--november , subject--exslaves [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] . name and address of informant--moses mitchell, worthen street . date and time of interview--november , , : p.m. . place of interview-- worthen street, pine bluff, arkansas . place and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant--bernice wilburn, miller street, pine bluff, arkansas . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you--none . description of room, house, surroundings, etc.--a frame house (rented), bare floors, no window shades; a bed and some boxes and three straight chairs. in an adjoining room were another bed, heating stove, two trunks, one straight chair, one rocking chair. a third room, the kitchen, contained cookstove and table and chairs. text of interview "i was born down here on white river near arkansas post, august, . i belonged to thomas mitchel and when they (yankees) took arkansas post, our owners gathered us up and my young master took us to texas and he sold me to an irishman named john mcinish in marshall for $ . $ in gold and the rest in confederate money. they called it the new issue. "i was twelve years old then and i stayed in texas till i was forty-eight. i was at tyler, texas when they freed us. when they took us to texas they left my mother and baby sister here in arkansas, down here on oak log bayou. i never saw her again and when i came back here to arkansas, they said she had been dead twenty-eight years. never did hear of my father again. "i'm supposed to be part creek indian. don't know how much. we have one son, a farmer, lives across the river. married this wife in . "my wife and i left texas forty-one years ago and came back here to arkansas and stayed till . then we went to chicago and stayed till , and then came back here. i'd like to go back up there, but i guess i'm gettin' too old. while i was there i preached and i worked all the time. i worked on the streets and the driveways in lincoln park. i was in the brick and block department. then i went from there to the asphalt department. there's where i coined the money. made $ . in the brick and block and $ . a day in the asphalt. down here they don't know no more about asphalt than a pig does about a holiday. _a man that's from the south and never been nowhere, don't know nothin', a woman either_. "yes ma'm, i'm a preacher. just a local preacher, wasn't ordained. the reason for that was, in texas a man over forty-five couldn't join the traveling connection. i was licensed, but of course i couldn't perform marriage ceremonies. i was just within one step of that. "i went to school two days in my life. i was privileged to go to the first free school in texas. had a teacher named goldman. don't know what year that was but they found out me and another fellow was too old so they wouldn't let us go no more. but i caught my alphabet in them two days. so i just caught what education i've got, here and there. i can read well--best on my bible and testament and i read the newspapers. i can sorta scribble my name. "i've been a farmer most of my life and a preacher for fifty-five years. i can repair shoes and use to do common carpenter work. i can help build a house. i only preach occasionally now, here and there. i belong to the allen temple in hoboken (east pine bluff). "i think the young generation is gone to naught. they're a different cut to what they was in my comin' up." interviewer's comment this man and his wife live in the outskirts of west pine bluff. they receive a small sum of money and commodities from the county welfare department. he has a very pleasant personality, a good memory and intelligence above the ordinary. reads the daily graphic and arkansas gazette. age . he said, "_here's the idea, freedom is worth it all_." personal history of informant . ancestry--father, lewis mitchell; mother, rhoda mitchell . place and date of birth--oak log bayou, white river, near arkansas post, ark. . family--wife and one grown son. . places lived in, with dates--taken to texas by his young master and sold in marshall during the war. lived in tyler, texas until forty-eight years of age; came back to arkansas in and stayed until ; went to chicago and lived until ; back to jefferson county, arkansas. . education, with dates--two days after twenty-one years of age. no date. . occupations and accomplishments, with dates--farmer, preacher, common carpenter, cobbler, public work on streets in chicago, farmed and preached until he went to chicago in . the he worked in the maintenance department of city streets of chicago and of lincoln park, chicago. . special skills and interests--asphalt worker . community and religious activities--licensed methodist preacher. no assignment now. . description of informant--five feet eight inches tall; weight, pounds, nearly bald. very prominent cheek bones. keen intelligence. neatly dressed. . other points gained in interview--reads daily papers; knowledge of world affairs. pine bluff district folklore subjects name of interviewer: martin - barker subject: negro customs information by: ben moon [tr: information moved from bottom of second page.] i was born on the walker place, in . my father was a slave to mr. bob. i used to drive miss lelia (eulalie) to the catholic church here in pine bluff. she used to let me go barefooted, and bare headed. miss lelia was the daughter of col. creed taylor. all during slavery time i drove her gins. we had eight mules. eight at a time hitched to each lever, they would weave in an out but they was so hitched that they never got in any body's way. they just walked around and round like they did in those days. we had herds of sheep, we sheared them and wove yarn for socks. we raised wheat, when it was ripe we laid a canvas cloth on the ground and put wheat on it, then men and women on horse back rode over it, and thrashed it that way. they called it treading it. then we took it to the mill and ground it and made it into flour. for breakfast, (we ate awful soon in the morning), about am, then we packed lunch in tin buckets and eat again at daylight. fat meat, cornbread and molasses. some would have turnip greens for breakfast. summertime, miss lelia would plant plenty of fruit, and we would have fried apples, stewed peaches and things. sunday mornings we would have biscuit, butter, molasses, chicken, etc. for our work they paid us seventy-five cents a day and when come cotton picking time old rule, seventy five cents for pickin cotton. christmas time, plenty of fireworks, plenty to eat, drink and everything. we would dance all christmas. all kind of game was plentiful, plenty of coon, possum, used up everything that grew in the woods. plenty of corn, we took it to the grist mill every saturday. ark. riv. boats passed the walker place, and dey was a landing right at dere place, and one at the wright place, that is where the airport is now. all de white folks had plenty of cattle den and in de winter time dey was all turned in on the fields and with what us niggers had, that made a good many, and you know yorself dat was good for de ground. mother was a slave on the merriweather place, her marster was mick[tr: name not clear] merriweather. my granma was gusta merriweather, my mother lavina and lived on the merriweather place in what was then dorsey county, near edinburg, now cleveland co. my grandfather was louis barnett, owned by nick barnett of cleveland co., then dorsey co. fathers people was owned by marse bob walker. miss lelia (eulalie) was mistis. miss maggie benton was young mistis. i dont believe in ghosts or spirits. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: emma moore short west second, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: laundry work "i'se born in slavery times. when my daddy come back from the war, he said i was gwine on seven or eight. "he stayed in the war three years and six months. i know that's what he always told us. he went with his master, joe horton. looks like i can see old marse joe now. had long sandy whiskers. the las' time i seed him he come to my uncle's house. we was all livin' in a row of houses. called em the quarters. i never will fergit it. "i was born on horton's island here in arkansas. that's what they told me. "i know when my daddy went to war and when he come back, he put on his crudiments (accoutrements) to let us see how he looked. "i seed the soldiers gwine to war and comin' back. look like to me i was glad to see em till i seed too many of em. "yankees used to come down and take provisions. yes, 'twas the yankees! "my granddaddy was the whippin' boss. had a white boss too named massa fred. "massa joe used to come down and play with us chillun. his name was joe horton. ever'body can tell you that was his name. old missis named miss mary. she didn't play with us much. "yes ma'am, they sure did take us to texas durin' of the war--in a ox wagon. stayed down there a long time. "we didn't have plenty to eat but we had to eat what we did. i member they wouldn't give us chillun no meat, jus' grease my mouf and make my mother think we had meat. "now my mother told me, at night some of the folks used to steal one of old massa's shoats and cook it at night. i know when that pot was on the rack but you better not say nothin' bout it. "all us chillun stayed in a big long log house. dar is where us chillun stayed in the daytime, right close to miss mary. "i used to sit on the lever at the gin. you know that was glory to me to ride. i whipped the old mule. ever' now and then i'd give him a tap. "when they pressed the cotton, they wet the press and i member one time they wet it too much. i don't say they sont it back but i think they made em pay for it. and they used to put chunks in the bale to make it weigh heavy. right there on that lake where i was born. "used to work in the field. these white folks can tell you i loved to work. i used to get as much as the men. my mammy was a worker and as the sayin' is, i was a chip off the old block. "the first teacher i went to school to was named mr. cushman. didn't go only on rainy days. that was the first school and you might say the las' one cause i had to nuss them chillun. "you know old massa used to keep all our ages and my daddy said i was nineteen when i married, but i don't know what year 'twas--honest i don't. "i been married three times. "i member one time i was goin' to a buryin'. i was hurryin' to get dressed. i wanted to be ready when they come by for me cause they say it's bad luck to stop a corpse. if you don't know that i do--you know if they had done started from the house. "my mama and daddy said they was born in tennessee and was bought and brought here. "i been goin' to one of these gov'ment schools and got my eyes so weak i can't hardly see to thread a needle. i'se crazy bout it i'm tellin' you. i sit up here till god knows how long. they give me a copy to practice and they'd brag on me and that turned me foolish. i jus' thought i was the teacher herself almos'. that's the truf now. "i can't read much. i don't fool with no newspaper. i wish i could, woman--i sure do. "i keep tellin' these young folks they better learn somethin'. i tell em they better take this chance. this young generation--i don't know much bout the whites--i'm tellin' you these colored is a sight. "well, i'm gwine away from here d'rectly--ain't gwine be here much longer. if i don't see you again i'll meet you in heaven." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: patsy moore, madison, arkansas age: "my mother was sold in jamestown, virginia to daphney hull. her white folks got in debt. my papa was born in georgia. folks named williams owned him. ma never seen her ma no more but william hull went to virginia and bought her two sisters. "i was named patsy after grandma in virginia. she had twenty-one children to ma's knowing. ma was a light color. pa was a molly glaspy man. that means he was indian and african. molly glaspy folks was nearly always free folks. ma was named mattie. if they would have no children they got trafficked about. "daphney hull was good but william hull and his wife was both mean. they lived on the main road to holly springs. daphney hull was a methodist man, kind-hearted and good. he was a bachelor i think. he kept a woman to cook and keep his house. auntie said the yankees was mean to mr. william hull's wife. they took all their money and meat. they had their money hid and some of the black folks let the yankees find out where it was. they got it. "papa was a soldier. he sent for us. we come to memphis, tennessee in a wagon. we lived there five or six years. pa got a pension till he died. both my parents was field hands in slavery. ma took in washing and ironing in memphis. "i was born in de sota county, mississippi. i remember forrest's battle in memphis. i didn't have sense to be scared. i seen black and white dead in the streets and alleys. we went to the magazine house for protection, and we played and stayed there. they tried to open the magazine house but couldn't. "when freedom come, folks left home, out in the streets, crying, praying, singing, shouting, yelling, and knocking down everything. some shot off big guns. den come the calm. it was sad then. so many folks done dead, things tore up and nowheres to go and nothing to eat, nothing to do. it got squally. folks got sick, so hungry. some folks starved nearly to death. times got hard. we went to the washtub onliest way we all could live. ma was a cripple woman. pa couldn't find work for so long when he mustered out. "i do recollect the civil war well. "i live with my daughter. i have a cough since i had flu and now i have chills and fever. my daughter helps me all i get. she lives with me. "some of the young folks is mighty good. i reckon some is too loose acting. times is hard. harder in the winter than in summer time. we has our garden and chickens to help us out in summer." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: ada moorehead e. barraque, pine bluff, arkansas age: ? "i was here in slavery times, honey, but i don't know exactly how old i am. i was born in huntsville, alabama but you know in them days old folks didn't tell the young folks no thin' and i was so small when they brought me here. i don't know what year i was born but i believe i'm about eighty-two. you know when a person ain't able to work and dabble out his own clothes, you know he's gone a long ways. "my white folks was ad white what owned me. called him marse ad. don't call folks marse much now-days. "my father was sold away from us in alabama and we heard he was here in pine bluff so aunt fanny brought us here. she just had a road full of us and brought us here to arkansas. we walked. we was a week on the road. i know we started here on monday morning and we got here to the courthouse on the next monday round about noon. that was that old courthouse. i reckon that ground is in the river now. "when we got here i saw my father. he took me to his sister--that was my aunt savannah--and dropped me down. "mrs. reynolds raised me. she come to aunt savannah's house and hired me the very same day i got here. i nursed miss katie. she was bout a month old. you know--a little long dress baby. don't wear then long dresses now--gettin' wiser. "mrs. reynolds she was good to me. and since she's gone looks like i'm gone too--gone to the dogs. cause when mrs. reynolds got a dress for miss katie--got one for me too. "my father was a soldier in the war. last time i heard from him i know he was hauling salt to the breastworks. yes, i was here in the war. that was all right to me but i wished a many a time i wasn't here. "i went to school two or three days in a week for about a term. but i didn't learn to read much. had to hire out and help raise my brother and sister. i'm goin' to this here government school now. i goes every afternoon. "since i got old i can think bout the old times. it comes to me. i didn't pay attention to nothin' much when i was young. "oh lord, i don't know what's goin' to become of us old folks. wasn't for the welfare, i don't know what i'd do. "i was sixteen when i married. i sure did marry young. i married young so i could see my chillun grown. i never married but once and i stayed a married woman forty-nine years to the very day my old man died. lived with one man forty-nine years. i had my hand and heart full. i had a home of my own. how many chillun? me? i had nine of my own and i raised other folks' chillun. oh, i been over this world right smart--first one thing and then another. i know a lot of white folks. they all been pretty good to me." interviewer: mary d. hudgins person interviewed: mrs. mary jane (mattie) mooreman home: with son age: "yes, ma'am. i've been in hot springs, been in hot springs years. that's a long time. lots of changes have come--i've seen lots of changes here--changed from wooden sidewalks and little wood buildings. "your name's hudgins? i knew the hudginses--knew miss nora well. what's that? did i know adeline? did i know adeline! do you mean to tell me she's still alive? adeline! why miss maud," (addressing mrs. eisele, for whom she works--and who sat nearby to help in the interview) "miss maude, i tell you adeline's white, she's white clean through!" (see interview with adeline blakeley, who incidentally is as black as "the ace of spades"--in pigmentation.) "miss maude, you never knew anybody like adeline. she bossed those children and made them mind--just like they was hers. she took good care of them." (turning to the interviewer) "you know how the hudgins always was about their children. adeline thought every one of 'em was made out of gold---made out of pure gold. "she made 'em mind. i remember once, she was down on central avenue with ross and he did southing or other that, wasn't nice. she walked over to the umbrella stand, you remember how they used to have umbrellas for sale out in front of the stores. she grabbed an umbrella and she whipped ross with it--she didn't hurt him. then she put it back in the stand and said to the man who ran the store, 'if that umbrella's hurt, just charge it to harve hudgins.' that's the way adeline was. so she's still alive. law how i'd like to see her. bring me a picture of her. oh miss mary, i'd love to have it. "me? i was born on green river near hartford, kentucky. guess i was about a year and a half, from what they told me when my mistress married. don't know how she ever met my master. she was raised in a convent and his folks lived a long way from hers. but anyhow she did. she was just when she married. the man she married was named charles mooreman m-o-o-r-e-m-a-n. they had a son called charles wycliff mooreman. he was named for his mother's people. i got a son i called charles wycliff too. he works at the arlington. he's a waiter. they say he looks just like me. mr. charles wycliff mooreman--back in kentucky. i still gets letters from him. "miss mary i guess i had a pretty easy time in slavery days. they was good to us. besides i was a house niggah." (those who have been "house niggahs" never quibble at the word slave or negro. a subtle social distinction brewed in the black race to separate house servants from field hands as far as wealthy planters from "poor white trash.".) "once i heard a man say of my mother, 'you could put on a white boiled shirt and lie flat down on the floor in her kitchen and not get dirty.'" "cook? no, ma'am!" (with dignity and indignation) "i never cooked until after i was married, and i never washed, never washed so much as a rag. all i washed was the babies and maybe my mistress's feet. i was a lady's maid. i'd wait on my mistress and i'd knit sox for all the folks. when they would sleep it was our duty--us maids--to fan 'em with feathers made out of turkey feathers--feather fans. part of it was to keep 'em cool. then they didn't have screens like we have today. so part of it was to keep the flies off. i remember how we couldn't stomp our feet to keep the flies from biting for fear of waking 'em up. "no, miss mary, we didn't get such, good food. nobody had all the kinds of things we have today. we had mostly buttermilk and cornbread and fat meat. cake? 'deed we didn't. i remember once they baked a cake and mr. charles wycliff--he was just a little boy--he got in and took a whole fistful out of the cake. when miss found out about it, she give us all doses of salts--enough to make us all throw up. she gave it to all the niggahs and the children--the white children. and what did she find out? it was her own child who had done it. "yes ma'am we learned to read and write. oh, miss maude now--i don't want to recite. i don't want to." (but she did "twinkle, twinkle little star" and "the playful kitten"--the latter all of lines.) "i think, i think they both come out of mcguffey's second reader. yes ma'am i remember's mcguffey's and the blueback speller too. "no, miss mary, there wasn't so much of the war that was fought around us. i remember that old master used to go out in the front yard and stand by a locust tree and put his ear against it. he said that way he could hear the cannon down to bowling green. no, i didn't never hear any shooting from the war myself. "yes ma'am, the confederates used to come through lots. i remember how we used to go to the spring for water for 'em. then we'd stand with the buckets on our heads while they drank--drank out of a big gourd. when the buckets was empty we'd go back to the spring for more water. "once the yankees come by the place. it was at night. they went out to the quarters and they tried to get 'em to rise up. told 'em to come on in the big house and take what they wanted. told 'em to take anything they wanted to take, take master's silver spoons and miss' silk dress. 'if they don't like it, we'll shoot their brains out,' they said. next morning they told master. he got scared and moved. at that time we was living at cloverport. "it was near the end of the war and we was already free, only we didn't know it. he moved on up to stephensport. that's on the ohio too. he took me and a brother of mine and another black boy. while we was there i remember he took me to a circus. i remember how the lady--she was dressed in pink come walking down a wire--straight on down to the ground. she was carrying a long pole. i won't never forget that. "not long afterwards i was married. we was all free then. my husband asked my master if he could marry me. he told him 'you're a good man. you can come and live on my farm and work for me, but you can't have mattie.' so we moved off to his master's farm. "a little while after that his master bought a big farm in arkansas. he wanted to hire as many people as he could. so we went with him. he started out well, but the first summer he died. so everything had to be sold. a man what come down to bid on some of the farm tools and stock--come to the auction, he told us to come on up to woodruff county and work for him. we was there years and he worked the farm and i took care of myself and my babies. then he went off and left me. "i went in to cotton plant and started working there. finally he wrote me and tried to get me to say we hadn't never been married. said he wanted to marry another woman. the white folks i worked for wouldn't let me. i'd been married right and they wouldn't let me disgrace myself by writing such a letter. "finally i came on to hot springs. for a while i cooked and washed. then i started working for folks, regular. for years, tho, i mostly washed and ironed. "i came to hot springs on the th of february--i think it was years ago. you remember miss maud--it was just before that big hail storm. you was here, don't you remember--that hail storm that took all the windows out of all the houses, tore off roofs and swept dishes and table-cloths right off the tables. can't nobody forget that who's seen it. "miss mary, do you know miss julia huggins? i worked for her a long time. worked for her before she went away and after she came back. between times i cooked for mrs. button (burton--but called button by everyone) housley. when miss julia come back she marches right down to mrs. housley's and tells me she wants me to work for her again. 'can't get her now,' says mrs. housley, 'mattie's done found out she's black.' but anyhow i went to see her, and i went back to work for her, pretty foxy miss julia was. "i been working for mrs. eisele pretty near twenty five years. saw her children grow up and the grand children. lancing, he's my heart. once when mr. and mrs. eisele went to see mrs. brown, lancing's mother, they took me with them. all the way to watertown, wisconsin. there wasn't any more niggas in the town and all the children thought i was somthing to look at. they'd come to see me and they'd bring their friends with 'em. once while we was there, a circus come to town. the children wanted me to see it. told me there was a negro boy in it. guess they thought it would be a treat to me to see another niggah. i told 'em, 'law, don't you think i see lots, lots more than i wants, everyday when i is at home?' "it used to scare me. the folks would go off to a party or a show and leave me alone with the baby. no, miss mary, i wasn't scared for myself. i thought somebody might come in and kidnap that baby. no matter how late they was i'd sit on the top step of the stairs leading upstairs--just outside the door where lansing was asleep. no matter what time they come home they'd find me there. 'why don't you go on in your bedroom and lie down?' they'd ask me. 'no,' i'd tell 'em, 'somebody might come in, and they would have to get that baby over my dead body.' "jonnie, that's my daughter" (mrs. d.g. murphy, walnut street, a large stucco house with well cared for lawn) "she wants me to quit work. i told her, 'you put that over on mrs. murphy--you made her quit work and took care of her. what happened to her? she died! you're not going to make me old.' "twice she's got me to quit work. once, she told me it was against the law. told me there was a law old folks couldn't work. i believed her and i quit. then i come on down and i asked mr. eisele" (an important business executive and prominent in civic affairs, [hw: aged ]) "he rared back and he said, 'i'd like to see anybody stop me from working.' so i come on back. "another time, it was when the old age pensions come in. they tried to stop me again. told me i had to take it. i asked mr. eisele if i could work just the same. 'no,' he says 'if you take it, you'll have to quit work.' so i stamped my foot and i says, 'i won't take nobody's pension.' "the other day jonnie called up here and she started to crying. lots of folks write her notes and say she's bad to let me work. somebody told her that they had seen me going by to work at o'clock in the morning. it wasn't no such. i asked a man when i was on the way and it was minutes until . besides, my clock had stopped and i couldn't tell what time it was. yes, miss mary, i does get here sort of early, but then i like it. i just sit in the kitchen until the folks get up. "you see that picture over there, it's mr. eisele when he was . i'd know that smiling face anywhere. he's always good to me. when they go away to florida i can go to the store and get money whenever i need it. but it's always good to see them come back. miss maud says i'm sure to go to heaven, i'm such a good worker. no, miss mary, i'm not going to quit work. not until i get old." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: evelina morgan w. sixteenth street, little rock, arkansas age: app. [tr: original first page moved to follow second page per hw: insert this page before par. , p. ] "i was born in wedgeboro, north carolina, on the plantation of--let me see what that man's name was. he was an old lawyer. i done forgot that old white man's name. old tom ash! senator ash--that's his name. he was good to his slaves. he had so many niggers he didn't know them all. "my father's name was alphonso dorgens and my mother's name was lizzie dorgens. both of them dead. i don't know what her name was before she married. my pa belonged to the dorgens' and he married my ma. that is how she come to be a dorgen. old man ash never did buy him. he just visited my mother. they all was in the same neighborhood. big plantations. both of them had masters that owned lots of land. i don't know how often he visited my mother after he married her. he was over there all the time. they were right adjoining plantations. "i was born in a frame house. i don't know nothin' about it no more than that. it was j'ined to the kitchen. my mother had two rooms j'ined to the kitchen. she was the old mistress' cook. she could come right out of the kitchen and go on in her room. "my father worked on the farm. they fed the slaves meat and bread. that is all i remember--meat and bread and potatoes. they made lots of potatoes. they gave 'em what they raised. you could raise stuff for yourself if you wanted to. "my mother took care of her children. we children was on the place there with her. she didn't have nobody's children to take care of but us. "i was six years old during of the war. my ma told me my age, but i forgot it; i never did have it put down. the only way i gits a pension, i just tells 'em i was six years old during of the war, and they figures out the age. sorta like that. but i know i was six years old when the rebels and the yankees was fighting. "i seed the yankees come through. i seed that. they come in the time old master was gone. he run off--he run away. he didn't let 'em git him. i was a little child. they stayed there all day breaking into things--breaking into the molasses and all like that. old mistress stayed upstairs hiding. the soldiers went down in the basement and throwed things around. old master was a senator; they wanted to git him. they sure did cuss him: 'the ----, ----, ----, old senator,' they would say. he took his finest horses and all the gold and silver with him somewheres. they couldn't git 'im. they was after senators and high-ups like that. "the soldiers tickled me. they sung. the white people's yard was jus' full of them playing 'yankee doodle' and 'hang jeff davis on a sour apple tree.' "all the white people gone! funny how they run away like that. they had to save their selves. i 'member they took one old boss man and hung him up in a tree across a drain of water, jus' let his foot touch--and somebody cut him down after 'while. those white folks had to run away. patrollers "i used to hear them all talk about the patrollers. i used to hear my mother talking about them. my ma said my master wouldn't let the patrollers come on his place. they could go on anybody else's place but he never did let them come on his place. some of the slaves were treated very bad. but my ma said he didn't allow a patroller on the place and he didn't allow no other white man to touch his niggers. he was a big white man--a senator. he didn't know all his negroes but he didn't allow nobody to impose on them. he didn't let no patroller and nobody else beat up his niggers. how freedom came "i don't know how freedom came. i know the yankees came through and they'd pat we little niggers on the head and say, 'nigger, you are just as free as i am.' and i would say, 'yes'm.' right after freedom "right after the war my mother and father moved off the place and went on another plantation somewheres--i don't know where. they share cropped. i don't know how long. old mistress didn't want them to move at all. i never will forget that. present occupation and opinions "i used to cook out all the time when i got grown. i couldn't tell you when i married. you got enough junk down there now. so i ain't giving you no more. my husband's been dead about seven years. i goes to the methodist church on ninth and broadway. i ain't able to do no work now. i gets a little pension, and the lord takes care of me. i have a hard time sometime. "i ain't bothered about these young folks. they is _somethin' awful_. it would be wonderful to write a book from that. they ought to git a history of these young people. you could git a wonderful book out of that. "the colored folks have come a long way since freedom. and if the white folks didn't pin 'em down they'd go further. old jeff davis said when the niggers was turned loose, 'dive up your knives and forks with them.' but they didn't do it. "some niggers was sharp and got something. and they lost it just like they got it. look at bush. i know two or three big niggers got a lot and ain't got nothin' left now. well, i ain't got no time for no more junk. you got enough down there. you take that and go on." interviewer's comment during the interview, a little "pickaninny" came in with his mother. his grandmother and a forlorn little dog were also along. "tell grandma what you want," his mother prompted. "is that your grandson?" i interrupted. "no," she said, "he ain't no kin to me, but he calls me 'ma' and acts as if i was his grandma." the little fellow hung back. he was just about twenty-two months old, but large and mature for that age. "tell 'ma' what you want," his grandmother put in. finally, he made up his mind and stood in front of her and said, "buh--er." his mother explained, "i've done made him some corn bread, but he ain't got no butter to put on it and he wants you to give him some." sister morgan sat silent awhile. then she rose deliberately and went slowly to the ancient ice-box, opened it and took out a tin of butter which she had evidently churned herself in some manner and carefully cut out a small piece and wrapped it neatly and handed it to the little one. after a few amenities, they passed out. even with her pitiful and meagre lot, the old lady evidently means to share her bare necessities with others. the manner of her calculation of her age is interesting. she was six years old when the war was going on. she definitely remembers seeing sherman's army and wheeler's cavalry after she was six. since they were in her neighborhood in , she is undoubtedly more than eighty. eighty-one is a fair estimate. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: james morgan rice street, little rock, arkansas age: "during the slave time, the pateroles used to go from one plantation to the other hunting negroes. they would catch them at the door and throw hot ashes in their faces. you could go to another plantation and steal or do anything you wanted if you could manage to get back to your old master's place. but if you got caught away from your plantation, they would get you. sometimes a nigger didn't want to get caught and beat, so he would throw a shovel of hot ashes in the pateroles' faces and beat it away. "my daddy used to tell lots of stories about slavery times. he's been dead forty-three years and my mother has been dead forty-one years--forty-one years this may. i was quite young and lots of the things they told me, i remember, and some of them, i don't. "i was born in . that was eight years after the war ended. my father's name was aaron and my mother's name was rosa. both of them was in slavery.[tr: sentence lined out.] i got a brother that was a baby in her lap when the yankee soldiers got after a chicken. the chicken flew up in her lap and they never got that one. the white folks lost it, but the yankees didn't get it. i have heard my mother tell all sorts of things. but they just come to me at times. the soldiers would take chickens or anything they could get their hands on--those soldiers would. "my mother married the first time in slavery. her first husband was sold in slavery. that is the onliest brother i'm got living now out of ten--that one that was settin' in her lap when the soldiers come through. he's in boydell, arkansas now. it used to be called morrell. it is about one hundred twenty-one miles from here, because dermott is one hundred nine and boydell is about twelve miles further on. it's in nashville[hw:?] county. my brother was a great big old baby in slavery times. he was my mother's child by her first husband. all the rest of them is dead and he is the onliest one that is living. "i was a section foreman for the missouri pacific for twenty-two years. i worked there altogether for thirty-five years, but i was section foreman for twenty-two years. there's my card. lots of men stayed on the job till it wore them out. lewis holmes did that. it would take him two hours to walk from here to his home--if he ever managed it at all. "it's warm today and it will bring a lot of flies. flies don't die in the winter. lots of folks think they do. they go up in cracks and little places like that under the weatherboard there--any place where it is warm--and there they huddle up and stay till it gets warm. then they come out and get something to eat and go back again when it cools off. they live right on through the winter in their hiding places. "both of my parents said they always did their work whatever the task might be. and my daddy said he never got no whipping at all. you know they would put a task on you and if you didn't do it, you would get a whipping. my daddy wouldn't stand to be whipped by a paterole, and he didn't have to be whipped by nobody else, because he always did his work. "he was one of the ones that the pateroles couldn't catch. when the pateroles would be trying to break in some place where he was, and the other niggers would be standing 'round frightened to death and wonderin' what to do, he would be gettin' up a shovelful of ashes. when the door would be opened and they would be rushin' in, he would scatter the ashes in their faces and rush out. if he couldn't find no ashes, he would always have a handful of pepper with him, and he would throw that in their faces and beat it. "he would fool dogs that my too. my daddy never did run away. he said he didn't have no need to run away. they treated him all right. he did his work. he would get through with everything and sometimes he would be home before six o'clock. my mother said that lots of times she would pick cotton and give it to the others that couldn't keep up so that they wouldn't be punished. she had a brother they used to whip all the time because he didn't keep up. "my father told me that his old master told him he was free. he stayed with his master till he retired and sold the place. he worked on shares with him. his old master sold the place and went to monticello and died. he stayed with him about fifteen or sixteen years after he was freed, stayed on that place till the government donated him one hundred sixty acres and charged him only a dollar and sixty cents for it. he built a house on it and cleared it up. that's what my daddy did. some folks don't believe me when i tell 'em the government gave him a hundred and sixty acres of land and charged him only a dollar and sixty cents for it--a penny a acre. "i am retired now. been retired since . the government took over the railroad pension and it pays me now. that is under the security act. each and every man on the railroad pays in to the government. "i have been married right around thirty-nine years. "i was born in chicot county, arkansas.[tr: sentence lined out.] my father was born in georgia and brought here by his master. he come here in a old covered ox wagon. i don't know how they happened to decide to come here. my mother was born in south carolina. she met my father here in arkansas. they sold her husband and she was brought here. after peace was declared she met my daddy. her first husband was sold in south carolina and she never did know that became of him. they put him up on the block and sold him and she never did know which way he went. he left her with two boys right then. she had a sister that stayed in south carolina. somebody bought her there and kept her and somebody bought my mother and brought her here. my father's master was named mcdermott. my mother's last master was named belcher or something like that. "i don't belong to any church. i have always lived decent and kept out of trouble." interviewer's comment when morgan said "there is my record", he showed me a pass for the year - for himself and his wife between all stations on the missouri pacific lines signed by l.w. baldwin, chief executive officer. he is a good man even if he is not a christian as to church membership. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: olivia morgan hazen, ark. age: "i am years old. i was born in lafayette county close to new lewisville. i heard mama say many a time she was named after her state--north carolina. her name was carolina alexandria. they brought her a slave girl to this new country. she and papa must of met up toreckly after freedom. she had some children and i'm one of my papa's oldest children. "papa come here long fore the war started. the old master in atlanta, georgia--abe smith--give his son three boys and one girl. he emigrated to arkansas. "mama said her first husband and the young master went off and he never come back as she knowed of. young master played with mama's second girl a whole heap. one day they was playing hiding round. just as she come running to the base from round the house, young master hit her on the forehead with a rock. it killed her. old master tried to school him but he worried so they sent him off--thought it would do his health good to travel. i don't think they ever come back. "after freedom mama married and went over to papa's master's. papa stayed round there a long time. they got news some way they was to get forty acres land and a mule to start out with but they said they never got nothing. "my papa said he knowed it to be a fact, the ku klux cut a colored woman's breast off. i don't recollect why he said they got after her. the jayhawkers was bad too. they all went wild; some of em left men hanging up in trees. they needed a good master to protect em worse after the war than they needed em before. they said they had a yankee government then was reason of the ku klux. they run the jayhawkers out and made the yankees go on home. everybody had a hard time. bread was mighty scarce when i was a child. times was hard. men that had land had to let it lay out. they had nothin' to feed the hands on, no money to pay, no seed, no stock to work. the fences all went to rack and all the houses nearly down. when i was a child they was havin' hard times. "i'm a country woman. i farmed all my life. i been married two times; i married holmes, then morgan. they dead. i washed, ironed, cooked, all at mr. jim buchannan's sawmill close to lewisville two years and eight months; then i went back to farmin' up at pine bluff. my oldest sister washed and ironed for mrs. buchannan till she moved from the sawmill to texarkana. he lived right at the sawmill ground. "my papa voted a republican ticket. i don't vote. my husbands have voted along. if the women would let the men have the business i think times would be better. i don't believe in women voting. the men ought to make the livings for the families, but the women doing too much. they crowding the men out of work. "some folks is sorry in all colors. seems like the young folks ain't got no use for quiet country life. they buying too much. they say they have to buy everything. i ain't had no depression yet. i been at work and we had crop failures but i made it through. some folks good and some ain't. times is bout to run away with some of the folks. they all say times is better than they been since . i hope times is on the mend." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: tom morgan, madison, arkansas age: "my mother was the mother of fourteen of us children. their names was sarah and richard morgan. "my great-grandfather b'long to bill woods. they had b'long to the morgans and when freedom come they changed their names back. some of them still owned by morgans. "mother's owners was auris and lucella harris. they had a boy named harley harris and a girl. he had a small farm. "mother said her master wasn't bad, but my father said his owner was tough on him--tough on all of them. they was all field hands. they had to git up and be doing. he said they fed by torch morning and night and rested in the heat of the day two or three hours. feed the oxen and mules. in them days stock and folks all et three times a day. i does real well now to get two meals a day, sometimes but one. they done some kind of work all the year 'round. he said they had tasks. they better git the task done or they would get a beating. "i haven't voted in so long a time. i voted republican. i thought i did. "i worked at the railroad till they put me off. they put me off on disability. trying to git my papers fixed up to work or get something one. back on the railroad job. i farmed when i was young." el dorado district folklore subjects name of interviewer: pernella anderson subject: slavery days--cruel master murdered by slaves story:--information this information given by: charity morris place of residence: camden, arkansas age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] ah wuz born in carolina uh slave an ah was de eldest daughtuh of christiana webb whose owner wuz master louis amos. mah mammy had lots uv chillun an she also mammied de white chillun, whut wuz lef' mammyless. when ah wuz very small dey rented me out tuh some very po' white fokes. dey wuzn use tuh slaves so mah marster made him promise [hw: not] tuh beat me or knock me bout. dey promise dey wouldn. dey cahried me home an ah clare dey wuz so mean tuh me till ah run off an tried tuh fin' de way back tuh mah marster. night caught me in de woods. ah sho' wuz skeered. ah wuz skeered uv bears an panthers so ah crawled up in a ole bandoned crib an crouched down gainst de loft. ah went off tuh sleep but wuz woke by somethin scratchin on de wall below. ah stayed close as ah could tuh de wall an 'gin er prayin. dat things scratched all night an ah prayed all night. de nex' mawnin dese white fokes sent word tuh marster dat ah had lef' so marster foun' me an took me home and let me stay dar too. ah didn' work in de fiel' ah worked in de house. we lived in uh log cabin. evah sunda mawnin marster louis would have all us slaves tuh de house while he would sing an pray an read de bible tuh us all. de people dat owned de plantation near us had lots of slaves. dey owned lots uv mah kin fokes. dey marster would beat dem at night when dey come fum de fiel' an lock em up. he'd whoop um an sen' um tuh de fiel'. dey couldn' visit no slaves an no slaves was 'lowed tuh visit em. so mah cousin sallie watched him hide de key so she moved dem a li'l further back so dat he had tuh lean ovah tuh reach dem. dat mawnin soon when he come tuh let em out she cracked him in de haid wid de poker an made little joe help put his haid in de fiuh place. dat day in de fiel' little joe made er song; "if yo don' bleave aunt sallie kilt marse jim de blood is on huh under dress". he jes hollered hit. "aunt sallie kilt marse jim." dey zamined aunt sallie's under dress so dey put huh in jail till de baby come den dey tried huh an sentenced huh tuh be hung an she wuz. our marster use tuh tell us if we left de house de patarollers would catch us. one night de patarollers run mah two brothers home, joe an henry. when de ole haid died out dey chillun got de property. yo see we slaves wuz de property. den we got separated. some sent one way an some nother. hit jes happent dat marse jim drawed me. when de wah broke out we could heah li'l things bein said. we couldn' make out. so we begin tuh move erbout. later we learnt we wuz runnin fum de wah. in runnin we run intuh a bunch uv soldiers dat had got kilt. oh dat wuz terrible. aftuh mah brudders foun out dat dey wuz fightin tuh free us dey stole hosses an run erway tuh keep fum bein set free. aftuh we got tuh morris creek hit wuz bloody an dar wuz one uv de hosses turnin roun an roun in de watuh wid his eyes shot out. we nevah saw nuthin else uv joe nor henry nor de othuh horse from dat day tuh dis one. but we went on an on till we come tuh a red house and dat red house represented free. de white fokes wouldn go dat way cause dey hated tuh give us up. dey turnt an went de othuh way but hit wuz too late. de news come dat mr. lincoln had signed de papuhs dat made us all free an dere wuz some 'joicing ah tells yo. ah wuz a grown woman at dat time. ole moster amos brought us on as fur as fo'dyce an turnt us a loose. dat's wha' dey settled. some uv de slaves stayed wid em an some went tuh othuh places. me an mah sistuh come tuh camden an settled. ah mahried george morris. we havn' seen our pa an ma since we wuz 'vided and since we wuz chillun. when we got tuh camden and settled down we went tuh work an sont back tuh de ole country aftuh ma an pa. enroute tuh dis country we come through tennessee an ah membuh comin through memphis an pine bluff to fordyce. as we wuz comin we stopped at de mississippi rivuh. ah wuz standin on de bank lookin at de great roll uv watuh high in de air. somebody snatched me back and de watuh took in de bank wha ah wuz standin. yo cound'n stand too close tuh de rivuh 'count uv de waves. der wuz a col' wintuh and at night we would gather roun a large camp fire an play sich games as "jack-in-de-bush cut him down" an "ole gray mule-out ride him." yaul know dem games ah know. an in de summer times at night we played _julands_. on our way tuh arkansas we drove ox-teams, jinnie teams, donkey teams, mule teams an horse teams. we sho had a good time. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: emma morris, forrest city, arkansas age: "my parents was jane and sam mccaslin. they come from close to atlanta, georgia to hernando, mississippi after slavery. ma was heired and they bought pa before they left north carolina. they bought pa out of a nigger drove after he was grown. he raised tobacco and corn. pa helped farm and they raised hogs. he drove hogs to sell. he didn't say where they took the hogs, only they would have to stay up all night driving the hogs, and they rode horses and walked too and had shepherd dogs to keep them in a drove. "pa was a böwick (b(our)ick) but i never heard him say nothing bout master bowick, so i don't know his other name. he said they got in a tight [tr: missing word?] and had to sell some of the slaves and he being young would bring more than one of the older men. he was real black. ma was lighter but not very light. "mccaslin was a low heavy set man and he rented out hacks and horses in atlanta and pa drove, greased the harness and curried and sheared the horses. master mccaslin brought them in town and rented them out. he didn't have a livery stable. he just furnished conveyances. i heard him tell about a good hitching post where he could more than apt rent out his rig and how he always stopped and fed the horses when eating time come. he took a feed box all the time. master mccaslin would tell him to not drive too hard when he had to make long drives. he never would let him take a whoop. "he had some girls i heard him say. may and alice was their names. he didn't say much about the family. he took a basket of provision with him to eat miss may and miss alice fixed up. the basket was close wove and had a lid. the old man farmed. he drove too. he drove a hack. ma worked in the field. i heard her tell about the cockleburs. well, she said they would stick on your dress and stick your legs and you would have to pick them off and sometimes the beggar's-lice would be thick on their clothes and they would pick them off. "when they would clean out the fence corners (rail fence) they would leave every little wild plum tree and leave a whole lot of briers so they would have wild plums and berries. they raised cotton. sometime during the war old master mccaslin took all his slaves and stock way back in the bottoms. the cane was big as ma's wrist she said. they put up some cabins to live in and shelter the stock. pa said some of em went in the army. he didn't want to go. they worked a corn crop over in there. "they left soon as they was freed. i don't know how they found it out. they walked to way over in alabama and pa made terms with a man, to come to mississippi. then they come in a wagon and walked too. she had three little children. i was [hw: born] close to montgomery, alabama in september but i don't know how long it was after the war. i was the first girl. there was two more boys and three more girls after me. ma had children born in three states. "ma died with the typhoid fever. then two sisters and a brother died. pa had it all summer and he got well. miss (mrs.) betty chamlin took us children to a house and fed us away from ma and the sick girls and boy. we was on her place. she had two families then. we got water from a spring. it was a pretty spring under a big hill. we would wade where the spring run off. she moved us out of that house. "miss betty was a widow. she had several boys. they worked in the field all the time. we stayed till the boys left and she sold her place. she went back to her folks. i never did see her no more. we scattered out. pa lived about wid us till he died. i got three girls living. i got five children dead. i got one girl out here from town and one girl at meridian and my oldest girl in memphis. i takes it time around wid em. "i seen the ku klux but they never bothered us. i seen them in alabama, i recken it was. i was so small i jes' do remember seeing them. i was the onliest child born in alabama. pa made one crop. i don't know how they got along the rest of the time there. we started share cropping in mississippi. pa was always a good hand with stock. if they got sick they sent for him to tell them what to do. he never owned no land, no home neither. "i farmed all my life. i used to make a little money along during the year washing and ironing. i don't get no help. i live with the girls. my girl in memphis sends me a little change to buy my snuff and little things i have to have. she cooks for a lawyer now. she did take care of an lady. she died since i been here and she moved. i rather work in the field than do what she done when that old lady lived. she was like a baby to tend to. she had to stay in that house all the time. "the young folks don't learn manners now like they used to. times is better than i ever seen em. poor folks have a hard time any time. some folks got a lot and some ain't got nothing everywhere." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: claiborne moss marshall street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in washington county, georgia, on archie duggins' plantation, fifteen miles from sandersville, the county-seat, june , . "my mother's name was ellen moss. she was born in georgia too, in hancock county, near sparta, the county-seat. my father was fluellen moss. he, too, was born in hancock county. bill moss was his owner. jesse battle was my mother's owner before she married. my mother and father had ten children, none of them living now but me, so far as i know. i was the fifth in line. there were four older than i. the oldest was ten years older than i. "bill moss' and jesse battle's plantations ware not far apart. i never heard my father say how he first met my mother. i was only eight years old when he died. they were all right there in the same neighborhood, and they would go visiting. battle and moss and evans all had plantations in the same neighborhood and they would go from one place to the other. "when bill moss went to texas, he gave my mother and father to mrs. beck. mrs. beck was battle's daughter and mrs. beck bought my father from moss and that kept them together. he was that good. moss sold out and went to texas and all his slaves went walking while he went on the train. he had about a hundred of them. when he got there, he couldn't hear from them. he didn't know where they was--they was walking and he had got on the train--so he killed hisself. when they got there, just walking along, they found him dead. "moss' nephew, whaley, got two parts of all he had. another fellow--i can't call his name--got one part. his sister, they sent her back five--three of my uncles and two of my aunties. "where i was raised, duggins wasn't a mean man. his slaves didn't get out to work till after sunup. his brother, who lived three miles out from us, made his folks get up before sunup. but duggins didn't do that. he seemed to think something of his folks. every saturday, he'd give lard, flour, hog meat, syrup. that was all he had to give. that was extra. war was going on and he couldn't get nothing else. on wednesday night he'd give it to them again. of course, they would get corn-meal and other things from the kitchen. they didn't eat in the kitchen or any place together. everybody got what there was on the place and cooked it in his cabin. "before i was born, beck sold my mother and father to duggins. i don't know why he sold them. they had an auction block in the town, but out in the country they didn't have no block. if i had seen a nigger and wanted to buy him, i would just go up to the owner and do business with him. that was the way it was with beck and duggins. selling my mother and father was just a private transaction between them. rations "twice a week, flour, syrup, meat, and lard were given to the slaves. you got other food from the kitchen. meat, vegetables, milk,--all the milk you wanted--bread. a mean owner "beck, moss, battle, and duggins, they was all good people. but kenyon morps, now talk about a mean man, there was one. he lived on a hill a little off from the duggins plantation. his women never give birth to children in the house. he'd never let 'em quit work before the time. he wanted them to work--work right up to the last minute. children were all born in the field and in fence corners. then he had to let 'em stay in about a week. last i seen him, he didn't have nothin', and was ragged as a jay bird. houses "our house was a log house. it had a large room, and then it had another room as large as that one or larger built on to it. both of these rooms were for our use. my mother and father slept in the log cabin and the kids slept back in the other room. my sister stayed with joe duggins. her missis was a school-teacher, and she loved sister. my master gave my sister to joe duggins. mrs. duggins taught my sister, fannie, to read and spell but not to write. if there was a slave man that knowed how to write, they used to cut off his thumb so that he couldn't write. "there was some white people wouldn't have the darkies eating butter; our white people let us have butter, biscuits, and ham every day. they would put it up for me. "i had more sense than any kid on the plantation. i would do anything they wanted done no matter how hard it was. i walked five miles through the woods once on an errand. the old lady who i went to said: "'you walk way down here by yourself?' "i told her, 'yes'. "she said, 'well, you ain't going back by yo'self because you're too little,' and she sent her oldest son back with me. he was white. "my boss was sick once, and he wanted to get his mail. the post office was five miles away. he said to me: "'can't you get my mail if i let you ride on my horse?' "i said, 'yes sir.' i rode up to the platform on the horse. they run out and took me off the horse and filled up the saddle bags. then they put me back on and told me not to get off until i reached my master. when i got back, everybody was standing out watching for me. when my boss heard me coming, he jumped out the bed and ran out and took me off the horse and carried me and the sacks and all back into the house. soldiers "i saw all of wheeler's cavalry. sherman come through first. he came and stayed all night. thousands and thousands of soldiers passed through during the night. cooper cuck was with them. he was a fellow that used to peddle around in all that country before the war. he went all through the south and learned everything. then he joined up with the yankees. he come there. nobody seen him that night. he knowed everybody knowed him. he went and hid under something somewhere. he was under the hill at daybreak, but nobody seen him. when the last of the soldiers was going out in the morning, one fellow lagged behind and rounded a corner. then he galloped a little ways and motioned with his arms. cooper cuck come out from under the hill, and he and cooper cuck both came back and stole everything that they could lay their hands on--all the gold and silver that was in the house, and everything they could carry. "wheeler's cavalry was about three days behind sherman. they caught up with sherman, but it would have been better if they hadn't, 'cause he whipped 'em and drove 'em back and went right on. they didn't have much fighting in my country. they had a little scrimmage once--thirty-six men was all they was in it. one of the yankees got lost from his company. he come back and inquired the way to louisville. the old boss pointed the way with his left hand and while the fellow was looking that way, he drug him off his horse and cut his throat and took his gun off'n him and killed him. "sherman's men stayed one night and left. i mean, his officers stayed. we had to feed them. they didn't pay nothing for what they was fed. the other men cooked and ate their own grub. they took every horse and mule we had. i was sitting beside my old missis. she said: "'please don't let 'em take all our horses.' "the fellows she was talking to never looked around. he just said: 'every damn horse goes.' "the yankees took my uncle ben with them when they left. he didn't stay but a couple of days. they got in a fight. they give uncle ben five horses, five sacks of silverware, and five saddles. the goods was taken in the fight. uncle ben brought it back with him. the boss took all that silver away from him. uncle ben didn't know what to do with it. the yankees had taken all my master's and he took ben's. ben give it to him. he come back 'cause he wanted to. "when wheeler's cavalry came through they didn't take nothing--nothing but what they et. i heard a fellow say, 'have you got anything to eat?' "my mother said, 'i ain't got nothin' but some chitlins.' "he said, 'gimme some of those; i love chitlins.' "mother gave 'em to me to carry to him. i didn't get half way to him before the rest of the men grabbed me and took 'em away from me and et 'em up. the man that asked for them didn't get a one. slave money "the slaves would sometimes have five or six dollars. mostly, they would make charcoal and sell it to get money. patrollers "i seen patrollers. they come to our house. they didn't whip nobody. our folks didn't care nothin' about 'em. they come looking for keys and whiskey. they couldn't whip nobody on my master's plantation. when they would come there, he would be sitting up with 'em. he would sit there in his back door and look at 'em. wouldn't let 'em hit nobody. "them colored women had more fun that enough--laughing at them patrollers. fool 'em and then laugh at 'em. make out like they was trying to hide something and the patrollers would come running up, grab 'em and try to see what it was. and the women would laugh and show they had nothing. couldn't do nothin' about it. never whipped anybody 'round there. couldn't whip nobody on our place; couldn't whip nobody on jessie mills' place; couldn't whip nobody on stephen mills' place; couldn't whip nobody on betsy geesley's place; couldn't whip nobody on nancy mills' place; couldn't whip nobody on potter duggins' place. potter duggins was a cousin to my master. nobody run them peoples' plantations but theirselves. social life "when slaves wanted to, they would have dances. they would have dances from one plantation to the other. the master didn't object. they had fiddles, banjo and quills. they made the quills and blowed 'em to beat the band. good music. they would make the quills out of reeds. those reeds would sound just like a piano. they didn't have no piano. they didn't serve nothing. nothing to eat and nothing to drink except them that brought whiskey. the white folks made the whiskey, but the colored folks would get it. "we had church twice a month. the union church was three miles away from us. my father and i would go when they had a meeting. bethlehem church was five miles away. everybody on the plantation belonged to that church. both the colored and the white belonged and went there. they had the same pastor for bethlehem, union, and dairy ann. his name was tom adams. he was a white man. colored folks would go to dairy ann sometimes. they would go to union too. "sometimes they would have meetings from house to house, the colored folks. the colored folks had those house to house meetings any time they felt like it. the masters didn't care. they didn't care how much they prayed. "sometimes they had corn shuckings. that was where they did the serving, and that was where they had the big eatings. they'd lay out a big pile of corn. everybody would get down and throw the corn out as they shucked it. they would have a fellow there they would call the general. he would walk from one person to another and from one end of the pile to the other and holler and the boys would answer. his idea was to keep them working. if they didn't do something to keep them working, they wouldn't get that corn shucked that night. them people would be shucking corn! there would be a prize to the one who got the most done or who would be the first to get done. they would sing while they were shucking. they had one song they would sing when they were getting close to the finish. part of it went like this: 'red shirt, red shirt nigger got a red shirt.' after the shucking was over, they would have pies, beef, biscuits, corn bread, whiskey if you wanted it. i believe that was the most they had. they didn't have any ice-cream. they didn't use ice-cream much in those days. didn't have no ice down there in the country. not a bit of ice there. if they had anything they wanted to save, they would let it down in the well with a rope and keep it cool down there. they used to do that here until they stopped them from having the wells. "ring plays too. sometimes when they wanted to amuse themselves, they would play ring plays. they all take hands and form a ring and there would be one in the center of the ring. now he is got to get out. he would come up and say, 'i am in this lady's garden, and i'll bet you five dollars i can get out of here.' and d'reckly he would break somebody's hands apart and get out. how freedom came "the old boss called 'em up to the house and told 'em, 'you are free as i am.' that was one day in june. i went on in the house and got something to eat. my mother and father, he hired them to stay and look after the crop. next year, my mother and father went to ben hook's place and farmed on shares. but my father died there about may. then it wasn't nobody working but me and my sister and mother. what the slaves got "the slaves never got nothing. alexander stephens, the vice-president of the confederacy, divided his plantation up and gave it to his darkies when he died. i knew him and his brother too. alexander[hw: *] never did walk. he was deformed. big headed rascal, but he had sense! his brother was named leonard[hw: *]. he was a lawyer. he really killed himself. he was one of these die-hard southerners. he did something and they arrested him. it made him so mad. he'd bought him a horse. he got on that horse and fell off and broke his neck. that was right after the war. they kept garrisons in all the counties right after the war. "i was in hancock county when i knew vice-president stephens. i don't know where he was born but he had a plantation in toliver [hw: taliaferro] county. most of the stephenses was lawyers. he was a lawyer too, and he would come to sparta. that is where i was living then. there was more politics and political doings in sparta than there was in crawfordville where he lived. he lived between montgomery and richmond during the war, for the capital of the confederacy was at montgomery one time and richmond another. "after the war, the republicans nominated alexander stephens for governor. the democrats knew they couldn't beat him, so they turned 'round and nominated him too. he had a lot of sense. he said, 'what we lost on the battle-field, we will get it back at the ballot box.' seeb reese, united states senator from hancock county, said, 'if you let the nigger have four or five dollars in his pocket he never will steal.' life since freedom "after my father died, my mother stayed where she was till christmas. then she moved back to the place she came from. we went to farming. my brother and my uncle went and farmed up in hancock county; so the next year we moved up there. we stayed there and farmed for a long while. my mother married three years afterwards. we still farmed. after awhile, i got to be sixteen years old and i wouldn't work with my stepfather, i told my mother to hire me out; if she didn't i would be gone. she hired me out all right. but the old man used all my money. the next year i made it plain to her that i wanted her to hire me out again but that nobody was to use a dollar of my money. my mother could get as much of it as she wanted but he couldn't. the first year i bought a buggy for them. the old man didn't want me to use it at all. i said, 'well then, he can't use my money no more.' but i didn't stop helping him and giving him things. i would buy beef and give it to my mother. i knew they would all eat it. he asked me for some wheat. i wouldn't steal it like he wanted me to but i asked the man i was working for for it. he said, 'take just as much as you want.' so i let him come up and get it. he would carry it to the mill. ku klux klan "the ku klux got after uncle will once. he was a brave man. he had a little mare that was a race horse. will rode right through the bunch before they ever realized that it was him. he got on the other side of them. she was gone! they kept on after him. they went down to his house one night. he wouldn't run for nothing. he shot two of them and they went away. then he was out of ammunition. people urged him to leave, for they knew he didn't have no more bullets; but he wouldn't and they came back and killed him. "they came down to hancock county one night and the boys hid on both sides of the bridge. when they got in the middle of the bridge, the boys commenced to fire on them from both sides, and they jumped into the river. the darkies went on home when they got through shooting at them; but there wasn't no more ku klux in hancock county. the better thinking white folks got together and stopped it. "the ku klux kept the niggers scared. they cowed them down so that they wouldn't go to the polls. i stood there one night when they were counting ballots. i belonged to the county central committee. i went in and stood and looked. our ballot was long; theirs was short. i stood and seen clait turner calling their names from our ballots. i went out and got rube turner and then we both went back. they couldn't call the votes that they had put down they had. rube saw it. "then they said, 'are you going to test this?' "rube said, 'yes.' but he didn't because it would have cost too much money. rube was chairman of the committee. "the ku klux did a whole lot to keep the niggers away from the polls in washington and baldwin counties. they killed a many a nigger down there. "they hanged a ku klux for killing his wife and he said he didn't mind being hung but he didn't want a damn nigger to see him die. "but they couldn't keep the niggers in hancock county away from the polls. there was too many of them. work in little rock "i came to little rock, november , . i came here with surveyors. they wanted to send me to miami but i wouldn't go. then i went to the mortar box and made mortar. then i went to the school board. after that i ain't had no job. i was too old. i get a little help from the government. opinions of the present "i think that the young folks ought to make great men and women. but i don't see that they are making that stride. most of them is dropping below the mark. i think we ought to have some powerful men and women but what i see they don't stand up like they should. own family "i have three daughters, no sons. these three daughters have twelve grandchildren." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: frozie moss (dark mulatto), brinkley, arkansas age: "when my grandma whut raised me got free she and grandpa come to memphis and didn't stay there long till they went to crittenden county on a man's farm. my grandma was born in alabama and my grandpa in virginia. i know he wasn't in the nat turner rebellion, for my mother had nine children and all but me at holly grove, mississippi. i was born up in crittenden county. she died. i remember very little about my father. i jes' remember father a little. he died too. my grand parents lived at holly grove all during the war. they used to talk about how they did. she said hardest time she ever lived through was at memphis. nothing to do, nothing to eat and no places to stay. i don't know why they left and come on to memphis. she said her master's name was pig'ge. he wasn't married. he and his sisters lived together. my grandmother was a slave thirty years. she was a field hand. she said she would be right back in the field when her baby was two weeks old. they didn't wont the slaves to die, they cost too much money, but they give them mighty hard work to do sometimes. grandma and grandpa was heap stronger i am at my age. they didn't know how old they was. her master told her how long he had her when they left him and his father owned her before he died. i think they had a heap easier time after they come to arkansas from what she said. i can't answer yo questions because i'm just tellin' you what i remembers and i was little when they used to talk so much. "if the young generation would save anything for the time when they can't work i think they would be all right. i don't hear about them saving. they buys too much. that their only trouble. they don't know how to see ahead. "i owns this house is all. i been sick a whole heap, spent a lot on my medicines and doctor bill. i worked on the farm till after i come to brinkley. we bought this place here and i cooks. i cooked for miss molly brinkkell, mr. adams and mrs. fowler. i washes and irons some when i can get it. washing and ironing 'bout gone out of fashion now. i don't get no moneys. i get commodities from the sociable welfare. my son works and they don't give me no money." interviewer: thomas elmore lucy person interviewed: mose moss, russellville, arkansas age: "mose moss is my name, suh, and i was born in in yell county. my father was born in old virginny in and died in yell county, arkansas, eight miles from dardanelle, in . yes suh, i've lived in pope county a good many years. i recollects some things pretty well and some not so good. "yes suh, my father used to talk a heap about the ku klux klan, and a lot of the negroes were afraid of em and would run when they heard they was comin' around. "my father's name was henry moss. he run away from the plantation in virginia before the war had been goin' on very long, and he j'ined the army in tennessee--yes suh, the confedrit army. ho suh, his name was never found on the records, so didn't never draw no pension. "after he was freed he always voted the republican ticket till he died. "after the war he served as justice of the peace in his township in yell county. yes suh, that was the time they called the re-con-struc-tion. "i vote the republican ticket, but sometimes i don't vote at the reg'lar elections. no, i've never had any trouble with my votin'. "i works at first one thing and another but ain't doin' much now. work is hard to get. used to work mostly at the mines. not able to do much of late years. "oh, yes, i remember some of the old songs they used to sing when my parents was living: 'old-time religion' was one of em, and 'swing low, sweet chariot' was another one we liked to sing." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: s.o. mullins, clarendon, arkansas janitor for masonic hall he wears a masonic ring age: "my master was b.f. wallace--benjamin franklin wallace and katie wallace. they had no children to my recollection. "i was born at brittville, alabama. my parents' names was george w. mullins and millie. they had, to my recollection, one girl and three boys. mr. wallace moved to arkansas before the civil war. they moved to phillips county. my mother and father both farm hands and when my grandmother was no longer able to do the cookin' my mother took her place. i was rally too little to recollect but they always praised wallace. they said he never whipped one of his slaves in his life. his slaves was about free before freedom was declared. they said he was a good man. well when freedom was declared all the white folks knowed it first. he come down to the cabins and told us. he said you can stay and finish the crops. i will feed and clothe you and give you men $ and you women $ apiece christmas. that was more money then than it is now. we all stayed on and worked on shares the next year. we stayed around poplar grove till he died. when i was nineteen i got a job, porter on the railroad. i brought my mother to clarendon to live with me. i was in the railroad service at least fifteen years. i was on the passenger train. then i went to a sawmill here and then i farmed, i been doing every little thing i find to do since i been old. all i owns is a little house and six lots in the new addition. i live with my wife. she is my second wife. cause i am old they wouldn't let me work on the levy. if i been young i could have got work. my age knocks me out of 'bout all the jobs. some of it i could do. i sure don't get no old age pension. i gets $ every two months janitor of the masonic hall. "i have a garden. no place for hog nor cow. "my boys in chicago. they need 'bout all they can get. they don't help. "the present conditions seem good. they can get cotton to pick and two sawmills run in the winter ( men each) where folks can get work if they hire them. the stay (stave) mill is shut down and so is the button factory. that cuts out a lot of work here. the present generation is beyond me. seems like they are gone hog wild." interviewer's note the next afternoon he met me and told me the following story:---- "one night the servants quarters was overflowin' wid yankee soldiers. i was scared nearly to death. my mother left me and my little brother cause she didn't wanter sleep in the house where the soldiers was. we slept on the floor and they used our beds. they left next mornin'. they camped in our yard under the trees. next morning they was ridin' out when old mistress saw 'em. she said they'd get it pretty soon. when they crossed the creek--big creek--half mile from our cabins i heard the guns turn in on 'em. the neighbors all fell out wid my master. they say he orter go fight too. he was sick all time. course he wasn't sick. they come and took off mules and all the chickens and he never got up. they took two fine carriage horses weighed , pounds apiece i speck. one named lee and one stone wall. he never went out there. he claimed he was sick all time. one of the carriage horses was a fine big white horse and had a bay match. folks didn't like him--said he was a coward. when i went over cross the creek after the fightin' was over, men just lay like dis[a] piled on top each other." [a: [illustration] he used his fingers to show me how the soldiers were crossed.] interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: alex murdock, edmondson, arkansas age: "my owner or least my folks was owned by dr. [hw: 'murder'] (murdock). he had a big farm. he was a widower. he had no children as ever i knowed of. dr. 'murder' raised my father's mother. he bought her at tupelo, mississippi. he raised mother too. she was bright color. i'm sure they stayed on after freedom 'cause i stayed there till we come to arkansas. father was a teamster. he followed that till he died. he owned a dray and died at brinkley. he was well-known and honorable. "i worked in the oil mill at brinkley-american oil company. "mother was learned durin' slavery but i couldn't say who done it. she taught school 'round buena vista and okolona, mississippi. she learned me. i was born --november , . i heard her say she worked in the field one year. they give her some land and ploughed it so she could have a patch. it was all she could work. i don't know how much. it was her patch. our depot was prairie station, mississippi. my parents was monroe [hw: 'murder'] murdock[tr: lined out] and lucy ann murdock[tr: lined out] [hw: murder]. it is spelled m-u-r-d-o-c-k. "i farmed all my whole life. oil milling was the surest, quickest living but i likes farmin' all right. "i never contacted the ku kluxes. they was 'bout gone when i come on. "i voted off an' on. this is the white folks' country and they going to run their gov'mint. the thing balls us up is, some tells us one way and some more tells us a different way to do. and we don't know the best way. that balls us up. times is better than ever i seen them, for the man that wants to work. "i get $ a month. i work all i can." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: bessie myers, brassfield, arkansas age: ? didn't know "my mother was named jennie bell. she was born in north ca'lina (carolina). she worked about the house. she said there was others at the house working all the time with her. "she said they daresn't to cross the fence on other folks' land or go off up the road 'lessen you had a writing to show. one woman could write. she got a pass and this woman made some more. she said couldn't find nothing to make passes on. it happened they never got caught up. that woman didn't live very close by. she talked like she was free but was one time a slave her own self. "mother said she would run hide every time the yankee men come. she said she felt safer in the dark. they took so many young women to wait on them and mother was afraid every time they would take her. "she said she had been at the end of a corn row at daylight ready to start chopping it over, or pull fodder, or pull ears either. she said they thought to lie in bed late made you weak. said the early fresh air what made children strong. "on wash days they all met at a lake and washed. they had good times then. they put the clothes about on the bushes and briers and rail fences. some one or two had to stay about to keep the clothes from a stray hog or goat till they dried. and they would forage about in the woods. it was cool and pleasant. they had to gather up the clothes in hamper baskets and bring them up to iron. mother said they didn't mind work much. they got used to it. "mother told about men carried money in sacks. when they bought a slave, they open up a sack and pull out gold and silver. "the way she talked she didn't mind slavery much. papa lived till a few years ago but he never would talk about slavery at all. his name was willis bell." interviewer: miss sallie c. miller person interviewed: mary myhand, clarksville, arkansas age: "my mammie died when i was a little girl she had three children and our white folks took us in their house and raised us. two of us had fever and would have died if they hadn't got us a good doctor. the doctor they had first was a quack and we were getting worse until they called the other doctor, then we commence to get well. i don't know how old i am. our birthdays was down in the mistress' bible and when the old war come up, the house was burned and lost everything but i know i am at least or years old. our white folks was so good to us. they never whipped us, and we eat what they eat and when they eat. i was born in white county, tennessee and moved to missouri but the folks did not like it there so we come to benton county, arkansas. one side of the road was benton county and the other side was washington county but we always had to go to bentonville, the county seat, to tend to business. i was a little tod of a girl when the war come up. one day word come that the 'feds' were coming through and kill all of the old men and take all the boys with them, so master took my brother and a grandson of his and started south. i was so scared. i followed them about a half mile before they found me and i begged so hard they took me with them. we went to texas and was there about one year when the feds gave the women on our place orders to leave their home. said they owned it now. they had just got to texas where we was when the south surrendered and we all come back home. "we stayed with our white folks for about twenty years after the war. they shore was good to me. i worked for them in the house but never worked in the field. i came across the mountain to clarksville with a methodist preacher and his family and married here. my husband worked in a livery stable until he died, then i worked for the white folks until i fell and hurt my knee and got too old. i draws my old age pension. "i do not know about the young generation. i am old and crippled and don't go out none." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: griffin myrax missouri street, pine bluff, arkansas age ? "i don't know my age exactly. you know in them days people didn't take care of their ages like they do now. i couldn't give you any trace of the war, but i do remember when the ku klux was runnin' around. "oh lord, so much of the time i heard my mother talk about the slavery. i was born in oklahoma and my grandfather was a full-blooded crete indian. he was very much of a man and lived to be one hundred thirty years old. all crete indians named after some herb--that's what the name myrax means. "i heard my mother say that in slavery times the man worked all day with weights on their feet so when night come they take them off and their feet feel so light they could outran the ku klux. now i heard her tell that. "my parents moved from oklahoma to texas and i went to school in marshall, texas. all my schoolin' was in texas--my people was tied up there. my last schoolin' was in buchanan, texas. the professor told my mother she would have to take me out of school for awhile, i studied too hard. i treasured my books. when other children was out playin' i was studyin'. "there was some folks in that country that didn't get along so well. i remember there was a blind woman that the folks sent something to eat by another colored woman. but she eat it up and cooked a toadfrog for the old blind woman. that didn't occur on our place but in the neighborhood. when the people found it out they whipped her sufficient. "when my grandfather died he didn't have a decayed tooth in his head. they was worn off like a horse's teeth but he had all of them. "i always followed sawmill work and after i left that i followed railroading. i liked railroading. i more or less kept that in my view. "about this slavery--i couldn't hardly pass my sentiments on it. the world is so far gone, it would be the hardest thing to put the bridle on some of the people that's runnin' wild now." name of interviewer: irene robertson subject: ex-slaves--dreams--herbs: cures and remedies story:-- this information given by: tom wylie neal place of residence: hazen, arkansas--near green grove occupation: farmer--feeds cattle in the winter for a man in hazen. age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] his father and mother belonged to tom neal at calhoun, georgia. he remembers the big battle at atlanta ga. he was eight years old. he saw the lights, [saw the bullets in the air at night] and heard the boom, boom of guns and cannons. they passed along with loaded wagons and in uniforms. the horses were beautiful, and he saw lots of fine saddles and bridles. his mistress' name was mrs. tom neal. she had the property and married tom neal. she had been married before and her first husband died but her first husband's name can't be recalled. she had two children--girls--by her first husband. her second husband just married her to protect them all he could. he didn't do anything unless the old mistress told him to do it and how to do it. wylie neal was raised up with the old mistress' children. he was born a slave and lived to thirteen years. "the family had some better to eat and lots more to wear, but they gave me plenty and never did mistreat me. they had a peafowl. that was good luck, to keep some of them about on the place." they had guineas, chickens and turkeys. they never had a farm bell. he never saw one till he came to arkansas. they blew a big "conch shell" instead. mistress had cows and she would pour milk or pot-liquor out in a big pewter bowl on a stump and the children would come up there from the cabins and eat [till the field hands had time to cook a meal.][hw:?] wylie's mother was a field hand. they drank out of tin cans and gourds. the master mated his hands. some times he would ask his young man or woman if they knew anybody they would like to marry that he was going to buy more help and if they knew anybody he would buy them if he could. the way they met folks they would get asked to corn shuckings and log rollings and mrs. neal always took some of her colored people to church to attend to the stock, tie the horses and hitch up, maybe feed and to nurse her little girls at church. the colored folks sat on the back seats over in a corner together. if they didn't behave or talked out they got a whipping or didn't go no more. "they kept the colored people scared to be bad." the colored folks believed in hoodoo and witches. heard them talking lots about witches. they said if they found anybody was a witch they would kill them. witches took on other forms and went out to do meaness. they said sometimes some of them got through latch holes. they used buttons and door knobs whittled out of wood, and door latches with strings. people married early in "them days"--when mistress' oldest girl married she gave her sumanthy, wylie's oldest sister when they come home [they would let her come.] they sent their children to school some but the colored folks didn't go because it was "pay school." every year they had "pertracted meeting." looked like a thousand people come and stayed two or three weeks along in august, in tents. "we had a big time then and some times we'd see a colored girl we'd ask the master to buy. they'd preach to the colored folks some days. tell them the law. how to behave and serve the lord." when wylie was twelve years old the "yanks" came and tore up the farm. "it was just like these cyclones that is [tr: illegible word] around here in arkansas, exactly like that." his mistress left and he never saw her again. general [hw: john bell] hood was the [tr: illegible word] he thinks, but he was given to captain condennens to wait on him. they went to marietta, ga., and kingston, ga. "rumors came about that we were free and everybody was drifting around. the u.s. government gave us food then like they do now and we hunted work. everybody nearly froze and starved. we wore old uniforms and slept anywhere we could find, an old house or piece of a house. in - --the ku klux was miserable on the colored folks. lots of folks died out of consumption in the spring and pneumonia all winter. "there wasn't any doctors seeing after colored folks for they had no money and they used herbs--only medicine they could get." only herbs he remembers he used is: chew black snake roots to settle sick stomach. flux weed tea for disordered stomach. people eat so much "messed up food" lot of them got sick. wylie neal wandered about and finally came to chattanooga. they got old uniforms and victuals from the "yanks" about a year. colonel stocker come and got up a lot of hands and paid their way to memphis on the train. from there they were put on the _molly hamilton_ boat and went to linden, arkansas, on the st. francis river. "he fared fine" there. in [tr: ?] he came to hazen and since then he has owned small farms at biscoe and forty acres near hazen. it was joining the old joe perry place. dr. ---- got a mortgage on it and took it. wylie neal lives with his niece and she is old too so they get relief and a pension. "he don't believe in dreams but some dreams like when you dream of the dead there's sho' goner be falling weather." he "don't dream much" he says. he has a birthmark on his leg. it looks like a bunch of berries. he never heard what caused it. it has always been there. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: sally nealy mulberry street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes mam, i was a slave! i was sixteen years old when the war begun. i was born in texas. "my old master was john hall and my young master was marse dick. marse john went to war the th day of may in and he was killed in june. they wasn't nothin' left to bring home but his right leg and his left arm. they knowed it was him cause his name was tattooed on his leg. "he was a mean rascal. he brought us up from the plantation and pat us on the head and give us a little whisky and say 'your name is sally or mary or mose' just like we was dogs. "my old mistress, miss caroline, was a mean one too. she was the mother of eight children--five girls and three boys. when she combed her hair down low on her neck she was all right but when she come down with it done up on the top of her head--look out. "it was my job to scrub the big cedar churns with brick dust and irish potato and polish the knives and forks the same way. then every other day i had to mold twelve dozen candles and sweep the yard with a dogwood bresh broom. "she didn't give us no biscuits or sugar 'cept on christmas. jest shorts and molasses for our coffee. when the yankee soldiers come through old mistress run and hide in the cellar but the yankees went down in the collar too and took all the hams and honey and brandied peaches she had. "they didn't have no doctors for the niggers then. old mistress just give us some blue mass and castor oil and they didn't give you nothin' to take the taste out your mouth either. "oh lord, i know 'bout them ku klux. they wore false faces and went around whippin' people. "after the surrender i went to stay with miss fulton. she was good to me and i stayed with her eleven years. she wanted to know how old i was so my father went to miss caroline and she say i 'bout twenty now. "some white folks was good to their slaves. i know one man, alec yates, when he killed hogs he give the niggers five of 'em. course he took the best but that was all right. "after freedom the yankees come and took the colored folks away to the marshal's yard and kept them till they got jobs for 'em. they went to the white folks houses and took things to feed the niggers. "i ain't been married but once. i thought i was in love but i wasn't. love is a itchin' 'round the heart you can't get at to scratch. "i 'member one song they sung durin' the war 'the yankees are comin' through by fall sez i we'll all drink stone blind johnny fill up the bowl.'" folklore subjects name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: songs of civil war days story:--information this information given by: sally neeley place of residence: n. mulberry, pine bluff, arkansas occupation: none age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] [tr: same as previous informant (sally nealy).] ( ) "in eighteen hundred and sixty-one football (?) sez i; in eighteen hundred and sixty-one that's the year the war begun we'll all drink stone blind, johnny, come fill up the bowl. ( ) "in eighteen hundred and sixty-two football (?) sez i; in eighteen hundred and sixty-two that's the year we put 'em through we'll all drink stone blind, johnny, come fill up the bowl. ( ) "in eighteen hundred and sixty-three football (?) sez i; in eighteen hundred and sixty-three that's the year we didn't agree we'll all drink stone blind. johnny, come fill up the bowl. ( ) "in eighteen hundred and sixty-four football (?) sez i; in eighteen hundred and sixty-four we'll all go home and fight no more we'll all drink stone blind. johnny, come fill up the bowl. ( ) "in eighteen hundred and sixty-five football (?) sez i; in eighteen hundred and sixty-five we'll have the rebels dead or alive we'll all drink stone blind, johnny, come fill up the bowl. ( ) "in eighteen hundred and sixty-six football (?) sez i; in eighteen hundred and sixty-six we'll have the rebels in a helava fix we'll all drink stone blind, johnny, come fill up the bowl. ( ) "in eighteen hundred and sixty-seven football (?) sez i; in eighteen hundred and sixty-seven we'll have the rebels dead and at the devil we'll all drink stone blind. johnny, came fill up the bowl." interviewer's comment the word "football" doesn't sound right in this song, but i was unable to find it in print, and sally seemed to think it was the right word. sally is a very wicked old woman and swears like a sailor, but she has a remarkable memory. she was "bred and born" in rusk county, texas and says she came to pine bluff when it was "just a little pig." says she was sixteen when the civil war began. i have previously reported an interview with her. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: wylie nealy [hw: biscoe arkansas?] age: i was born in . i am years old. i was born in gordon county. the closest town was calhoun, south carolina. my sister died in ' . that's the first dead, person i ever saw. one of my sisters was give away and another one was sold before the civil war started. sister mariah was give to the young mistress, miss ella conley. i didn't see her sold. i never seed nobody sold but i heard 'em talking about it. i had five sisters and one brother. my father was a free man always. he was a choctaw indian. mother was part cherokee indian. my mother's mistress was mrs. martha christian. he died and she married tom nealy, the one they call me fur, wylie nealy. liberty and freedom was all i ever heard any colored folks say dey expected to get out of de war, and mighty proud of dot. nobody knowed they was goin to have a war till it was done broke out and they was fightin about it. didn't nobody want land, they jess wanted freedom. i remembers when lincoln was made the president both times and when he was killed. i recollects all that like yesterday. the army had been through and swept out everything. there wasn't a chicken or hog nowhere to be had, took the stock and cattle and all the provisions. so de slaves jess had to scatter out and leave right now. and after de army come through. i was goin back down to the old place and some soldiers passed riding along and one said "boy where you goin? said nothing up there." i says, "i knows it." then he say "come on here, walk along back there" and i followed him. i was twelve years old. he was captain mcclendenny. then when i got to the camp wid him he say "you help around here." i got sick and they let me go back home then to resacca, georgia and my mother died. when i went back they sent me to chattanooga with captain story. i was in a colored regiment nine months, i saw my father several times while i was at chattanooga. we was in shermans army till it went past atlanta. they burned up the city. two of my masters come out of the war alive and two dead. i was mustered out in august . i stayed in camp till my sisters found a cabin to move in. everybody got rations issued out. it was a hard time. i got hungry lots times. no plantations was divided and the masters didn't have no more than the slaves had when the war was done. after the yankees come in and ripped them up old missus left and mr. tom nealy was a home guard. he had a class of old men. never went back or seen any more of them. everybody left and a heap of the colored folks went where rations could be issued to them and some followed on in the armies. after i was mustered out i stayed around the camps and went to my sister's cabin till we left there. made anything we could pick up. men come in there getting people to go work for them. some folks went to chicago. a heap of the slaves went to the northern cities. colonel stocker, a officer in the yankee army, got us to come to a farm in arkansas. we wanted to stay together is why we all went on the farm. may , when we come to arkansas is the first farmin i had seen done since i left tom nealy's place. colonel stocker is mighty well known in st. francis county. he brought lots of families, brought me and my brother, my two brothers and a nephew. we come on the train. it took four or five days. when we got to memphis we come to linden on a boat "molly hamilton" they called it. i heard it was sunk at madison long time after that. colonel stocker promised to pay $ a month and feed us. when christmas come he said all i was due was $ . . we made a good crop. that wasn't it. been there since may. had to stay till got all the train and boat fare paid. there wasn't no difference in that and slavery 'cept they couldn't sell us. i heard a heap about the ku klux but i nebber seed them. everybody was scared of them. the first votin i ever heard of was in grant's election. both black and white voted. i voted republican for grant. lot of the southern soldiers was franchised and couldn't vote. just the private soldiers could vote at tall. i don't know why it was. i was a slave for thirteen years from birth. every slave could vote after freedom. some colored folks held office. i knew several magistrates and sheriffs. there was one at helena (arkansas) and one at marianna. he was a high sheriff. i voted some after that but i never voted in the last presidento election. i heard 'em say it wasn't no use, this man would be elected anyhow. i sorter quit off long time ago. in and i worked for halves and made nough to buy a farm in st. francis county. it cost $ . i bought it in . eighty acres to be cleared down in the bottoms. my family helped and when my help got shallow, the children leaving me, i sold it for $ , , in . i was married jess once and had eight children; five livin and three dead. me and the old woman went to oklahoma. we went in january and come back to biscoe (arkansas) in september. it wasn't no place for farming. i bought acres from mr. aydelott and paid him $ . i sold it and come to mr. joe perry's place, paid $ for acres of timber land. we cleared it and i got way in debt and lost it. clear lost it! ize been working anywhere i could make a little since then. my wife died and i been doing little jobs and stays about with my children. the welfare gives me a little check and some supplies now and then. no maam, i can't read much. i was not learnt. i could figure a little before my eyes got bad. the white folks did send their children to pay schools but we colored children had to stay around the house and about in the field to work. i never got no schoolin. i went with old missus to camp meeting down in georgia one time and got to go to white church sometimes. at the camp meeting there was a big tent and all around it there was brush harbors and tents where people stayed to attend the meetins. they had four meetins a day. lots of folk got converted and shouted. they had a lot of singings they had a lots to eat and a big time. i don't think much about these young folks now. it seems lack everybody is having a hard time to live among us colored folks. some white folks has got a heap and fine cars to get about in. i don't know what go in to become of 'em. people did sing more than i hear them now but i never could sing. they sing a lot of foolish songs and mostly religious songs. i don't recollect of any slave uprising. i never heard of any. we didn't know they was going to have a war till they was fighting. yes maam, they heard lincoln was going to set 'em free, but they didn't know how he was going to do it. everybody wanted freedom. mr. hammond (white) ask me not long ago if i didn't think it best to bring us from africa and be slaves than like wild animals in africa. he said we was taught about god and the gospel over here if we was slaves. i told him i thought dot freedom was de best anywhere. we had a pretty hard time before freedom. my mother was a field woman. when they didn't need her to work they hired her out and they got the pay. the master mated the colored people. i got fed from the white folks table whenever i curried the horses. i was sorter raised up with mr. nealy's children. they didn't mistreat me. on saturday the mistress would blow a cone shell and they knowed to go and get the rations. we got plenty to eat. they had chickens and ducks and geese and plenty milk. they did have hogs. they had seven or eight guineas and a lot of peafowls. i never heard a farm bell till i come to arkansas. the children et from pewter bowls or earthen ware. sometimes they et greens or milk from the same bowl, all jess dip in. the yankees took me to general hood's army and i was captain mccondennen's helper at the camps.[hw: ?] we went down through marietta and atlanta and through kingston. shells come over where we lived. i saw 'em fight all the time. saw the light and heard the roaring of de guns miles away. it looked like a storm where the army went along. they tramped the wheat and oats and cotton down and turned the horses in on the corn. the slaves show did hate to see the yankees waste everything. they promised a lot and wasn't as good as the old masters. all dey wanted was to be waited on too. the colored folks was freed when the yankees took all the stock and cattle and rations. everybody had to leave and let the government issue them rations. everybody was proud to be free. they shouted and sung. they all did pretty well till the war was about to end then they was told to scatter and no whars to go. cabins all tore down or burned. no work to do. there was no money to pay. i wore old uniforms pretty well till i come to arkansas. i been here in hazen since . i come on a boat from memphis to linden. colonel stocker brought a lot of us on the train. the name of the boat was molly hamilton. it was a big boat and we about filled it. i show was glad to get back on a farm. i don't know what is goin to become of the young folks. everything is so different now and when i was growin up i don't know what will become of the younger generation. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: emaline neland, marianna, arkansas age: born "i was born two years before the war. i was born in murray county, tennessee. it was middle tennessee. when i come to remembrance i was in grant county, arkansas. when i remember they raised wheat and corn and tobacco. mother's master was dr. harrison. his son was married and me and my brother anderson was give to him. he come to arkansas 'fore ever i could remember. he was a farmer but i never seen him hit a lick of work in my life. he was good to me and my brother. she was good too. i was the nurse. they had two children. brother was a house boy. me and her girl was about the same size but i was the oldest. being with the other children i called her mother too. i didn't know no other mother till freedom. "freedom! well, here is the very way it all was: old master told her (mother) she was free. he say, 'go get your children, you free as i is now.' ain't i heard her say it many a time? well, mother come in a ox wagon what belong to him and got us. they run me down, caught me and got me in the wagon. they drove twenty-five miles. old dr. harrison had moved to arkansas. being with the other children i soon learnt to call her ma. she had in all ten or eleven children. she was real dark. "pa was a slave too. he was a low man. he was a real bright man. he was brighter than i is. he belong to a widow woman named tedford. he renamed his self after freedom. he took the name brown 'stead of tedford. i never heard him say why he wasn't satisfied with his own name. he was a soldier. he worked for the yankees. "after the war pa and ma got back together and lived together till she died. there was five days' difference in their deaths. they died of pneumonia. he was years old and she was years old. i was at home when pa come from the war. all my sisters was light, one sister had sandy hair like pa. she was real light. ma was a good all 'round woman. she cooked more than anything else. she nursed. dr. harrison told her to stay till her husband come back or all the time if he didn't ever come back. ma never worked in the field. when pa come he moved us on a place to share crop. ma never worked in the field. he was buying a home in grant county. he started to mississippi and stopped close to helena and ten or twelve miles from marianna. he had a soldier friend wouldn't let him go. he told him this was a better country. he decided to stay down in here. "i heard a whole heap about the ku klux. one time when a crowd was going to church, we heard horse's feet coming; sound like they would run over us. we all got clear out of reach so they wouldn't run over us. they had on funny caps was all i could see, they went so fast. we give them the clear road and they went on. that is all i ever seen of the ku klux. "i seen dr. harrison's wife. she was a little old lady but we left after i went there. "i used to sew for the public. yes, white and colored folks. i learnt my own self to sew. i never had but one boy in my life. he died at seven weeks old. i raised a stepson. i married twice. i married at home both times. just a quiet marriage and a colored preacher married me both times. "the present conditions is hard. i want things and can't get 'em. if i had the strength to hold out to work i could get along. "the present generation--young white and black--blinds me. they turns corners too fast. they going so fast they don't have time to take advice. they promise to do better but they don't. they do like they want to do and don't tell nobody till they done it. i say they just running way with their selves. "i get $ and a little help along. i'm thankful for it. it is a blessing i tell you." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: henry nelson e. fifth street, little rock, arkansas age: about "my name is henry nelson. i was born in arkansas--crittenden county near memphis, tennessee. i was born not far from memphis but on this side. "my mother's name was adeline taylor. that was her old slavery folks' name. she was a taylor before she married my father--nelson. my father's first name was green. i don't remember none of my grandparents. my father's mother died before i come to remember and i know my mother's mother died before i could remember. "my father was born in mississippi--sardis, mississippi--and my mother was a tennesseean--_cartersville_[hw:?] tennessee, twenty-five miles above memphis. [hw: carter, in carter county, about m. north of memphis, but no cartersville.] [tr: moved from bottom of following page.] "after peace was declared, they met in tennessee. that was where my mother was born, you know. they fell in love with one another in shelby county, and married there. my mother had been married once before during slavery time. she had been made to marry by her master. her first husband was named eli. he was my oldest sister's father. him and my mother had the same master and missis. she was made to marry him. she was only thirteen years old when she married him. she was fine and stout and her husband was fine and stout, and they wanted more from that stock. i don't know how old he was but he was a lot older than she was. he was a kind of an elderly man. she had just one child by him--my oldest sister, georgia. she was only married a short time before freedom came. "my father farmed. he was always a farmer--raised cotton and corn. my mother was a farmer too. both of them--that is both of her husbands--were farmers. "my mother and father used to go off to places to dance and the pateroles would get after them. you had to have a pass to go off your place and if you didn't have a pass, they would make you warm. some of them would get caught sometimes and the pateroles would whip them. they would sure got whipped if they didn't have a pass. "the old master come out and told them they were free when peace was declared. he said, 'you are free this morning--free as i am.' "right after the war, my mother come further down in tennessee, and that is how she met my father where she was when she was married. they went farming. they farmed on shares--sharecropped. they were on a big place called ensley place. the man that owned the place was called nuck ensley. "my mother and father didn't have no schooling. i never heard that they were bothered by the ku klux. "she didn't live with her first husband after slavery. she left him when she was freed. she never did intend to marry him. she was forced to that." interviewer's comment nelson evidently rents rooms. a yellow sallow-faced, cadaverous, and dissatisfied looking "gentleman" went into the house eyeing me suspiciously as he passed. in a moment he was out again interrupting the old man with pointless remarks. in--out again--standing over me--peering on my paper in the offensive way that ill-bred people have. he straightened up with a disgusted look on his face. he couldn't read shorthand. "what's that you're writin'?" "shorthand." "what's that about?" "history." "history uv whut?" "slavery." "he don't know nothin' about slavery." "thank you. however, if he says he does, i'll just continue to listen to him if you don't mind." "humph," and the "yellow gentleman" passed in. out again--eyeing both the old man and me with disgust that was unconcealed. to him, "you don't know whutchu're doin'." deep silence by all. exit the yellow brother. to the old man, i said, "is that your son?" "lawd, no, that's jus' a roomer." out came the yellow brother again. "see here, uncle, if you want me to fix that fence you'd bettuh come awn out heah now. it's gettin' dark." i closed my notebook and arose. "don't let me interfere with your program, brother nelson." the old man settled back in his chair. his eyes inspected the sky, his jaw "sorta" set. the yellow brother looked at him a minute and passed on. five minutes later. enter, the madam. she also was of the yellow variety with the suspicious and spiteful look of an undersized black belgian police dog. a moment of silence--a word to him. "you don't know whutchu're doin'." silence all around. to me, "you're upsettin' my work." i arose. "madam, i'm sorry." the old man spoke, "you ain't keepin' me from nothin'." "well, i said, you've given me a nice start; i'll come again and get the rest." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: henry nelson, edmondson, arkansas age: [tr: appears to be same as last informant despite different address.] "my mother belong to the taylors close to carterville, tennessee. my father never was sold. he belong to the nelsons. my parents married toreckly after the surrender and come on to this state. i was born ten miles from edmondson. their names was adeline and green nelson. they didn't get nothing after freedom like land or a horse. i'm seventy years old and i would have known. "i was at alton, illinois in the lead works thirteen years ago and i had a stroke. i been cripple ever since. "my folks never spoke of being nothing but field hands. folks used to be proud of their crops, go look over them on sunday when company come. now if they got a garden they hide it and don't mention it. times is changed that way. "clothes ain't as lasty as they used to be. people has a heap more money to spend and don't raise and have much at home as they did when i was a child. times is all turned around and folks too. i always had plenty till i couldn't do hard work. i farmed my early life. we didn't have much money but we had rations and warm clothes. i cleared new ground, hauled wood, big logs. i steamboated on the sun, kate adams, and one arm john. i helped with the freight. i railroaded with pick and shovel and in the lead mines. i worked from memphis to helena on boats a good while. i come back here to farm. time is changed and i'm changed. "it has been so long since i heard my parents tell about slavery i couldn't tell you straight. she told till she died, talked about how the yankees done when they come through. they took axes and busted up good furniture. they et up and wasted the rations, then humor up the black folks like they was in their favor when they was settin' out wasting their living. they done made it to live on. some followed them and some stayed on. they wanted freedom but it wasn't like they thought it would be. they didn't know how it would be. they didn't know it meant _set out_. seem like they left. in some ways times was better and some ways it was worse. they had to work or starve is what they told me. that's the way i found freedom. 'course their owners made them work and he looked out for the ration and in slavery. "i keeps up my own self all i can. i don't get help." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: iran nelson e. fourteenth ave., pine bluff, ark. age: "yes ma'm, they fotch me from mississippi to arkansas on the steamboat--you know they didn't have railroads then. they fotch my mother and they went back after grandfather and grandmother too. "dr. noell was our master and he had us under mortgage to his brother-in-law. they fotched us here till he could get straight from that debt, but fore that could be, we got free. "i knowed slavery times. i member seem' em lash some of the rest but you know i wasn't big enough to put in the fields. old mistress say when i got big enough, she goin' take me for a house girl. when they fotched mama and grandmother here they had eighty some odd head of niggers. they was gwine carry em back home after they got that mortgage paid but the war come. "i member when the yankees come, my white folks would run and hide and hide us colored folks too. boss man had the colored folks get all the meat out of the smokehouse and hide it in the peach orchard in the grass. "i used to play with old mistress daughter addie. we would play in the parlor and after we moved to town some of the little girls would pick up and go home. you know these town folks didn't believe in playin' with the colored folks. "after mama was free she stayed right there on the place and made a crop. raised eight hundred bales and the average was nine. mama plowed and hoed too. i had to work right with her too. "i never went to school but once. i learned my abc's but couldn't read. my next abc's was a hoe in my hand. mama had a switch right under her belt. i worked but i couldn't keep up. just seein' that switch was enough. i had a pretty good time when i was young, but i had to go all the time." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: james henry nelson orange, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: gardener "i member all about the war--why of cose. i saddled many a cavalry hoss. i tell you how i know how old i am. old master, henry stanley of athens, alabama, moved to palaski, tennessee and left me with young mistress to take care of things. one day we was drivin' up some stock and i said, 'miss nannie, how old is you?' and she said, 'i'm seventeen.' i was old enough to have the knowledge she would know how old i was and i said, 'how old am i?' and she said, 'you is seven years old.' that was durin' the war. "i remember the soldiers comin' and stoppin' at our building--yankees and southern soldiers, too. they fit all around our plantation. "the yankees taken me when i was a little fellow. about two years after the war started, young marse henry went to war and took a colored man with him but he ran away--he wouldn't stay with the rebel army. so young marse henry took me. i reckon i was bout ten. i know i was big enough to saddle a cavalry hoss. we carried three horses--his hoss, my hoss and a pack hoss. you know chillun them days, they made em do a man's work. i studied bout my mother durin' the war, so they let me go home. "one day i went to mill. they didn't low the chillun to lay around, and while i was at the mill a yankee soldier ridin' a white hoss captured me and took me to pulaski, tennessee and then i was in the yankee army. i wasn't no size and i don't think he would a took me if it hadn't been for the hoss. "we come back to athens and the rebels captured the whole army. colonel camp was in charge and general forrest captured us and i was carried south. we was marchin' along the line and a rebel soldier said, 'don't you want to go home and stay with my wife?' and so i went there, to millville, alabama. then he bound me to a friend of his and i stayed there till the war bout ended. i was getting along very well but a older boy 'suaded me to run away to decatur, alabama. "oh i seen lots of the war. bof sides was good to me. i've seen many a scout. the captain would say 'by g----, close the ranks.' captains is right crabbed. i stayed back with the hosses. "after the war i worked about for this one and that one. some paid me and some didn't. "i can remember back to breckenridge; and i can remember hearin' em say 'hurrah for buchanan!' i'm just tellin' you to show how fur back i can remember. i used to have a book with a picture of abraham lincoln with an axe on his shoulder and a picture of that log cabin, but somebody stole my book. "i worked for whoever would take me--i had no mother then. if i had had parents to make me go to school, but i got along very well. the white folks taught me not to have no bad talk. they's all dead now and if they wasn't i'd be with them. "i'm a natural born farmer--that's all i know. the big overflow drownded me out and my wife died with pellagra in ' . she was a good woman and nice to white folks. i'm just a bachin' here now. i did stay with my daughter but she is mean to me, so i just picked up my rags and moved into this room where i can live in peace. i'm a christian man, and i can't live right with her. when colored folks is mean, they's meaner than white folks. "i'm gettin' along very well now. i been with white folks all my day--and it's hard for me to get along with my folks. "in one way the world is crueler than they used to be. they don't appreciate things like they used to. they have no feelin's and don't care nothin' bout the olden people. "well, good-bye, i'm proud of you." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: john nelson, holly grove, arkansas age: "my parents was jazz nelson and mahaney nelson. he come from louisiana durin' slavery. she come from richmond, virginia. i think from what they said he come to louisiana from there too. they was plain field hands. "my folks belong to miss mary ann richardson and massa harve richardson. they had five children and every one dead now. they lived at duncan station. "the white folks told em they was free. they had no place to go and they been workin' the crop. white folks glad for em to stay and work on. and the truth is they was glad to git to stay on cause they had no place to go. they kept stayin' on a long time. "i was so small i don't know if the ku klux ever did come bout our place at tall." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lettie nelson st. marys street, helena, arkansas age: or ? "grandma was patsy smith. she said in slavery they had a certain amount of cotton to pick. if they didn't have that amount they would put their heads between the rails of the fences and whoop them. they whooped them in the ebenin' when they weighed up the cotton. grandma was raised in virginia. she was light. mama was light. they was carried from virginia to louisiana in wagons. they found clothes along the road people had lost. she said several bundles of good clothes. they thought they had dropped off of wagons ahead of them. they washed and wore the clothes. some of 'em fit so they wore them. mama left her husband and brother in virginia. ed smith was her second husband. he was a light man. my grandpa was a field man. i never heard if grandpa was sold. jimmie stansberry was the man that bought or brought mama and grandma to louisiana. mama cooked and worked in the field both. grandma did too. she cooked in louisiana more than mama. they belong to lou and jimmie stansberry and they had two boys. they lived close to minden, louisiana. i don't know so much about my parents and grandma talked but we didn't pay enough attention to remember it all. she was old and got things confused. "they was glad when freedom come but they lived on with jimmie stansberry. i remember them. grandma raised me after my parents died. then she lived with me till she died. she was awful old when she died. they would talk about how different virginia and louisiana was. it took them a long time to make that trip." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mattie nelson e. fourth street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in chicot county, arkansas in ' . they said i was born on the roadside while we was on our way here from texas. they had to camp they said. some people called it emigrate. now that's the straightest way i can tell it. "our mistress and master was named chapman. i member when i was a child mistress used to be so good to us. after surrender my parents stayed right on there with the chapmans, stayed right on the place till they died. "my mudder and pappy neither one of em could read or write, but i went to school. i always was apt. i am now. i always was one to work--yes ma'm--rolled logs, hope clean up new ground--yes ma'm. when we was totin' logs, i'd say, "put the big end on me" but they'd say, "no, you're a woman." yes ma'm i been here a long time. i do believe in stirrin' work for your livin', yes ma'm, that's what i believe in. "i been workin' ever since i was six years old. my daughter was just like me--she had a gift, but she died. i seen all my folks die and that lets me know i got to die too. "white folks used to come along in buggies, and hoss back too, and stop and watch me plow. seem like the hotter the sun was the better i liked it. "yes ma'm, i done all kinds a work and i feels it now, too." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: dan newborn louisiana, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in . born in knoxville, tennessee. i suppose it was in the country. "solomon walton was my mother's owner and my father belonged to the newborns. my grandmother belonged to the buggs in richmond, virginia and she was sold to the waltons. when my mother died in ' my grandmother raised me. after she was freed she went to the powell clayton place. her daughter lived there and she sent up the river and got her. i went too. me and two more boys. "i never went to school but about thirty days. hardly learned my alphabet. "in ' , my grandmother bound two of us to powell clayton for our 'vittils' and clothes and schoolin', but i didn't get no schoolin'. i waited in the house. stayed there three years, then we come back to the walton place. "my grandmother said the waltons treated her mean. beat her on the head and that was part of her death. every spring her head would run. she said they didn't get much of somethin' to eat. "i was married 'fore my grandmother died--to this wife that died two months ago. we stayed together fifty-seven years. "to my idea, this younger generation is too wild--not near as settled as when i was comin' up. they used to obey. why, i slept in the bed with my grandmother till i was married. she whipped me the day before i was married. it was 'cause i had disobeyed her. children will resist their mothers now. "i think the colored people is better off now 'cause they got more privilege, but the way some of 'em use their privilege, i think they ought to be slaves. "my grandmother taught me not to steal. my white folks here have trusted me with two and three hundred dollars. i don't want nothin' in the world but mine. "i been workin' here for fox brothers thirty-eight years and they'll tell you there's not a black mark against me. "i used to be a mortar maker and used to sample cotton. then i worked at the cotton belt shops eight years. "i've bought me a home that cost $ . "i don't mind tellin' about myself 'cause i've been honest and you can go up the river and get my record. "out of all due respect to everybody, the yankees is the ones i like. "vote? oh yes, republican ticket. i like roosevelt's administration. if i could vote now, i'd vote for him. he has done a whole lot of good." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: sallie newsom brinkley, ark. age ? "miss, i don't know my age, but i know i is old. i'm sick now. "my grandma's mistress and mama's mistress and my mistress was miss jennie brawner at thomasville, georgia. me and my oldest sister was born in atlanta. then freedom come on. my own papa wanted mama to follow him to mississippi. he had a wife there. she wouldn't go. she stayed on a while with mr. acy and miss jennie. they come from virginia. her name was catherine. "grandma toted her big hoop dresses about and carried her trains up off the floor. combed her long glossy hair. mama was a house girl too, but then grandma took to the kitchen. she was the cook then. "old miss jennie wanted mama to give her my oldest sister lulu, so mama gave her to her. then when we started to come to holly grove, mississippi, miss jennie still wanted her. mama didn't want to part from her. she was married again and brought me but my aunts told mama to leave her there, she would have a good home and be educated, so she 'greed to leave her two years. she sent back for her at the end of two years; she wrote and didn't want to come. she was still at miss jennie's. i haben seen her from the day we left atlanta till this very day. a woman, colored woman, was here in brinkley once seen her. said she was so fine and nice. had nice soft skin and was well to do. i have wrote but my letters come back. i know miss jennie is dead, and my sister may be by now. "my papa was abe brooks. his master was mars jonas brooks. old master give him to the young master. he was rich, rich, and traveled all time. his pa give him a servant. he cooked for him, drove his carriage--they called it a brake in them days--followed him to the hotels and bar-rooms. he drink and give him a dram. when he was freed he come to mississippi with the brooks to farm for them. i went to see my papa at waterford, miss. "when we was at holly springs, mississippi my cousin was a railroad man so he helped me run away. he paid my way. i come to clarendon. i cooked, washed and ironed. in two or three years i went back to see mama. they was glad to see me. they had eight children. "i couldn't guarantee you about the eight younger children, but there ain't a speck of no kind of blood about me and lulu violet but african. we are slick black negroes. (she is very black, large and bony.) "miss jennie brawner had one son--gus brawner--and he may be living now in atlanta. "my uncle said he seen the yankees come through thomasville, georgia. i never seen an army of them. i seen soldiers, plenty of em. none of the brooks or brawners went to war that i heard of. i was kept close and too young to know much of what happened. i heard about the ku klux but i never seen them. "i know miss jennie brawner come from virginia but i don't brought grandma with her or bought her. she never did say. "i don't vote. my husband voted, i don't know how he voted. "since i been sick, i get a check and commodities." interviewer: miss sallie c. miller person interviewed: pete newton, clarksville, arkansas age: [tr: ?] occupation: farmer and day laborer "my white folks was as good to me as they could be. i ain't got no kick to make about my white people. the boys was all brave. i was raised on the farm. i staid with my boss till i was nearly grown. when the war got so hot my boss was afraid the 'feds' would get us. he sent my mammy to texas and sent me in the army with col. bashom, to take care of his horses. i was about eleven or twelve years old. col. bashom was always good to me. he always found a place for me to sleep and eat. sometimes after the colonel left the folks would run as off and not let me stay but i never told the colonel. i went to boston, texas with the colonel and his men and when he went on the big raid into missouri he left me in sevier county, arkansas with his horses 'little baldy' and 'orphan boy'. they was race horses. the colonel always had race horses. he was killed at pilot knob, missouri. after the colonel was killed his son george (i shore did think a lot of george) come after me and the horses and brough' us home. "while i was in arkadelphia with col. bashom's horses, i went down to the spring to water the horses. the artillery was there cleaning a big cannon they called 'old tom'. of course i went up to watch them. one of the men saw me and hollered, 'stick his head in the cannon.' it liked to scared me to death. i jumped on that race horse and run. i reconed i would have been killed but my uncle was there and saw me and stopped the horse. "another time we went to a place and me and another colored boy was taking care of the horses while our masters eat dinner. i saw some watermelons in the garden with a paling fence around it. i said if the other boy would pull a paling off i would crawl through and get us a watermelon. he did but the man who owned the place saw me just as i got the melon and whipped us and told us if we hollered he would kill us. we didn't holler and we never told col. bashom either. "after the war my mammie come back from texas and took me over to dover to live but my old boss told her if she would let him have me he would raise and educate me like his own children. when i got back the old boss already had a boy so i went to live with one of his sons. he told me it was time for me to learn how to work. my boss was rough but he was good to me and taught me how to work. the old boss had five sons in the army and all was wounded except one. one of them was shot through and through in the battle of oak hill. he got a furlough and come back and died. i left my white folks in and went to farming for myself up in hartman bottom. i married when i was about seventeen years old. "they though' a house near us was hainted. nobody wanted to live in it so they went to see what the noise was. they found a pet coon with a piece of chain around his neck. the coon would run across the floor and drag the chain. "the children now are bad. no telling that will be in the next twenty or thirty years everything is so changed now. "i learnt to sing the hymns but never sang in the choir. we sang 'dixie', 'john brown's body lies, etc.', 'juanita', 'just before the battle, mother', 'old black joe'." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: charlie norris miller street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "born in slavery times? that's me, i reckon. i was born october , in arkansas in union county. tom murphy was old master's name. "yes ma'am, i remember the first regiment left arkansas--went to virginia. i member our white folks had us packin' grub out in the woods cause they was spectin' the yankees. "i member when the first regiment started out. the music boat come to the landin' and played 'yankee doodle.' they carried all us chillun out there. "after they fit they just come by from daylight till dark to eat. they was death on bread. my mother and susan murphy, that was the old lady herself, cooked bread for em. "i stayed with the murphys--round on the plantation amongst em for five or six years after freedom. andrew norris, my father's old master, was the first sheriff of ouachita county. "my mother belonged to the murphys and my father belonged to the norrises and after freedom they never did go back together. "my mother told me that susan murphy would suckle me when my mother was out workin' and then my mother would suckle her daughter. "i was raised up in the house you might say till i was a big nigger. had plenty to eat. that's one thing they did do. i lived right amongst a settlement of what they called free niggers cause they was treated so well. "sometimes susan murphy got after me and whipped me and old marse tom would tell me to run and not let her whip me. you see, i was worth $ , to him and he thought a lot of us black kids. "old man tom murphy raised me up to a big nigger and never did whip me but twice and that was cause i got drunk on tobacco and turned out his horse. "yes ma'am, i voted till bout two or three years ago. oh lawd, the colored used to hold office down in the country. i've voted for white and black. "some of the colored folks better off free and some not. that's what i think but they don't." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: emma oats (mulatto) holly grove, ark. age: or older "i was born in st. louis. my mother died when i was little. i never knowed no father. (he was probably a white man.) jack oats raised me. jim oats at helena was his son. he is still living. he come through here (holly grove) not long ago. i was raised on the esque place. "i was fraid of my grandma. i wouldn't live with her. i know'd her. she was a big woman, big white eyes, big thick lips, and had 'molly glaspy hair,' long straight soft hair. she was a african woman. she made my clothes. i was fraid of her. i never lived with her. my folks was all free folks. when my mother died my uncle took us--me and brother. he hired us out and we got stole. gene oglesby stole us and brought us to memphis to joe nivers. i recken he sold us then. then they stood me up in the parlor and sold me to jack oats. they said i was 'good pluck.' joe nivers sold me to jack oats for $ , . when i was four years old. my brother was name milton smith. i ain't seen him from that day till this. joe nivers kept him, i recken. i come here on a 'legal tender'--name of the boat i recken. i know that. i recken it was name of a boat. i got off and thornton walls, old colored man, toted me cross every mud hole we come to. he belong to bud walls' (white man at holly grove) daddy. when we got home jack oats and all of em was there. "i slept on a pallet and lounge and took care of their children. i played round. done bout as i pleased. they had a cook they called aunt joe--joe oats. we had plenty to eat and wear. they dressed me like one their children. we had good flannel clothes. when she washed her children she washed me too. when she combed their hair she combed mine too. she kept working with it till i had pretty hair. some of her children died. it hurt me bad as it did them. all i done was play with em and see after em. their names was sam, john, dixie, sallie, jim. i went in the hack to church; if she took the children, she took me. i was a good size girl when she died. the last word she spoke was to me; she said, 'emma, take care of my children.' dr. john chester was her doctor. "oats come here from north alabama. will oats, wyatt oats, and jack oats--all brothers. "when mistress living we took a bath every friday in a sawed-intwo barrel (wooden tub). the cook done our washing. we had clean fresh clothes. we had to dress up every few days. if we get dirty she say she would give us lashes. she never give me none, i never was sassy (saucy). that what most of em got lashes, , lashes for. "when i was bout grown i went to school a little bit to james a. kerr here at holly grove. i was good and grown too. "i was settin' on the gate post--they had a picket fence. i seen some folks coming to our house. i run in the house and says, 'miss mai liza, the yankees coming here!' she told her husband to get in the bed. he says, 'oh god, what she know bout yankees?' miss mai liza say, 'i don't know; she's one of em, i speck she knows em.' one of the officers come in and asked him what was the matter. he said he was sick. he had boils bout on him. he had a masonic pin on his shirt. he showed it to the officer. he asked lou and becky and all the servants if he hadn't been bushwhacking. they all said, 'no.' he said he wanted something to eat. they went to the well house and got him some milk. "they camped below the house. they went to their store house and brought more rations up there in a wagon. lou cooked and she had help. she set a big table and they had the biggest dinner. they had more hams. they had 'lincoln coffee' there that day. it was a jolly day. they never et up there no more or bothered round our house no more. the officer had something on his bare arm he showed. he said, when he went to leave, 'aunt lou, you shall not be hurt.' "mr. oats had taken long before that day all his slaves to texas. he took all but wash martin. they went in wagons and none of them ever come back. "miss callie edwards was older than miss henrietta jackson. they kept wash martin going through the bottoms nearly all time from their houses at golden hill to indian bay. they kept him from one place to the other to keep him out of the war. they hired him out to school miss henrietta. miss callie edwards died then they give him to miss henrietta. "during the war mrs. keeps come up to our house. they heard a gun. she was jes visiting mrs. oats. mrs. keeps went home and the bushwhackers had killed him. he was dead. "i never seen no ku klux in my whole life. "i remember the stage coach that run every two or three days from helena to clarendon. "i don't remember bout freedom. dr. green, hall green's daddy, told his colored folks they was free. they told our folks. i heard em talking bout it. i was kept quiet. it was done freedom, fore i knowed it. i stayed on and done like i been doin'. i stayed on and on. "when i was grown i come here to school and soon married. i washed and ironed and cooked all over holly grove. i was waiting on the table at the boarding house here at holly grove. mr. oats was talking bout naming the town. they had put the railroad through. i ask em why didn't they name the town holly grove. it was thick with holly trees. they named it that, and put it up on the side of the depot. that way i named the town. "my folks give me five acres of land and julia woolfolk give a blind woman on the place five acres. i didn't know what to do wid it. i didn't have no husband. i was young and foolish. i let it be. "my husband farmed. i raised my family, chopped and picked cotton and done other things along with that. i have worked all my life till way after my husband died. "my husband could jump up, knock heels together three times before he come down. he died may , . he was years old february , . "i never voted. i never heard my husband say much bout voting. i know some colored folks sold their voting rights. that was wrong. "i lived at baptist bottoms two years. it lack to killed me." wyatt oats and miss callie edwards owned the husband of emma oats. she was married once and had two girls and two boys--one boy dead now. emma lives at one of her daughters' homes. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: helen odom and mother, sarah odom biscoe, arkansas age: ? "great-grandmother was part african, indian, and caucasian. she had two girls before slavery ended by her own master--master temple. he was also caucasian (white). she was cook and housemaid at his home. he was a bachelor. grandmother's name was rachael and her sister's name was gilly. before freedom master temple had another wife. by her he had one boy and two girls. he never had a caucasian wife. in fact he was always a bachelor. grandmother was a field hand and so was her sister, gilly. "but after freedom grandmother married a union soldier. his took-on name was george washington tomb. he was generally called parson tomb (preacher). he met grandmother rachael in arkansas. "when master temple died his nearest relative was jim mcneilly. he made a will leaving everything he possessed to master mcneilly. the estate had to be settled, so he brought the two sisters to little rock we think to be sold. they rode horseback and walked and brought wagons with bedding and provisions to camp along the road. the blankets were frozen and stood alone. it was so cold. grandmother was put up on the block to be auctioned off and freedom was declared! aunt gilly never got to the block. grandmother married and was separated from her sister. "whether the other three children were brought to arkansas then i don't know but this i know that they went by the name mcneilly. they changed their names or it was done for them. they are all dead now and my own mother is the only one now living. their names were john, tom, and netline. mother says they were sold to johnson, and went by that name too as much as mcneilly. they remained with johnson till freedom, in tennessee. "my mother's name is sarah. "they seem to think they were treated good till master temple died. they nearly froze coming to arkansas to be sold. "i heard this told over and over so many, many times before grandmother died. seemed it was the greatest event of her life. she told other smaller things i can't remember to tell with sense at all. nothing so important as her master and own father's death and being sold. "times are good, very good with me. our african race is advancing with the times." interviewer's comment teacher in biscoe school. father was a graduate doctor of medicine and in about , ' , ' school director at biscoe. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: jane oliver route , near airport, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i'm certainly one of em, cause i was in the big house. when miss liza married they give sister to her and i stayed with miss netta. her name was drunetta rawls. that was in mississippi. we come to arkansas when i was small. "i remember when they run us to texas, and we stayed there till freedom come. i remember hearin' em read the free papers. mama died in texas and they buried her the day they read the free papers. i know. i was out playin' and miss lucy, that was my young mistress, come out and say, 'jane, you go in and see your mother, she wants you.' i was busy playin' and didn't want to go in and i member miss lucy say, 'poor little fool nigger don't know her mother's dyin'.' i went in then and said, 'mama, is you dyin'?' she say, 'no, i ain't; i died when you was a baby.' you know, she meant she had died in sin. she was a christian. "me and lucy played together all the time--round about the house and in the kitchen. little marse henry, that was big old marse henry's son, he was a captain in the army. we all called him little marse henry. old mistress was good to us. us chillun called her miss netta. best woman i ever seed. me and lucy growed up together. looks like i can see just the way the house looked and how we used to go down to the big gate and play. i sits here and studies and wonders if i'd know that place today. that's what i study bout. "i used to hear em say we only stayed in texas nine months and the white folks brought us back. "my uncle simon rawls, he took me after the war. then i worked for mrs. adkins. "i went to school a little and learned to read prints. the teacher tried to get me to write but i wouldn't do it. and since then i have wished so much i had learned to write. oh mercy! old folks would tell me, 'well, when you get up the road, you'll wish you had.' i didn't know what they meant but i know now they meant when i got old. "i was married when i was young--i don't think i was fifteen. "yes ma'am, i've worked hard. i've always lived in the country. "i can remember when the white folks refugeed us to texas. oh we did hate the yankees. if i ever seed a yankee i didn't know it but i heard the white folks talkin' bout em. "i used to hear em talk bout old jeff davis and abe lincoln. "bradley county was where we lived fore we went to texas and afterward. colonel ed hampton's plantation jined the rawls plantation on the arkansas river where it overflowed the land. i loved that better than any place i ever seed in my life. "i couldn't say what i think of the young folks now. they is different from what we was. yes, lord, they is different. sometimes i think they is better and sometimes wuss. i just thanks the lord that i'm here--have come this far. "when i bought this place from mr. r.m. knox he said, 'when i'm in my grave you'll thank me that you took my advice and put your savings in a home.' i do thank him. i been here thirty years and i get along. god bless you." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: ivory osborne route , box , pine bluff, arkansas age: "know about slavery? sho i do--i was born in ' . born in arkansas? no ma'm, born in texas. "oh yes, indeed, i had a good master. good to me, indeed. i was that high when the war started. i member everything. take me from now till dark to tell you everything i know bout slavery. "i put in three years and five months, choppin' cotton and corn. i member the very day, on the th of may, old mistress blowed the conk and told us we was free. "oh lord, i had a good time. "i never was whipped. "ku klux used to run me. run me clear from the plum orchard bout a mile from the house. run to my mistress at the big house. "miss ann had eight darkies and told her stepmother, 'don't you put your hand on em.' she didn't either. "i went to school since 'mancipation in nacitosh. learned to read and write. was in the eighth grade when i left. stood at the head of every class. they couldn't get me down. i done got old and forgot now. "i didn't know the difference between slavery and free, i never was whipped. "did i ever vote? you know i voted, old as i am. ain't voted in over forty years. i ain't nobody. my wife's eighty. i've had her forty years. _cose_ i voted the republican ticket. you never seed a colored person a democrat in your life. "in slavery days we killed seventy-five or eighty hogs every year. and i don't mean shoats, i mean hogs. i ain't lost my membrance." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: jane osbrook e. st avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes ma'm, i was livin' in slavery days. i was borned in arkansas i reckon. i was borned within three, miles of camden but i wasn't raised there. we moved to saline county directly after peace was declared. "i don't know what year i was born because you see i'm not educated but i was ninety the th of this last past may. yes ma'm, i'm a old bondage woman. i can say what a heap of em can't say--i can tell the truth bout it. i believe in the truth. i was brought up to tell the truth. i'm no young girl. "my old master was adkison billingsly. my old mistress treated us just like her own children. she said we had feelin's and tastes. i visited her long after the war. went there and stayed all night. "i member when they had the fight at jenkins ferry. old steele had , and he come down to take little rock, pine bluff and others. captain webb with , rebels was followin' him and when they got to saline river they had a battle. "the next sunday my father carried all us children and some of the white folks to see the battle field. i member the dead was lyin' in graves, just one row after another and hadn't even been covered up. "oh yes, i can tell all bout that. nother time there was four hundred fifty colored and five white yankee soldiers come and ask my father if old mistress treated us right. we told em we had good owners. i never was so scared in my life. them colored soldiers was so tall and so black and had red eyes. oh yes ma'm, they had on the blue uniforms. oh, we sure was fraid of em--you know them eyes. "they said, 'now uncle, we want you to tell the truth, does she feed you well?' my ma did all the cookin' and we had good livin'. i tole my daughter we fared ten thousand times better than now. "i come up in the way of obedience. any time i wanted to go, had to go to old mistress and she say, 'don't let the sun go down on you.' and when we come home the sun was in the trees. if you seed the sun was goin' down on you, you run. "i ain't goin' tell nothin' but the truth. truth better to live with and better to die with. "some of the folks said they never seed a biscuit from christmas to christmas but we had em every day. never seed no sodie till peace was declared--used saleratus. "in my comin' up it was whigs and democrats. never heard of no republicans till after the war. i've seed a man get upon that platform and wipe the sweat from his brow. i've seed em get to fight in' too. that was done at our white folks house--arguin' politics. "i never did go to school. i married right after the war you know. what you talkin' bout--bein' married and goin' to school? i was housekeepin': standin' right in my own light and didn't know it." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: annie page - / pullen street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born , they tell me, on the fifteenth of march. i was workin' a good while 'fore surrender. "bill jimmerson was my old master. he was a captain in marmaduke's army. come home on thirty days furlough once and he and daniel carmack got into some kind of a argument 'bout some whisky and daniel carmack stabbed him with a penknife. stabbed him three times. he was black as tar when they brought him home. the blood had done settled. oh lawd, that was a time. "my eyes been goin' blind 'bout six years till i got so i can't excern (discern) anything. "old miss used to box me over the head mightily and the colored folks used to hit me over the head till seem like i could hear a bell for two or three days. niggers ain't got no sense. put 'em in authority and they gits so uppity. "my brother brought me here and left me here with a colored woman named rachael ross. and oh lawd, she was hard on me. never had to do in slavery times what i had to do then. "but the devil got her and all her chillun now i reckon. they tell me when death struck her, they asked if the lawd called her, and they say she just turned over and over in the bed like a worm in hot ashes." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: annie page block west pullen, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm i 'member the war. i never knowed why they called it the civil war though. "i was born in union county, arkansas, 'bout a mile from bear creek, in . that's what my old mistress tole me the morning we was sot free. "my mistress was a democrat. old master was a captain in marmaduke's army. "i used to hope (help) spin the thread to make the soldiers' clothes. old mistress cared for me. lacy jimmerson--the onliest mistress i ever had. she wanted to send us away to texas but old master say it want no use. cause if the yankees won, they have to bring us back, so we didn't go. "did they _whip_ us? why i bet i can show you scars now. old miss whip me when she feel like fightin'. her granddaughter, mary jane, tried to learn me my abc's out of the old blue back speller. we'd be out on the seesaw, but old miss didn't know what we doin'. law, she pull our hair. directly she see us and say 'what you doin'? bring that book here!' "one day old master come home on a thirty-day furlough. he was awful hot-headed and he got into a argument with daniel carmack and old daniel stobbed him right in the heart. fore he die he say to bury him by the side of the road so he can see the niggers goin' to work. "i never seen no ku klux but i heard of 'em 'rectly after the war. "i'se blind. i jest can see enough to get around. the welfare gives me eight dollars a month. "my mother died soon after the war ended and after that i was jest knocked over the head. i went to camblin and worked for mrs. peters. then i runned away and married my first husband mike samson. i been married twice and had two children but they all dead now. "law, i jest scared of these young ones as i can be. i don't have no dealins with 'em." folklore subjects name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: apparitions subject: superstitions subject: birthmarks story:--information this information given by: annie page place of residence: - / pullen street, pine bluff, arkansas occupation: none age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] "i told 'bout old master's death. mama had done sent me out to feed the chickens soon of a morning. "here was the smokehouse and there was a turkey in a coop. and when i throwed it the feed i heard somethin' sounded just like you was draggin' a brush over leaves. it come around the corner of the smokehouse and look like a tall woman. it kept on goin' toward the house till it got to the hickory nut tree and still sound like draggin' a brush. when it got to the hickory nut tree it changed and look like a man. i looked and i said, 'it's old master.' and the next day he got killed. i run to the house and told mama, 'look at that man.' she said, 'shut your mouth, you don't see no man.' old miss heard and said, 'who do you s'pose it could be?' but mama wouldn't let me talk. "but i know it was a sign that old master was goin' to die." superstitions "i was born with a caul over my face. old miss said it hung from the top of my head half way to my waist. "she kept it and when i got big enough she said, 'now that's your veil, you play with it.' "but i lost it out in the orchard one day. "they said it would keep you from seein' ha'nts." birthmarks "william jimmerson's wife had a daughter was born blind, and she said it was her husband's fault. she was delicate, you know, and one afternoon she was layin' down and i was sittin' there fannin' her with a peafowl fan. her husband was layin' there too and i guess i must a nodded and let the fan drop down in his face. he jumped up and pressed his thumbs on my eyes till they was all bloodshot and when he let loose i fell down on the floor. miss phenie said, 'oh, william, don't do that.' i can remember it just as well. "my eyes like to went out and do you know, when her baby was born it was blind. it's eyes just looked like two balls of blood. it died though, just lived 'bout two weeks." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: fannie parker w. sixth street, pine bluff, arkansas age: ? "yes, honey, this is old fannie. i'se just a poor old nigger waitin' for jesus to come and take me to heaven. "i was just a young strip of a girl when the war come. dr. m.c. comer was my owner. his wife was elizabeth comer. i said marse and mistis in them days and when old mistress called me i went runnin' like a turkey. they called her miss betsy. yes lord, i was in slavery days. master and mistress was bossin' me then. we all come under the rules. we lived in monticello--right in the city of monticello. "all i can tell you is just what i remember. i seed the yankees. i remember a whole host of 'em come to our house and wanted something to eat. they got it too! they cooked it them selves and then they burned everything they could get their hands on. they said plenty to me. they said so much i don't know what they said. i know one thing they said i belonged to the yankees. yes lord, they wanted me to tell 'em if i was free. i told 'em i was free indeed and that i belonged to miss betsy. i didn't know what else to say. we had plenty to eat, plenty of hog meat and buttermilk and cornbread. yes ma'm--don't talk about that now. "don't tell me 'bout old jeff davis--he oughta been killed. abraham lincoln thought what was right was right and what was wrong was wrong. abraham was a great man cause he was the president. when the rebels ceded from the union he made 'em fight the north. abraham lincoln studied that and he had it all in his mind. he wasn't no fighter but he carried his own and the north give 'em the devil. grant was a good man too. they tried to kill him but he was just wrapped up in silver and gold. "i remember when the stars fell. yes, honey, i know i was ironin' and it got so dark i had to light the lamp. yes, i did! "it's been a long time and my mind's not so good now but i remember old comer put us through. good-bye and god bless you!" interviewer: samuel s. taylor subject: ex-slavery story: birth, parents, master. person interviewed: j.m. parker, (dark brown) address: ringo street, little rock, arkansas occupation: formerly a carpenter age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] "i was born in south carolina, waterloo, in lawrence county, [hw: laurens co.] in , april th. waterloo is a little town in south carolina. i believe that fellow shot the first gun of the war when i was born. i knew then i was going to be free. of course that is just a lie. i made that up. anyway i was born in . "colonel rice was our master. he was in the war too. the name parker came in by intermarriage, you see. my mother belonged to rice. she could have been a simms before she married. my father's name was edmund parker. he belonged to the rices also. that was his master; colonel rice and him were boys together. he went down there to charleston, south carolina to build breastworks. while down there, he slipped off and brought a hundred men away from charleston back to lawrence county where the men was that owned them. he was a business man, father was. brought 'em all through the swamps. they were slaves and he brought 'em all back home. they all followed his advice. "my mother's name was rowena parker after she married. "colonel rice was a pretty fair man--a pretty good fellow. he was a colonel in the war and stood pretty high. bound to be that way by him being a colonel. seemed like him and my father had about the same number of kids. he thought there was nobody like my mother. he never _whipped the slaves himself_ but his _overseer would sometimes jump on them_. the rice family was very good to our people. the men being gone they were left in the hands of the mistress. she never touched anybody. she never had no reason to. pateroles "patterollers didn't bother us, but we were in that country. during the war, most of the men that amounted to anything were in the war and the patrolers didn't bother you much. the overseer didn't have so much power over me than. that pretty well left the colored people to come up without being abused during the war. the white folks was forced to go to the war. they drafted them just like they do now. they'd shoot a _po'_ white man if he didn't come. breeding "my master didn't force men and women to marry. _he didn't_ put 'em together just to get more slave. some times other people would have women and men just for that purpose. but there wasn't much of it in my country. house, stock, parents' occupations "our house was a frame building, boxed in with one-by-twelve like we have here in the country. that was a good house with regular flooring, tongue and groove. we was raised up in a good house. old colonel rice had to protect his standing. he had good stock. my father was a carriage man. he had to keep those horses clean and they always looked good. that carriage had to shine too. colonel rice was a high stepper. he'd take his handkerchief and rub it over the horses hair to see if they were really clean. he would always find 'em clean though when the old man got through with them. he would drive fine stock. had some fine horses. couldn't trust 'em with just anybody. "my mother was cook. she helped mrs. rice take care of the kids, and cooked around the house. she took care of her kids, too. "the house we was born and bred in was built for a carriage house, but somehow or 'nother they give it to us to live in. my mother being a cook, she got what she wanted. that was a good house too. it was sealed. it had good floors. it had two rooms. it had about three windows and good doors to each room. "we had just common furniture. niggers didn't have much then. my father was a good mechanic though and he would make anything he wanted. we didn't have much, just common things. but all my people were mechanics, harness makers, shoemakers,--they could make anything. young sam parker could make any kind of shoe. he made shoes for the white folks; young jacob was a blacksmith; he made horseshoes and anything else out of iron. he may still be living. in fact, he made anything he could get his hands on. my young uncles on my mother's side, i don't know much about them, because they were all mechanics. my grandfather on my mother's side could make baskets--any kind--could make baskets that would hold water. "my father had thirteen children. three of them are living now. my brother lives here in the city. he was born during the war and his mother was supposed to be free when he was born. right after the war "that's what my mother told me. i can remember a long ways back myself. after the war, it wasn't long before they began to open up schools. they used to run school three or four months a year. both white and colored in the country had about three or four months. that is all they had. there weren't so very many white folks that took an interest in education during slave time. colored people got just about as much as they did right after the war. what time we went to school we went the whole day. we would come home and work in the evening like. we had pretty fair teachers. all white then at first. they didn't have no colored till afterwards. if they did, they had so few, i never heard of them. "the first teacher i had was katie whitefold (white). that was in waterloo. miss richardson was our next teacher. she was white too. we went to school two terms under white women. after that we began to get teachers from columbia, south carolina, where the normal school was. "the white teachers who taught us were people who had been raised right around waterloo. we never had no northern teachers as i knows of. our first colored teacher was murry evans. he a preacher. he was one of our leading preachers too. after him our colored women began to come in and stand examination wasn't so hard at that time, but they made a good showing. there were good scholars. "i went to school too much. i went to school at philander smith college some, too. i went a good piece in school. come pretty near finishing the english course (high school). i finished good[hw: sp.?] brown's 'grammer of grammers'. professor backensto (the spelling is the interviewer's) sent away and got it and sold it to us. we was his students. he was a white man from the north and a good scholar. we got in those grammars and got the same lessons they give him when he was in school--nine pages a lesson and we had to repeat that lesson three times. when my mother died, i was off in the normal school. "right after the war, my parents farmed. he followed his trade. that always gave us something to eat you know. when we farmed, we sharecropped--a third and a fourth--that is, we got a third of the cotton and a fourth of the corn. potatoes and things like that went free. all women got an acre free. my mother always got an acre and she worked it good too. she always had her bale of cotton. and if she didn't have a bale, she laid it next to the white folks' and made it out. they knew it and they didn't care. she stood well with the white people. helped all of 'em raise their children, and they all liked that. "i went along with my father whenever he had a big job and needed help. i got to be as good a carpenter as he was. "i married out here. about eighty-five. people were emigrating to this country. there was a boom to emigrating then. emigrating was a little dangerous when a man was trying to get hands. white folks would lay traps and kill men that were taking away their hands--they would kill white just as quick as they would black. i started out under a white man--i can't remember his name. he turned me over to madden, a colored man who was raised in waterloo. we came from there to greenwood, south carolina where everything was straight. after that we had nothing to do but get on the train and keep coming. we was with our agent then and we had no more trouble after that. "i got off at brinkley over at minor gregory's farm. he needed hands then and was glad to get us. he is dead now. i stayed in brinkley the space of about a year. then he gave us transportation to little rock. the train came from memphis, and we struck out for little rock. i married after i come to little rock. i forget what year. but anyway my wife is dead and gone and all the children. so i'm single now. opinions of the present "i think times are about dead now. things ought to get better. i believe things are going to get better for all of us. people have got to think more. people have got to get together more. war doesn't always make thing better. it didn't after the civil war. and it didn't after the world war. the young people are all right in their way. it would just take another war to learn 'em a lesson. support "i can't do any work now. i get a little help from the welfare. it doesn't come regular. i need a check right now. i think it's due now. but they haven't sent it out yet. that is, i haven't got it. "i'm a christian. all my family were methodists. i belong to wesley. interviewer: mary d. hudgins person interviewed: judy parker home: wade street, hot springs, ark. aged: for location of wade street, see interview with emma sanderson. as the interviewer walked down silver street a saddle colored girl came out on a porch for a load of wood. "i beg your pardon," she began, pausing, "can you tell me where i will find emma sanderson?" "i sure can." the girl left the porch and came out to the street. "i'll walk down with you and show you. that way it'll be easier. kind of cold, ain't it?" "it surely is," this from the interviewer. "isn't it too cold for you, can't you just tell me? i think i can find it." the girl had expected to be only on the porch and didn't have a coat. "no, ma'am. it's all right. now we're far enough for you to see. you see those two houses jam up against one and 'tother? well miz parker lives in the one this way. i goes down to look after her most every day. that's where you'll find her.--no ma'am--'twaren't no bother." the gate sagged slightly at the house "this way" of the "two jam up against one and 'tother." a large slab from an oak log in the front yard near a woodpile bore mute evidence of many an ax blow. (stove wood is generally split in the rural south--one end of the "stick" resting against the ground, the other atop a small log.) up a couple of rickety steps the interviewer climbed. she knocked three times. when she was bade to enter she opened the door to find an old woman sitting near a wood stove combing her long, white hair. mrs. parker was expecting the visit. a few days before the interviewer had had a visit from a couple of colored women who had "heard tell how you is investigating the old people.--been trying to get on old age pension for a long time--glad you come to get us on.----no? oh, i see you is the townsend woman." (an explanation of her true capacity was almost impossible for the interviewer.) mrs. parker, however, seemed to comprehend the idea perfectly. she expected nothing save the chance to tell her story. her joy at the gift of a quarter (the amount the interviewer set aside from her salary for each interviewee) was pitiful. evidently it had been a long time since she had possessed a similar sum to spend exactly as she pleased. "i don't rightly know how old i is. my mother used to tell me that i was a little baby, six months old when our master, joe potts was his name, got ready to clear out of florida. you see he had heard tell of the war scare. so he started drifting out of the way. bet it didn't take him long after he made up his mind. he was a right decided man. mister joe was. "how did we like him? well, he was always good to us. he was well thought of. seemed to be a pretty clever man, mr. joe did." ("clever" in plantation language like "smart" refers more to muscular than mental activity. they might almost be used as synonyms for "hard working" on the labor level.) "so mr. joe got ready to go to texas. law, miss, i don't rightly know whether he had a family or not. never heard my mother say. anyhow he come through arkansas intending to drift on out into texas. but when he got near the border 'twix't and between arkansas and texas he stopped. the talk about war had about settled down. so he stopped. he stopped near where the big bridge is. you know where little river county is don't you? he stopped and he started to work. started to make a crop. 'course i can't remember none about that. just what my mother told me. but i remembers him from later. "he went at it the good way. settled down and tried to open up a home. they put in a crop and got along pretty good. time passed and the war talk started floating again. that time he didn't pay much attention and it got him. it was on a sunday morning when he went away. i never knew whether they made him go or not. but i kind of think they must of. cause he wouldn't have moved off from florida if he had wanted to go to war. "he took my daddy with him! ma'am--did he take him to fight or to wait on him--don't know ma'am, but i sort of think he took him to wait on him. but he didn't bring him back. my daddy got killed in the war. no ma'am. i don't rightly know how he got killed. never heard nobody say. i was just a little girl--nobody bothered to tell me much. "yes, that we did. we stayed on on the farm and we made a crop--the old folks did. mr. joe, when he went off, said "now you stay on here, you make a crop and you use all you need. then you put up the rest and save for me." he was a right good man, mr. joe was. "no, we didn't never see no fighting. there wasn't nothing to be scared of. didn't see no yankees until the war was through. then they started passing. lawsey, i couldn't tell how many of them there was. more than you could count. "we had all stayed on. i was the oldest of my mother's children. but she had two more after me. there was our family and my two uncles and my grandmother. then there was some other colored folks. but we wasn't scared of the yankees. mr. joe was there by that time. they camped all around in the woods near us. they got us to do their washing. lawsey they was as filthy as hogs. i never see such folks. they asked mr. joe if we could do their washing. everything on the place that come near those clothes got lousey. those men was covered with them. i never see nothing like it. we got covered with them. no, ma'am, we got rid of 'em pretty easy. they ain't so hard to get rid of, if you keep clean. "after it was all over master joe got ready to go back to florida. he took warley and jenny with him. they was children he had had by a black woman--you know folks did such things in them days. he asked the rest of us if they wanted to go back too. but my folks made up their minds they didn't. you see, they didn't know how they'd get along and how long it would take them to pay for the trip back, so they stayed right where they was. "lots of 'em went to rondo and some of us worked for herb jeans--he lived farther up red river. after my mother died i was with my grandmother. she washed and cooked for herb jeans's family. i stayed on with her, helped out until i got married. i was about fifteen when that time come. "my man owned his place. sure he did. owned it when i married him. he owned it himself and farmed it good. yes ma'am we stayed with the land. he made good crops--corn and cotton, mostly. course we raised potatoes and the truck we needed--all stuff like that. yes, ma'am we had thirteen children. just three of them's living. all of them is boys. "yes ma'am we got along good. my husband made good crops and we got along just good. but 'bout eight years ago my husband he got sick. so he sold out the farm--sold out everything. then he come here. "before he died he spent every last cent--every last cent--left me to get along the very best way i kin. i stays with my son. he takes care of me. he don't make much, but he does the best he kin. "no ma'am, i likes living down in the country. down there near red river it's soft and sandy. up here in hot springs the rocks tear up your feet. if you's country raised--you like the country. yes ma'am, you like the country." as she left the interviewer handed her a quarter. at first the old woman's face was expressionless. but she moved the coin nearer to her eyes and a smile broke and widened until her whole face was a wrinkle of joy. when she turned in the doorway, the interviewer noticed that the hand jammed into an apron pocket was clutched into a possessive fist, cradling the precious twenty five cents. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: r.f. parker n. hickory, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in ' . i reckon i was born in slavery times. born in ripley county, missouri. old man billy parker was my master, and my young master was jim parker. "they bought my mother in tennessee when she was a child. i wasn't big enough to remember much about slavery but i was big enough to know when they turned my mother loose, and we come to lawrence county, arkansas. "i remember my mother sayin' she had to plow while her young master, jim parker, was off to war, but i don't know what side he was on. "i remember seein' some soldiers ridin' down the road, about seventy-five of 'em. i know i run under a corn pen and hid. i thought they was after me. they stopped right there and turned their horses loose 'round that pen. i can remember that all right. they went in the white folks' house and took a shotgun. i know i remember hearin' mama talk about it. i think they had on blue clothes. "i was goin' on seven when we come to arkansas. i know i'd walk a while and she'd tote me a while. but we was lucky enough to get in with some white people that was movin' to arkansas. we was comin' to a place called 'the promised land.' we stayed there till ' . "i have farmed and done public work. i worked nine years at that heading factory in the east end (of pine bluff). "i used to vote. when i was in north arkansas, i voted in all kinds of elections. but after i come down here to jefferson county, i couldn't vote in nothin' but the presidential elections. "i don't think the young people are goin' to amount to much. they are a heap wilder than when i was young. they got a chance to graduate now--something i didn't get to do. "i never went to school a day in my life, but the white people where i worked learned me to read and write." interviewer's comment this man could easily pass for a white person. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: annie parks pulaski street, little rock, arkansas age: about occupation: formerly house and field work "i was born and raised in mer rouge, louisiana. that is between here and monroe. i have been here in little rock more than twenty-five years. "my mother's name was sarah mitchell. that was her married name. i don't know what her father's name was. my father's name was willis clapp. he was killed in the first war--the civil war. my father went to the war from mer rouge, louisiana. i don't remember him at all. but that is what my mother told me about him. my mother said he had very good people. after he married my mother, old man offord bought him. offord's name was warren offord. they buried him while i was still there in mer rouge. he was a old-time mason. that was my mother's master--in olden days. "his grandmother took my mother across the seas with her. she (his grandmother) died on shipboard, and they throwed her body into the water. there's people denies it, but my mother told me it was so. young davenport is still living. he is a relative of offords. my mother never did get no pension for my father. slave house and occupation "i was born in a log house. there were two doors--a front and a back--and there were two windows. my mother had no furniture 'cept an old-time wooden bed--big bed. she was a nurse all the time in the house. i heard her say she milked and waited on them in the house. my father's occupation was farming during slavery times. "my mother always said she didn't have no master to beat on her. i like to tell the truth. my mother's master never let no overseer beat his slaves around. she didn't say just what we had to eat. but they always give us a plenty, and there wasn't none of us mistreated. "my father could have an extra patch and make a bale of cotton or whatever he wanted to on it. that was so that he could make a little money to buy things for hisself and his family. and if he raised a bale of cotton on his patch and wanted to sell it to the agent, that was all right. family "i have a brother named manuel clayton. if he's living still, he is younger than i am. he is the baby boy. i doesn't remember his father at all. i had five sisters with myself and two brothers. all of them were older than me except manuel. my mother had one brother and two sisters. her brother's name was lin urbin. we always called him big buddy. he hasn't been so long died. my older brother is named willis clayton--if he's still living. willis has a half dozen sons. he is my oldest brother. he lives way out in the country 'round mer rouge. freedom "my mother said they promised to them money when they were freed. some of them gave them something, and some of them didn't. my mother's folks didn't give her nothin'. the government didn't give her nothin' either. i don't know just who told her she was free nor how. i don't remember myself. patrollers and ku klux "i never heard much about pateroles. my mother said they used to whip you if they would catch you out without a pass. i heard her talk about the ku klux after freedom. slave worship "my mother could always go to church on sunday. her slave-time preacher was tom johnson. henry soates and watt taylor were slavery-time preachers too. old man jacob anderson too was a great preacher in slave time. there was a big arbor where they held church. that was outdoors. there was just a wood frame and green leaves laid over it. hundreds of people sat under there and heard the gospel preached. the offords didn't care how much you worshipped. if i was with them, i wouldn't have no trouble. "in the winter time they had a small place to meet in. they built a church after the war. when i went home, eight or nine years ago, i walked all 'round and looked at all the old places. health "you know my remembrance comes and goes. i ain't had no good remembrance since i been sick. i been mighty sick with high blood pressure. i can't work and i can't even go out. i'm 'fraid i'll fall down and get myself hurt or run over. support "i don't get no help 'cept what my daughter gives me. i can't get no old age pension. i never did get nothin' for my father. my mother didn't either. he was killed in the war, but they didn't give nobody nothin' for his death. they told me they'd give me something and then they told me they wouldn't. i'm dependent on what my daughter does for me. if i was back in mer rouge, i wouldn't have no trouble gettin' a pension, nor nothin' else. slave marriages on the offord plantation "my mother said they just read 'em together, slavery times. i think she said that the preacher married them on the offord plantation. they didn't get no license. amusements "they had quiltings and corn shuckings. i don't know what other amusements they had, but i know everything was pleasant on the offord plantation. "if slaves went out without a pass, my mother said her master wouldn't allow them to beat on them when they come in. they had plenty to eat, and they had substantial clothes, and they had a good fire. age "i don't know how old i am. i was born before the war. my father went to the war when it begun. i had another brother that was born before the war. he don't remember nothin' about my father. i don't neither. i was too young." interviewer's comment allowing for a year's difference between the two youngest children, and allowing that the boy was born immediately before the war, the girl could not be younger than seventy-eight. she could be older. she states all facts as through her mother, but she seems to have experienced some of the things she relates. her memory is fading. failure to get pension or old age assistance oppresses her mind. she comes back to it again and again. she carries her card and her commodity order with her in her pocketbook. she had asked me to write some letters for her when her daughter interfered and said that she didn't want it done. she said that she had told the case worker that her husband worked at the missouri pacific shop and that the case worker had asked her if she wouldn't provide for her mother. they live in a neat rented house. the mother weighs about a hundred and ten pounds and is tall. the daughter is about the same height but weighs about two hundred and fifty. time and again, the old lady tried to convey to me a message that she didn't want her daughter to hear, but i could not make it out. the daughter was belligerent, as is sometimes the case, and it was only by walking in the very middle of the straight and narrow path that i managed to get my story. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: austin pen parnell w. seventeenth street, little rock, arkansas age: occupation: carpenter birth and general fact about life "i was born april fifteenth, , the day lincoln was assassinated, in carroll county, mississippi, about ten miles from grenada. it's about half the distance between grenada and carrollton. carrollton is our county seat but we went to grenada more than we went to carrollton. "when i got older, i moved to grenada and i come from there here. i was about thirty-five years old when i moved to grenada. about acres of land in grenada was mine. i bought it, but heirs claimed the place and i had to leave. i had no land then, only a lot here and i came over here to look it over. a lady had come to mississippi selling property and she had a plat which she said was in little rock not far from the capitol. her name was mrs. putman. the place was on the other side of the fourche. but i didn't know that until i came here. she misguided me. i came to arkansas and looked at the lot and didn't want it. i made a trip over here twice before i settled on living in little rock. i told the others who had bought property from her the truth about its location. they asked me and i hate to lie. i didn't knock; i just answered questions and didn't volunteer nothing. they all quit making their payments, just like i did. my land had a rock on it as big as a bale of cotton. "mr. herring thought hard of me because i told the others the truth. i went into the office one day and mr. herring said, 'parnell, i understand you have been knocking on me.' i said, 'well, i'll tell you, mr. herring, if telling the truth about things is knocking on them, i certainly did.' he never said anything more about it, and i didn't either. "i rented a place on twelfth and maple and then rented around there two or three times, and finally bought a place at west twelfth street. i moved to little rock march , . that was twenty-seven years ago. parents "my father was named henry parnell. he died in the year in the time of the great war. he was ninety-five years old when he died. his master had the same name. my mother's name was priscilla parnell. she belonged to the same family as he did. they married before freedom. my father was a farmer and my mother was a housewife and she'd work in the field too. "my grandmother on my mother's side was named hester parnell. i don't know what her husband's name was. my mother, father, and grandmother were all from north carolina. my grandmother did house and field work. house "my mother and father lived in a two-room house hewed out of big logs--great big logs. the logs were about four inches thick and twelve inches wide. it didn't take many of them to build a wall--about ten or twelve of them on a side. they were notched down so as to almost come together. they chinked up the cracks with mud and covered it with a board. "i laid in bed many a night and looked up through the cracks in the roof. snow would come through there when it snowed and cover the bed covers. we thought you couldn't build a roof so that it would keep out rain and snow, but we were mistaken. before you would make a fire in them days, you had to sweep out the snow so that it wouldn't melt up in the house and make a mess. but we kept healthy just the same. didn't have no pneumonia in those days. "the house had two rooms about eight feet apart. the rooms were connected by a hall which we called a gallery in those days. the hall was covered by the same roof as the house and it had the same floor. the house sot east and west and had a chimney in each end. the chimneys were made out of sticks and mud. i can build a chimney now like that. "it was large at the bottom and tapered at the top. it was about six or seven feet square at the bottom. it grew smaller as it went toward the top. you could get a piece of wood three and a half or four feet long in the boddom of it. sometimes the wood would be too large to carry and you would just have to roll it in. "the floors was boards about one by twelve. there were two doors in each room--one leading outside and the other to the hall. if there were any windows, i can't remember them. we didn't need no windows for ventilation. "this was the house that i remember first after freedom. i remember living in it. that was about seven or eight years after freedom. my father rented it from the big man named alf george for whom he worked. mr. george used to come out and eat breakfast with us. we'd get that hoecake out of the ashes and wash it off until it looked like it was as clean as bread cooked in a skillet. i have seen my grandmother cook a many a one in the fire. we didn't use no skillet for corn bread. the bread would have a good firm crust on it. but it didn't get too hard to eat and enjoy. "she'd take a poker before she put the bread in and rake the ashes off the hearth down to the solid stone or earth bottom, and the ashes would be banked in two hills to one side and the other. then she would put the batter down on it; the batter would be about an inch thick and about nine inches across. she'd put down three cakes at a time and let 'em stay there till the cakes were firm--about five minutes on the bare hot hearth. they would almost bake before she covered them up. sometimes she would lay down as many as four at a time. the cakes had to be dry before they were covered up, because if the ashes ever stuck to them while they were wet, there would be ashes in them when you would take them out to eat. she'd take her poker then and rake the ashes back on the top of the cakes and let 'em stay there till the cakes were done. i don't know just how long--maybe about ten or twelve minutes. she knew how long to cook them. then she'd rake down the hearth gently, backward and forward, with the poker till she got down to them and then she'd put the poker under them and lift them out. that poker was a kind of flat iron. it wasn't a round one. then we'd wash 'em off like i told you and they be ready to eat. "mr. george would eat the ash cake and drink sweet milk. 'auntie, i want some of that ash cake and some of that good sweet milk.' we had plenty of cows. "two-thirds of the water used in the ash cake was hot water, and that made the batter stick together like it was biscuit dough. she could put it together and take it in her hand and pat it out flat and lay it on the hearth. it would be just as round! that was the art of it! "when i go back to mississippi, i'm going back to that house again. i don't remember seeing the house i was born in. but i was told it was an ordinary log house just like those all the other slaves had,--just a one-room log house. freedom "my father went to the war. he was on the confederate side. they carried him there as a worker. they cut down all the timber 'round the place where they were to keep the yankee gunboats from shelling them and knocking the logs down on them. but them yankees were sharp. they stayed away till everything got dry as a chip. then they come down and set all that wood afire with their shells, and the wind seemed to be in their favor. the rebels had to get away from there. "he got sick before the war closed and he had to come home. his young master and the other folks stayed there four or five months longer. his young master was named tom. when tom came home, he waited about five or six months before he would tell them they was free. then he said, 'you all free as i am. you can stay here if you want or you can go. you are free.' they all got together and told him that if he would treat them right he wouldn't have to do no work. they would stay and do his work and theirs too. they would work the land and he would give them their part. i don't know just what the agreement was. i think it was about a third. anyway, they worked on shares. when the landlord furnished a team usually it was halves. but when the worker furnished his own team, it was usually two-thirds or three-fourths that the worker got. but none of them owned teams at that time. they were just turned loose. we stayed there with them people a good while. i don't know just how long, but it was several years. catching a hog "one time a slave went to steal a hog. i don't know the name of the man; i just hear my father tell what happened, and i'm repeating it. it was a great big hog and kind of wild. his plan to catch the hog was to climb a tree and carry a yeer of corn up the tree and at the same time he'd carry a long rope. he had put a running noose in the end of the rope and laid it on the ground and shelled the corn into the ring. he had the other end of the rope tied around himself; he was up the tree. about the time he got the noose pulled up around the hog so that he could tighten up on it, he dropped his hat and scared the hog. the hog didn't know he was around until the hat fell, and the falling of the hat scared it so that it made a big jump and ran a little ways off. that jerked the man out of the tree. him falling scared the hog a second time and got him to running right. he was a big stout hog, and the man's weight didn't hold him back much. the man didn't know what to do to stop the hog. the hog was running draggin' him along, snatching him over logs. there was nothin' else he could do, so he tried prayer. but the hog didn't stop. seemed like even the lord couldn't stop him. then he questioned the lord; he said, 'lawd, what sawt [hw: sort] of a lawd is you? you can stop the wind; you can stop the rain; you can stop the ocean; but you can't stop this hog.' "the hog ran till he came to a big ditch. he jumped the ditch, but the man fell in it, and that compelled the hog to stop. the man's hollering made somebody hear him and come and git him loose from the hog. he was so glad to git loose, he didn't mind losing the hog and gettin' punished. he didn't get the hog. he just got a lot of bruises. i don't remember just how they punished him. ku klux klan "once after the war there was a lot of colored people at a prayer meeting. it was in the winter and they had a fire. the ku klux come up. they just stood outside the door, but the people thought they were coming in and they got scared. they didn't know hardly how to get out. one man got a big shovelful of hot coals and ashes out of the fireplace and threw it out over them, and while they was dusting off the ashes and coals, the niggers all got away. patrollers "i remember my father telling tales about the patrollers, but i can't remember them just now. there was an old song about them. part of it went like this: 'run, nigger, run the pateroles'll get you. that nigger run that nigger flew that nigger bust his sunday shoe. run, nigger, run the pateroles'll get you.' that's all i know of that. there is more to it. i used to hear the boys sing it, and i used to hear 'em pick it out on the banjo and the guitar. old massa goes 'way "old massa went off one time and left the niggers. he told 'em that he was goin' to new york. he jus' wanted to see what they would do if they thought he was away. the niggers couldn't call the name new york, and they said, 'old massa's gone to philameyawk.' "they went in the pantry and got everything they wanted to eat. and they had a big feast. while they were feasting, the old man came in disguised as a tramp--face smutty and clothes all dirty and raggedy. they couldn't tell who he was. he walked up just as though he wanted to eat and begged the boys for something to eat. the boys said to him, 'stan' back, you shabby rascal, you; _if'n_ they's anything left, you get some; _if'n_ they ain't none left, you get none. this is our time. old massa done gone to philameyawk and we're having a big time.' "after they were through, they did give him a little something but they still didn't know him. i never did learn the details about what happened after they found out who the tramp was. my father told me about it. whipping a slave "i heard my father say his old master give him two licks with a whip once. him and another man had been off and they came in. master drove up in a double surrey. he had been to town and had bought the boys a pair of boots apiece. he told them as he got out of the surrey to take his horses out and feed them. my father's friend was there with him and he said: 'le's get our boots before we feed the horses.' after that the master walked out on the porch and he had on crying boots. the horses heard them squeaking and they nickered. "master said, 'henry, i thought i told you to feed them horses. henry was so taken aback that he couldn't say a thing. henry was my father, you know. master went and got his cowhide. he said, 'are you going to obey my orders?' about the time he said that, he hit my father twice with the cowhide, and my father said, 'oh pray, master, oh pray,' and he let him go. he beat the other fellow pretty bad because he told him to 'le's get the boots first.' "old master would get drunk sometimes and get on the niggers and beat them up. he would have them stark naked and would be beating them. then old missis would come right out there and stop him. she would say, 'i didn't come all the way here from north carolina to have my niggers beat up for nothin'.' she'd take hold of the cowhide, and he would have to quit. my father had both her picture and the old man's. prayer "i can remember how my mother used to pray out in the field. we'd be picking cotton. she would go off out there in the ditch a little ways. it wouldn't be far, and i would listen to her. she would say to me: 'pray, son,' and i would say, 'mother, i don't know how to pray,' and she would say, 'well, just say lord have mercy.' that gave me religious inclinations. i cultivated religion from that time on. i would try to pray and finally i learned. one day i was out in the field and it was pouring down rain, and i was standing up with tears in my eyes trying to pray as she taught me to. we weren't picking cotton then. i was just walking out. my mother was dead. i would be walking out and whenever i would get the notion i would stop right there and go to praying. "in slave times, they would have a prayer meeting out in some of the places and they would turn a pot down out in front of the door. it would be on a stick or something and raised up a short distance from the ground so that it wouldn't set flat on the ground. it seems that that would catch the sound and keep it right around there. they would sing that old song: 'we will camp awhile in the wilderness and then i'm going home.' i don't know any more of the words of that song. early schooling "i started to school when i was about six or seven years old. i didn't get to school regular because my father had plenty of work and he had a habit of taking me out to help him when he needed me in his work. "my first teacher was a white man named jones. i don't remember his first name. he was a northerner and a republican. he taught in the public school with us. his boy, john, and his girl, louisa, went to the same school, and were in classes with us. the kids would beat them up sometimes but he didn't cut up about it. he was pretty good man. "after him, i had a colored man named m.e. davis as a teacher. he would say to my father, 'henry, that is a bright boy; he will be a credit to you if you will keep him at school and give him a chance. don't make him lose so much time.' my father would say, 'yes, that is right.' but as soon as another job came up, he would keep me out again. "i soon got so my learning was a help to him in his work. whenever any figuring was to be done, i had to do it if it was done right. he never had a chance to get any schooling and he couldn't figure well. so they used to beat him out of plenty when he would work for them. one day we had picked cotton for a white man and when the time came to pay off, the man paid father, but i noticed that he didn't give him all he should have. i didn't say anything while we was standing there but after we got away i said, 'papa, he didn't give you the right money.' "papa said, 'how much should he have given me?' "i told him, and he said to me, 'will you say that to him?' "i said, 'yes, papa.' "he turned 'round and we went on back to the place and pa said, 'my boy says you didn't pay me all that was comin' to me.' "the white man turned to me at once and said, 'how much was coming to him?' "i told him. "he said, 'what makes you think that?' "i said, 'we picked so many pounds of cotton at so much per hundred pounds, and that would amount to so many dollars and so many cents.' "when i said that, he fell over on the ground and like to killed his self laughing. he counted out the right money to my father and said, 'henry, you better watch that little skinny-eyed nigger; he knows something.' present support "i don't got anything from the government. i live by what little i make at odd jobs." note: in this interview this man used correct english most of the time and the interview is given in his own words. lapses into dialect will be noticed. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: ben parr, brinkley, arkansas age: next march ( ) "i was born in tennessee close to ripley. my master was charles warpoo and catherine warpoo. they had three boys and two girls. they owned my mama and me and gentry was the oldest child. he died last year. my mama raised twelve children. my papa belong to people over on the mississippi river. their name was parr but i couldn't tell a thing about them. when i come to know about them was after freedom. there was jim parr, dick parr, columbus parr. we lived on their place. both my parents was farm hands, and all twelve children wid them. "well, the first i recollect is that we lived on the five acre lot, the big house, and some of the slaves lived in houses around the big yard all fenced with pailings and nice pickett fence in front of charlie warpoo's house. we played around under the trees all day. the soldiers come nearly every day and nearly et us out of house and home. the blue coats seemed the hungriest or greediest pear lack. they both come. master didn't go to war; his boys was too young to go, so we was all at home. my papa shunned the war. he said he didn't give a pickayune whether he be free or not, it wouldn't do no good if he be dead nohow. he didn't live with us doe (though). they kept papa pretty well hid out with stock in the mississippi river bottoms. he wasn't scared ceptin' when he come over to see my mama and us. when we come to know anything we was free. "i never seen nobody sold. none of my folks was sold. the folks raised my mama and they didn't want her to leave. the folks raised papa what had him at freedom. he said him and mama was married long before the war sprung up. i don't know how they married nor where. she was young when they married. "i remember hearing mama say when you went to preaching you sit in the back of the church and sit still till the preaching was all over. they had no leaving. "i know when i was a child people raised children, now they let them grow up. children was sent off or out to play, not sit and listen to what grown folks had to say. now the children is educated and too smart to listen to good advice. they are going to ruination. mama used to have our girls knit at night and she spin, weave, sew. they would tell us how to be polite and honest and how to work. young folks too smart to take advice now. "mama was cooking at the warpoo's house; she cooked breakfast. one morning i woke up and here was a yard full of 'feds.' i was hungry. i went through the whole regiment--a yard full--to mama hard as i could split. they didn't bother me. i was afraid they would carry me off sometimes. they was great hands to tease and worry the little negro children. "over at dyersburg, tennessee the ku klux was bad. jefferie segress was pretty prosperous, owned his own home. john carson whooped him, cut his ear off, treated him bad. high sheriff they said was a 'fed.' he put twenty-four buck shots in john carson. that was the last of the ku klux at dyersburg. the negroes all left dyersburg. they kept leaving. the 'feds' was meaner to them than the owners. in , three weeks before christmas, one hundred head of negroes got off the train here at brinkley. the ku klux was the tail end of the war, whooping around. it was a fight between the 'feds' and the old owners--both sides telling the negroes what to do. the best way was stay at home and work to keep out of trouble. "the bushwhackers killed raymond jones (black man) before the war closed. well, i don't know what they ambushed for. "i paid my own way to arkansas. i brought my wife. mama was dead. "if the negro is a taxpayer he ought to vote like white folks. but they can't run the government. that was tried out after that war we been talking about. our color has faith in white folks and this is their country. i vote some. we got a good right to vote. we helped clear out the country. it is our home now. "the present times is too fast. i can't place this young generation. "this is my second wife i'm living wid now. she's got children. i never had a child. we gets $ off of the welfare and i work around at pick-up jobs. i farmed all my whole life." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: frank a. patterson chester street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in raleigh, north carolina in . my father was born in baltimore, maryland. my mother and father was sold into bibb county, georgia. i don't know how much they sold for. i don't know how much they paid for them. i don't know how much the speculator asked for them. used to have them in droves and you would go in and pick 'em out and pay different amounts for them. "i was never sold. my old boss didn't believe in selling slaves. he would buy 'em but he wouldn't sell 'em. i'll say that much for him. master "i belonged to a man named thomas johnson cater. houses "they lived in log houses. some of them had weatherboard houses but the majority of them was log houses. two doors and one window. some of them had plank floors. some of them had floors what was hewed, you know, sills. they had stick and dirt chimneys. some of them had brick chimneys. it depended on the master--on the situation of the master. furniture "they just had bunks built up side the wall. the best experienced colored people had these teester beds. didn't have no slats. had ropes. they called 'em cord beds sometimes. they had tables just like we have now what they made themselves. chairs were long benches made out of planks. little kids had big blocks to sit on where they sawed off timber. "they had what they called a cupboard to keep the food in. some of them had chests made out of planks, you know. that is the way they kept it. they put a hasp and steeple on it so as to keep the children out when they was gone to the field. food "they give 'em three pounds of meat a week, peck of meal, pint of molasses; some of them give 'em three to five pounds of flour on a sunday morning according to the size of the family. the majority of them had shorts from the wheat. some of the slaves would clean up a flat in the bottoms and plant rice in it. that was where they would allow the slaves to have truck patches. "some few of them had chickens that was allowed to have them. same of them had owners that wouldn't allow their slaves to own chickens. they never allowed them to have hogs or cows. wherever there was a family that had a whole lot of children they would allow them to have a cow to milk for to get milk for their children. they claimed the cow, but the master was the owner of it. it belonged to him. he would just let them milk it. he would just let them raise their children off of the milk it gave. clothes "there was no child ever had a pair of shoes until he got old enough to go in the field. that was when he was twelve years old. that is about all i know about it. schooling "i never went to school in my life. i got hold of one of them old blue back spelling books. my young boss gave it to me after i was free. he told me that i was free now and i had to think and act for myself. signs of war "before the war i saw the elements all red as blood and i saw after that a great comet; and they said there was going to be a war. memories of the pre-war campaign "when fillmore, buchanan, and lincoln ran for president one of my old bosses said, 'hurrah for buchanan,' and i said, 'hurrah for lincoln.' one of my mistresses said, 'why do you say, 'hurrah for lincoln?' and i said, 'because he's goin' to set me free.' "during that campaign, lincoln came to north carolina and ate breakfast with my master. in those days, the kitchen was off from the house. they had for breakfast ham with cream gravy made out of sweet milk and they had biscuits, poached eggs on toast, coffee and tea, and grits. they had waffles and honey and maple syrup. that was what they had for breakfast. "he told my old boss that our sons are 'ceivin' children by slaves and buyin' and sellin' our own blood and it will have to be stopped. and that is what i know about that. refugeeing "at the close of the war, we had refugeed down in houston county in georgia. war memories "sherman's army came through there looking for jeff davis, and they told me that they wasn't fightin' any more,--that i was free. "they said, 'you ain't got no master and no mistress.' they et dinner there. all the old folks went upstairs and turned the house over to me and the cook. and they et dinner. one of them said, 'my little man, bring your hat 'round now and we are going to pay you,' and they passed the hat 'round and give me a hat full of money. i thought it wasn't no good and i carried it and give it to my old mistress, but it was good. "they asked me if i had ever seen jeff davis. i said 'no.' then they said, 'that's him sittin' there.' he had on a black dress and a pair of boots and a mantilla over his shoulders and a quaker bonnet and a black veil. "they got up from the dining table and sherman ordered them to 'recover arms.' he had on a big black hat full of eagles and he had stars and stripes all over him. that was sherman's artillery. they had mules with pots and skillets, and frying pans, and axes, and picks, grubbing hoes, and spades, and so on, all strapped on those mules. and the mules didn't have no bridles but they went on just as though they had bridles. one of the yanks started a song when he picked up his gun. 'here's my little gun his name is number one four and five rebels we'll slay 'em as they come join the ban' the rebels understan' give up all the lan' to my brother abraham old gen'l lee who is he? he's not such a man as our gen'l grant snap poo, snap peter real rebel eater i left my ply stock standin' in the mould i left my family and silver and gold snap poo, snap peter real rebel eater snap poo, snap peter.' "and general sherman gave the comman', 'silence', and 'silence' roared one man, and it rolled all down the line, 'silence, silence, silence, silence.' and they all got silent. how freedom came "they had a notification for a big speaking and that was in perry, georgia. everybody that was able throughout the state went to that convention where that speaking was. and that is where peace was declared. every man was his own free agent. 'no more master, no more mistress. you are your own free moral agent. think and act for yourself.' that is how it was declared. i didn't go to the meeting. i was right there in the town. there was too many people there. you couldn't stir them with hot fire. but my mother and father went. what the slaves expected "they didn't expect anything but freedom. some of them didn't have sense enough to secure a home for themselves. they didn't have no sense. some of them wasn't eligible to speak for themselves. they wanted somebody to speak for them. what they got "i don't know that they got anything. immediately after the war "right after the war, i stayed with the people that owned me and worked. they give me two dollars a month and my food and clothes. i stayed with them five years and then i quit. i had sense enough to quit and i went to work for wages. i got five dollars a month. and i thought that was a big salary. i didn't know no better. i learnt better by experience. negroes in politics "just after the war, the republicans used to have representatives at the state convention. after the democrats got in power, they knocked all that in the head. colored people used to be on juries. but they won't let them serve now. (negroes served on local grand jury last year.) "i knew one nigger politician in georgia named i.b. simons. he was a school-teacher. he never held any office. i knowed a nigger politician here by the name of john bush. he had the united states land office. when the democrats got in power they put him out. i knowed another fellow used to be here named crockett brown. he lived in lee county, arkansas. he was a congressman. i don't know whether he ever got to the white house or not. i ain't never seen no account of it. i can't tell you all any more now. memories of fred douglass "i knowed fred douglass. i shook hands with him and talked with him here in little rock. they give him the opera house. we had the first floor. the white folks had the gallery. that was when the republicans were in power. "he said: 'they all seem to be amazed and dumbfounded over me having a white woman for a wife.' he said, 'you all don't know that my father was my mother's master and she was as black as a crow. don't it seem natural that history should repeat itself? have often wondered why he liked such a black woman as my mother. i was jus' a chip off the old block.' voting "i voted for u.s. grant. he was the first president we had after the civil war. i shook hands with him twice in little rock. he put up at the capitol hotel and i was a-cooking there. "i voted for mckinley. i saw him too. i had a walking cane with his head on it. that is about all i remember right now. he was the one that got up this gold standard. he liked to put this state under bayonet laws when he was working under that gold standard. the south was bitterly against him. occupation "i followed cooking all my life. i have had the white peoples' lives in my hand all my life. i worked on the government boat, _wichita_. it went out of season and they built a boat called the _arkansas_. i cooked on it. captain griffin was the master of it. when it went out of service, captain newcome from the war department transferred me over to the mississippi river on the _arthur hider_ (?). my headquarters were in greenville, mississippi. it was far from home, so after nine months i quit and came home (little rock). captain van frank give me a position on a dredge boat and the people were so bad on there i wouldn't stay. i came away. i wouldn't stay 'mongst 'em. religion "i want you to know that i am a christian and i want you to know i ain't got no compromise with nobody on god's word. i ain't got but one way and that is the way jesus said: come unto me all ye that are heavy laden, and i will give you rest. he that believeth on me shall be saved. you all fix anything anyway you want. i ain't bothered 'bout you. "my people were good christian people." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: john patterson, helena, arkansas age: "i was born near paducah, kentucky. mother was never sold. she belong to master arthur patterson. mother was what folks called black folks. i never seen a father to know. i never heard mother say a thing about my father if i had one. he never was no use to me nor her neither. mother brought me here in time of the civil war. i was four years old. we come here to be kept from the yankee soldiers. we was sent with some of the pattersons. at the end of the war mother cooked for nick rightor (?) and his wife here in north helena. he was a farmer but his son is a ear, eye, nose specialist. "i farmed, cleaned house and yards for these helena people. i was janitor at the episcopal church in helena sixteen years and four months. they paid me forty-five dollars a month. "yes ma'am, i have heard about the ku klux. heard talk but never seen one. "i never been in jail. i never been drunk. folks in helena will tell you john patterson can be trusted. "i saved up one thousand dollars, just let it slip. the present times are hard. times are hard. i get ten dollars and comissary helps. i got one in family. "i think mother said she was treated very good in slavery. she didn't tell me much about it. "i own a home. it come through a will from my aunt. my uncle was a drayman here in helena and a close liver. i want to hold to it if i can. "if you'd ask me what all ain't took place since i been here i could come nigh telling you. we had colored officers here. austin barrer was sheriff. half of the officers was colored at one time. john jones was police. no, they wasn't friends of mine. i seen these levies built. one was here in . it was rebuilt then. "it seems to me the country is going down. when they put in the stock law people had to sell so much stock. milch cows sold for six dollars a head. people that want and need stock have no place to raise it. people are not as industrious as they was and they accumolate more it seems to me. we used to make our living at home. i think that is the best way. "i voted a republican ticket years ago. i don't believe in women voting. the lord don't believe in that. i belong to the baptist church. "young folks don't act on education principles. folks used to fight with fist. now one shoots the other down. times are not improving morally. folks don't even think it is wrong to take things; that is stealing. they drink up all the money they can get. i don't see no colored folks ever save a dollar. they did long time ago. thaes worse in some ways. "i forgot our plough songs: 'i wonder where my darling is.' 'nigger makes de cotton and de white man gets the money.' "everybody used to sing. we worked from sun to sun; we courted and was happy. people not happy now. they are craving now. about four o'clock we all start up singing. sing till dark." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: sarah jane patterson orange street, north little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in bartow county, georgia, january , . you can go there and look in that bible over there and you will find it all written down. my mama kept a record of all our ages. her old mistress kept the record and gave it to my mother after freedom. parents "my parents were joe patterson and mary adeline patterson. my mother's name before she married was mary adeline huff. my grandfather on my mother's side was named huff. my mother's sisters were mahala, and sallie. and them's the onliest two i remember. she had two brothers but i don't remember their names. how freedom came "i was living in bartow county in north georgia when freedom came. i don't remember how the slaves found it out. i remember them saying, 'well, they's all free.' and that is all i remember. and i remember some one saying--asking a question, 'you got to say master?' and somebody answered and said, 'naw.' but they said it all the same. they said it for a long time. but they learned better though. family "i have brother willis, lizzie, mary, maud, and myself. there was four sisters and one brother. i had just one child--a boy. he lived to be a grown man and raised a family. his wife had three children and all of them is gone. the father, the mother, and the children. i was a woman. i wasn't no man. i just had one child, but the lord blessed me. i have three sisters and a brother dead. master "my old master's name was john patterson and my old mistress was named lucy patterson. she had a son named bill and a son named tommy and a son named charles, and a boy named bob, and a girl named marion. we are so for apart they can't help me none. i know bob's boys are dead because they got killed in a fight in texas. crippled in slave time "i been crippled all my life. we was on the lawn playing and the white boy had been to the pond to water the horses. he came back and said he was going to run over us. we all ran and climbed up on the top of a ten rail fence. the fence gave 'way and broke and fell down with us. i caught the load. they all fell on me. it knocked the knee out of place. they carried me to stilesboro to dr. jeffrey, a white doctor in slavery time. i don't know what he did, but he left me with my knee out of joint after he treated it. i can't work my toes and i have to walk with that stick. soldiers "i was a tot when i seen the soldiers coming dressed in blue, and i run. they was very nice to the colored people, never beat 'em or nothin'. i was in bartow county when they come through. they took a lot of things, but i can't remember exactly what it was. i 'tended to the children then--both the white and colored children, but mostly the white. good masters "my old master, john patterson, never beat up the women and men he bossed. patrollers "i have heard people talk about the pateroles raising sand with the niggers. some of the niggers would say they got whipped. i was small. i would hear 'em say, 'the pateroles is out tonight.' ku klux klan "i have seed the old ku klux. that was after freedom. they came 'round to my old master where my mama stayed. they were just after whipping folks. some of them they couldn't whip. support "i used to get a little money from mr. dent long as he was living. i would go over there and he would give me a dollar or two. since he's been dead, his wife don't have much to give me. she gives me something to eat sometimes but she doesn't have any money now that her husband is dead. "i can't get up to the welfare. crippled as i am, i can't walk up and down those stairs, and i can't git there nohow. i been tryin' to git some one to take me up there. "mr. pratt helps me from time to time, but he ain't sent me nothin' now in a good while. he's right smart busy, but if i go to him, i spect he'll stir up somethin' for me. travels "i wouldn't never a left bartow county, but the white people made out that this was a rich country and you could make so much out here, and we moved out here. we was young then. we came out on the train. it was a long time back but it was too far to came on a wagon. i don't remember just how long ago it was. occupation "i used to quilt until my fingers got too stiff. i got some patterns in there now if you want to see them." interviewer's comment the old lady took me in the house and showed me about a dozen quilts, beautifully patterned and made. she had also some unfinished tops. she says that she does not have much of a sale for them now because the "quality of folks" who liked such things well enough to buy them "is just about gone." she is crippled and unable to walk with facility. she has a great deal of difficulty in getting off and on her porch. still she does not impress one as feeble so much as just disabled in one or two particulars. she has a crippled knee, and both of her hands are peculiarly stiff in the finger joints, one more so than the other. if it were not for the disabilities, as old as she is, i believe that she could give a good account of herself. i didn't have the heart to tell the old lady that her bible record is not what she thinks it is. it is not the old original record which her mistress possessed. neither is it the copy of the record of her mistress which her mother kept. from questioning, i gather that the old mistress dictated the original record to some one connected with her mother, might have written it out herself on a sheet of paper. from time to time, as new deaths and births occurred, scraps of paper containing them were added to the first paper, and as the papers got worn, blurred, and dog-eared, they were copied--probably not without errors. time came when the grandchildren up in the grades and with _semi-modern_[hw:?] ideas copied the scraps into the family bible. by that time aging and blurring of the original lead pencil notes, together with recopying, had invalidated the record till it is no longer altogether reliable. the births recorded in the bible are as follows and in the exact order given below: mary patterson - - harris donesson - - lilley donesson - - pearly donesson - - silvay williams - - beney williams - - millia a. williams - - joe patterson - - h. patterson - - maria e. patterson - - jennie patterson - - alex patterson - - james patterson - - janie patterson - - amanda patterson - - james rafield walker - - cornelius walker - - willie walker - - elias walker - - emmet brown - - leon harris - - the following marriages were given: may lee brown - - james walker brown - - jennie walker - - lillie jean walker - - the name of sarah jane patterson is not in the list. the list itself is not chronological. it is written in ink but in the stiff cramped hand to be expected of a school child not yet thoroughly familiar with the pen. the eye fixes on the name of janie patterson, - - . it does not seem probable that this is correct if it is meant to be sarah jane. sarah jane could give no help except to answer questions about the manner in which the record was made. these considerations led me to set the record aside in my own mind so far as sarah jane patterson's age is concerned and to take her word. she has a very clear conception of the change from slavery to freedom. her memories are blurred and indistinct, but she recollects that this matter was during slavery times and that during freedom. it seems that she had the care of the smaller children during slavery time--at the time she saw the soldiers marching through. this was not during the time of freedom, because she distinguished clearly the ku klux time. she would have to be at least eighty to have cared for children. her tenacious memory of ninety may have some foundation, therefore. moreover where writing is done in lead pencil and hurriedly, six is often made to look like four and a part of eight may become blurred till it looks like a zero. that would account for being transcribed as . there would be nothing unusual, however, in a sarah jane and a jane. i neglected to cover that point in a question. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: solomon p. pattillo martin street, little rock, arkansas age: occupation: formerly farmer, teacher, and small dealer--now blind "i was born november . i was three years old at the time of the surrender. i was born right here in arkansas--right down here in tulip, dallas county, arkansas. i have never been out of the state but twice. refugeeing "my daddy carried me out once when they took him to texas during the war to keep the yanks from setting him free. "then i went out once long after slavery to get a load of sand. on the way back, my boat nearly sank. those are the only two times i ever left the state. parents "my father's name was thomas smith, but the pattillos bought him and he took the name of pattillo. i don't know how much he sold for. that was the only time he was ever sold. i believe that my father was born in north carolina. it seems like to me i recollect that is where he said he was born. "my mother was born in virginia. i don't know how she got here unless she was sold like my father was. i don't know her name before she got married. yes, i do; her name was fannie smith, i believe. houses "we lived in old log cabins. we had bedsteads nailed to the wall. then we had them old fashioned cordboard springs. they had ropes made into springs. that was a high class bed. people who had those cord springs felt themselves. they made good sleeping. my father had one. ropes were woven back and forth across the bed frame. "we had those old spinning wheels. three cuts was a day's work. a cut was so many threads. it was quite a day to make them. they had hanks too. the threads were all linked together. "my mother was a spinner. my father was a farmer. both of them worked for their master,--old massa, they called him, or massa, mass tom, mass john or massta. war recollections "i remember during the war when i was in texas with a family of moody's how old mistiss had me packing rocks out of the yard in a basket and cleaning the yard. i didn't know it then, but my daddy told me later that that was when i was in texas,--during the war. i remember that i used to work in my shirt tail. "the soldiers used to come in the house somewhere and take anything they could get or wanted to take. pateroles "when i was a boy they had a song, 'run, nigger, run; the pateroles will get you.' they would run you in and i have been told they would whip you. if you overstayed your time when your master had let you go out, he would notify the pateroles and they would hunt you up and turn you over to him. church meetings "way long then, my father and mother used to say that man doesn't serve the lord--the true and living god and let it be known. a bunch of them got together and resolved to serve him any way. first they sang in a whisper, 'come ye that love the lord.' finally they got bold and began to sing in tones that could be heard everywhere, 'oh for a thousand tongues to sing my great redeemer's praise.' after the war "after the war my father fanned--made share crops. i remember once how some one took his horse and left an old tired horse in the stable. she looked like a nag. when she got rested up she was better than the one that was took. "his first farm was down here in dallas county. he made a share crop with his former master, pattillo. he never had no trouble with him. ku klux "i heard a good deal of talk about the ku klux klan, but i don't know anything much about it. they never bothered my father and mother. my father was given the name of being an obedient servant--among the best help they had. "my father farmed all his life. he died at the age of seventy-two in tulip, near the year , just before cleveland's inauguration. he died of typhoid pneumonia. my mother was ninety-six years old when she died in . little rock "i came to little rock in . i came up here to teach in fourche dam. then i moved here. i taught my first school in this county at cato. i quit teaching because my salary was so poor and then i went into the butcher's business, and in the wood business. i farmed all the while. "i taught school for twenty-one years. i always was a successful teacher. i did my best. if you contract to do a job for ten dollars, do as much as though you were getting a hundred. that will always help you to get a better job. "i have farmed all my life in connection with my teaching. i went into other businesses like i said a moment ago. i was a caretaker at the haven of rest cemetery for sometime. "i was postmaster from to at sweet home. at one time i was employed on the united states census. "i get a little blind pension now. i have no other means of support. loss of eyes "the doctor says i lost my eyesight on account of cataracts. i had an operation and when i came home, i got to stirring around and it caused me to have a hemorrhage of the eye. you see i couldn't stay at the hospital because it was costing me $ a day and i didn't have it. they had to take one eye clean out. nothing can be done for them, but somehow i feel that the lord's going to let me see again. that's the way i feel about it. "i have lived here in this world this long and never had a fight in my life. i have never been mistreated by a white man in my life. i always knew my place. some fellows get mistreated because they get out of their place. "i was told i couldn't stay in benton because that was a white man's town. i went there and they treated me white. i tried to stay with a colored family way out. they were scared to take me. i had gone there to attend to some business. then i went to the sheriff and he told me that if they were scared to have me stay at their home, i could stay at the hotel and put my horse in the livery stable. i stayed out in the wagon yard. but i was invited into the hotel. they took care of my horse and fed it and they brought me my meals. the next morning, they cleaned and curried and hitched my horse for me. "i have voted all my life. i never had any trouble about it. "the ku klux never bothered me. nobody else ever did. if we live so that everybody will respect us, the better class will always try to help us." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: carry allen patton forrest city, arkansas age: "i was born in shelby county, tennessee. my parents was tillie watts and pierce allen. he come from louisiana reckly (directly) after the surrender. my mother come from virginia. she was sold in virginia and brought to middle tennessee close to murfreesboro and then brought to memphis and sold. she was dark and my father was too. they was living close to wilmar, arkansas when the yellow fever was so bad. i don't remember it. heard them talk about it. "i heard my mother say how mr. jake watts saved his money from the yankees. they had a great big rock flat on both sides. they put on the joints of big meat to weight it down when they salted it down in a barrel. they didn't unjoint the meat and in the joint is where it started to spoil. well, he put his silver and gold in a pot. it was a big round pot and was smaller around the top. he dug a hole after midnight. he and his two boys james and dock put the money in this hole in the back yard. they covered the pot with the big flat rock and put dirt on that and next morning they planted a good big cedar tree over the rock, money and all. "old master jake died during the war and their house was burned but james lived in one of the cabins in the yard. dock went to the war. my mother said when they left, that tree was standing. "my mother run off. she thought she would go cook for the men in the camps but before she got to the camps a wagon overtook her and they stole her. they brought her to memphis and sold her on a block. they guarded her. she never did know who they was nor what become of them. they kept her in the wagon on the outskirts of the city nearly a month. one man always stayed to watch her. she was scared to death of both of them. one of the men kept a jug of whiskey in the wagon and drunk it but he never would get dead drunk so she could slip off. "mr. johnson bought her and when the surrender come on, master johnson took his family and went to texas. she begged him to take her to nurse but he said if it wasn't freedom he would send her back to master james watts and he would let her go back then. he give her some money but she never went back. she was afraid to start walking and before her money give clear out she met up with my father and he talked her out of going back. "she had a baby pretty soon. it was by them men that stole her. he was light. he died when he got nearly grown. i recollect him good. i was born close to memphis, the boy died of dysentery. "when my mother was sold in virginia she was carried in a wagon to the block and thought she was going to market. she never seen her folks no more. they let them go along to market sometimes and set in the wagon. she had a little pair of gloves she wore when she was sold her grandma had knit for her. they was white, had half thumb and no fingers. when she died i put them in her coffin. she had twins born dead besides me. they was born close to wilmar, arkansas. "we farmed all my life in arkansas and mississippi. i married in mississippi and we come back here before joe died. i live out here and in memphis. my son is a janitor at the sellers brothers store in memphis. my daughter cooks about here in town and i keep her children. i rather farm if i was able. "i think young folks, both colors, shuns work. times is running away with itself. folks is living too fast. they ride too fast and drinks and do all kinds of meanness. "my father was a mighty poor hand at talking. he said he was sold in a gang shipped to memphis from new orleans. master allen bought him. he was a boy. i don't know how big. he cleaned fish--scaled them. he butchered and in a few months mr. allen set him free. it was surrender when he was sold but mr. allen didn't know it or else he meant to keep him on a few years. when he got loose he started farming and farmed till he died. he farmed in tennessee, mississippi, and arkansas. he owned a place but a drouth come along. he got in debt and white folks took it. "i married in mississippi. my husband immigrated from south carolina. he was joe patton. i washed and ironed and farmed. i rather farm now if i was able. "i never got no gov'ment help. i ain't posing it. it is a fine thing. i was in tennessee when it come on. they said i'd have to stay here six months. i never do stay." interviewer: mrs. annie l. lacotts person interviewed: harriett mcfarlin payne dewitt, arkansas age: "aunt harriett, were you born in slavery time?" "yes, mam! i was big enough to remember well, us coming back from texas after we refugeed there when the fighting of the war was so bad at st. charles. we stayed in texas till the surrender, then we all come back in lots of wagons. i was sick but they put me on a little bed and me and all the little chillun rode in a 'jersey' that one of the old negro mammies drove, along behind the wagons, and our young master, colonel bob chaney rode a great big black horse. oh! he nice-looking on dat horse! every once and awhile he'd ride back to the last wagon to see if everything was all right. i remember how scared us chillun was when we crossed the red river. aunt mandy said, 'we crossin' you old red river today, but we not going to cross you any more, cause we are going home now, back to arkansas.' that day when we stopped to cook our dinner i picked up a lot little blackjack acorns and when my mammy saw them she said, 'throw them things down, chile. they'll make you wormy.' (i cried because i thought they were chinquapins.) i begged my daddy to let's go back to texas, but he said, 'no! no! we going with our white folks.' my mama and daddy belonged to col. jesse chaney, much of a gentleman, and his wife miss sallie was the best mistress anybody ever had. she was a christian. i can hear her praying yet! she wouldn't let one of her slaves hit a tap on sunday. they must rest and go to church. they had preaching at the cabin of some one of the slaves, and in the summertime sometimes they had it out in the shade under the trees. yes, and the slaves on each plantation had their own church. they didn't go galavanting over the neighborhood or country like niggers do now. col. chaney had lots and lots of slaves and all their houses were in a row, all one-room cabins. everything happened in that one room,--birth, sickness, death and everything, but in them days niggers kept their houses clean and their door yards too. these houses where they lived was called 'the quarters'. i used to love to walk down by that row of houses. it looked like a town and late of an evening as you'd go by the doors you could smell meat a frying, coffee making and good things cooking. we were fed good and had plenty clothes to keep us dry and warm. "along about time for de surrender, col. jesse, our master, took sick and died with some kind of head trouble. then col. bob, our young master, took care of his mama and the slaves. all the grown folks went to the field to work and the little chillun would be left at a big room called the nursing home. all us little ones would be nursed and fed by an old mammy, aunt mandy. she was too old to go to the field, you know. we wouldn't see our mammy and daddy from early in the morning till night when their work was done, then they'd go by aunt mandy's and get their chillun and go home till work time in the morning. "some of the slaves were house negroes. they didn't go to work in the fields, they each one had their own job around the house, barn, orchard, milk house, and things like that. "when washday come, lord, the pretty white clothes! it would take three or four women a washing all day. "when two of de slaves wanted to get married, they'd dress up nice as they could and go up to the big house and the master would marry them. they'd stand up before him and he'd read out of a book called the 'discipline' and say, 'thou shalt love the lord thy god with all thy heart, all thy strength, with all thy might and thy neighbor as thyself.' then he'd say they were man and wife and tell them to live right and be honest and kind to each other. all the slaves would be there too, seeing the 'wedden'. "our miss sallie was the sweetest best thing in the world! she was so good and kind to everybody and she loved her slaves, too. i can remember when uncle tony died how she cried! uncle tony wadd was miss sallie's favorite servant. he stayed in a little house in the yard and made fires for her, brought in wood and water and just waited on the house. he was a little black man and white-headed as cotton, when he died. miss sallie told the niggers when they come to take him to the grave yard, to let her know when they got him in his coffin, and when they sent and told her she come out with all the little white chillun, her little grandchillun, to see uncle tony. she just cried and stood for a long time looking at him, then she said, 'tony, you have been a good and faithful servant.' then the negro men walked and carried him to the graveyard out in a big grove in de field. every plantation had its own graveyard and buried its own folks, and slaves right on the place. "if all slaves had belonged to white folks like ours, there wouldn't been any freedom wanted." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: john payne brinkley, ark. age: "i was born in georgia, close to bowles spring, in franklin county. my mama's master was reverend david payne. he was a baptist preacher. my mama said my father was monroe glassby. he was a youngster on a neighboring plantation. he was white. his father was a landowner. i think she said it was miles east of atlanta where they went to trade. they went to town two or three times a year. it took about a week to go and come. "from what mama said they didn't know it was freedom for a long time. they worked on i know till that crop was made and gathered. somebody sent word to the master, rev. david, he better turn them slaves loose. some of the hands heard the message. that was the first they knowed it was freedom. my mama said she seen soldiers and heard fighting. she had heard that if the yankees won the war all the slaves be free. she set to studyin' what she would do. she didn't know what to do. so when she heard it she asked if she had to be free. she told rev. david she wanted to stay like she had been staying. after i was up a good size boy we went to banks county. she done house work and field work too and i done farm work. all kinds and from sun-up till dark every day. sometimes i get in so late i have to make a torch light to see how to put the feed in the troughs. we had plenty litard--pine knots--they was rich to burn. "i used to vote but i quit since i come to arkansas. i come in . i paid my own way and wrote back for my family. i paid their way too. i got one little grandaughter, years old. she is off trying to make her way through college. my wife had a stroke and she can't do much no more. i got a piece of a house. it need repairs. i can't hardly pay my taxes. i can't work much. i got two cows and six little pigs. i got eighty acres land. i worked fourteen years for john gazolla and that is when i made enough to buy my place. i am in debt but i am still working. seems like one old man can't make much." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: larkin payne brinkley, ark. age: "i was born in north carolina. i don't recall my moster's name. my parents was sarah hadyn and john payne. they had seven children. none of them was sold. my pa was sold. he had three sons in the civil war. none of em was killed. one was in the war four years, the others a good portion of two years. they was helpers. "grandma bought grandpa's, freedom. my great grandma was an indian woman. my mother was dark brown. my father was tolerable light. when i was small child they come in and tell bout people being sold. i heard a whole lot about it that way. it was great grandma hadyn that was the indian. my folks worked in the field or anywhere as well as i recollect. "when freedom come on my folks moved to east tennessee. i don't know whether they got good treatment or not. they was freedom loving folks. the ku klux never bothered us at home. i heard a lot of em. they was pretty hot further south. i had two brothers scared pretty bad. they went wid some white men to south carolina and drove hogs. the white men come back in buggies or on the train--left them to walk back. the ku klux got after them. they had a hard time getting home. i heard the ku klux was bad down in alabama. they had settled down fore i went to alabama. i owned a home in alabama. i took stock for it. sold the stock and come to arkansas. i had seven children. we raised three. "when my folks was set free they never got nothing. the mountain folks raised corn and made whiskey. they made red corn cob molasses; it was good. they put lye in the whiskey; it would kill you. they raised hogs plenty. my folks raised hogs and corn. they didn't make no whiskey. i seen em make it and sell it too. "i heard folks say they rather be under the home men overseers than northern overseers. they was kinder to em it seem like. i was jes beginnin' to go to the field when freedom come on. i helped pile brush to be burned before freedom. i farmed when i was a boy; pulled fodder and bundled it. i shucked corn, slopped pigs, milked, plowed a mule over them rocks, thinned out corn. i worked twenty days in east tennessee on the section. i cut and haul wood all winter. "my parents both died in arkansas. we come here to get to a fine farmin' country. we did like it fine. i'm still here. "i have voted. i vote if i'm needed. the white folks country and they been runnin' it. i don't want no enemies. they been good to me. i got no egercation much. i sorter follows bout votin'. we look to the white folks to look after our welfare. "i get $ . and commodities. i work all i can git to do." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: cella perkins marvell and palestine, arkansas age: "i was born close to macon, georgia. mama's old mistress, miss mari (maree) beth woods, brung her there from fifteen miles outer atlanta. "after emancipation miss mari beth's husband got killed. a horse kicked him to death. it shyed at something and it run in front of the horse. he held the horse so it couldn't run. it kicked the foot board clean off, kicked him in the stomach. his boy crawled out of the buggy. that's the way we knowed how it happened. she didn't hurt the boy. his name was benjamin woods. "pa went to war with his master and he never come back to mama. she never heard from him after freedom. he got captured and got to be a soldier and went 'way off. she didn't never know if he got killed or lost his way back home. "mama cooked and kept up the house. miss mari beth kept a boarding house in macon till way after i was a big girl. i stood on a box and washed dishes and dried them for mama. "mr. ben was grown when we come to arkansas. he got his ma to go to kentucky with him and i heard about arkansas. me and mama come to palestine. we come in a crowd. a man give us tickets and we come by our lone selves till we got to tennessee. a big crowd come from dyersburg, tennessee. ma got to talking and found out we was headed fo' the same place in arkansas. "ma talked a whole heap at tines more 'an others (times) about slavery times. her master didn't take on over her much when he found out she was a barren woman. the old man crumpton give her to his youngest daughter, miss mari beth. she always had to do all kinds of work and house turns. "after mama's slavery husband didn't come back and she was living in macon, she fell in love with another man and i was a picked-up baby. mama said miss mari beth lost faith in her when i was born but she needed her and kept her on. said seem like she thought she was too old to start up when she never had children when her papa owned her. they didn't like me. she said she could trust mama but she didn't know my stock. he was a black man. mama was black as i is. "miss mari beth had a round double table. the top table turned with the victuals on it. i knocked flies three times a day over that table. "i never had a store-bought dress in my life till mama bought me one at madison, arkansas. i wanted a pure white dress. she said if we made a good crop she was going to give me a dress. all the dresses i ever had was made out of miss mari beth's dresses but i never had a pure white one. i never had one bought for me till i was nearly grown. i was so proud of it. when i would go and come back, i would pull it off and put it away. i wore it one summer white and the next summer i blued it and had a new dress. i had a white dress nearly every year till i got too old to dress up gay now. i got a white bonnet and apron i wears right now. "mama said master crumpton bought up babies to raise. she was taken away from her folks so soon she never heard of them. aunt mat raised her up in atlanta and out on his place. he had a place in town but kept them on a place in the country. he had a drove of them. he hired them out. he hired mama once to a doctor, dr. willbanks. mama said old master thought she would learn how to have children from him the reason he sent her there so much. when they had big to-dos old master sent mama over there. she never seen no money till about freedom. she loved to get hired out to be off from him. they all had young babies about but her. he was cross and her husband was cross. she had pleasure hired out. she said he didn't whoop much. he stamped his foot. they left right now. "i hab three girls living; one here (palestine), one at marvell, and one in st. louis. my youngest girl teaches music at a big colored school. she sends me my money and i lives with these girls. i been up there and i sure don't aim to live in no city old as i is. it's too dangerous slow as i got to be and so much racket i never slept a night i was there. i was there a month. she brung me home and i didn't go back. "i cooked and washed and ironed and worked in the field. i do some work yet. i helps out where i am. "the times is better i think from accounts i hear. this generation all living too fast er lives. they don't never be still a minute." pine bluff district folklore subjects name of interviewer: martin & barker subject: ex-slaves--slavery times this information given by: maggie perkins place of residence: w. th. st. [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] my folks lived in s. carolina and belonged to col. bob baty and his family. if i should lay down tonight i could tell when my folks were going to die, because the lawd would tell me in a vision. just before my grandmother died, i got up one morning and told my aunt that granma was dead. aunt said she did not want me telling lies. then i saw another aunt laying on the bed, and she had her hand under her jaw. she was smiling. the house was full of people. after awhile they heard that her aunt was dead too, and after that they paid attention to me when i told them somebody was going to die. i'se a member of the holiness church. i believes step up right and keep the faith. i seen my aunt walking up and down on a glass. the lawd tells me in a vision to step right up and see the faith. i am living in jesus. he is coming to pine bluff soon. he is going to separate the lions from the sheep. i was born in slavery times. i member folks riding around on horses. them days i used to wash my mistis feet and legs, and sometimes i would fall asleep against my mistis knees. i tells the young fry to give honor to the white folks, and my preacher tell 'em to obey the white folks, dat dey are our best friends, dey is our dependence and it would be hard getting on if we didn't have em to help us. spirits--me and my husband moved into a house that a man, "uncle bill" hearn died in, and we wanted dat house so bad we moved right in as soon as he was taken out, we ate supper and went to bed. by the time we got to sleep we heard sounds like someone was emptying shelled corn, and i hunched up under my husband scared to death and then moved out the next day. the dead haven't gone to heaven. when death comes, he comes to your heart. he has your number and knows where to find you. he won't let you off, he has the key. death comes and unlocks the heart and twists the breath out of that heart and carries it back to god. nobody has gone to heaven, no one can get pass jesus until the day of his redemption, which is judgement day. we can't pass the door without being judged. on the day of ressurection the trumpet will sound and us will wake up out of he graveyard, and come forth to be judged. the sea shall give up its dead. every nation will have to appear before god and be judged in a twinklin of an eye. if you aren't prepared before jesus comes, it will be too late. god is everywhere, he is the almight. god is a nice god, he is a clean god, he is a good god. i would be afraid to tell you a lie for god would strike me down. eight years ago i couldn't see, i wore specs years. i forgot my specs one morning, i prayed for my eyesight and it was restored that morning. our marster was a good man. de overseers sometimes wuz bad, but dey did not let marsters know how dey treated their girl slaves. my grandmother was whipped by de overseers one time, it made welts on her back. my sister mary had a child by a white man. to get joy in de morning, get up and pray and ask him to bless you. god will feed all alike, he is no respector of persons. he shows no extra favors twixt de rich and de poor. interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: marguerite perkins west sixth and catalpa streets, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in slavery times, miss. i was born in south carolina, union county. i was born in may. "i know i 'member old missy. i just been washin' her feet and legs when they said the yankees was comin. old miss' name was miss sally. her husband was a colonel. what is a colonel? "i got some white cousins. they tell me they was the boss man's chillun. "yes'm, i reckon miss sally was good to me. i'm a old nigger. all us niggers belonged to colonel beatty. i went to school a little while but i didn't learn nothin'. "i use to be a nurse girl and sleep right upstairs. "missus, you know people just walkin along the street droppin dead with heart trouble and white women killin men. i tell you lady it's awful. "i been married just once. the lord took him out o' my house one sunday morning 'fore day. "the thing about it is i got that high blood pressure. well, missus, i had it five years ago and i went to memphis and the lord healed me. all we got to do is believe in the lord and he will put you on your feet. "i had four sisters and three brothers and all of 'em dead but me, darlin. "now let me tell you somethin'. old as i is, i ain't never been to but one picture show in my life. old as i is, i never was on a base ball ground in my life. the onliest place i go now is to church." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: rachel perkins, goodwin, arkansas age: ? baby during the civil war "i was born in greensboro, alabama. sallie houston and peter houston was my parents. they had two girls and a boy. they died when they was small, but me. they always told me mother died when i was three days old in the cradle. i don't fur a fact know much about my own people. miss agnes took me to raise me fur a house girl. she nursed me wid her mary. my mother's and father's owners was alonso brown and miss agnes brown. their two girls was mary and lucy and their three boys was bobby, jesse, and frank. miss agnes rocked the babies to sleep in a big chair out on the gallery. we slept there all night. company come and say, 'where the babies?' miss agnes take them back and show us off. they say, 'where the little black chile?' they'd try to get me to come go live wid them. they say they be good to me. i'd tell 'em, 'no, i stay here.' it was good a home as i wanted. we slept on the front gallery till lucy come on, then we had sheep skin pallets. she got the big chair. she put us out there because it was cool. "i left miss agnes when i got to be my own woman. didn't nobody toll me off. i knowed i ought to go to my own race of people. they come after me once. then they sent the baby boy after me what i had nursed. i wanted to go but i never went. miss lucy and miss mary both in college. it was lonesome for me. i wanted to go to my color. i jus' picked up and walked on off. "my girl is half indian. i'm fifteen years older than my girl. then i married wesley perkins, my husband. he is black fur a fact. he died last fall. i married at my husband's brother's by a colored preacher. tom screws was his name. he was a baptist preacher. "i never went to school a day in my life. i can't read. i can count money. seem lack it jus' come natural. i never learned it at no one time. it jus' come to me. "in warm weather i slept on the gallery and in cold weather i slept by the fire. i made down my own bed. i cleaned the house. i took the cows off to the pasture. i nursed the babies, washed and dried the dishes. i made up the beds and cleaned the yards. "master brown owned two farms. he had plenty hands on his farms. i did never go down to the farms much but i knowed the hands. on saturday little later than other days they brought the stock to the house and fed. then they went to the smokehouse for their rations. he had a great big garden, strawberries, and grape arbors. "one thing i had to do was worm the plants. i put the worms in a bottle and leave it in the row where the sun would dry the worms up. when a light frost come i would water the plants that would wilt before the sun riz and ag'in at night. then the plants never felt the frost. certainly it didn't kill 'em. it didn't hurt 'em. "julane was the regular milk woman. she milked and strained the milk. i churned and 'tended to the chickens. miss agnes sot the hens her own self. she marked the eggs with a piece of charcoal to see if other hens laid by the setting hen. if they did she'd take the new egg out of the nest. "we had flower gardens. we had mint, rosemary, tansy, sage, mullen, catnip, horseradish, artichokes, hoarhound--all good home remedies. "i never knowed when we moved to that farm. i was so small. i heard miss agnes brown say i was a baby when they moved to boldan depot, not fur from clinton, mississippi. "when i left miss agnes i went to some folks my own color on another farm 'joining to their farm. of course i took my baby. i took anna and i been living with anna ever since. what i'd do now without her. (anna is an indian and very proud of being half indian.) my husband done dead. "i get eight dollars welfare help. and i do get some commodities. anna does all right but she got hit on the shoulder and about lost use of her arm. one of the railroad hands up here got mad and hit her. i had doctors. they done it a little good. it's been hurt three years or more now. "i wisht i knowd where to find a bed of mullen. boil it down to a syrup and add some molasses, boil that down. it makes a good syrup for coughs and colds. "i never went to white folks' church none hardly. miss agnes sent me along with her cook to my own color's church. "my husband sure was good to me. we never had but one fight. neither one whooped. "this young generation is going backward. they tired of training. they don't want no advice. they don't want to work out no more. they don't know what they want. i think folks is trifling than they was when i come on. the times is all right and some of the people. i'm talking about mine and yo' color both." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: dinah perry ohio street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes ma'am, i lived in slavery times. they brought me from alabama, a baby, right here to this place where i am at, mr. sterling cockril. "i don't know zackly when i was born but i member bout the slave times. yes ma'am, i do. after i growed up some, i member the overseer--i do. i can remember mr. burns. i member when he took the hands to texas. left the chillun and the old folks here. "oh lord, this was a big plantation. had bout four or five hundred head of niggers. "my mother done the milkin' and the weavin'. after free times, i wove me a dross. my mother fixed it for me and i wove it. they'd knit stockin's too. but now they wear silk. don't keep my legs warm. "i member when they fit here in pine bluff. i member when 'marmajuke' sent word he was gain' to take breakfast with clayton that mornin' and they just fit. i can remember that was 'marmajuke.' it certainly was 'marmajuke.' the rebels tried to carry me away but the wagon was so full i didn't get in and i was glad they didn't. my mother was runnin' from the rebels and she hid under the cotehouse. after the battle was over she come back hero to the plantation. "i had three brothers and three sisters went to texas and i know i didn't know em when they come back. "i member when they fit here a bum shell fell right in the yard. it was big around as this stovepipe and was all full of chains and things. "after free time my folks stayed right here and worked on the shares. i was the baby chile and never done no work till i married when i was fifteen. "after the war i went to school to white teachers from the north. i never went to nothin' but them. i went till i was in the fifth grade. "my daddy learned me to spell 'lady' and 'baker' and 'shady' fore i went to school. i learned all my abc's too. i got out of the first reader the second day. i could just read it right on through. i could spell and just stand at the head of the class till the teacher sent me to the foot all the time. "my daddy was his old mistress' pet. he used to carry her to school all the time and i guess that's where he got his learnin'. "after i was married i worked in the field. rolled logs, cut brush, chopped and picked cotton. "i member when they had that 'bachelor' (brooks-baxter) war up here at little rock. "after my chillun died, i never went to the field no more. i just stayed round mongst the white folks nussin'. all the chillun i nussed is married and grown now. "all this younger generation--white and colored--i don't know what's gwine come of em. the poet says: 'each gwine a different way and all the downward road.'" interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: dinah perry indiana, pine bluff, arkansas age: [tr: appears to be same as last informant despite different address.] "i'se bawn in alabama and brought here to arkansas a baby. i couldn't tell what year i was bawn 'cause i was a baby. a chile can't tell what year he was bawn 'less they tells him and they sure didn't tell me. "when i'd wake up in the mawnin' my mother would be gone to the field. "some things i can remember good but you know old folks didn't 'low chillun to stand around when they was talkin' in dem days. they had to go play. they had to be mighty particular or they'd get a whippin'. "chillun was better in them days 'cause the old folks was strict on 'em. chillun is raisin' theirselves today. "i 'member one song they used to sing 'we'll land over shore we'll land over shore; and we'll live forever more.' "they called it a hymn. they'd sing it in church, then they'd all get to shoutin'. "superstitions? well, i seen a engineer goin' to work the other day and a black cat run in front of him, and he went back 'cause he said he would have a wreck with his train if he didn't. so you see, the white folks believes in things like that too. "i never was any hand to play any games 'cept 'chick. chick.' you'd ketch 'hold a hands and ring up. had one outside was the hawk and some inside was the hen and chickens. the old mother hen would say 'chick-a-ma, chick-a-ma, craney crow, went to the well to wash my toe; when i come back my chicken was gone, what time is it, old witch?' one chicken was s'posed to get out and then the hawk would try to ketch him. "we was more 'ligious than the chillun nowadays. we used to play preachin' and baptisin'. we'd put 'em down in the water and souse 'em and we'd shout just like the old folk. yes ma'am." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: alfred peters, bell street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born seven miles from camden. "i was 'leven months old when they carried us to texas. first thing i remember i was in texas. "lucius grimm was old master. he's been dead a long time. his wife died 'bout two years after the civil war and he died twenty-five years after. "i 'member durin' of the war he buried his stuff---silverware and stuff--and he never took it up. and after he died his brother's son lived in california, and he come back and dug it up. "the yankees burned up four hundred bales of cotton and taken the meat and two cribs of corn. "i heard 'em talk 'bout the ku klux but i never did see 'em. "my mother said old mars lucius was good to his folks. she said he first bought her and then she worried so 'bout my father, he paid twenty-five hundred dollars for him. "biggest part of my life i farmed, and then i done carpenter work. "i been blind four years. the doctor says it's cataracts. "i think the younger generation goin' to cause another war. they ain't studyin' nothin' but pleasure." interviewer: s.s. taylor person interviewed: mary estes peters, w. th street, little rock, arkansas age: biographical mary estes peters was born a slave january , in missouri somewhere. her mother was colored and her father white, the white parentage being very evident in her color and features and hair. she is very reticent about the facts of her birth. the subject had to be approached from many angles and in many ways and by two different persons before that part of the story could be gotten. although she was born in missouri, she was "refugeed" first to mississippi and then here, arkansas. she is convinced that her mother was sold at least twice after freedom,--once into mississippi, one into helena, and probably once more after reaching arkansas, mary herself being still a very small child. i think she is mistaken on this point. i did not debate with her but i cross-examined her carefully and it appears to me that there was probably in her mother's mind a confused knowledge of the issuance of the emancipation proclamation in . lincoln's compensation emancipation plan advocated in march , the abolition in the district of columbia in in april, the announcement of lincoln's emancipation intention in july , the prohibition of slavery in present and future territories, june , , together with the actual issuance of the emancipation in september , and the effectiveness of the proclamation in january , , would well give rise to an impression among many slaves that emancipation had been completed. as a matter of fact, missouri did not secede; the civil war which nevertheless ensued would find some slaveholders exposed to the full force of the proclamation in at the time of its first effectiveness. naturally it did not become effective in many other places till . it would very naturally happen then that a sale in missouri in the latter part of or any time thereafter might be well construed by ex-slaves as a sale after emancipation, especially since they do not as a rule pay as much attention to the dates of occurrences as to their sequence. this interpretation accords with the story. only such an explanation could make probable a narrative which places the subject as a newborn babe in and sold after slavery had ceased while still too young to remember. her earliest recollections are recollections of arkansas. she has lived in arkansas ever since the civil war and in little rock ever since . she made a living as a seamstress for awhile but is now unable to sew because of fading eyesight. she married in and led a long and contented married life until the recent death of her husband. she lives with her husband's nephew and ekes out a living by fragmentary jobs. she has a good memory and a clear mind for her age. slave after freedom "my mother was sold after freedom. it was the young folks did all that devilment. they found they could get some money out of her and they did it. she was put on the block in st. louis and sold down into vicksburg, mississippi. then they sold her into helena, arkansas. after that they carried her down into trenton (?), arkansas. i don't know whether they sold her that time or not, but i reckon they did. leastways, they carried her down there. all this was done after freedom. my mother was only fifteen years old when she was sold the first time, and i was a baby in her arms. i don't know nothing about it myself, but i have heard her tell about it many and many a time. it was after freedom. of course, she didn't know she was free. "it was a good while before my mother realized she was free. she noticed the other colored people going to and fro and she wondered about it. they didn't allow you to go round in slave times. she asked them about it and they told her, 'don't you know you are free?' some of the white people too told her that she was free. after that, from the way she talked, i guess she stayed around there until she could go some place and get wages for her work. she was a good cook. mean mistress "i have seen many a scar on my mother. she had mean white folks. she had one big scar on the side of her head. the hair never did grow back on that place. she used to comb her hair over it so that it wouldn't show. the way she got it was this: "one day her mistress went to high mass and left a lot of work for my mother to do. she was only a girl and it was too much. there was more work than she could get done. she had too big a task for a child to get done. when her old mistress came back and her work was not all done, she beat my mother down to the ground, and then she took one of the skillets and bust her over the head with it--trying to kill her, i reckon. i have seen the scar with my own eyes. it was an awful thing. "my mother was a house servant in missouri and mississippi. never done no hard work till she came here (arkansas). when they brought her here they tried to make a field hand out of her. she hadn't been used to chopping cotton. when she didn't chop it fast as the others did, they would beat her. she didn't know nothing about no farmwork. she had all kinds of trouble. they just didn't treat her good. she used to have good times in missouri and mississippi but not in arkansas. they just didn't treat her good. in them days, they'd whip anybody. they'd tie you to the bed or have somebody hold you down on the floor and whip you till the blood ran. "but, lawd, my mother never had no use for catholics because it was a catholic that hit her over the head with that skillet--right after she come from mass. food "my mother said that they used to pour the food into troughs and give it to the slaves. they'd give them an old, wooden spoon or something and they all eat out of the same dish or trough. they wouldn't let the slaves eat out of the things they et out of. fed them just like they would hogs. "when i was little, she used to come to feed me about twelve o'clock every day. she hurry in, give me a little bowl of something, and then hurry right on out because she had to go right back to her work. she didn't have time to stay and see how i et. if i had enough, it was all right. if i didn't have enough, it was all right. it might be pot liquor or it might be just anything. "one day she left me alone and i was lying on the floor in front of the fireplace asleep. i didn't have no bed nor nothing then. the fire must have popped out and set me on fire. you see they done a whole lot of weaving in them days. and they put some sort of lint on the children. "i don't reckon children them days knowed what a biscuit was. they just raked up whatever was left off the table and brung it to you. children have a good time nowadays. "people goin' to work heard me hollering and came in and put out the fire. i got scars all round my waist today i could show you. "another time my mother had to go off and leave me. i was older then. i guess i must have gotten hungry and wanted to get somethin' to eat. so i got up and wandered off into the woods. there weren't many people living round there then. (this was in trenton (?), arkansas, a small place not far from helena.) and the place was [hw: not] built up much then and they had lots of wolves. wolves make a lot of noise when they get to trailin' anything. i got about a half mile from the road and the wolves got after me. i guess they would have eat me up but a man heard them howling, and he knew there wasn't no house around there but ours, and he came to see what was up, and he beat off the wolves and carried me back home. there wasn't nare another house round there but ours and he knew i must have come from there. "mother was working then. it was night though. they brung the news to her and they wouldn't let her come to me. mother said she felt like getting a gun and killin' them. her child out like that and they wouldn't let her go home. "that must have happened after freedom, because it was the last mistress she had. almost all her beatings and trouble came from her last mistress. that woman sure gave her a lot of trouble. age, good masters "all i know about my age is what my mother told me. "the first people that raised my mother had her age in the bible. she said she was about fifteen years old when i was born. from what she told me, i must be about seventy-eight years old. she taught me that i was born on sunday, on the thirtieth of january, in the year before the war. "my mother's name was myles. i don't know what her first master's name was. she told me i was born in phelps county, missouri; i guess you'd call it st. louis now. i am giving you the straight truth just as she gave it to me. "from the way she talked, the people what raised her from a child were good to her. they raised her with their children. them people fed her just like they fed their own children. color and birth "there was a light brownskin boy around there and they give him anything that he wanted. but they didn't like my mother and me--on account of my color. they would talk about it. they tell their children that when i got big enough, i would think i was good as they was. i couldn't help my color. my mother couldn't either. "my mother's mistress had three boys, one twenty-one, one nineteen, and one seventeen. old mistress had gone away to spend the day one day. mother always worked in the house. she didn't work on the farm in missouri. while she was alone, the boys came in and threw her down on the floor and tied her down so she couldn't struggle, and one after the other used her as long as they wanted for the whole afternoon. mother was sick when her mistress came home. when old mistress wanted to know what was the matter with her, she told her what the boys had done. she whipped them and that's the way i came to be here. sales and separations "my mother was separated from her mother when she was three years old. they sold my mother away from my grandmother. she don't know nothing about her people. she never did see her mother's folks. she heard from them. it must have been after freedom. but she never did get no full understanding about them. some of them was in kansas city, kansas. my grandmother, i don't know what became of her. "when my mother was sold into st. louis, they would have sold me away from her but she cried and went on so that they bought me too. i don't know nothing about it myself, but my mother told me. i was just nine months old then. they would call it refugeeing. these people that had raised her wanted to get something out of her because they found out that the colored people was going to be free. those white people in missouri didn't have many slaves. they just had four slaves--my mother, myself, another woman and an old colored man called uncle joe. they didn't get to sell him because he bought hisself. he made a little money working on people with rheumatism. they would ran the niggers from state to state about that time to keep them from getting free and to get something out of them. my mother was sold into mississippi after freedom. then she was refugeed from one place to another through helena to trenton (?), arkansas. marriages "my mother used to laugh at that. the master would do all the marryin'. i have heard her say that many a time. they would call themselves jumpin' the broom. i don't know what they did. whatever the master said put them together. i don't know just how it was fixed up, but they helt the broom and master would say, 'i pronounce you man and wife' or something like that. ku klux "my mother talked about the ku klux but i don't know much about them. she talked about how they would ride and how they would go in and destroy different people's things. go in the smoke house and eat the people's stuff. she said that they didn't give the colored people much trouble. sometimes they would give them something to eat. "when they went to a place where they didn't give the colored people much to eat, what they didn't destroy they would say, 'go get it.' i don't know how it was but the ku klux didn't have much use for certain white people and they would destroy everything they had. "i have lived in arkansas about all my life. i have been in little rock ever since january , . i don't know how i happened to move on my birthday. my husband brought me here for my rheumatism. "i married in and moved here from marianna. i had lived in helena before marianna. voting "the niggers voted in marianna and in helena. they voted in little rock too. i didn't know any of them. it seems like some of the people didn't make so much talk about it. they did, i guess, though. many of the farmers would tell their hands who they wanted them to vote for, and they would do it. "them was critical times. a man would kill you if he got beat. they would say, 'so and so lost the lection,' and then somebody would go to judgment. i remember once they had a big barbecue in helena just after the 'lection. they had it for the white and for the colored alike. we didn't know there was any trouble. the shooting started on a hill where everybody could see. first thing you know, one man fell dead. another dropped down on all fours bleeding, but he retch in under him and dragged out a pistol and shot down the man that shot him. that was a sad time. niggers and white folks were all mixed up together and shooting. it was the first time i had ever been out. my mother never would let me go out before that. seamstress "i ain't able to do much of anything now. i used to make a good living as a dressmaker. i can't sew now because of my eyes. i used to make many a dollar before my eyes got to failing me. make pants, dresses, anything. when you get old, you fail in what you been doing. i don't get anything from the government. they don't give me any kind of help." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: john peterson, eureka street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was small but i can remember some 'bout slavery days. i was born down here in louisiana. "i seed dem yankees come through. dey stopped dere and broke up all de bee gums. just tore 'em up. and took what dey could eat and went on. dey was doin' all dey _could_ do. no tellin' what dey _didn't_ do. people what owned de place just run off and left. yankees come dere in de night. i 'member dat. had ever'thing excited, so my white folks just skipped out. oh, yes, dey come back after the yankees had gwine on. "you could hear dem guns shootin' around. i heered my mother and father say de yankees was fightin' to free slavery. "run off? oh lawd, yes ma'am, i heered 'em say dey was plenty of 'em run off. "george swapsy was our owner. i know one thing, dey beat me enough. had me watchin' de garden to keep de chickens out. and sometimes i'd git to playin' and fergit and de chickens would git in de garden, and i'd pay for it too. i can 'member dat. yes'm, dat was before freedom. dey was whippin' all de colored people--and me too. "yes'm, dey give us plenty to eat, but dey didn't give us no clothes. i was naked half my time. dat was when i was a little fellow. "we all belonged to de same man. dey never did 'part us. but my mother was sold away from her people--and my father, too. he come from virginia. "no ma'am, dey didn't have a big plantation--just a little place cleared up in the woods. "he didn't have no wife--just two grown sons and dey bof went to the war. "mars george died 'fore peace declared. he was a old fellow--and mean as he could be. "i never went to school till i was sixteen or seventeen years old. dere was a colored fellow had a little learnin' and we hired him two nights in de week for three dollars a month. did it for three years. i can read a little and write my own name and sort of 'tend to my own business. "yes'm, i used to vote after i got grown. yes'm, i did vote republican. but de white people stopped us from votin'. dat was when seymour and blair was runnin', and i ain't voted none since--i just quit. i've known white people to go to the polls wif der guns and keep de colored folks from votin'. "oh, dey was plenty of ku klux. i've known 'em to ketch people and whip 'em and kill 'em. dey didn't bother me--i didn't give 'em a chance. ku klux--i sure 'member dem. "younger generation? well, miss, you're a little too hard for me. hard to tell what'll become of 'em. i know one thing--dey is wiser. oh, my lawd! a chile a year old know more'n i did when i was ten. we didn't have no chance. didn't have nobody to learn us nothin'. people is just gittin' wuss ever' day. killin' 'em up ever' day. wuss now than dey was ten years ago." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: louise pettis, brinkley, arkansas age: "my mama was born at aiken, south carolina. she was frances rotan. i was born at elba, south carolina, forty miles below augusta, georgia. my papa was born at macon, georgia. both my parents was slaves. he farmed and was a baptist preacher. mama was a cook. "mama was owned by some of the willis. there was three; mike, bill, and logie willis, all brothers, and she lived with them all but who owned her i don't know. she never was sold. papa wasn't either. mama lived at aiken till papa married her. she belong to some of the willis. they married after freedom. she had three husbands and fifteen children. "mama had a soldier husband. he took her to james island. she runned off from him. got back across the sea to charleston to aunt anette's. she was mama's sister. mama sent back to aiken and they got her back to her folks. aunt anette had been sold to folks at charleston. "grandma was rachel willis. she suckled some of the willis children. mama suckled me and mike willis together. his mama got sick and my mama took him and raised him. she got well but their names have left me. when we got sick the willis women would send a hamper basket full of provisions, some cooked and some to be cooked. i used to sweep their yards. they was white sand and not a sprig of grass nor a weed in there. "mama and papa was both slavery niggers and they spoke mighty well of their owners. "papa said in slavery times about two nights in a week they would have a dance. he would slip off and go. sometimes he would get a pass. he was a figger caller till he 'fessed religion. one time the pattyrollers come in. they said, 'all got passes tonight.' when they had about danced down my daddy got a shovelful of live coals and run about scattering it on the floor. all the niggers run out and he was gone too. it was a dark night. a crowd went up the road and here come the pattyrollers. one run into grapevines across the road and tumbled off his horse. the niggers took to the woods then. pa tole us about how he studied up a way to get himself and several others outer showing their passes that night. master never found that out on him. "during the war they sent a lot of the meat to feed the soldiers on and kept the skins and sides. they tole them if the yankees ask them if they had enough to eat say, 'see how greasy and slick i is.' they greased their legs and arms to make them shine and look fat. the dust made the chaps look rusty. "papa saved his young mistress' life. his master was gone to war. he had promised with others to take care of her. the yankees come and didn't find meat. it was buried. they couldn't find much. they got mad and burned the house. pa was a boy. he run up there and begged folks not to burn the house; they promised to take care of everything. papa begged to let him get his mistress and three-day-old baby. they cursed him but he run in and got her and the baby. the house fell in before they got out of the yard. he took her to the quarters. papa was overstrained carrying a log and limped as long as he lived. "pa was hired out and they was goner whoop him and he run off and got back to the master. ma nor pa was never sold. "we had a reason to come out here to arkansas. a woman had a white husband and a black one too. the black husband told the white husband not come about there no more. he come on. the black man killed the white man at his door. they lynched six or seven niggers. they sure did kill him. that dissatisfied all the niggers. that took place in barnwell county, south carolina. three train loads of us left. there was fifteen in our family. we was doing well. my pa had cattle and money. they stopped the train befo' and behind us--the train we was on. put the arkansas white man in augusta jail. they stopped us all there. we got to come on. we was headed for pine bluff. we got down there 'bout altheimer and they was living in tents. pa said he wasn't goiner tent, he didn't run away from south carolina and he'd go straight back. mr. aydelott got eight families on track at rob roy to come to biscoe. we got a house here. pa was old and they would listen at what he said. he made a speech at rob roy and told them let's come to biscoe. eleven families come. he had two hundred or three hundred dollars then in his pocket to rattle. he could get more. he grieved for south carolina, so he went back and took us but ma wanted to coma back. they stayed back there a year or two. we made a crop. pa was the oldest boss in his crowd. we all come back. there was more room out here and so many of us. "the schools was better out there. i went to miss scofield's college. all the teachers but three was colored. there was eight or ten colored teachers. it was at aiken, south carolina. miss criley was our sewing mistress. miss criley was white and miss scofield was too. i didn't have to pay. rich folks in the north run the school. no white children went there. i think the teachers was sent there. "i taught school out here at blackton and moro and in prairie county about. i got tired of it. i married and settled down. "we owns my home here. my husband was a railroad man. we lives by the hardest. "i don't know what becoming of the young generation. they shuns the field work. times is faster than i ever seen them. i liked the way times was before that last war (world war). reckon when will they get back like that?" interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: henry c. pettus, marianna, arkansas age: "i was born in wilkes county, near washington, georgia. my mother's owners was dr. palmer and sarah palmer. they had three boys; steve, george, and johnie. they lived in washington and the farm i lived on was five miles southeast of town. it was fifty miles from augusta, georgia. he had another farm on the augusta road. he had a white man overseer. his name was tom newsom and his nephew, jimmie newsom, helped. he was pretty smooth most of the time. he got rough sometimes. tom's wife was named susie newsom. "dick gilbert had a place over back of ours. they sent things to the still at dick gilbert's. sent peaches and apples and surplus corn. the still was across the hill from dr. palmer's farm. he didn't seem to drink much but the boys did. all three did. dr. palmer died in . people kept brandy and whiskey in a closet and some had fancy bottles they kept, one brandy, one whiskey, on their mantel. some owners passed drinks around like on sunday morning. dr. palmer didn't do that but it was done on some places before the civil war. it wasn't against the law to make spirits for their own use. that is the way it was made. meal and flour was made the same way then. "mother lived in dr. palmer's office in warren county. it was a very nice log house and had a fence to make the front on the road and the back enclosed like. inside the fence was a tanyard and house at some distance and a very nice log house where mr. hudson lived. dr. palmer and mr. hudson had that place together. the shoemaker lived in washington in dr. palmer's back yard. he had his office and home all in the same. mr. anthony made all the shoes for dr. palmer's slaves and for white folks in town. he made fine nice shoes. he was considered a high class shoemaker. "mother was a field hand. she wasn't real black. my father never did do much. he was a sort of a foreman. he rode around. he was lighter than i am. he was old man pettus' son. old man pettus had a great big farm--land! land! land! wiley and milton roberts had farms between dr. palmer and old man pettus' farm. mother originally belong to old man pettus. he give miss sarah palmer her place on the augusta road and his son the place on which his own home was. they was his white children. he had two. mother was hired by her young mistress, dr. palmer's wife, miss sarah. father rode around, upheld by the old man pettus. he never worked hard. i don't know if old man pettus raised grandma or not; he never grandpa. he was a terral. he died when i was small. grandpa was a field hand. he was the only colored man on the place allowed to have a dog. he was dr. palmer's stock man. they raised their own stock; sheep, goats, cows, hogs, mules, and horses. "none of us was ever sold that i know of. mother had three boys and three girls. one sister died in infancy. one sister was married and remained in georgia. two of my brothers and one sister come to arkansas. mother brought us boys to a new country. father got shot and died from the womb. he was a captain in the war. he was shot accidentally. some of them was drinking and pranking with the guns. we lived on at dr. palmer's place till . that was our first year in arkansas. that was nearly two years. we never was abused. my early life was very favorable. "the quarters was houses built on each side of the road. some set off in the field. they must have had stock law. we had pastures. the houses was joining the pasture. mr. pope had a sawmill on his place. the saw run perpendicularly up and down. he had a grist mill there too. i like to go to mill. it was dangerous for young boys. mr. pope's farm joined us on one side. oxen was used as team for heavy loads. such a contrast in less than a century as trucks are in use now. i learned about oxen. they didn't go fast 'ceptin' when they ran away. they would run at the sight of water in hot weather. they was dangerous if they saw the river and had to go down a steep bank, load or no load the way they went. if it was shallow they would wade but if it was deep they would swim unless the load was heavy enough to pull them down. oxen was interesting to me always. "children didn't stay in town like they do now. they was left to think more for themselves. they hardly ever got to go to town. "we raised a pet pig. nearly every year we raised a pet pig. when mother would be out that pig would get my supper in spite of all i could do. the pig was nearly as large as i was. i couldn't do anything. we had a watermelon patch and sometimes sold dr. palmer melons. he let us have a melon patch and a cotton patch our own to work. mother worked in moonlight and at odd times. they give that to her extra. we helped her work it. they give old people potato patches and let the children have goober rows. land was plentiful. dr. palmer wasn't stingy with his slaves--very liberal. he was a man willing to live and let live so far as i can know of him. "during the civil war things was quiet like where i was. the soldiers didn't come through till after the war was over. then the union soldiers took washington. they come there after the surrender. freedom "the union soldiers came in a gang out from washington all over the surrounding country, scouting about, and notified all the black folks of freedom. my folks made arrangements to stay on. two colored men went through the country getting folks to move to southwest georgia but before mother decided to move anywhere along come two men and they had a helper, mr. allen. it was mr. william h. wood and mr. peters over here on cat island. they worked from washington, georgia. we consented to leave and come to arkansas. we started and went to barnetts station to augusta, to atlanta. there was so many tracks out of order, bridges been burnt. we crossed the river at chattanooga, then to nashville, then to johnsonville. we took a boat to cairo, then to memphis, then on to some landing out here. well, i never heard. we went to the woods' place and made a crop here in arkansas in . i worked with john i. foreman till and went back to the woods' farm till . then i went to the bush place (now mccullough farm). i farmed all along through life till the last twelve years. i started preaching in . i preach yet occasionally. i preached here thirty-six years in the marianna baptist church. i quit last year. my health broke down. "chills was my worst worry in these swamps. we made fine crops. in yellow fever come on. black folks didn't have yellow fever at first but they later come to have it. some died of it. white folks had died in piles. it was hard times for some reason then. it was hard to get something to eat. we couldn't get nothing from memphis. arrangements was made to get supplies from st. louis to little rock and we could go get them and send boats out here. "in was the tightest, hardest time in all my life, a chew of tobacco cost ten cents. in -' hard times struck me again. cotton was four and five cents a pound, flour three dollars a barrel, and meat four and five cents a pound. we raised so much of our meat that didn't make much difference. money was so scarce. "ku klux--i never was in the midst of them. they was pretty bad in georgia and in northeast part of this county. they was bad so i heard. they sent for troops at helena to settle things up at about marion, arkansas now. i heard more of the ku klux in georgia than i heard after we come here. and as time went on and law was organized the ku klux disbanded everywhere. "traveling conditions was bad when we came to arkansas. we rode in box cars, shabby passenger coaches. the boats was the best riding. as i told you we went way around on account of burnt out and torn up bridges. the south looked shabby. "i haven't voted since except i voted in favor of the cotton control saturday before last. "times has come up to a most deplorable condition. craving exists. ungratefulness. people want more than they can make. some don't work hard and some won't work at all. i don't know how to improve conditions except by work except economical living. some would work if they could. some can work but won't. some do work hard. i believe in bread by the sweat of the brow, and all work. "the slaves didn't expect anything. they didn't expect war. it was going on a while before my parents heard of it. i was a little boy. they didn't know what it was for except their freedom. they didn't know what freedom was. they couldn't read. they never seen a newspaper like i take the commercial appeal now. i went to school a little in arkansas. my father being old man pettus' son as he was may have been given something by miss sarah or dr. palmer or by his white son, but the old man was dead and i doubt that. father was killed and mother left. mother knew she had a home on dr. palmer's land as long as she needed one but she left to do better. in some ways we have done better but it was hard to live in these bottoms. it is a fine country now. "i own eighty acres of land and this house. (good house and furnished well.) we made six bales of cotton last year. my son lives here and his wife--a chicago reared mulatto, a cook. he runs my farm. i live very well." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: dolly phillips, clarendon, arkansas age: "i ain't no ex-slave. i am years old. i was born out here on the mullins place. my mother's master was mr. ricks and miss emma ricks. "my mother named diana and my father henry mullins. i never saw my grand fathers and i seen one grandma i remembers. my mother had ten children. my father said he never owned nuthin' in his life but six horses. when they was freed they got off to their selves and started farming. see they belong to different folks. my father's master was a captain of a mixed regiment. they was in the war four years. i heard 'em say they went to galveston, texas. the yankees was after 'em. but i don't know how it was. "i heard 'em say they put their heads under big black pot to pray. they say sing easy, pray easy. i forgot whut all she say. "i lives wid my daughter. i gets commodities from the welfare some. the young folks drinks a heap now. it look lack a waste of money to me." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: tony piggy brinkley, ark. age: "i was born near selma, alabama, but i was raised in mississippi. my grandpa was sold from south carolina to moster alexander piggy. he didn't talk plain but my papa didn't nother. moster piggy bought a gang of black folks in south carolina and brought em into the state of alabama. my papa was mighty near full-blood african, i'll tell you. now ma was mixed. "i'm most too young to recollect the war. right after the war we had small pox. my uncle died and there was seven children had em at one time. the bushwhackers come in and kicked us around--kicked my uncle around. we lived at union town, alabama then. "aunt connie used to whip us. mama had no time; she was a chambermaid (housewoman). the only thing i recollect bout slavery time to tell is old mistress pour out a bushell of penders (peanuts) on the grass to see us pick em up and set out eating em. when they went to town they would bring back things like cheese good to eat. we got some of what they had most generally. she wasn't so good; she whoop me with a cow whip. she'd make pull candy for us too. i got a right smart of raisin' in a way but i growed up to be a wild young man. i been converted since then. "well, one day pa come to our house and told mama, 'we free, don't have to go to the house no more, git ready, we all goin' to mississippi. moster piggy goiner go. he goner rent us twenty acres and we goner take two cows and a mule.' we was all happy to be free and goin' off somewhere. moster piggy bought land in mississippi and put families renters on it. moster piggy was rough on the grown folks but good to the children. the work didn't let up. we railly had more clearin' and fences to make. his place in alabama was pore and that was new ground. "there was all toll nine children in my family. ma was named matty piggy. papa was named ezra piggy. moster alexander piggy's wife named harriett. i knowed ed, charley, bowls, ells, and liza. that's all i ever knowd. "i have done so many things. i run on a steamboat from cairo to new orleans--kate adams and may f. carter. they called me a rouster--that means a working man. i run on a boat from newport to memphis. then i farmed, done track work on the railroad, and farmed some more. "the young generation ain't got respect for old people and they tryin' to live without work. i ain't got no fault to find with the times if i was bout forty years younger than i is now i could work right ahead." interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: ella pittman west eleventh street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes ma'm, i was born in slavery days. i tell you i never had no name. my old master named me--just called me 'puss? and said i could name myself when i got big enough. "my old master was named mac williams. but where i got free at was at stricklands. mac williams' daughter married a strickland and she drawed me. she was tollable good to me but her husband wa'nt. "in slavery times i cleaned up the house and worked in the house. i worked in the field a little but she kept me busy in the house. i was busy night and day. "no ma'm, i never did go to school--never did go to school. "after i got grown i worked in the farm. when i wasn't farmin' i was doin' other kinds of work. i used to cut and sew and knit and crochet. i stayed around the white folks so much they learned me to do all kinds of work. i never did buy my children any stockins--i knit 'em myself. "after old master died old miss hired us out to ben deans, but he was so cruel mama run away and went back to old miss. i know we stayed at ben deans till they was layin the crop by and i think he whipped mama that morning so she run away. "yes ma'm, i sho do member bout the klu klux--sho do. they looked dreadful--nearly scare you to death. the klu klux was bad, and the paddyrollers too. "i can't think of nothin' much to tell you now but i know all about slavery. they used to build 'little hell', made something like a barbecue pit and when the niggers didn't do like they wanted they'd lay him over that 'little hell'. "i've done ever kind of work--maulin rails, clearin up new ground. they was just one kind of work i didn't do and that was workin' with a grubbin' hoe. i tell you i just worked myself to death till now i ain't able to do nothin'." interviewer's comment ella pittman's son, almira pittman was present when i interviewed his mother. he was born in . he added this information to what ella told me: "she is the mother of nine children--three living. i use to hear mama tell about how they did in slavery times. if she could hear good now she could map it out to you." i asked him why he didn't teach his mother to read and write and he said, "well, i tell you, mama is high strung. she didn't have no real name till she went to louisiana." these people live in a well-furnished home. the living room had a rug, overstuffed furniture and an organ. ella was clean. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: ella pittman w. eleventh street, pine bluff, arkansas age: [tr: appears to be same as last informant despite different address.] "here's one that lived then. i can remember fore the civil war started. that was in the state of north carolina where i was bred and born in march . mac williams, he was my first owner and john strickland was my last owner. that was durin' of the war. my white folks told me i was thirteen when peace was declared. they told me in april if i make no mistake. that was in north carolina. i grewed up there and found my childun there. that is--seven of them. and then i found two since i been down in here. i been in arkansas about forty years. "when the war come i heard em say they was after freein' the people. "my mother worked in the field and old mistress kep' me in the house. she married a widow-man and he had four childun and then she had one so there was plenty for me to do. yes ma'm! "i ain't never been to school a day in my life. they didn't try to send me after freedom. i had a very, very bad, cruel stepfather and he sent all his childun to school but wouldn't send me. i stayed there till i was grown. i sho did. then i married. been married just once. never had but that one man in my life. he was a very good man, too. cose he was a poor man but he was good to me. "yes ma'm, i sho did see the ku klux and the paddyrollers, too. they done em bad i tell you. "i know they was a white man they called old man ford. he dug a pit just like a barbecue pit, and he would burn coals just like you was goin' to barbecue. then he put sticks across the top and when any of his niggers didn't do right, he laid em across that pit. i member they called it old ford's hell. "i had a bad time fore freedom and a bad time after freedom till after i married. i'm doin' tollably well now. i lives with my son and his wife and she treats me very well. i can't live alone cause i'se subject to inagestin' and i takes sick right sudden. "i'm just as thankful as i can be that i'm gettin' along as well as i is. "i stayed in the north in detroit one year. i liked it very well. i liked the white people very well. they was so sociable. my son lives there and works for henry ford. my oldest son stays in indiana. "it was so cold i come back down here. i'se gettin' old and i needs to be warm. good-bye." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: sarah pittman w. twentieth street, little rock, arkansas age: about "i never saw nothing between white folks and colored folks. my white folks were good to us. my daddy's white folks were named jordan--jim jordan--and my mama's folks were jim underwood. and they were good. my mama's and father's folks both were good to the colored folks. as the song goes, 'i can tell it everywhere i go.' and thank the lord, i'm here to tell it too. i raised children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren you see there. that is my great-grandson playing there. he is having the time of his life. i raised him right too. you see how good he minds me. he better not do nothin' different. he's about two years old. "i was born in union parish, louisiana way up yonder in them hills, me and my folks, and they come down here. "jim jordan married one of the taylor girls--jim taylor's daughter. the old folks gave mama to them to do their housework. my father and mama didn't belong to the same masters. he died the first year of the surrender. he was a wonderful man. he was a jackson. on saturday night he would stay with us till sunday. on sunday night he would go home. he would play with us. now he and mama both are dead. they are gone home and i am waiting to go. they're waiting for me in the kingdom there. as the song says, 'i am waiting on the promises of god.' "my mama did housework in slave time. i don't know what my father did. in them days you done some working from plantation to plantation. them folks is all gone in now near about. guess mine will be the next time. early childhood "first thing i remember is staying at the house. we et at the white folks' house. we would go there in the evening before sundown and git our supper. one time jim underwood made me mad. mama said something he didn't like. and he tied her thumbs together and tied them to a limb. her feet could touch the ground--they weren't off the ground. he said she could stay there till she thought better of it. "before the surrender i didn't do nothing in the line of work 'cept 'tend to my mother's children. i didn't do no work at all 'cept that. my white folks were good to me. all my folks 'cept me are gone. my grandmas and uncles and things all settin' up yonder. all my children what is dead, they're up yonder. i ain't got but three living, and they're on their way. minnie and mamie and annie, that is all i got. mamie's the youngest and she's got grandchildren. how freedom came "the way we learned that freedom had come, my uncle come to the fence and told my mama we were free and i went with her. sure he'd been to the war. he come back with his budget. don't you know what a budget is? you ain't never been to war, have you? well, you oughter know what a budget is. that's a knapsack. it had a pocket on each side and a water can on each shoulder. he come home with his budget on his back, and he come to the fence and told mama we was free and i heered him. right after freedom "right after freedom my mama and them stayed with the same people they had been with. the rest of the people scattered wherever they wanted to but my uncle come there and got mama. they moved back to the taylors then where my grandma was. wouldn't care if i had some of that good old spring water now where my grandma lived! "none of my people were ever bothered by the pateroles or the ku klux. "we come to arkansas because we had kinfolks down here. just picked up and come on. i been here a long time. i don't know how long, i don't keep up with nothing like that. when my husband was living i just followed him. he said that this was a good place and we could make a good living. so i just come on. when he died, those gravediggers dug his grave deep enough to put another man on top of him. but that don't hurt him none. he's settin' in the kingdom. he was a deacon in the church and his word went. the whole plantation would listen to him and do what he said. everybody respected him because he was right. i was just married once and no man can take his place. he was the first one and the best one and the last one. he was heaven bound and he went on there. i don't know just how long i was married. it is in the bible. it is in there in big letters. i can't get that right now. it's so big and heavy. but it's in there. i think we left it in detroit when i was there, and it ain't come back here yet. but i know we lived together a long time. "i remember the old slave-time songs but i can't think of them just now. 'come to jesus' is one of them. 'where shall i be when the first trumpet sounds?', that's another one. another one is: 'if i could, i surely would; set on the rock where moses stood--first verse or stanza. all of my sins been taken away, taken away--chorus. mary wept and martha moaned, mary's gone to a world unknown--second verse or stanza. all of my sins are taken away, taken away--chorus." "i don't think nothing 'bout these young folks. when they was turned loose a lot of them went wild and the young folks followed their leaders. but mine followed me and my daddy. "my grandmother had a big old bay horse and she was midwife for the white and the colored folks. she would put her side saddle on the old horse and get up and go, bless her heart; and me and my cousin had to stay there and take care of things. she's gone now. the lord left me here for some reason. and i'm enjoyin' it too. i have got my first cussin' to do. i don't like to hear nobody cuss. i belong to the church. i belong to the baptist church and i go to the arch street church." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mary poe, forrest city, arkansas age: "my papa used to tell about two men he knowd stealing a hog. he was wyatt alexander. he was feeding one evening and the master was out there too that evening. they overheard two colored men inside the crib lot house. they was looking at the hogs. they planned to come back after dark and get a hog. the way it turned out master dressed up ragged and got inside that night. the first man come. they got a shoat and killed it, knocked it in the head. the master took it on his back to the log cabin. when he knocked, his wife opened the door. she seen who it was. she nearly fell out and when he seen who it was he run off. the master throwed the hog down. they all got the hot water and went to work. he left a third there and took part to the other man. he done gone to bed and he took a third on home. he said he wanted to see if they needed meat or wanted to keep in stealing practice. he didn't want them to waste his big hog meat neither. said that man never come home for two weeks, 'fraid he'd get a whooping. no, they said he never got a whooping but the meat was near by gone. "seem lack hog stealing was common in north carolina in them days from the way he talked. "papa said he went down in the pasture one night to get a shoat. he said they had a fine big drove. he got one knocked over an' was carrying it out across the fence to the field. he seen another man. he couldn't see. it was dark. he throwed the hog over on him. the man took the shoat on to his house and papa was afraid to say much about it. he said way 'long towards day this man come bringing about half of that hog cleaned and ready to salt away. they got up and packed it away out of sight. "my mother was named lucy alexander, too." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: w.l. pollacks brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born in shelby county tennessee. my folks all come from richmond, virginia. they come to kentucky and then on to tennessee. i am years old. my father's master was joe rollacks and mrs. chicky they called his wife. my mother's master was joe ricks and they all called his wife miss fee. i guess it was pheobe or josephine but they never called her by them names. seemed like they was all kin folks. i heard my mother say she dress up in some of the white folks dresses and hitch up the buggy, take dinner and carry two girls nearly grown out to church and to big picnics. she liked that. the servants would set the table and help the white folks plates at the table. said they had a heap good eating. she had a plenty work to do but she got to take the girls places where the parents didn't want to go. she said they didn't know what to do wid freedom. she said it was like weening a child what never learned to eat yet. i forgot what they did do. she said work was hard to find and money scarce. they find some white folks feed em to do a little work. she said a nickle looked big as a dollar now. they couldn't buy a little bit. they like never get nough money to buy a barrel of flour. it was so high. seem like she say i was walking when they got a barrel of flour. so many colored folks died right after freedom. they caught consumption. my mother said they was exposed mo than they been used to and mixing up in living quarters too much what caused it. my father voted a republican ticket. i ain't voted much since i come to arkansas. i been here years. my farm failed over in tennessee. i was out lookin' round for farmin' land, lookin' round for good work. i farmed then i worked seven or eight years on the section, then i helped do brick work till now i can't do but a mighty little. i had three children but they all dead. i got sugar dibeates. "the present times are tough on sick people. it is hard for me to get a living. i find the young folks all for their own selves. if i was well i could get by easy. if a man is strong he can get a little work along. "the times and young generation both bout to run away wid themselves, and the rest of the folks can't stop em 'pears to me like." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: "doc" john pope, biscoe, arkansas age: i am years old for a fact. i was born in de soto county, mississippi, eight miles south of memphis, tennessee. no i didn't serve in de war but my father gus pope did. he served in de war three years and never came home. he served in rd regiment infantry of de yankee army. he died right at the surrender. i stayed on de farm till the surrender. we scattered around den. my father was promised $ . bounty and acres of land. dey was promised dat by the constitution of the united states. every soldier was promised dat. no he never got nary penny nor nary acre of land. we ain't got nuthin. de masters down in mississippi did help 'em where they stayed on. i never stayed on. i left soon as de fightin was gone. i was roamin round in memphis and man asked me if i wanted to go to college. he sent a train load to fitz (fisk) university. i stayed there till i graduated. i studied medicine generally. sandy odom, the preacher at brinkley, was there same time as i was. he show is old. he's up in ninety now. he had a brother here till he died. he was a fine doctor. he got more practice around here than any white doctor in this portion of de county. fitz university was a fine college. it was run by rich folks up north. i don't know how long i stayed there. it was a good while. i went to isaac pope, my uncle. he was farming. briscoe owned the pope niggers at my first recollection. he brought my uncle and a lot more over here where he owned a heap of dis land. it was all woods. dats how i come here. after de civil war? dey had to "root hog or die". from - the times was mighty hard. people rode through the county and killed both white and black. de carpet bagger was bout as bad as de ku kluck. i came here i said wid john briscoe. they all called him jack briscoe, in . i been here ever since cept w.t. edmonds and p.h. conn sent me back home to get hands. i wrote 'em how many i had. they wired tickets to memphis. i fetched families back. i been farmin and practicin all my life put near. i show do vote. i voted the last time for president hoover. the first time i voted was at the general grant election. i am a republican, because it is handed down to me. that's the party of my race. i ain't going to change. that's my party till i dies. we has our leader what instructs us how to vote. dey say dey goiner pay cents a hundred but i ain't able to pick no cotton. no i don't get no help from de relief. i think the pore class of folks in a mighty bad fix. is what i think. the nigger is hard hit and the pore trash dey call 'em is too. i don't know what de cause is. it's been jess this way ever since i can recollect. no times show ain't one bit better. i owns dis house and dats all. i got one daughter. i went to fitz (fisk) university in . the folks i told you about was there then too. their names was dr. e.b. odom of biscoe and his brother sandy odom. he preaches at brinkley now. doc odom is dead. he served on the biscoe school board a long time wid two white men. i don't know much about the young generation. they done got too smart for me to advise. the young ones is gettin fine educations but it ain't doin 'em no good. some go north and cook. it don't do the balance of 'em no good. if they got education they don't lack de farm. de sun too hot. no times ain't no better an de nigger ain't no better off en he used to be. a little salary dun run 'em wild. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: william porter louisiana street, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: janitor of church "yes'm i lived in slavery times. i was born in . i was borned in tennessee but the most of my life has been in arkansas. "i remember when hood's raid was. that was the last fight of the war. i recollect seein' the soldiers marchin' night and day for two days. i saw the cavalry men and the infant men walking. i heard em say the north was fightin' the south. they called the north yankees and the south rebels. "some of the tennessee niggers was called free niggers. there was a colored man in pulaski, tennessee who owned slaves. "my father was workin' to buy his freedom and had just one more year to work when peace come. his master gave him a chance to buy his freedom. he worked for old master in the daytime and at night he worked for himself. he split rails and raised watermelons. "my father's master was named tom gray at that time. considering the times he was a very fair man. "when the war broke up i was workin' around a barber shop in nashville, tennessee. "the queen of england offered to buy the slaves and raise them till they were grown, then give them a horse, a plow and so many acres of ground but the south wouldn't accept this offer. "it was the rule of the south to keep the people as ignorant as possible, but my mother had a little advantage over some. the white children learned her to read and write, and when freedom came she could write her name and even scribble out a letter. she gave me my first lesson, and i started to school in ' . the north sent teachers down here after the war. they were government schools. "i was pretty apt in figgers--studied bay's arithmetic through the third book. i was getting along in school, but i slipped away from my people and was goin' to get a pocket full of money and then go back. first man i worked for was a colored man and i kept his books for him and was to get one-fourth of the crop. the first year he settled with me i had $ clear after i paid all my debts. i done very well. i farmed one more year, then i come to pine bluff and did government work along the arkansas river. "i've done carpenter work and concrete work. i learned it by doing it. i followed concrete work for a long time. i've hoped to build several houses here in pine bluff and a lot of these streets. "i have a brother and sister who graduated from fisk university. "i think one thing about the younger generation is they need to be more educated in the way of manners and to have race pride and to be subject to the laws." interviewer: thomas elmore lacy person interviewed: bob potter, russellville, arkansas age: "sure, you oughter remember me--bob potter. used to know you when you was a boy passin' de house every day go in' down to de old democrat printin' office. knowed yo' brother and all yo' folks. knowed yo' pappy mighty well. is yo' ma and pa livin' now? no suh, i reckin not. "i was born de seventeenth of september, right here in russellville. daddy's name was dick, and mudder's was ann potter. daddy died before i was born, and i never seed him. mudder's been dead about eighteen years. dey master was named hale, and he lived up around dover somewheres on his farm, but i dunno how dey come by de name potter. well, now, lemme see--oh, yes, dey was freed at dover after dey come dere from north ca'liny. i think my ma was born in west virginia, and den dey went to north ca'liny and den to south ca'liny, and den come to arkansas. "i raised seven boys and lost five chillen. dere was three girls and nine boys. all dat's livin' is here except one in fresno, california. my old woman here, she tells fortunes for de white folks and belongs to de holiness church but i don't belong to none; i let her look after de religion for de fambly." (interjection from mrs. potter: "yes suh, you bet i belongs to de holiness chu'ch. you got to walk in de light to be saved, and if you do walk in de light you can't sin. i been saved for a good many yeahs and am goin' on in de faith. praise de lawd!") "my mudder was sold once for a hundud dollahs and once ag'in for thirty-eight hundud dollahs. perhaps dis was jist before dey left west virginia and was shipped to north ca'liny. de master put her upon a box, she said, made her jump up and pop her heels together three times and den turn around and pop her heels again to show how strong she was. she sure was strong and a hard worker. she could cut wood, tote logs, plow, hoe cotton, and do ever'thing on de place, and lived to be about ninety-five yeahs old. yas suh, she was as old or older dan aunt joan is when she died. "no suh, i used to vote but i quit votin', for votin' never did git me nothin'; i quit two yeahs ago. you see, my politics didn't suit em. maybe i shouldn't be tellin' you but i was a socialist, and i was runnin' a mine and wo'kin' fifteen men, and dey was all socialists, and de republicans and democrats sure put me out of business--dey put me to de bad. "dat was about twelve yeahs ago when i run de mine. i been tryin' to git me a pension but maybe dat's one reason i can't git it. oh yes, i owns my home--dat is, i did own it, but---- "oh lawd, yes, i knows a lot of dem old songs like 'let our light shine,' and 'de good old gospel way,' and 'hark from de tomb.' listen, you oughter hear elder beam sing dat one. he's de pastor of de baptis' chu'ch at fort smith. he can sure make it ring! "de young folks of today compa'ed to dem when we was boys? huh! you jist can't compaih em--can't be done. why, a fo'-yeah-old young'un knows mo' today dan our grandmammies knowed. and in dem days de boys and gals could go out and play and swing togedder and behave deyselves. we went in our shu'ttails and hit was all right; we had two shu'ts to weah--one for every day and one for sunday--and went in our shu'ttails both every day and sunday and was respected. and if you didn't behave you sure got whupped. dey didn't put dey arms around you and hug you and den put you off to sleep. dey whupped you, and it was real whuppin'. "used to hear my mudder talk about de ku klux klan puttin' cotton between her toes and whuppin' her, and dat's de way dey done us young'uns when we didn't behave. and we used to have manners den, both whites and blacks. i wish times was like dem days, but dey's gone. "yes, we used to have our tasks to do befo' goin' to bed. we'd have a little basket of cotton and had to pick de seeds all out of dat cotton befo' we went to bed. and we could all ca'd and spin--yes suh--make dat old spinnin' wheel go z-z-z-z as you walked back and fo'f a-drawin' out de spool of ya'n. and you could weave cloth and make all yo' own britches, too. (here his wife interpolated a homely illustration of the movement of "de shettle" in the loom weaving--ed.) "yes, i mind my mudder tellin' many a time about dem klan-men, and how dey whupped white women to make em give up de money dey had hid, and how dey used to burn dey feet. yes suh, ain't no times like dem old days, and i wish we had times like em now. yes suh, i'll sure come to see you in town one of dese days. good mornin'." note: bob potter is a most interesting negro character--one of the most genial personalities of the old south that the interviewer has met anywhere. his humor is infectious, his voice boisterous, but delightful, and his uproarious laugh just such as one delights to listen to. and his narrations seem to ring with veracity. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: louise prayer short west third, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i can member seein' the yankees. my mother died when i was a baby and my grandmother raised me. i'se goin' on eighty. "when the yankees come we piled boxes and trunks in front of the doors and windows. she'd say, 'you chillun get in the house; the yankees are comin'.' i didn't know what 'twas about--i sure didn't. "i'm honest in mind. you know the yankees used to come in and whip the folks. i know they come in and whipped my grandma and when they come in we chillun went under the bed. didn't know no better. why did they whip her? oh my god, i don't know bout dat. you know when we chillun saw em ridin' in a hurry we went in the house and under the bed. i specks they'd a killed me if they come up to me cause they'd a scared me to death. "we lived on the williams' place. all belonged to the same people. they give us plenty to eat such as 'twas. but in them days they fed the chillun mostly on bread and syrup. sometimes we had greens and dumplin's. jus' scald some meal and roll up in a ball and drop in with the greens. just a very few chickens we had. i don't love chicken though. if i can jus' get the liver i'm through with the chicken. "when i got big enough my grandmother had me in the field. i went to school a little bit but i didn't learn nothin'. didn't go long enough. that i didn't cause the old man had us in the field. "if we chillun in them days had had the sense these got now, i could remember more bout things. "i was a young missy when i married. "i told you the best i could--that's all i know. i been treated pretty good." produced from images generously made available by the library of congress, manuscript division) [tr: ***] = transcriber note [hw: ***] = handwritten note slave narratives a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress illustrated with photographs washington, volume iv georgia narratives part prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of georgia informants telfair, georgia thomas, cordelia thomas, ike toombs, jane mickens town, phil [tr: in the interview, he's named phil towns.] upson, neal van hook, john f. vinson, addie virgel, emma walton, rhodus ward, william , washington, lula willbanks, green williamson, eliza willingham, frances willis, adeline willis, uncle [tr: willis bennefield in combined interview.] winfield, cornelia womble, george [tr: also called wombly in the interview.] wright, henry young, dink walton combined interviews [excerpts from slave interviews] adeline eugene mary rachel laura matilda easter carrie malinda amelia [four slaves interviewed by maude barragan, edith bell love, ruby lorraine radford] ellen campbell rachel sullivan eugene wesley smith willis bennefield [tr: uncle willis in individual interview.] [folklore] emmaline heard rosa and jasper millegan camilla jackson anna grant emmaline heard compilations [richmond county] folklore conjuration folk remedies and superstitions mistreatment of slaves slavery work, play, food, clothing, marriage, etc. transcriber's notes: [tr: the interview headers presented here contain all information included in the original, but may have been rearranged for readability. also, some ages and addresses have been drawn from blocks of information on subsequent interview pages. names in brackets were drawn from text of interviews.] [tr: some interviews were date-stamped; these dates have been added to interview headers in brackets. where part of date could not be determined -- has been substituted. these dates do not appear to represent actual interview dates, rather dates completed interviews were received or perhaps transcription dates.] [tr: in general, typographical errors have been left in place to match the original images. in the case where later editors have hand-written corrections, simple typographical errors have been silently corrected.] plantation life as viewed by an ex-slave georgia telfair, age box , r.f.d. # athens, ga. written by: miss grace mccune athens, ga. edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens, ga. and mrs. leila harris augusta, ga. [date stamp: apr ] "yes chile, i'll be glad to tell you de story of my life, i can't tell you much 'bout slav'ry 'cause i wuz jus' six months old when freedom come, but i has heared quite a lot, and i will tell you all i kin 'member 'bout everythin." said old "aunt" georgia telfair, who lives with her son to whom her devotion is quite evident. both "aunt" georgia and the little home show the excellent care that is given them. "my pa," she said, "wuz pleasant jones, an' he b'longed to marse young l.g. harris. dey lived at de harris place out on dearing street. hit wuz all woods out dar den, an' not a bit lak dearing street looks now. "rachel wuz my ma's name. us don' know what her las' name wuz 'cause she wuz sold off when she wuz too little to 'member. dr. riddin' (redding) bought her an' his fambly always jus' called her rachel riddin'. de riddin' place wuz whar hancock avenue is now, but it wuz all in woods 'roun' dar, jus' lak de place whar my pa wuz. atter dey wuz married ma had to stay on wid de riddin' fambly an' her chilluns b'longed to de riddin's 'cause dey owned her. miss maxey riddin' wuz my brudder's young missus, an' i wuz give to her sister, miss lula riddin', for to be her own maid, but us didn't git to wuk for 'em none 'cause it wuz jus' at dis time all de slaves got sot free. atter dat my pa tuk us all wid him an' went to farm on de old widderspoon (witherspoon) place. "it wuz 'way off in de woods. pa cut down trees an' built us a log cabin. he made de chimbly out of sticks an' red mud, an' put iron bars crost de fireplace to hang pots on for to bile our vittuls an' made ovens for de bakin'. de bes' way to cook 'tatoes wuz to roas' 'em in de ashes wid de jackets on. dey ain' nothin' better tastin' dan ash-roasted 'tatoes wid good home-made butter to eat wid 'em. an 'us had de butter, 'cause us kep' two good cows. ma had her chickens an' tukkeys an' us raised plenty of hogs, so we nebber wuz widout meat. our reg'lar sunday breakfas' wuz fish what pa cotch out of de crick. i used to git tired out of fish den, but a mess of fresh crick fish would sho' be jus' right now. "us always kep' a good gyardan full of beans, corn, onions, peas an' 'taters, an' dey warn't nobody could beat us at raisin' lots of greens, 'specially turnips an' colla'd greens. us saved heaps of dry peas an' beans, an' dried lots of peaches an' apples to cook in winter. when de wind wuz a howlin an' de groun' all kivvered wid snow, ma would make dried fruit puffs for us, dat sho' did hit de spot. "when i wuz 'bout eight years old, dey sont me to school. i had to walk from epps bridge road to knox school. dey calls it knox institute now. i toted my blue back speller in one han' and my dinner bucket in de other. us wore homespun dresses wid bonnets to match. de bonnets wuz all made in one piece an' had drawstrings on de back to make 'em fit, an' slats in de brims to make 'em stiff an' straight. our dresses wuz made long to keep our legs warm. i don't see, for to save me, how dey keeps dese young-uns from freezin' now since dey let 'em go 'roun' mos' naked. "our brush arbor church wuz nigh whar brooklyn mount pleasant church is now, an' us went to sunday school dar evvy sunday. it warn't much of a church for looks, 'cause it wuz made out of poles stuck in de groun' an' de roof wuz jus' pine limbs an' brush, but dere sho' wuz some good meetin's in dat old brush church, an' lots of souls foun' de way to de heb'enly home right dar. "our reg'lar preacher wuz a colored man named morrison, but mr. cobb preached to us lots of times. he wuz a white gemman, an' he say he could a sot all night an' lissen long as us sung dem old songs. some of 'em i done clar forgot, but de one i lak bes' goes sorter lak dis: 'i want to be an angel an' wid de angels stan' a crown upon my forehead and a harp widin my han'.' "another tune wuz 'roll, jordan roll.' little chillun wuz larnt to sing, 'how sweetly do de time fly, when i please my mother,' an' us chillun sho' would do our best a singin' dat little old song, so preacher cobb would praise us. "when i jined de church dere wuz of us baptized de same day in de crick back of de church. while preacher brown wuz a baptizin' us, a big crowd wuz standin' on de bank a shoutin' an' singin', 'dis is de healin' water,' an', 'makin' for de promise lan! some of 'em wuz a prayin' too. atter de baptizin' wuz done dey had a big dinner on de groun's for de new members, but us didn't see no jugs dat day. jus' had plenty of good somethin' t'eat. "when us warn't in school, me an' my brudder wukked in de fiel' wid pa. in cotton plantin' time, pa fixed up de rows an' us drap de seeds in 'em. nex' day us would rake dirt over 'em wid wooden rakes. pa made de rakes hisse'f. dey had short wooden teef jus' right for to kivver de seed. folkses buys what dey uses now an' don't take up no time makin' nothin' lak dat. "in dem days 'roun' de house an' in de fiel' boys jus' wo' one piece of clo'es. it wuz jus' a long shirt. dey didn't know nothin' else den, but i sho' would lak to see you try to make boys go 'roun' lookin' lak dat now. "dey hired me out to mr. jack weir's fambly when i wuz 'bout fo'teen years old to do washin', ironin', an' cleanin' up de house, an' i wukked for 'em 'til i married. dey lemme eat all i wanted dere at de house an' paid me in old clo'es, middlin' meat, sirup, 'tatoes, an' wheat flour, but i never did git no money for pay. not nary a cent. "us wukked mighty hard, but us had good times too. de bigges' fun us had wuz at candy pullin's. ma cooked de candy in de wash pot out in de yard. fust she poured in some home-made sirup, an' put in a heap of brown sugar from de old sirup barrel an' den she biled it down to whar if you drapped a little of it in cold water it got hard quick. it wuz ready den to be poured out in greasy plates an' pans. us greased our han's wid lard to keep de candy from stickin' to 'em, an' soon as it got cool enough de couples would start pullin' candy an' singin'. dat's mighty happy music, when you is singin' an' pullin' candy wid yo' bes' feller. when de candy got too stiff an' hard to pull no mo', us started eatin', an' it sho' would evermo' git away from dar in a hurry. you ain't nebber seed no dancin', what is dancin', lessen you has watched a crowd dance atter dey et de candy what dey done been pullin'. "quiltin's wuz a heap of fun. sometimes two or three famblies had a quiltin' together. folkses would quilt some an' den dey passed 'roun' de toddy. some would be cookin' while de others wuz a quiltin' an' den when supper wuz ready dey all stopped to eat. dem colla'd greens wid cornpone an' plenty or gingercakes an' fruit puffs an' big ole pots of coffee wuz mighty fine eatin's to us den. "an' dere warn't nothin' lackin' when us had cornshuckin's. a gen'ral of de cornshuckin' wuz appointed to lead off in de fun. he sot up on top of de big pile of corn an' hysted de song. he would git 'em started off singin' somethin' lak, 'sallie is a good gal,' an' evvybody kept time shuckin' an' a singin'. de gen'ral kept singin' faster an' faster, an' shucks wuz jus' flyin'. when pa started passin' de jug 'roun' dem niggers sho' nuff begun to sing loud an' fas' an' you wuz 'bliged for to 'low sallie mus' be a good gal, de way de shucks wuz comin' off of dat corn so fas'. dey kep' it up 'til de corn wuz all shucked, an' ma hollered, 'supper ready!' den dey made tracks for de kitchen, an' dey didn't stop eatin' an' drinkin' dat hot coffee long as dey could swallow. ain't nobody fed 'em no better backbones, an' spareribs, turnip greens, 'tato pies, an' sich lak dan my ma set out for 'em. old time ways lak dat is done gone for good now. folkses ain't lak dey used to be. dey's all done got greedy an' don't keer 'bout doin' nothin' for nobody else no more. "ma combed our hair wid a jim crow comb, or cyard, as some folkses called 'em. if our hair wuz bad nappy she put some cotton in de comb to keep it from pullin' so bad, 'cause it wuz awful hard to comb. "evvybody tried to raise plenty of gourds, 'cause dey wuz so handy to use for dippers den. water wuz toted from de spring an' kept in piggins. don't spec' you ebber did see a piggin. dats a wooden bucket wid wire hoops 'roun' it to keep it from leakin'. de wash place wuz nex' to de spring. pa fixed us up a big old stump whar us had to battle de clo'es wid a battlin' stick. it tuk a sight of battlin' to git de dirt out sometimes. "if you turned a chunk over in de fire, bad luck wuz sho' to come to you. if a dog howled a certain way at night, or if a scritch owl come in de night, death wuz on de way to you, an' you always had to be keerful so maybe bad spirits would leave you alone. "pa built us a new kitchen, jus' lak what de white folkses had dem days. it sot out in de back yard, a little piece of a way from our house. he made it out of logs an' put a big old chimbly wid a big fireplace at one end. benches wuz built 'roun' de sides for seats. dere warn't no floor in it, but jus' dirt floor. dat wuz one gran' kitchen an' us wuz mighty proud of it. [hw: p. ] "my w'ite folkses begged me not to leave 'em, when i told 'em i wuz gwine to marry joe telfair. i'd done been wukkin' for 'em nigh on to six years, an' wuz mos' twenty years old. dey gimme my weddin' clo'es, an' when i seed dem clo'es i wuz one proud nigger, 'cause dey wuz jus' lak i wanted. de nightgown wuz made out of white bleachin' an' had lots of tucks an' ruffles an' it even had puff sleeves. sho' 'nough it did! de petticoat had ruffles an' puffs plum up to de wais' ban'. dere wuz a cosset kiver dat wuz cut to fit an' all fancy wid tucks an' trimmin', an' de drawers, dey sho' wuz pretty, jus' full of ruffles an' tucks 'roun' de legs. my dress wuz a cream buntin', lak what dey calls serge dese days. it had a pretty lace front what my ma bought from one of de moss ladies. when i got all dressed up i wuz one mo' gran' lookin' bride. "us got married in de new kitchen an' it wuz plum full, 'cause ma had done axed folkses to de weddin'. some of 'em wuz joe's folkses, an' us had eight waiters: four gals, an' four boys. de same preacher brown what baptized me, married us an' den us had a big supper. my missus, lula weir, had done baked a great big pretty cake for me an' it tasted jus' as good as it looked. atter us et all us could, one of de waiters called de sets for us to dance de res' of de night. an' sich dancin' as us did have! folkses don't know how to dance dat good no mo'. dat wuz sho' nuff happy dancin'. yes ma'am, i ain't nebber gonna forgit what a gran' weddin' us had. "next day us moved right here an' i done been here ever since. dis place b'longed to joe's gran'ma, an' she willed it to him. us had chillun, but ain't but five of 'em livin' now, an' joe he's been daid for years. us always made a good livin' on de farm, an' still raises mos' of what us needs, but i done got so po'ly i can't wuk no more. "i'se still tryin' to live right an' walk de narrow way, so as i kin go to heb'en when i dies. i'se gwine to pray for you an' ax de lawd to bless you, for you has been so good an' patient wid me, an' i'se sho' thankful my son sont you to see me. you done helped me to feel lots better. good-bye, an' god bless you, an' please ma'am, come back to see me again." plantation life cordelia thomas, age berry street athens, ga. written by: grace mccune [hw: (white)] athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens leila harris augusta and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & a long, hot walk over rough, hilly roads brought the visitor to cordelia's place just after the noon hour of a sweltering july day, and the shade of the tall water oaks near the little cabin was a most welcome sight. the house stood only a few feet from a spur of railroad track but the small yard was enclosed by a luxurious green hedge. roses predominated among the many varieties of flowers in evidence on the otherwise drab premises. a dilapidated porch across the front of the residence had no roof and the floorboards were so badly rotted that it did not seem quite safe to walk from the steps to the front door where cordelia stood waiting. "come right in, missy," she invited, "but be keerful not to fall through dat old porch floor." the tall, thin negress was clad in a faded but scrupulously clean blue dress, a white apron, and a snowy headcloth crowned by a shabby black hat. black brogans completed her costume. cordelia led the way to the rear of a narrow hall. "us will be cooler back here," she explained. sunlight poured through gaping holes in the roof, and the coarse brown wrapping paper pasted on the walls was splattered and streaked by rain. the open door of cordelia's bedroom revealed a wooden bed, a marble-topped bureau, and a washstand of the victorian period. a rocker, two straight chairs, a small table, and a trunk completed the furnishings of the room and left but little space for its occupant to move about. "i'se jus' a mite tired," cordelia stated, "'cause i jus' got back from de courthouse whar dem welfare 'omans done gimme a sack o' flour and some other bundles what i ain't opened up yit, but i knows dey's got somepin in 'em to holp me, 'cause dem folks is sho' been mighty good to me since my rheumatiz is been so bad i couldn't wuk enough to make a livin'. de doctor, he say i got de blood presser. i don't rightly know jus' what dat is, but it looks lak somepin's a-pressin' right down in my haid 'til i feels right foolish, so i reckon he's right 'bout it a-bein de blood presser. when i gits down on my knees it takes a long time for me to git straight up on my feet again. de lord, he's done been wid me all dese years, and old cordelia's goin' to keep right on kneelin' 'fore him and praisin' him often 'til he 'cides de time has come for her to go home to heben. "i was borned on marse andrew jackson's plantation down in 'conee (oconee) county, twixt here and high shoals. marse andy, he owned my mammy, and she was named em'ly jackson. bob lowe was my daddy, and he b'longed to marse ike lowe. the lowe plantation was nigh whar marse andy's was, down der in 'conee county. 'cause neither one of deir marsters wouldn't sell one of 'em to de other marster, mammy had to stay on de jackson plantation and daddy was kept right on wukin' on de lowe place atter dey had done got married. marse bob, he give daddy a ticket what let him go to see mammy evvy wednesday and sadday night, and dem patterollers couldn't bother him long as he kept dat ticket. when dey did find a slave off his marster's plantation widout no ticket, it was jus' too bad, for dat meant a beatin' what most kilt him. mammy said dey didn't never git my daddy, 'cause he allus had his ticket to show. "i don't ricollect much 'bout days 'fore de big war ended 'cause i was so little den, but many's de time i heared mammy and daddy and de other old folks tell 'bout dem times. us chillun had de bestes' time of anybody dem days, 'cause dey didn't 'low us to do nothin' but jus' eat all us could and play de rest of de time. i don't know how it was on other places, but dat was de way us was raised on our old marster's plantation. "de cracks of de log cabins whar de slaves lived was chinked wid red mud to keep out de cold and rain. dere warn't no glass in de windows, dey jus' had plank shutters what dey fastened shut at night. thin slide blocks kivvered de peepholes in de rough plank doors. dey had to have dem peepholes so as dey could see who was at de door 'fore dey opened up. dem old stack chimblies what was made out of sticks and red clay, was all time gittin' on fire. dem old home-made beds had high posties and us called 'em 'teesters.' to take de place of springs, what hadn't never been seen 'round dar in dem days, dey wove heavy cords lengthways and crostways. over dem cords dey laid a flat mat wove out of white oak splints and on dat dey put de homespun bed ticks stuffed wid wheat straw. dey could have right good pillows if dey was a mind to pick de scrap cotton and fix it up, but dere warn't many of 'em keered dat much 'bout no pillows. "slaves didn't do no cookin' on our place 'cause marster fed evvybody up at de big house. missy, i ain't never gwine to forgit dat big old fireplace up dar. dey piled whole sticks of cord wood on it at one time, wid little sticks crossways under 'em and, let me tell you, dat was a fire what would cook anything and evvything. de pots hung on swingin' racks, and dere was big ovens, little ovens, long-handled fryin' pans, and heavy iron skillets wid tight, thick lids. it sho' was a sight de way us chillun used to make 'way wid dem ash-roasted 'taters and dat good, fresh butter. us chillun had to eat supper early 'cause all chillun had to be in bed 'fore dark. it warn't lak dese days. why missy, chilluns now stays up 'most all night runnin' 'round dese parts. "marster was sho' good 'bout seein' dat his niggers had plenty to eat and wear. for supper us et our bread and milk wid wooden spoons out of wooden bowls, but for dinner dey give us veg'ables, corn pone, and 'taters. marster raised all de sorts of veg'ables what dey knowed anything 'bout in dem days, and he had big old fields of wheat, rye, oats, and corn, 'cause he 'lowed dat stock had to eat same as folkses. dere was lots of chickens, turkeys, cows, hogs, sheep, and some goats on dat plantation so as dere would allus be plenty of meat for evvybody. "our marster evermore did raise de cotton--lots of it to sell, and plenty for clothes for all de folkses, white and black, what lived on his place. all de cloth was home-made 'cept de calico for de best sunday dresses. chillun had to spin de thread and deir mammies wove de cloth. 'fore de end of de war, whilst i was still so little i had to stand on a box to reach de spinnin' wheel good, i could spin six reels a day. "chillun was happy when hog-killin' time come. us warn't 'lowed to help none, 'cept to fetch in de wood to keep de pot bilin' whar de lard was cookin'. our mist'ess allus had de lard rendered in de bigges' washpot, what dey sot on rocks in de fireplace. us didn't mind gittin' de wood for dat, 'cause when dem cracklin's got done, dey let us have all us could eat and, jus' let me tell you, missy, you ain't never had nothin' good 'less you has et a warm skin cracklin' wid a little salt. one time when dey was renderin' lard, all us chillun was crowdin' 'round close as us could git to see which one could git a cracklin' fust. mist'ess told us to stand back 'fore somebody got burnt; den mammy said she was gwine to take de hides off our backs 'bout gittin' so close to dat fire, and 'bout dat time somebody 'hind me gimme a quick push; and in de fire i went. marster grabbed me 'most time i hit dem red coals, but one hand and arm was burnt so bad i had to wear it in a sling for a long time. den marster laid down de law and told us what he would do if he cotch us chillun hangin' 'round de fire whar dey was cookin' lard again. "folkses said our marster must have a powerful sweet tooth on account of he kept so many bee hives. when bees swarmed folkses rung bells and beat on tin pans to git 'em settled. veils was tied over deir haids to keep de bees from gittin' to deir faces when dey went to rob de hives. chillun warn't never 'lowed to be nowhar nigh durin' dat job. one day i sneaked out and got up close to see how dey done it, and dem bees got all over me. dey stung me so bad i couldn't see for days and days. marster, he jus' fussed and said dat gal, cordelia, she was allus whar she didn't b'long. missy, i ain't never wanted to fool wid no more bees, and i don't even lak honey no more. "slaves all went to church wid deir white folkses 'cause dere warn't no nigger churches dem days. all de preachin' was done by white preachers. churches warn't nigh and convenient dem days lak dey is now and dey was such a fur piece from de plantations dat most of de folkses stayed all day, and dem meetin' days was big days den. de cooks was told to fix de bestes' dinners dey could git up, and chillun was made to know dey had better mind what dey was 'bout when dey was in de meetin' house or it was gwine to be made mighty hot for 'em when dey got back home. dat was one thing our marster didn't 'low no foolin' 'bout. his niggers had to be-have deyselfs at de meetin' house. 'long 'bout august when craps was laid by, dey had brush arbor meetin's. white folks brought deir slaves and all of 'em listened to a white preacher from watkinsville named mr. calvin johnson. dere was lots of prayin' and shoutin' at dem old brush arbor 'vival meetin's. "dey had campmeetin's too. de old freeman place was whar dey had some of dem fust campmeetin's, and hillsboro, mars hill, and bethabara was some of de other places whar marster tuk us to campmeetin's. missy, you jus' don't know nothin' 'bout 'citement if you ain't never been to one of dem old-time campmeetin's. when folkses would git 'ligion dey would holler and shout a-testifyin' for de lord. atter de meetin' dey dammed up de crick and let it git deep enough for de baptizin'. dey dipped de white folkses fust, and den de niggers. you could hear 'em singin' a mile away dem old songs lak: _on jordan's stormy banks i stand_,--_roll, jordan roll_,--_all god's chilluns is a-goin' home_, and--_whar de livin' waters flow_. i jus' can't 'member half of dem good old songs 'cause my mem'ry ain't good as it used to be." here cordelia paused. she seemed oblivious to all around her for several minutes, and then she suddenly smiled. "lordy, missy," she began, "if i could jus' call back dem days wid our good old marster to look atter us and see dat us had what us needed to eat and wear and a good comf'table cabin to live in, wouldn't dis be a happy old 'oman? lots of de other old folks would lak it too, 'cause our white folkses day sho' did take good keer of deir slaves. "did you ever hear of dem logrollin's? on our place dey spent 'bout two whole days cookin' and gittin' ready. marster axed evvybody from fur and nigh, and dey allus come 'cause dey knowed he was gwine to give 'em a good old time. de way dey rolled dem logs was a sight, and de more good corn liquor marster passed 'round, de faster dem logs rolled. come night-time, marster had a big bonfire built up and sot lots of pitchpine torches 'round so as dere would be plenty of light for 'em to see how to eat dat fine supper what had done been sot out for 'em. atter supper, dey danced nigh all de rest of de night. mammy used to tell us 'bout de frolics next day, 'cause us chillun was made to go to bed at sundown. come day, go day, no matter what might happen, growin' chillun had to be in bed at deir reg'lar time, but mammy never forgot to tell us all 'bout de good times next day. "mammy said dem cornshuckin's meant jus' as much fun and jollification as wuk. dey gathered marster's big corn crap and 'ranged it in long, high piles, and sometimes it tuk sev'ral days for dem cornshuckers to git it all shucked, but evvybody stayed right dar on de job 'til it was finished. at night, dey wukked by de light of big fires and torches, den dey had de big supper and started dancin'. dey stopped so often to swig dat corn liquor marster pervided for 'em dat 'fore midnight folkses started fallin' out and drappin' down in de middle of de dance ring. de others would git 'em by de heels and drag 'em off to one side 'til dey come to and was ready to drink more liquor and dance again. dat was de way dey went on de rest of de night. "corpses! buryin's! graveyards! why, miss, dere warn't nigh so many folkses a-dyin' all de time dem days as dere is now. folkses lived right and was tuk better keer of and dere warn't so much reason for 'em to die out den. when somebody did die, folkses come from miles and miles around to de buryin'. dey give de slaves de same sort of funerals de white folkses had. de corpses was washed good all over wid hot water and home-made soap, den dey was dressed and laid out on de coolin' boards 'til de cyarpenter man had time to make up de coffins. lordy, missy, ain't you never seed no coolin' board? i 'spects dey is all gone now though. dey looked a good deal lak ironin' boards, only dey had laigs to stand on. lots of times dey didn't dress de corpses, but jus' wropped 'em in windin' sheets. dem home-made, pine coffins didn't look so bad atter dey got 'em painted up and lined nice. dey driv de wagon what had de corpse on it right slow to de graveyard. de preacher talked a little and prayed; den atter de mourners had done sung somepin on de order of _harps [hw: hark?] from de tomb_, dey shovelled in de dirt over de coffin whilst de preacher said comfortin' words to de fambly of de daid. evvy plantation had its own graveyard wid a fence around it, and dere was a place in it for de slaves 'nigh whar deir white folks was buried. "honey, didn't you never hear tell of dr. frank jackson? he was sho' a grand doctor. dr. jackson made up his own medicines and toted 'em 'round wid him all de time. he was close kin to our marse andy jackson's fambly. all dem jacksons down in 'conee was good white folks. "us stayed on wid old marster for a little while atter de war was over, and den right away mammy died and daddy hired me out to mrs. sidney rives (reaves?). i 'spects one reason she was so mighty good to me was 'cause i was so little den. i was nigh grown when i left her to wuk for dr. palmer's fambly. all his chillun was little den and i was deir nuss. one of de best of his chillun was little miss eunice. she is done growed to be a school teacher and dey tells me she is still a-teachin'. it warn't long atter my daddy died dat i left de palmers and started wukkin' for mr. dock dorsey's fambly. if dere ever was a good christian 'oman in dis here old world it was miss sallie dorsey, mr. dock dorsey's wife. she had been miss sallie chappell 'fore she married mr. dorsey. miss sallie tried to git evvybody what stayed 'round her to live right too, and she wanted all her help to go to church reg'lar. if miss sallie and marse dock dorsey was livin' now, dey would pervide for old 'delia jus' lak dey used to do. all deir chillun was nice. miss fannie and miss sue, dey was extra good gals, but somehow i jus' can't call back de names of dem other ones now. dey all had to be good wid de sort of mammy and daddy dey had. miss sallie, she was sick a long time 'fore she died, and dey let me wait on her. missy, i tell you de gospel truth, i sho' did love dat 'oman. not long 'fore she passed on to heben, she told her husband dat atter she was gone, she wanted him to marry up wid her cousin, miss hargrove, so as he would have somebody to help him raise up her chillun, and he done 'zactly what she axed him to. all of my own white folkses has done died out, and old 'delia won't be here much longer. one of de thorntons here--i forgits which one--married up wid my young mist'ess, rebecca jackson. her gal got married up wid dr. jago, a horse-doctor. a insurance man named mr. speer married into de jackson fambly too. he moved his fambly from here to de mountains on account of his son's health, and i jus' los' track of 'em den. "lordy, chile! what you want to know 'bout my weddin' for, nowhow? dere ain't never gwine to be no more weddin's lak dey had back dere in dem times 'cause folkses thinks dey got to have too much nowadays. when folkses got married den dey was a-thinkin' 'bout makin' sho' 'nough homes for deyselfs, and gittin' married meant somepin sort of holy. mammy said dat most times when slaves got married dey jus' jumped backwards over a broomstick whilst deir marster watched and den he pernounced dat dey was man and wife. now dey is got to go to de courthouse and pay out good money for a license and den go git a preacher or somebody lak a jestice jedge to say de marriage words over 'em. "me and solomon thomas had to go buy us a license too, but us didn't mind 'bout 'puttin out 'dat money cause us was so much in love. i wore a pretty white dress and a breakfast shawl, and atter us had done went to de preacher man's house and got married, us come right on here to dis very house what had b'longed to solomon's daddy 'fore it was solomon's. us built two more rooms on de house, but all de time solomon lived us tried to keep de place lookin' a good deal lak it was de day us got married. "atter solomon died, i sold off most of de land to de railroad for de right of way for dat dere track what you sees out dere, and it sho' has made plenty of wuk for me to keep dat soot what dem engines is all time a-spittin' out cleaned off my things in de house. it draps down through dem big holes overhead, and i can't git hold of no money to have de roof patched up. "me and solomon, us had chillun, but dey is all daid out but three. one of my boys is in baltimore and another boy lives in louisiana somewhar. my gal, delia, she stays over in de newtown part of athens here. she would love to help her old mammy, but my delia's got chillun of her own and she can't git nothin' to do 'cept a little washin' for de white folkses, and she ain't able to pervide what her own household needs to eat. dem boys of mine is done got so fur off dey's done forgot all 'bout deir old mammy. "when us fust got married, solomon wukked at mr. orr's cotton house, and he stayed dere a long time 'fore he went to wuk for mr. moss and mr. levy. all dem white folks was good to me and solomon. i kept on wukkin' for de dorseys 'til us had so many chillun i had to stay home and look atter 'em. solomon got sick and he lay dere sufferin' a long, long time, but mr. moss and mr. levy seed dat he didn't want for nothin'. even atter solomon died dem good white mens kept on comin' out now and den to see if me and solomon's chillun had what us needed. "solomon, my solomon, he went out of dis here world, in dat dere room whar you sees dat old bed, and dat is perzactly whar i wants to be when de blessed lord lays his hands on me and tells me to come on home to glory. i wants to be toted out of dat room, through dis hall and on out to de graveyard jus' lak my man was. i knows dat evvything would be done nice jus' lak i wants it if mr. moss and mr. levy was a-livin' 'cause dey was both masons, and members of de masons is all done swore a oath to look atter deir own folkses. dey said solomon and his fambly was lak deir own folkses, mr. moss and mr. levy did. most of de folkses, both white and black, dat i has knowed and loved has done gone on over de jordan, out of dis world of trouble, and it will be happy days for all of us when us meets again in de place 'of many mansions' whar dere won't be nothin' for none of us to pester ourselfs 'bout no more. "all of my life, i'se had a great desire to travel, jus' to go evvywhar, but atter all dese years of busy livin' i 'spects all de trav'lin' i'll ever do will be on de road to glory. dat will be good enough for me 'cause i got so many more of 'em i loves over dar dan is left here." as the visitor passed out of earshot of cordelia's cabin the last words she heard from the old negress were: "good-bye again, missy. talkin' to you has been a heap of consolation to me." [hw: dist- ex slave # ] alberta minor re-search worker folklore ex-slave--ike thomas heidt bridges farm near rio georgia interviewed september , [date stamp: may ] [tr: this interview contained many handwritten edits; where text was transposed or meaning was significantly changed, it has been noted.] ike thomas was born near monticello in jasper county on the thomas plantation. his mother and father were sold when he was a little boy, and "missus" thomas, in picking her house boy, took ike to raise for a carriage boy. she picked her little niggers by the way they wore their hats. if they set them on the back of their heads, they grew up to be "high-minded", but if they pulled them over their eyes, they'd grow up to be "sneaky and steal". mrs. thomas let him sleep on a trundle bed pulled out at night and put under her bed in the day and fed him under the table. she'd put a piece of meat in a biscuit and hand it down to him and warned him if they had company not to holler when he was thru so he'd touch her on the knee but his mouth was so big and he'd eat so fast that he "jes kep' on teching her on the knee." during the war, when they got word the yankees were coming, mrs. thomas would hide her "little niggers" sometimes in the wardrobe back of her clothes, sometimes between the mattresses, or sometimes in the cane brakes. after the yankees left, she'd ring a bell and they would know they could come out of hiding. (when they first heard the slaves were free, they didn't believe it so they just stayed on with their "white folks".) [hw: transpose to page .] if the negroes were mean or ran away, they would be chased by hounds and brought back for punishment. when still a young man, ike ran away with a negro couple coming in a buggy to blanton mill near griffin and worked for mr. william blanton until he died. after he had been here a while, he got married. his wife's people had the wedding supper and party. he was a fiddler so had to fiddle most all night then the next day his "white folks" gave him the food for the wedding dinner that he had at his own house. ike says every seven [hw: ] years the locusts come and its sure to be a short crop that "god sends all sorts of cusses" (curses) sometimes its the worms that eat the cotton or the corn or the bugs that eat the wheat. he doesn't believe in "hants" or "conjurin'". it seems sid scott was a "mean nigger", [hw: and] everyone was afraid of [hw: him]. he was cut in two by the saw mill and after his funeral whenever anyone pass his house at night that could hear his "hant" going "rat-a-tat-tat-bang, bang, bang" like feet running. one night when ike was coming home from "fiddlin'" at a white folks party, he had to pass scott's house. now they kept the cotton seed in half of the house and the other half was empty. when ike got close, he made a racket and sure enough the noise started. "the moon was about an hour up" and he saw these funny white things run out from under the house and scatter. it scared him at first but he looked and looked and saw they were sheep that [hw: having] found a hole into the cotton seed would go in at night to eat. before the war the negroes had a big celebration on the th of july, a big barbecue, ball game, wrestling matches, lots of music and singing. they had to have a pass from their masters to attend and pay to get in. the "patta-roll" came by to see your pass and if you didn't have one, they'd whip you and send you home. [hw: when the negroes first heard that they were free, they didn't believe it so they just stayed on with their white folks.] after he came to blanton's, the negroes could come and go as they pleased for they were free. ike has been a member of several "societies" but something has always happened to the president and secretary or they ran off with the money so now he just has a sick and accident policy. ike will be years old next month. his hair is white, his eyes blurred with age, but he's quite active tho' he does walk with a stick. [hw: dist ex-slave # ] jane mickens toombs of washington-wilkes age approx. by minnie branham stonestreet washington-wilkes georgia [date stamp: jan ] [date stamp: may ] a story of happiness and contentment on a big plantation where there were "a heap of us slaves" is told by jane mickens toombs who said she was "five er six years ole when de wah come on ( ), or maby a lit'le ol'er." she is a bright old woman, well and spry despite the fact she "wuz conjured onst when i wuz young an' dat lef' me lame an' dis eye plum' out an' de t'other bad." when asked about the conjuring she said: "no'm, i don't 'zackly know how t'wuz, but enyhow somebody whut knowed how ter 'wu'k roots' got me lame on dis side, an' my eye out, jess kase i wuz a decent, nice lookin' gal, an' went on 'tendin' ter my business an' payin' dem no mind. dat's de way dey done in dem days, jess jealous of nice colored niggers. yassum, i wuz sick fer nigh on ter two years an' de doctuhs never knowed what ailed me. dey done everything dey could, but i wuz conjured an' dey couldn't hep' me. a doctuh-man frum up yander in new yalk cum down here ter see his folks, an' he tried to kure [hw: cyore] me, but doctuhs kain't [hw: kaan't] kure [hw: cyore] conjured folks, so i had ter lay an' suffer 'til de conjure wore out. dem whut done dat knowed dey done me wrong, but i kep' trustin' in my lawd, an' now dey's gone an' i'se er stumblin' roun' yit. no mam, i never knowed jess whut dey done ter me, but hit wuz bad, i kin tell yer dat, hit might nigh kilt me." aunt jane was born on the gullatt plantation on the line of wilkes and lincoln counties. her mother was liza gullatt and her father john mickens who belonged to mr. augustus mcmekin. "yassum, my pa wuz john 'mickens an' his marster bought him in alabamy. all de slaves whut belonged to de mcmekins called dey selves 'mickens. i wuz one of fifteen chillun an' cum er long in betweenst de oldest 'uns an' de youngest sum'ers. i wuz named fer my mistess jane gullatt whut died. young marse george gullatt choosed me out, dough, an' i'd er been his'en ef freedom hadn't er come. you know dat's de way dey use ter do back in slavery time, de young mistesses an' marsters choosed out de little niggers dey wanted fer their'n." this is another case where the father and mother belonged to different families. the father had a pass to go and come as he pleased, although his family lived a little distance away. jane said her father's master would have bought her mother if the war hadn't come on and they were set free. jane told of the log cabins in the quarters where all the negroes lived. she said they were all in a row "wid er street in de front, er wide street all set thick wid white mulberry trees fer ter mak' shade fer de chillun ter play in." they never had any punishment only [hw: except] switchings by their mistess, and that was not often. they played dolls, "us had home-made rag dolls, nice 'uns, an' we'd git dem long grass plumes (pampas grass) an' mak' dolls out'n dem too. us played all day long every day. my mistess' chillun wuz all growed up so jess us little niggers played tergether. "my mother spun an' wove de cloth, an' dyed hit, but our mistess made our clothes. my grandma, nancy, wuz de cook an' she fed all de little 'uns in de big ole kitchen whut sot out in de yard. she had a tray she put our victuals on an uh, uh, whut good things we had ter eat, an' er plenty of everything! us et jess whut our white folks had, dey didn't mak' no difference in us when hit cum ter eatin'. my grandaddy looked atter de meat, he done everything 'bout dat, an' he sho' knowed how ter fix it, too. "de fust thing i recollects is bein' round in de kitchen when dey wuz makin' ginger cakes an' my mistess givin' me de pan she made 'em in fer me ter sop hit out. dey ain't nothin' whut smells good lak' de cookin' in dem days, i kain't smell no victuals lak' dat now. everything wuz cooked on a big ole open fire place in one end of de kitchen. dem good ole days done gone now. folkes done got wiser an' wickeder--dey ain't lak' dey use ter be." at christmas santa claus found his way to the quarters on the gollatt plantation and each little slave had candy, apples, and "sich good things as dat." aunt jane gave a glowing description of the preparation for the christmas season: "lawdy, how de folks wu'ked gittin' ready fer chris'mus, fer three er fo' days dey stayed in de kitchen er cookin' an' er bakin'--daye wuz de bes' light bread--great big loaves baked on de fire place, an' cakes an' mo' good ginger cakes. dey wuz plenty cooked up to las' er long time. an' another thing, dare want no cookin' on sunday, no mam, no wu'k of no kind. my mistess had de cook cookin' all day fridays an' saddays so when sunday come dare wuz hot coffee made an' dat wuz all, everything else wuz cooked up an' cold. everybody went to church, de grown folks white and black, went to de preachin' an' den all de little niggers wuz called in an de bible read an' 'splained ter dem. "dare wuz preachin' down in de quarters, but dat wuz at night an' wuz led by de colored preachers. i recollects one night dare wuz a service gwine on in one of de cabins an' all us wuz dare an' ole uncle alex frazier wuz up a linin' off a hymn 'bout 'broad is de road dat leads ter death an' there an' here we travel.' when in come some mens atter a colored feller whut had stole some sheep an' hogs. dey kotch 'im, but sho broke up de meetin'. in de hot summer time uncle george gullatt use ter preach ter de slaves out under de trees. uncle george waz a kind of er preacher. "my pa didn't 'low his chillun ter go 'roun'. no'm, he kep' us home keerful lak. young folks in dem days didn't go all over de country lak dey does now, dey stayed at home, an' little chillun wuz kep' back an' dey didn' know no badness lak de chillun do terday. us never even heared de ole folks talk nothin' whut we oughtn't ter hear. us jess played an' stayed in a child's place. when we wuz sick de white folks seed dat we wuz 'tended to. dey use ter mak jerusalem oak candy an' give us. dey took de leaves of dat bush an' boiled 'em an' den use dat water dey wuz boiled in an' put sugar 'nough in hit ter mak candy. an dey used plenty of turpentine on us too--plenty ov hit, an' i believes in dat terday, hit's er good medicine." when asked about the war, aunt jane said she didn't remember much about it. "but dare's one thing 'bout hit i sho' does 'member, an' dat's my young mistess beckie's husband, mr. frazier, being off fightin' in de wah, an' she gittin' er letter frum him sayin' he wuz comin' home sich an' sich er day. she wuz so happy she had all de grown slaves wu'kin' gittin' ready fer him. den dey brung her er letter sayin' he had been kilt, an' she wuz in de yard when she read hit an' if dey hadn't er kotch her she'd ov fell. i 'members de women takin' her in de house an' gittin' her ter bed. she wuz so up sot an' took hit so hard. dem wuz sho' hard times an' sad 'uns too. 'course i wuz too small ter know much whut wuz gwine on, but i could tell hit wuz bad frum de way de older folks looked. "i recollects when dey say freedom had cum. dare wuz a speakin' fer de slaves up here in town in barnett's grove. dat mornin' ole miss sont all de oldes' niggers to de speakin' an' kep' us little 'uns dat day. she kep' us busy sweepin' de yards an' sich as dat. an' she cooked our dinner an' give hit to us herself. i 'members de grown folks leavin' early dat mornin' in a great big waggin. "a while after de wah, pa took us over to de mcmekins place an' we lived dare fer a long time. he died an' lef' us an' den us had ter do de bes' we could. col. tolbert hired me fer ter nuss his chillun an' i went over ter his place ter live." aunt jane said she isn't superstitious, but likes to see the new moon clear and bow to it for good luck. she said it is better to show it a piece of money, but as she doesn't always have money handy, she "jess bows to hit nice an' polite". she keeps up with the weather by her rheumatism and the cat: "ef i has de reumatics i knows hit's gwine ter rain, an' when de cat comes 'round an' sets washin' her face, look fer rain, kase hit's er comin'. i've heared folks say dat hit's bad luck ter stump yo' lef' foot, but i don't know boud dat. but i tell yer, when i meets er cat i allus turns er round 'fore i goes on, dat turns de bad luck er way." when years of age jane married albert toombs. he belonged to the toombs family of wilkes county. aunt jane said albert brought her many gifts while he was courting: "he warnt much on bringin' candy an' nothin' lak dat ter eat, but he brung me shawls an' shoes--sumpin' i could wear." they had four children, but only one is living. "when i wuz a growin' up", said aunt jane, "folks had ter wu'k." she worked on the farm, spun, wove, "done seamster wu'k" and knitted stockings, sox and gloves. she said she carded too, "an' in dem times ef a nigger wanted ter git de kinks out'n dey hair, dey combed hit wid de cards. now dey puts all kinds ov grease on hit, an' buy straightenin' combs. sumpin' dat costs money, dat's all dey is, old fashion cards'll straighten hair jess as well as all dis high smellin' stuff dey sells now." aunt jane likes to tell of those days of long ago. her memory is excellent and she talks well. she says she is living out her miss jane's time. "yassum, my miss jane died when she wuz so young, i specks i jess livin' out her days kase i named fer her. but i does miss dem good ole days whut's gone. i'se hungry fer de sight ov a spinnin' wheel--does you know whare's one? things don't look lak' dey use ter, an' as fer whut we has ter eat, dare ain't no victuals ever smelled an' et as good as dem what dey use ter have on de plantation when i wuz a comin' on. yassum, folkes has got wiser an' know mo' dan dey did, but dey is wickeder--dey kills now 'stid er conjurin' lak' dey did me." [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] district adella s. dixon phil towns old slave story [date stamp: -- ] [tr: this interview contained many handwritten edits; where text was transposed, meaning was significantly changed, or the edit could not be clearly read, it has been noted.] on june , , a son was born to washington and clara towns who resided in richmond, virginia. this was the fourth child in a family which finally numbered thirteen. phil, as he was called, does not recall many incidents on this estate as the family moved when he was in his teens. his grandfather and grandmother were brought here from africa and their description of the cruel treatment they received is his most vivid recollection. his grandmother, hannah, lived to be years of age. mr. george towns, called "governor" by all of his slaves as well as his intimate friends, moved to georgia and settled at reynolds in taylor county. here he purchased a huge tract of land-- acres--and built his new home upon this level area on the flint river. the "big house," a large unpainted structure which housed a family of eighteen, was in the midst of a grove of trees near the highway that formed one of the divisions of the plantation. it was again divided by a local railway nearly a mile from the rear of the house. eighty-eight slaves were housed in the "quarters" which were on each side of the highway a little below the planter's home. these "quarters" differed from those found in the surrounding territory as the size of the houses varied with the number in the family. the interiors were nicely furnished and in most instances the families were able to secure any furniture they desired. feather mattresses, trundle beds and cribs were common and in families where there were many children, large fireplaces--some as many as eight feet wide--were provided so that every one might be [tr: 'able to keep' crossed out] comfortable in winter. a variety of cooking utensils were given and large numbers of waffle irons, etc., then considered luxuries, were found here. to consider only the general plan of operation, this plantation was no different from the average one in pre-civil war days but there was a phase of the life here which made it a most unusual home. "governor" was so exceptionally kind to his slaves that they were known as "gov. towns' free negroes" to those on the neighboring farms. he never separated families, neither did he strike a slave except on rare occasions. two things which might provoke his anger to this extent, were: to be told a lie, and to find that a person had allowed some one to take advantage of him. they were never given passes but obtained verbal consent to go where they wished and always remained as long as they chose. phil towns' father worked in the field and his mother did light work in the house, such as assisting in spinning. mothers of three or more children were not compelled to work, as the master felt that their children needed care. from early childhood boys and girls were given excellent training. a boy who robbed a bird's nest or a girl who frolicked in a boisterous manner was severely reprimanded. separate bedrooms for the two sexes were maintained until they married. the girls passed thru two stages--childhood, and at sixteen they became "gals". three years later they might marry if they chose but the husband had to be older--at least . courtships differed from those of today because there were certain hours for visiting and even though the girl might accompany her sweetheart away from home she had to be back at that hour. they had no clocks but a "time mark" was set by the sun. a young man was not allowed to give his girl any form of gift, and the efforts of some girls to secretly receive gifts which they claimed to have "found", were in vain, for these were taken from them. after the proposal, the procedure was practically the same as is observed today. the consent of the parent and the master was necessary. marriages were mostly held at night and no pains were spared to make them occasions to be remembered and cherished. beautiful clothes--her own selections--were given the bride, and friends usually gave gifts for the house. these celebrations, attended by visitors from many plantations, and always by the towns family, ended in gay "frolics" with cakes, wine, etc., for refreshments. during the first year of married life the couple remained with the bride's mother who instructed her in the household arts. disputes between the newlyweds were not tolerated and punishment by the parents was the result of "nagging". at the end of a year, another log cabin was added to the quarters and the couple began housekeeping. the moral code was exceedingly high; the penalty for offenders--married or single, white or colored--was to be banished from the group entirely. thus illegitimate children were rare enough to be a novelty. young phil was in his teens when he began his first job--coach driver for "gov." towns. this was just before they moved to georgia. he traveled with him wherever he went, and as the gov. purchased a plantation in talbot county, (the house still stands), and a home in macon, (the site of mt. de sales academy), a great deal of his time was spent on the road. phil never did any other work except to occasionally assist in sweeping the large yard. the other members of this group split rails, did field work, spinning, tailoring and any of the many things that had to be done. each person might choose the type of work he liked best. opportunities to make cash money were plentiful. some made baskets and did hand work which was sold and the money given the maker. a man or woman who paid gov. towns $ . might hire himself to the gov. for a year. when this was done he was paid cash for all the work he did and many were able to clear several hundred dollars in a year. in addition to this opportunity for earning money, every adult had an acre of ground which he might cultivate as he chose. any money made from the sale of this produce was his own. recreation was not considered important so no provision was made in the regular routine. it was, however, possible to obtain "time off" at frequent intervals and these might be termed irregular vacation periods. evening entertainment at which square dancing was the main attraction, were common. quill music, from a homemade harmonica, was played when banjoes were not available. these instruments were made by binding with cane five to ten reeds of graduated lengths. a hole was cut in the upper end of each and the music obtained by blowing up and down the scale. guests came from all neighboring farms and engaged in the "green corn" dance which was similar to what is now called buck dancing. near the end of such a hilarious evening, the guests were served with persimmon beer and ginger cakes,--then considered delicacies. "gov." towns was interested in assisting any one [hw: wanting to learn]. [tr: original reads 'desirous of learning.'] the little girls who expressed the desire to become "ladies" were kept in the "big house" and very carefully trained. the tastes of these few were developed to the extent that they excelled the ordinary "quarter" children and were the envy of the group at social affairs. sunday was a day of reverence and all adults were required to attend religious services. the trip was usually made in wagons, oxcarts, etc., although the young women of the big house rode handsome saddle horses. at each church there was placed a stepping block by which they descended from their steeds. white and colored worshipped at the same church, constructed with a partition separating the two parts of the congregation but not extending to the pulpit. professions of faith were accepted at the same altar while baptismal services ware held at a local creek and all candidates were baptized on the same day. regular clothing was worn at this service. children were not allowed to attend church, and christenings were not common. small boys, reared entirely apart from strict religious observances, used to slip away and shoot marbles on sunday. the health problem was not acute as these people were provided with everything necessary for a contented mind and a robust body. [tr: original line: the health problem was not a very acute one as these people were provided with everything conducive to a contented mind which plays a large part in maintaining a robust body.] however, a doctor who lived nearby cared for the sick. two fees were set--the larger one being charged if the patient recovered. home remedies were used for minor ills--catnip tea for thrash, tea from samson snakeroot for cramps, redwood and dogwood bark tea [hw: and horehound candy] for worms, [hw: many] root teas used [hw: medicinally] by this generation. peach brandy was given to anyone suspected of having pneumonia,--if the patient coughed, it was certain that he was a victim of the disease. in these days, a mother named her children by a name [tr: unreadable] during pregnancy. [tr: original line: in these days, it was always thought best for the mother to name her children if the proper name for the babe was theoretically revealed to her during pregnancy.] if another name was given the child, the correct one would be so firmly implanted in his subconscious mind that he would never be able to resist the impulse to turn his head when that name was called. the seventh child was always thought to be exceptionally lucky, and [tr: unreadable hw replaces 'the bond of affection between the parents and this child was greater']. this belief persists today in many localities. every family was given a weekly supply of food but this was more for convenience than anything else as they were free to eat anything their appetites called for. they killed chickens, ate vegetables, meats, etc. at any time. the presence of guests at the "quarters" roused mrs. towns to activity and she always helped to prepare the menu. one of her favorite items was chicken--prepared four different ways, in pie, in stew, fried, and baked. she gave full directions for the preparation of these delicacies to unskilled cooks. pound cake was another favorite and she insisted that a pound of butter and a dozen eggs be used in each cake. when the meal was nearly ready, she usually made a trip to the cabin to see if it had been well prepared. the hostess could always tell without any comment whether she had satisfied her mistress, for if she had, a serving was carried back to the big house. fishing was a form of remunerative recreation enjoyed by all. everyone usually went on saturday afternoon, but if only a few made the trip, the catch was shared by all. sewing was no easy job as there were few small women among the servants. the cloth made at home, was plentiful, however, and sufficient clothing was made for all. some persons preferred making their own clothes and this privilege was granted; otherwise they were made in a common sewing room. ten yards was the average amount of cloth in a dress, homespun and gingham, the usual materials. the men wore suits of osnaburg and jeans. this was dyed to more durable colors through the use of [hw: with] indigo [hw: (blue)] and a dye made from railroad bark (brown). phil believes that the screeching of an owl, the bellowing of a cow, and the howling of a dog after dark are signs of death because the [hw: immediate] death of a human being is revealed to animals, which [tr: illegible. 'in turn'?] warn humans. though we may find some way to rid ourselves of the fear of the warning--the death will occur just the same. on nearly all plantations there were some slaves who, trying to escape work, hid themselves in the woods. [tr: original line: on nearly all plantations there were some slaves who did not wish to work, consequently, for this, or similar reasons, hid themselves in the woods.] they smuggled food to their hiding place by night, and remained away [hw: lost] in some instances, many months. their belief in witchcraft caused them to resort to most ridiculous means of avoiding discovery. phil told the story of a man who visited a conjurer to obtain a "hand" for which he paid fifty dollars in gold. the symbol was a hickory stick which he used whenever he was being chased, and in this manner warded off his pursuers. the one difficulty in this procedure was having to "set up" at a fork or cross roads. often the fugitive had to run quite a distance to reach such a spot, but when the stick was so placed human beings and even bloodhounds lost his trail. with this assistance, he was able to remain in the woods as long as he liked. snakes ware frequent visitor in the cabins of the "quarters". one morning while betty, a cook, was confined to bed, she sent for mrs. towns to tell her that a snake had lain across her chest during the previous night and had tried to get under the cover where her young baby lay asleep. mrs. towns was skeptical about the size and activities of the reptile but sent for several men to search the house. they had given up the search when one chanced to glance above the sick woman's bed and there lay the reptile on a shelf. the bed was roped and moved to another part of the room and preparations made to shoot him. quilts were piled high on the bed so that the noise of the gun would not frighten the baby. when all was ready mrs. towns asked the old man with the gun-- "daddy luke, can you _kill_ the snake?" "yessum, mistress," he replied. "daddy luke, can you _kill_ the snake?" "yessum, mistress." "daddy luke, can you _kill_ the snake?" "yessum, mistress." "shoot!!" he took careful aim and fired. the huge reptile rolled to the floor. when the men returned to the yard to work near the woodpile, the mate was discovered by one of the dogs that barked until a log was moved and the second snake killed. [hw: in those days] small snakes were not feared and for several years it was customary for women to carry a tiny green snake in their bosoms. this fad was discontinued when one of the women was severely injured through a bite on her chest. phil remembers when the stars fell in . "they came down like rain," he said. when asked why he failed to keep some, he replied that he was afraid to touch them even after they became black. [tr: the following paragraphs contain many crossouts replaced by unreadable handwritten edits, and will be indicated by: 'deleted words' replaced by ??.] freedom was discussed on the plantation [tr: ??] for many years before the civil war began. as contented as [tr: 'they' replaced by ??] were [tr: 'there was something to look forward to when they thought of' replaced by ??] being absolutely free. an ex-slave's description of the real cause of the civil war, deserves a place here. it seems that lincoln had sent several messages to davis requesting that he free the slaves. no favorable response was received. lincoln had a conference with mr. davis and to this meeting he carried a bible and a gun. he tried in vain to convince davis that he was wrong according to the bible, so he finally threw the two upon the table and asked davis to take his choice. he chose the gun. lincoln grasped the bible and rushed home. thus davis _began_ the war but lincoln had god on his side and so he _ended_ it. one of gov. towns' sons went to the army and phil was sent to care for him while he was there; an aristocratic man never went to the war without his valet. his [hw: phil's] duty was to cook for him, keep his clothes clean, and to bring the body home if he was killed. poor soldiers were either buried [hw: where they fell] or left lying on the field for vultures to consume. food was not so plentiful in the [tr: 'army' replaced by ??] and their diet of flapjacks and canned goods was varied only by coffee and whiskey given when off duty. all cooking was done between two battles or during the lull in a battle. john towns was soon sent back home as they [hw: the officers] felt he was too [tr: 'valuable a southerner' crossed out] important to be killed in battle, and his services were needed at home. near the close of the war, sherman made a visit to this vicinity. as was his usual habit, he had [tr: 'obtained' replaced by 'learned'?] the reputation of gov. towns before he arrived. he found conditions so ideal [tr: 'that not one thing was touched' replaced by ??]. he talked with [hw: slaves and owners, he] went [tr: 'gaily' deleted] on his way. phil was so impressed by sherman that he followed him and camped with the yankees about where central city park is now. he thought that anything a yankee said was true. [hw: when] one [hw: of them] gave him a knife and told him to go and cut the first man he met, he followed instructions even though he knew the man. [hw: later] realizing how foolishly he had acted, he readily apologized and explained why. [hw: the yankee soldiers robbed beehives barehanded and were never stung, they] seemed to fear nothing but lizards. never having seen such reptiles they would run in terror at the sight of one. the confederates never discovered this. after the close of the war they [hw: federal soldiers] were stationed in the towns to keep order. union flags were placed everywhere, and a southerner was accused of not respecting the flag if he even passed under one without bowing. penalties for this offense were, to be hung up by the thumbs, to carry greasy [hw: greased] poles for a certain time, and numerous other punishments which caused a deal of discomfort to the victims but sent the soldiers and ex-slaves into peals of laughter. the sight of a yankee soldier sent a confederate one into hysteria. [hw: phil says his fellow] slaves laughed when told they were free, but gov. towns was almost indifferent. his slaves, he said, were always practically free, so a little legal form did not [tr: 'add' replaced by ??] much to them. nearly every one remained there and worked for wages. for the past thirty-five years, phil towns has been almost totally disabled. long life seems no novelty to him for he says everyone used to live longer when they honored their elders more. he has eighty-four relatives in virginia--all older than he, but states that friends who have visited there say he looks more aged than any of them. his great desire is to return to virginia, as he believes he will be able to find the familiar landmarks in spite of the changes that have taken place. mr. alex block, of macon, makes no charges for the old shack in which phil lives; his food furnished by the department of public welfare is supplemented by interested friends. plantation life neal upson, age th street athens, georgia written by: miss grace mccune [hw: (white)] athens edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, ga. august , alternate rain and sunshine had continued for about days and the ditches half filled with water, slippery banks of red clay, and the swollen river necessitating a detour, added to the various difficulties that beset the interviewer as she trudged through east athens in search of neal upson's shabby, three-room, frame house. a magnificent water oak shaded the vine-covered porch where a rocking chair and swing offered a comfortable place to rest. "good mornin', miss," was the smiling greeting of the aged negro man who answered a knock on the front door. "how is you? won't you come in? i would ax you to have a cheer on the porch, but i has to stay in de house cause de light hurts my eyes." he had hastily removed a battered old felt hat, several sizes too large for him, and as he shuffled down the hall his hair appeared almost white as it framed his black face. his clean, but faded blue overalls and shirt were patched in several places and heavy brogans completed his costume. the day was hot and humid and he carefully placed two chairs where they would have the advantage of any breeze that might find its way through the open hallway. "miss, i'se mighty glad you come today," he began, "cause i does git so lonesome here by myself. my old 'oman wuks up to de court'ouse, cookin' for de folkses in jail, and it's allus late when she gits back home. 'scuse me for puttin' my old hat back on, but dese old eyes jus' can't stand de light even here in the hall, less i shades 'em." when asked to tell the story of his life, he chuckled. "lawsy, missy," he said. "does you mean dat you is willin' to set here and listen to old neal talk? 'tain't many folkses what wants to hear us old niggers talk no more. i jus' loves to think back on dem days 'cause dem was happy times, so much better'n times is now. folkses was better den. dey was allus ready to holp one another, but jus' look how dey is now! "i was borned on marster frank upson's place down in oglethorpe county, nigh lexin'ton, georgy. marster had a plantation, but us never lived dar for us stayed at de home place what never had more'n 'bout acres of land 'round it. us never had to be trottin' to de sto' evvy time us started to cook, 'cause what warn't raised on de home place, marster had 'em raise out on de big plantation. evvything us needed t'eat and wear was growed on marse frank's land. "harold and jane upson was my daddy and mammy; only folkses jus' called daddy 'hal.' both of 'em was raised right der on de upson place whar dey played together whilst dey was chillun. mammy said she had washed and sewed for daddy ever since she was big enough, and when dey got grown dey jus' up and got married. i was deir only boy and i was de baby chile, but dey had four gals older'n me. dey was: cordelia, anna, parthene, and ella. ella was named for marse frank's onliest chile, little miss ellen, and our little miss was sho a good little chile. "daddy made de shoes for all de slaves on de plantation and mammy was called de house 'oman. she done de cookin' up at de big 'ouse, and made de cloth for her own fambly's clothes, and she was so smart us allus had plenty t'eat and wear. i was little and stayed wid mammy up at de big 'ouse and jus' played all over it and all de folkses up der petted me. aunt tama was a old slave too old to wuk. she was all de time cookin' gingerbread and hidin' it in a little trunk what sot by de fireplace in her room. when us chillun was good aunt tama give us gingerbread, but if us didn't mind what she said, us didn't git none. aunt tama had de rheumatiz and walked wid a stick and i could git in dat trunk jus' 'bout anytime i wanted to. i sho' did git 'bout evvything dem other chillun had, swappin' aunt tama's gingerbread. when our white folkses went off, aunt tama toted de keys, and she evermore did make dem niggers stand 'round. marse frank jus' laughed when dey made complaints 'bout her. "in summertime dey cooked peas and other veg'tables for us chillun in a washpot out in de yard in de shade, and us et out of de pot wid our wooden spoons. dey jus' give us wooden bowls full of bread and milk for supper. "marse frank said he wanted 'em to larn me how to wait on de white folkses' table up at de big 'ouse, and dey started me off wid de job of fannin' de flies away. mist'ess serena, marse frank's wife, made me a white coat to wear in de dinin' room. missy, dat little old white coat made me git de onliest whuppin' marse frank ever did give me." here old neal paused for a hearty laugh. "us had comp'ny for dinner dat day and i felt so big showin' off 'fore 'em in dat white coat dat i jus' couldn't make dat turkey wing fan do right. dem turkey wings was fastened on long handles and atter marster had done warned me a time or two to mind what i was 'bout, the old turkey wing went down in de gravy bowl and when i jerked it out it splattered all over de preacher's best sunday suit. marse frank got up and tuk me right out to de kitchen and when he got through brushin' me off i never did have no more trouble wid dem turkey wings. "evvybody cooked on open fireplaces dem days. dey had swingin' racks what dey called cranes to hang de pots on for bilin'. dere was ovens for bakin' and de heavy iron skillets had long handles. one of dem old skillets was so big dat mammy could cook biscuits in it at one time. i allus did love biscuits, and i would go out in de yard and trade aunt tama's gingerbread to de other chilluns for deir sheer of biscuits. den dey would be skeered to eat de gingerbread 'cause i told 'em i'd tell on 'em. aunt tama thought dey was sick and told marse frank de chilluns warn't eatin' nothin'. he axed 'em what was de matter and dey told him dey had done traded all deir bread to me. marse frank den axed me if i warn't gittin' enough t'eat, 'cause he 'lowed dere was enough dar for all. den aunt tama had to go and tell on me. she said i was wuss dan a hog atter biscuits, so our good marster ordered her to see dat li'l neal had enough t'eat. "i ain't never gwine to forgit dat whuppin' my own daddy give me. he had jus' sharpened up a fine new axe for hisself, and i traded it off to a white boy named _roar_ what lived nigh us when i seed him out tryin' to cut wood wid a sorry old dull axe. i sold him my daddy's fine new axe for biscuits. when he found out 'bout dat, he 'lowed he was gwine to give me somepin to make me think 'fore i done any more tradin' of his things. mist'eas, let me tell you, dat beatin' he give me evermore was a-layin' on of de rod. "one day miss serena put me in de cherry tree to pick cherries for her, and she told me not to eat none 'til i finished; den i could have all i wanted, but i didn't mind her and i et so many cherries i got sick and fell out of de tree. mist'ess was skeered, but marse frank said: 'it's good enough for him, 'cause he didn't mind.' "mammy never did give me but one whuppin' neither. daddy was gwine to de circus and i jus' cut up 'bout it 'cause i wanted to go so bad. mist'ess give me some cake and i hushed long as i was eatin', but soon as de last cake crumb was swallowed i started bawlin' again. she give me a stick of candy and soon as i et dat i was squallin' wuss dan ever. mammy told mist'ess den det she knowed how to quiet me and she retch under de bed for a shoe. when she had done finished layin' dat shoe on me and put it back whar she got it, i was sho willin' to shet my mouth and let 'em all go to de circus widout no more racket from me. "de fust school i went to was in a little one-room 'ouse in our white folkses' back yard. us had a white teacher and all he larnt slave chillun was jus' plain readin' and writin'. i had to pass dr. willingham's office lots and he was all de time pesterin' me 'bout spellin'. one day he stopped me and axed me if i could spell 'bumble bee widout its tail,' and he said dat when i larnt to spell it, he would gimme some candy. mr. sanders, at lexin'ton, gimme a dime onct. it was de fust money i ever had. i was plumb rich and i never let my daddy have no peace 'til he fetched me to town to do my tradin'. i was all sot to buy myself a hat, a sto-bought suit of clothes, and some shoes what warn't brogans, but missy, i wound up wid a gingercake and a nickel's wuth of candy. i used to cry and holler evvy time miss serena went off and left me. whenever i seed 'em gittin' out de carriage to hitch it up, i started beggin' to go. sometimes she laughed and said; 'all right neal.' but when she said, 'no neal,' i snuck out and hid under de high-up carrigge seat and went along jus' de same. mist'ess allus found me 'fore us got back home, but she jus' laughed and said: 'well, neal's my little nigger anyhow.' "dem old cord beds was a sight to look at, but dey slept good. us cyarded lint cotton into bats for mattresses and put 'em in a tick what us tacked so it wouldn't git lumpy. us never seed no iron springs dem days. dem cords, criss-crossed from one side of de bed to de other, was our springs and us had keys to tighten 'em wid. if us didn't tighten 'em evvy few days dem beds was apt to fall down wid us. de cheers was homemade too and de easiest-settin' ones had bottoms made out of rye splits. dem oak-split cheers was all right, and sometimes us used cane to bottom de cheers but evvybody laked to set in dem cheers what had bottoms wove out of rye splits. "marster had one of dem old cotton gins what didn't have no engines. it was wuked by mules. dem old mules was hitched to a long pole what dey pulled 'round and 'round to make de gin do its wuk. dey had some gins in dem days what had treadmills for de mules to walk in. dem old treadmills looked sorter lak stairs, but most of 'em was turned by long poles what de mules pulled. you had to feed de cotton by hand to dem old gins and you sho had to be keerful or you was gwine to lose a hand and maybe a arm. you had to jump in dem old cotton presses and tread de cotton down by hand. it tuk most all day long to gin two bales of cotton and if dere was three bales to be ginned us had to wuk most all night to finish up. "dey mixed wool wid de lint cotton to spin thread to make cloth for our winter clothes. mammy wove a lot of dat cloth and de clothes made out of it sho would keep out de cold. most of our stockin's and socks was knit at home, but now and den somebody would git hold of a sto-bought pair for sunday-go-to-meetin' wear. "colored folkses went to church wid deir own white folkses and sot in de gallery. one sunday us was all settin' in dat church listenin' to de white preacher, mr. hansford, tellin' how de old debbil was gwine to git dem what didn't do right." here neal burst into uncontrollable laughter. his sides shook and tears ran down his face. finally he began his story again: "missy, i jus' got to tell you 'bout dat day in de meetin' 'ouse. a nigger had done run off from his marster and was hidin' out from one place to another. at night he would go steal his somepin t'eat. he had done stole some chickens and had 'em wid him up in de church steeple whar he was hidin' dat day. when daytime come he went off to sleep lak niggers will do when dey ain't got to hustle, and when he woke up preacher hansford was tellin' 'em 'bout de debbil was gwine to git de sinners. right den a old rooster what he had stole up and crowed so loud it seemed lak gabriel's trumpet on judment day. dat runaway nigger was skeered 'cause he knowed dey was gwine to find him sho, but he warn't skeered nuffin' compared to dem niggers settin' in de gallery. dey jus' knowed dat was de voice of de debbil what had done come atter 'em. dem niggers never stopped prayin' and testifyin' to de lord, 'til de white folkses had done got dat runaway slave and de rooster out of de steeple. his marster was der and tuk him home and give him a good, sound thrashin'. "slaves was 'lowed to have prayermeetin' on chuesday (tuesday) and friday 'round at de diffunt plantations whar deir marsters didn't keer, and dere warn't many what objected. de good marsters all give deir slaves prayermeetin' passes on dem nights so de patterollers wouldn't git 'em and beat 'em up for bein' off deir marster's lands. dey 'most nigh kilt some slaves what dey cotch out when dey didn't have no pass. white preachers done de talkin' at de meetin'houses, but at dem chuesday and friday night prayermeetin's, it was all done by niggers. i was too little to 'member much 'bout dem meetin's, but my older sisters used to talk lots 'bout 'em long atter de war had brung our freedom. dere warn't many slaves what could read, so dey jus' talked 'bout what dey had done heared de white preachers say on sunday. one of de fav'rite texties was de third chapter of john, and most of 'em jus' 'membered a line or two from dat. missy, from what folkses said 'bout dem meetin's, dere was sho a lot of good prayin' and testifyin', 'cause so many sinners repented and was saved. sometimes at dem sunday meetin's at de white folkses' church dey would have two or three preachers de same dey. de fust one would give de text and preach for at least a hour, den another one would give a text and do his preachin', and 'bout dat time another one would rise up and say dat dem fust two brudders had done preached enough to save , souls, but dat he was gwine to try to double dat number. den he would do his preachin' and atter dat one of dem others would git up and say: 'brudders and sisters, us is all here for de same and only purpose--dat of savin' souls. dese other good brudders is done preached, talked, and prayed, and let the gap down; now i'm gwine to raise it. us is gwine to git 'ligion enough to take us straight through dem pearly gates. now, let us sing whilst us gives de new brudders and sisters de right hand of fellowship. one of dem old songs went sort of lak dis: 'must i be born to die and lay dis body down?' "when dey had done finished all de verses and choruses of dat dey started: 'amazin' grace, how sweet de sound dat saved a wretch lak me.' "'fore dey stopped dey usually got 'round to singin': 'on jordan's stormy banks i stand, and cast a wishful eye, to canaan's fair and happy land whar my possessions lie.' "dey could keep dat up for hours and it was sho' good singin', for dat's one thing niggers was born to do--to sing when dey gits 'ligion. "when old aunt flora come up and wanted to jine de church she told 'bout how she had done seed de hebenly light and changed her way of livin'. folkses testified den 'bout de goodness of de lord and his many blessin's what he give to saints and sinners, but dey is done stopped givin' him much thanks any more. dem days, dey 'zamined folkses 'fore dey let 'em jine up wid de church. when dey started 'zaminin' aunt flora, de preacher axed her: 'is you done been borned again and does you believe dat jesus christ done died to save sinners?' aunt flora she started to cry; and she said: 'lordy, is he daid? us didn't know dat. if my old man had done 'scribed for de paper lak i told him to, us would have knowed when jesus died?" neal giggled. "missy," he said, "ain't dat jus' lak one of dem old-time niggers? dey jus' tuk dat for ign'ance and let her come on into de church. "dem days it was de custom for marsters to hire out what slaves dey had dat warn't needed to wuk on deir own land, so our marster hired out two of my sisters. sis' anna hired to a fambly 'bout miles from our place. she didn't lak it dar so she run away and i found her hid out in our 'tater 'ouse. one day when us was playin' she called to me right low and soft lak and told me she was hongry and for me to git her somepin t'eat but not to tell nobody she was dar. she said she had been dar widout nothin' t'eat for several days. she was skeered marster might whup her. she looked so thin and bad i thought she was gwine to die, so i told mammy. her and marster went and brung anna to de 'ouse and fed her. dat pore chile was starved most to death. marster kept her at home for weeks and fed her up good, den he carried her back and told dem folkses what had hired her dat dey had better treat anna good and see dat she had plenty t'eat. marster was drivin' a fast hoss dat day, but bless your heart, anna beat him back home dat day. she cried and tuk on so, beggin' him not to take her back dar no more dat he told her she could stay home. my other sister stayed on whar she was hired out 'til de war was over and dey give us our freedom. "daddy had done hid all old marster's hosses when de yankees got to our plantation. two of de ridin' hosses was in de smokehouse and another good trotter was in de hen 'ouse. old jake was a slave what warn't right bright. he slep' in de kitchen, and he knowed whar daddy had hid dem hosses, but dat was all he knowed. marster had give daddy his money to hide too, and he tuk some of de plasterin' off de wall in marster's room and put de box of money inside de wall. den he fixed dat plasterin' back so nice you couldn't tell it had ever been tore off. de night dem yankees come, daddy had gone out to de wuk 'ouse to git some pegs to fix somepin (us didn't have no nails dem days). when de yankees rid up to de kitchen door and found old jake right by hisself, dat pore old fool was skeered so bad he jus' started right off babblin' 'bout two hosses in de smoke'ouse and one in de hen 'ouse, but he was tremblin' so he couldn't talk plain. old marster heared de fuss dey made and he come down to de kitchen to see what was de matter. de yankees den ordered marster to git 'em his hosses. marster called daddy and told him to git de hosses, but daddy, he played foolish lak and stalled 'round lak he didn't have good sense. dem sojers raved and fussed all night long 'bout dem hosses, but dey never thought 'bout lookin' in de smoke'ouse and hen 'ouse for 'em and 'bout daybreak dey left widout takin' nothin'. marster said he was sho proud of my daddy for savin' dem good hosses for him. [tr: 'horses saved' written in margin.] "marster had a long pocketbook what fastened at one end wid a ring. one day when he went to git out some money he dropped a roll of bills dat he never seed, but daddy picked it up and handed it back to him right away. now my daddy could have kept dat money jus' as easy, but he was a 'ceptional man and believed evvbody ought to do right. "aunt tama's old man, uncle griff, come to live wid her on our place atter de war was over. 'fore den he had belonged to a man named colquitt.[hw: !!] marster pervided a home for him and aunt tama 'til dey was both daid. when dey was buildin' de fust colored methodist church in dat section uncle griff give a whole hundred dollars to de buildin' fund. now it tuk a heap of scrimpin' for him to save dat much money 'cause he never had made over $ a month. aunt tama had done gone to glory a long time when uncle griff died. atter dey buried him dey come back and was 'rangin' de things in his little cabin. when dey moved dat little trunk what aunt tama used to keep gingerbread in, dey found jus' lots of money in it. marster tuk keer of dat money 'til he found uncle griff's own sister and den he give it all to her. "one time marster missed some of his money and he didn't want to 'cuse nobody, so he 'cided he would find out who had done de debbilment. he put a big rooster in a coop wid his haid stickin' out. den he called all de niggers up to de yard and told 'em somebody had been stealin' his money, and dat evvybody must git in line and march 'round dat coop and tetch it. he said dat when de guilty ones tetched it de old rooster would crow. evvybody tetched it 'cept one old man and his wife; dey jus' wouldn't come nigh dat coop whar dat rooster was a-lookin' at evvybody out of his little red eyes. marster had dat old man and 'oman sarched and found all de money what had been stole. "mammy died about a year atter de war, and i never will forgit how mist'ess cried and said: 'neal, your mammy is done gone, and i don't know what i'll do widout her.' not long atter dat, daddy bid for de contract to carry de mail and he got de place, but it made de white folkses mighty mad, 'cause some white folkses had put in bids for dat contract. dey 'lowed dat daddy better not never start out wid dat mail, 'cause if he did he was gwine to be sorry. marster begged daddy not to risk it and told him if he would stay dar wid him he would let him have a plantation for as long as he lived, and so us stayed on dar 'til daddy died, and a long time atter dat us kept on wukin' for old marster. "white folkses owned us back in de days 'fore de war but our own white folkses was mighty good to deir slaves. dey had to larn us 'bedience fust, how to live right, and how to treat evvybody else right; but de best thing dey larned us was how to do useful wuk. de onliest time i 'member stealin' anything 'cept aunt tama's gingerbread was one time when i went to town wid daddy in de buggy. when us started back home a man got in de seat wid daddy and i had to ride down in de back of de buggy whar daddy had hid a jug of liquor. i could hear it slushin' 'round and so i got to wantin' to know how it tasted. i pulled out de corncob stopper and tuk one taste. it was so good i jus' kep' on tastin' 'til i passed out, and didn't know when us got home or nuffin else 'til i waked up in my own bed next day. daddy give me a tannin' what i didn't forgit for a long time, but dat was de wussest drunk i ever was. lord, but i did love to follow my daddy. "folkses warn't sick much in dem days lak dey is now, but now us don't eat strong victuals no more. us raked out hot ashes den and cooked good old ashcakes what was a heap better for us dan dis bread us buys from de stores now. marster fed us plenty ashcake, fresh meat, and ash roasted 'taters, and dere warn't nobody what could out wuk us. "a death was somepin what didn't happen often on our plantation, but when somebody did die folkses would go from miles and miles around to set up and pray all night to comfort de fambly of de daid. dey never made up de coffins 'til atter somebody died. den dey measured de corpse and made de coffin to fit de body. dem coffins was lined wid black calico and painted wid lampblack on de outside. sometimes dey kivvered de outside wid black calico lak de linin'. coffins for white folkses was jus' lak what dey had made up for deir slaves, and dey was all buried in de same graveyard on deir own plantations. "when de war was over dey closed de little one-room school what our good marster had kept in his back yard for his slaves, but out young miss ellen larnt my sister right on 'til she got whar she could teach school. daddy fixed up a room onto our house for her school and she soon had it full of chillun. dey made me study too, and i sho did hate to have to go to school to my own aister for she evermore did take evvy chance to lay dat stick on me, but i s'pects she had a right tough time wid me. when time come 'round to celebrate school commencement, i was one proud little nigger 'cause i never had been so dressed up in my life before. i had on a red waist, white pants, and a good pair of shoes; but de grandest thing of all 'bout dat outfit was dat daddy let me wear his watch. evvybody come for dat celebration. dere was over folks at dat big dinner, and us had lots of barbecue and all sorts of good things t'eat. old marster was dar, and when i stood up 'fore all dem folks and said my little speech widout missin' a word, marster sho did laugh and clap his hands. he called me over to whar he was settin' and said: 'i knowed you could larn if you wanted to.' _best of all, he give me a whole dollar._ [tr: 'for reciting a speech' written in margin.] i was rich den, plumb rich. one of my sisters couldn't larn nothin'. de only letters she could ever say was 'g-o-d.' no matter what you axed her to spell she allus said 'g-o-d.' she was a good field hand though and a good 'oman and she lived to be more dan years old. "now, talkin' 'bout frolickin', us really used to dance. what i means, is sho 'nough old-time break-downs. sometimes us didn't have no music 'cept jus' beatin' time on tin pans and buckets but most times old elice hudson played his fiddle for us, and it had to be tuned again atter evvy set us danced. he never knowed but one tune and he played dat over and over. sometimes dere was or couples on de floor at de same time and us didn't think nothin' of dancin' all night long. us had plenty of old corn juice for refreshment, and atter elice had two or three cups of dat juice, he could git 'turkey in de straw' out of dat fiddle lak nobody's business. "one time a houseboy from another plantation wanted to come to one of our saddy night dances, so his marster told him to shine his boots for sunday and fix his hoss for de night and den he could git off for de frolic. abraham shined his marster's boots 'till he could see hisself in 'em, and dey looked so grand he was tempted to try 'em on. dey was a little tight but he thought he could wear 'em, and he wanted to show hisself off in 'em at de dance. dey warn't so easy to walk in and he was 'fraid he might git 'em scratched up walkin' through de fields, so he snuck his marster's hoss out and rode to de dance. when abraham rid up dar in dem shiny boots, he got all de gals' 'tention. none of 'em wanted to dance wid de other niggers. dat abraham was sho sruttin' 'til somebody run in and told him his hoss had done broke its neck. he had tied it to a limb and sho 'nough, some way, dat hoss had done got tangled up and hung its own self. abraham begged de other nigger boys to help him take de deid hoss home, but he had done tuk deir gals and he didn't git no help. he had to walk long miles home in dem tight shoes. de sun had done riz up when he got dar and it warn't long 'fore his marster was callin': 'abraham, bring, me my boots.' dat nigger would holler out: 'yas sah! i'se a-comin'. but dem boots wouldn't come off 'cause his foots had done swelled up in 'em. his marster kept on callin' and when abraham seed he couldn't put it off no longer, he jus' cut dem boots off his foots and went in and told what he had done. his marster was awful mad and said he was a good mind to take de hide off abraham's back. 'go git my hoss quick, nigger, 'fore i most kills you,' he yelled. den abraham told him: 'marster i knows you is gwine to kill me now, but your hoss is done daid.' den pore abraham had to out and tell de whole story and his marster got to laughin' so 'bout how he tuk all de gals away from de other boys and how dem boots hurt him dat it looked lak he never would stop. when he finally did stop laughin' and shakin' his sides he said: 'dat's all right abraham. don't never let nobody beat your time wid de gals.' and dat's all he ever said to abraham 'bout it. "when my sister got married, us sho did have a grand time. us cooked a pig whole wid a shiny red apple in its mouth and set it right in de middle of de long table what us had built out in de yard. us had evvything good to go wid dat pig, and atter dat supper, us danced all night long. my sister never had seed dat man but one time 'fore she married him. "my daddy and his cousin jim swore wid one another dat if one died 'fore de other dat de one what was left would look atter de daid one's fambly and see dat none of de chillun was bound out to wuk for nobody. it warn't long atter dis dat daddy died. i was jus' fourteen, and was wukin' for a brick mason larnin' dat trade. daddy had done been sick a while, and one night de fambly woke me up and said he was dyin'. i run fast as i could for a doctor but daddy was done daid when i got back. us buried him right side of mammy in de old graveyard. it was most a year atter dat 'fore us had de funeral sermon preached. dat was de way folkses done den. now mammy and daddy was both gone, but old marster said us chillun could live dar long as us wanted to. i went on back to wuk, 'cause i was crazy to be as good a mason as my daddy was. in lexin'ton dere is a rock wall still standin' 'round a whole square what daddy built in slavery time. long as he lived he blowed his bugle evvy mornin' to wake up all de folkses on marse frank's plantation. he never failed to blow dat bugle at break of day 'cep on sundays, and evvybody on dat place 'pended on him to wake 'em up. "i was jus' a-wukin' away one day when cousin jim sent for me to go to town wid him. missy, dat man brung ne right here to athens to de old courthouse and bound me out to a white man. he done dat very thing atter swearin' to my daddy he wouldn't never let dat happen. i didn't want to wuk dat way, so i run away and went back home to wuk. de sheriff come and got me and said i had to go back whar i was bound out or go to jail. pretty soon i runned away again and went to atlanta, and dey never bothered me 'bout dat no more. "de onliest time i ever got 'rested was once when i come to town to see 'bout gittin' somebody to pick cotton for me and jus' as i got to a certain nigger's house de police come in and caught 'em in a crap game. mr. mccune, de policeman, said i would have to go 'long wid de others to jail, but he would help me atter us got der and he did. he 'ranged it so i could hurry back home. "'bout de best times us had in de plantation days was de corn shuckin's, log rollin's and syrup cookin's. us allus finished up dem syrup cookin's wid a candy pullin'. "atter he had all his corn gathered and put in big long piles, marster 'vited de folkses from all 'round dem parts. dat was de way it was done; evvybody holped de others git de corn shucked. nobody thought of hirin' folkses and payin' out cash money for extra wuk lak dat. dey 'lected a gen'ral to lead off de singin' and atter he got 'em to keepin' time wid de singin' de little brown jug was passed 'round. when it had gone de rounds a time or two, it was a sight to see how fast dem niggers could keep time to dat singin'. dey could do all sorts of double time den when dey had swigged enough liquor. when de corn was all shucked dey feasted and den drunk more liquor and danced as long as dey could stand up. de logrollin's and candy pullin's ended de same way. dey was sho grand good times. "i farmed wid de white folkses for years and never had no trouble wid nobody. us allus settled up fair and square and in crop time dey never bothered to come 'round to see what neal was doin', 'cause dey knowed dis nigger was wukin' all right. dey was all mighty good to me. atter i got so old i couldn't run a farm no more i wuked in de white folkses' gyardens and tended deir flowers. i had done been wukin' out mrs. steve upson's flowers and when she 'come to pay, she axed what my name was. when i told her it was neal upson she wanted to know how i got de upson name. i told her mr. frank upson had done give it to me when i was his slave. she called to mr. steve and dey lak to have talked me to death, for my marse frank and mr. steve's daddy was close kinfolkses. "atter dat i wuked deir flowers long as i was able to walk way off up to deir place, but old neal can't wuk no more. mr. steve and his folkses comes to see me sometimes and i'se allus powerful glad to see 'em. "i used to wuk some for miss mary bacon. she is a mighty good 'oman and she knowed my daddy and our good old marster. miss mary would talk to me 'bout dem old days and she allus said: 'neal, let's pray,' 'fore i left. miss mary never did git married. she's one of dem solitary ladies. "now, missy, how come you wants to know 'bout my weddin'? i done been married two times, but it was de fust time dat was de sho 'nough 'citin' one. i courted dat gal for a long, long time while i was too skeered to ax her daddy for her. i went to see her evvy sunday jus' 'termined to ax him for her 'fore i left, and i would stay late atter supper, but jus' couldn't git up nerve enough to do it. one sunday i promised myself i would ax him if it kilt me, so i went over to his house early dat mornin' and told lida, dat was my sweetheart's name--i says to her: 'i sho is gwine to ax him today.' well, dinnertime come, suppertime come, and i was gittin' shaky in my jints when her daddy went to feed his hogs and i went along wid him. missy, dis is de way i finally did ax him for his gal. he said he was goin' to have some fine meat come winter. i axed him if it would be enough for all of his fambly, and he said: 'how come you ax dat, boy?' den i jus' got a tight hold on dat old hog pen and said: 'well, sir, i jus' thought if you didn't have enough for all of 'em, i could take lida.' i felt myself goin' down. he started laughin' fit to kill. 'boy,' he says, 'is you tryin' to ax for lida? if so, i don't keer 'cause she's got to git married sometime.' i was so happy i left him right den and run back to tell lida dat he said it was all right. "us didn't have no big weddin'. lida had on a new calico dress and i wore new jeans pants. marster heared us was gittin' married dat day and he sont his new buggy wid a message for us to come right dar to him. i told lida us better go, so us got in dat buggy and driv off, and de rest of de folkses followed in de wagon. marster met us in front of old salem church. he had de church open and preacher john gibson waitin' der to marry us. us warn't 'spectin' no church weddin', but marster said dat neal had to git married right. he never did forgit his niggers. lida she's done been daid a long time, and i'se married again, but dat warn't lak de fust time." by now, neal was evidently tired out but as the interviewer prepared to leave, neal said: "missy, i'se sho got somepin to tell my old 'oman when she gits home. she don't lak to leave me here by myself. i wish dere was somebody for me to talk to evvyday, for i'se had sich a good time today. i don't s'pect it's gwine to be long 'fore old neal goes to be wid dem i done been tellin' you 'bout, so don't wait too long to come back to see me again." [hw: georgia] plantation life as viewed by an ex-slave john f. van hook, age newton bridge road athens, georgia written by: mrs. sadie b. hornsby area athens edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth area supervisor of federal writers' project--areas & , augusta, ga. dec. , john f. van hook was a short, stout man with a shining bald pate, a fringe of kinky gray hair, kindly eyes, and a white mustache of the lord chamberlain variety. his shabby work clothes were clean and carefully mended, and he leaned on a cane for support. john was looking for the "farm bureau office," but he agreed to return for an interview after he had transacted his business. when he reappeared a short time later and settled down in a comfortable chair he gave the story of his early life with apparent enjoyment. in language remarkably free of dialect, john began by telling his full name and added that he was well known in georgia and the whole country. "until i retired," he remarked, "i taught school in north carolina, and in hall, jackson, and rabun counties, in georgia. i am farming now about five miles from athens in the sandy creek district. i was born in in macon county, north carolina, on the george seller's plantation, which borders the little tennessee river. "i don't know anything much, first hand, about the war period, as i was quite a child when that ended, but i can tell you all about the days of reconstruction. what i know about the things that took place during the war was told me by my mother and other old people. "my father was bas van hook and he married mary angel, my mother. mother was born on marse dillard love's plantation, and when his daughter, miss jenny, married marse thomas angel's son, marse dillard gave mother to miss jenny and when little miss jenny angel was born, mother was her nurse. marse thomas and miss jenny angel died, and mother stayed right there keeping house for little miss jenny and looking after her. mother had more sense than all the rest of the slaves put together, and she even did little miss jenny's shopping. "my father was the only darkey old man isaac van hook owned, and he did anything that came to hand: he was a good carpenter and mechanic and helped the van hooks to build mills, and he made the shoes for that settlement. thomas aaron, george, james, claude, and washington were my five brothers, and my sisters were zelia, elizabeth, and candace. why, miss, the only thing i can remember right off hand that we children done was fight and frolic like youngsters will do when they get together. with time to put my mind on it, i would probably recollect our games and songs, if we had any. "our quarters was on a large farm on sugar fork river. the houses were what you would call log huts and they were scattered about promiscuously, no regular lay-out, just built wherever they happened to find a good spring convenient. there was never but one room to a hut, and they wern't particular about how many darkies they put in a room. "white folks had fine four-poster beds with a frame built around the top of the bed, and over the frame hung pretty, ruffled white curtains and a similar ruffled curtain was around the bottom of the bed; the curtains made pretty ornaments. slaves had beds of this general kind, but they warn't quite as pretty and fine. corded springs were the go then. the beds used by most of the slaves in that day and time were called 'georgia beds,' and these were made by boring two holes in the cabin wall, and two in the floor, and side pieces were run from the holes in the wall to the posts and fastened; then planks were nailed around the sides and foot, box-fashion, to hold in the straw that we used for mattresses; over this pretty white sheets and plenty of quilts was spreaded. yes, mam, there was always plenty of good warm cover in those days. of course, it was home-made, all of it. "my grandfather was a blacksmith and farmhand owned by old man dillard love. according to my earliest recollection my grandmother van hook was dead and i have no memories about her. my great, great grandmother, sarah angel, looked after slave children while their mothers were at work. she was a free woman, but she had belonged to marse tommy angel and miss jenny angel; they were brother and sister. the way granny sarah happened to be free was; one of the women in the angel family died and left a little baby soon after one of granny's babies was born, and so she was loaned to that family as wet nurse for the little orphan baby. they gave her her freedom and took her into their home, because they did not want her sleeping in slave quarters while she was nursing the white child. in that settlement, it was considered a disgrace for a white child to feed at the breast of a slave woman, but it was all right if the darkey was a free woman. after she got too old to do regular work, granny sarah used to glean after the reapers in the field to get wheat for her bread. she had been a favored slave and allowed to do pretty much as she pleased, and after she was a free woman the white folks continued to look after her every need, but she loved to do for herself as long as she was able to be up and about. "what did we have to eat then? why, most everything; ash cakes was a mighty go then. cornbread dough was made into little pones and placed on the hot rocks close to the fire to dry out a little, then hot ashes were raked out to the front of the fireplace and piled over the ash cakes. when thoroughly done they were taken out and the ashes washed off; they were just like cake to us children then. we ate lots of home-made lye hominy, beans, peas, and all kinds of greens, cooked with fat meat. the biggest, and maybe the best thing in the way of vegetables that we had then was the white-head cabbage; they grew large up there in carolina where i lived. there was just one big garden to feed all the folks on that farm. "marse george had a good 'possum dog that he let his slaves use at night. they would start off hunting about o'clock. darkies knew that the best place to hunt for 'possums was in a persimmon tree. if they couldn't shake him out, they would cut the tree down, but the most fun was when we found the 'possum in a hollow log. some of the hunters would get at one end of the log, and the others would guard the other end, and they would build a fire to smoke the 'possum out. sometimes when they had to pull him out, they would find the 'possum in such a tight place that most of his hair would be rubbed off before they could get him out. darkies hunted rabbits, squirrels, coons, all kinds of birds, and 'specially they was fond of going after wild turkeys. another great sport was hunting deer in the nearby mountains. i managed to get a shot at one once. marse george was right good about letting his darkies hunt and fish at night to get meat for themselves. oh! sure, there were lots of fish and they caught plenty of 'em in the little tennessee and sugar fork rivers and in the numerous creeks that were close by. red horse, suckers, and salmon are the kinds of fish i remember best. they were cooked in various ways in skillets, spiders, and ovens on the big open fireplace. "now, about the clothes we wore in the days of the war, i couldn't rightly say, but my mother said we had good comfortable garments. in the summer weather, boys and men wore plain cotton shirts and jeans pants. the home-made linsey-woolsy shirts that we wore over our cotton shirts, and the wool pants that we wore in winter, were good and warm; they had brogan shoes in winter too. folks wore the same clothes on sundays as through the week, but they had to be sure that they were nice and clean on sundays. dresses for the women folks were made out of cotton checks, and they had sunbonnets too. "marse george sellars, him that married miss ca'line angel, was my real master. they had four children, bud, mount, elizabeth, and, and er; i just can't bring to recollect the name of their other girl. they lived in a two-story frame house that was surrounded by an oak grove on the road leading from franklin, north carolina, to clayton, georgia. hard sellars was the carriage driver, and while i am sure marse george must have had an overseer, i don't remember ever hearing anybody say his name. "really, miss, i couldn't say just how big that plantation was, but i am sure there must have been at least four or five hundred acres in it. one mighty peculiar thing about his slaves was that marse george never had more than slaves at one time; every time he bought one to try to make it an even hundred, a slave died. this happened so often, i was told, that he stopped trying to keep a hundred or more, and held on to his slaves, and long as he did that, there warn't any more deaths than births among his slaves. his slaves had to be in the fields when the sun rose, and there they had to work steady until the sun went down. oh! yes, mam, marse tommy angel was mighty mean to his slaves, but miss jenny, his sister, was good as could be; that is the reason she gave my mother to her sister, miss ca'line sellars; because she thought marse tommy was too hard on her. "i heard some talk as to how after the slaves had worked hard in the field all day and come to the house at night, they were whipped for mighty small offenses. marse george would have them tied hand and foot over a barrel and would beat them with a cowhide, or cat-o'-nine tails lash. they had a jail in franklin as far back as i can recollect. old big andy angel's white folks had him put in jail a heap of times, because he was a rogue and stole everything he could get his hands on. nearly everybody was afraid of him; he was a great big double jointed man, and was black as the ace of spades. no, mam, i never saw any slaves sold, but my father's mother and his sister were sold on the block. the white folks that bought 'em took them away. after the war was over my father tried to locate 'em, but never once did he get on the right track of 'em. "oh! why, my white folks took a great deal of pains teaching their slaves how to read and write. my father could read, but he never learned to write, and it was from our white folks that i learned to read and write. slaves read the bible more than anything else. there were no churches for slaves on marse george's plantation, so we all went to the white folks' church, about two miles away; it was called clarke's chapel. sometimes we went to church at cross roads; that was about the same distance across sugar fork river. my mother was baptized in that sugar fork river by a white preacher, but that is the reason i joined the baptist church, because my mother was a baptist, and i was so crazy about her, and am 'til yet. "there were no funeral parlors in those days. they just funeralized the dead in their own homes, took them to the graveyard in a painted home-made coffin that was lined with thin bleaching made in the loom on the plantation, and buried them in a grave that didn't have any bricks or cement about it. that brings to my memory those songs they sung at funerals. one of them started off something like this, _i don't want you to grieve after me_. my mother used to tell me that when she was baptized they sung, _you shall wear a lily-white robe_. whenever i get to studying about her it seems to me i can hear my mother singing that song again. she did love it so much. "no, mam, there didn't none of the darkies on marse george sellar's place run away to the north, but some on marse tommy angel's place ran to the west. they told me that when little charles angel started out to run away a bird flew in front of him and led him all the way to the west. understand me, i am not saying that is strictly so, but that is what i heard old folks say, when i was young. when darkies wanted to get news to their girls or wives on other plantations and didn't want marse george to know about it, they would wait for a dark night and would tie rags on their feet to keep from making any noise that the paterollers might hear, for if they were caught out without a pass, that was something else. paterollers would go out in squads at night and whip any darkies they caught out that could not show passes. adam angel was a great big man, weighing about pounds, and he slipped out one night without a pass. when the paterollers found him, he was at his girl's place where they were out in the front yard stewing lard for the white folks. they knew he didn't belong on that plantation, so they asked him to show his pass. adam didn't have one with him, and he told them so. they made a dive for him, and then, quick as a flash, he turned over that pot of boiling lard, and while they were getting the hot grease off of them he got away and came back to his cabin. if they had caught adam, he would have needed some of that spilt grease on him after the beating they would have give him. darkies used to stretch ropes and grapevines across the road where they knew paterollers would be riding; then they would run down the road in front of them, and when they got to the rope or vine they would jump over it and watch the horses stumble and throw the paterollers to the ground. that was a favorite sport of slaves. "after the darkies got in from the field at night, ate their supper, and finished up the chores for the day, on nights when the moon shone bright the men would work in their own cotton patches that marse george allowed them; the women used their own time to wash, iron, patch, and get ready for the next day, and if they had time they helped the men in their cotton patches. they worked straight on through saturdays, same as any other day, but the young folks would get together on saturday nights and have little parties. "how did they spend sundays? why, they went to church on sunday and visited around, holding prayermeetings at one another's cabins. now, christmas morning! yes, mam, that was a powerful time with the darkies, if they didn't have nothing but a little sweet cake, which was nothing more than gingerbread. however, marse george did have plenty of good things to eat at that time, such as fresh pork and wild turkeys, and we were allowed to have a biscuit on that day. how we did frolic and cut up at christmas! marse george didn't make much special to do on new year's day as far as holiday was concerned; work was the primary object, especially in connection with slaves. "oh-oo-h! everybody had cornshuckings. the man designated to act as the general would stick a peacock tail feather in his hat and call all the men together and give his orders. he would stand in the center of the corn pile, start the singing, and keep things lively for them. now and then he would pass around the jug. they sang a great deal during cornshuckings, but i have forgotten the words to those songs. great excitement was expressed whenever a man found a red ear of corn, for that counted points, a speckled ear was points and a blue ear points, toward a special extra big swig of liquor whenever a person had as many as points. after the work was finished they had a big feast spread on long tables in the yard, and dram flowed plentiful, then they played ball, tussled, ran races, and did anything they knew how to amuse themselves. "now, ladies," john said, "please excuse me. i left my wife at home real sick, and i just must hurry to the drug store and get some flaxseed so i can make a poultice for her." as he made a hasty departure, he agreed to complete the story later at his home, and gave careful directions for finding the place. a month later, two visitors called on john at his small, unpainted house in the center of a hillside cotton patch. a tall, thin negress appeared in the doorway. "yes, mam, john van hook lives here. he's down in the field with his hoe, digging 'taters." she leaned from the porch and called, "daddy, daddy! somebody wants to see you." asked if john was her father, she answered "no, mam, he is my husband. i started calling him daddy when our child was little, so i've been calling him that ever since. my name is laney." the walls of the room into which john invited his callers were crudely plestered with newspapers and the small space was crowded with furniture of various kinds and periods. the ladder-back chairs he designated for his guests were beautiful. "they are plantation-made," he explained, "and we've had 'em a mighty long time." on a reading table a pencil and tablet with a half-written page lay beside a large glass lamp. newspapers and books covered several other tables. a freshly whitewashed hearth and mantel were crowned by an old-fashioned clock, and at the end of the room a short flight of steps led to the dining room, built on a higher floor level. "now, let's see! where was i?," john began. "oh, yes, we were talking about cornshuckings, when i had to leave your office. well, i haven't had much time to study about those cornshucking songs to get all the words down right, but the name of one was _general religh hoe_, and there was another one that was called, _have a jolly crowd, and a little jolly johnny_. "now you needn't to expect me to know much about cotton pickings, for you know i have already told you i was raised in north carolina, and we were too far up in the mountains for cotton growing, but i have lived in a cotton growing country for forty-odd years. "as to parties and frolics, i guess i could have kept those things in mind, but when i realized that being on the go every night i could get off, week in and week out, was turning my mind and heart away from useful living, i tried to put those things out of my life and to train myself to be content with right living and the more serious things of life, and that's why i can't remember more of the things about our frolics that took place as i was growing up. about all i remember about the dances was when we danced the cotillion at regular old country break-downs. folks valued their dances very highly then, and to be able to perform them well was a great accomplishment. _turkey in the straw_ is about the oldest dance tune i can remember. next to that is _taint gonna rain no more_, but the tune as well as words to that were far different from the modern song by that name. _rabbit hair_ was another favorite song, and there were dozens of others that i just never tried to remember until you asked me about them. "my father lived in caswell county and he used to tell us how hard it was for him to get up in the morning after being out most of the night frolicking. he said their overseer couldn't talk plain, and would call them long before crack of dawn, and it sounded like he was saying, 'ike and a bike, ike and a bike.' what he meant was, 'out and about! out and about!' "marriage in those days was looked upon as something very solemn, and it was mighty seldom that anybody ever heard of a married couple trying to get separated. now it's different. when a preacher married a couple, you didn't see any hard liquor around, but just a little light wine to liven up the wedding feast. if they were married by a justice of the peace, look out, there was plenty of wine and," here his voice was almost awe-stricken, "even whiskey too." laney interrupted at this stage of the story with, "my mother said they used to make up a new broom and when the couple jumped over it, they was married. then they gave the broom to the couple to use keeping house." john was evidently embarrassed. "laney," he said, "that was never confirmed. it was just hearsay, as far as you know, and i wouldn't tell things like that. "the first colored man i ever heard preach was old man johnny mcdowell. he married angeline pennon and william scruggs, uncle to ollie scruggs, who lives in athens now. after the wedding they were all dancing around the yard having a big time and enjoying the wine and feast, and old man mcdowell, sitting there watching them, looked real thoughtful and sad; suddenly he said: 'they don't behave like they knew what's been done here today. two people have been joined together for life. no matter what comes, or what happens, these two people must stand by each other, through everything, as long as they both shall live.' never before had i had such thoughts at a wedding. they had always just been times for big eats, dancing, frolicking, and lots of jokes, and some of them pretty rough jokes, perhaps. what he said got me to thinking, and i have never been careless minded at a wedding since that day. brother mcdowell preached at clarke's chapel, about five miles south of franklin, north ca'lina, on the road leading from england to georgia; that road ran right through the van hook place." again laney interrupted her husband. "my mother said they even had infare dinners the next day after the wedding. the infare dinners were just for the families of the bride and groom, and the bride had a special dress for that occasion that she called her infare dress. the friends of both parties were there at the big feast on the wedding day, but not at the infare dinner." "and there was no such a thing as child marriages heard of in those days," john was speaking again. "at least none of the brides were under or years old. now you can read about child brides not more than years old, 'most ever' time you pick up a paper. "i don't remember much, about what i played until i got to be about years old. i was a terrible little fellow to imitate things. old man tommy angel built mills, and i built myself a little toy mill down on the branch that led to sugar fork river. there was plenty of nice soapstone there that was so soft you could cut it with a pocket knife and could dress it off with a plane for a nice smooth finish. i shaped two pieces of soapstone to look like round millstones and set me up a little mill that worked just fine. "we run pretty white sand through it and called that our meal and flour. my white folks would come down to the branch and watch me run the little toy mill. i used to make toy rifles and pistols and all sorts of nice playthings out of that soapstone. i wish i had a piece of that good old soapstone from around franklin, so i could carve some toys like i used to play with for my boy." "we caught real salmon in the mountain streams," john remarked. "they weighed from to pounds, and kind of favored a jack fish, only jack fishes have duck bills, and these salmon had saw teeth. they were powerful jumpers and when you hooked one you had a fight on your hands to get it to the bank no matter whether it weighed or pounds. the gamest of all the fish in those mountain streams were red horses. when i was about or years old i took my brother's fish gig and went off down to the river. i saw what looked like the shadow of a stick in the clear water and when i thrust the gig at it i found mighty quick i had gigged a red horse. i did my best to land it but it was too strong for me and pulled loose from my gig and darted out into deep water. i ran fast as i could up the river bank to the horseshoe bend where a flat bottom boat belonging to our family was tied. i got in that boat and chased that fish 'til i got him. it weighed pounds and was feet and inches long. there was plenty of excitement created around that plantation when the news got around that a boy, as little as i was then, had landed such a big old fighting fish." "suckers were plentiful and easy to catch but they did not give you the battle that a salmon or a red horse could put up and that was what it took to make fishing fun. we had canoes, but we used a plain old flat boat, a good deal like a small ferry boat, most of the time. there was about the same difference in a canoe and a flat boat that there is in a nice passenger automobile and a truck." when asked if he remembered any of the tunes and words of the songs he sang as a child, john was silent for a few moments and then began to sing: "a frog went courtin' and he did ride uh hunh with a sword and pistol by his side uh hunh. "old uncle rat laughed, shook his old fat side; he thought his niece was going to be the bride. uh hunh, uh hunh "where shall the wedding be? uh hunh where shall the wedding be? uh hunh "way down yonder in a hollow gum tree. uh hunh, un hunh, uh hunh. "who shall the waiters be? uh hunh granddaddy louse and a black-eyed flea. uh hunh, uh hunh, uh hunh." laney reminded him of a song he used to sing when their child was a baby. "it is hard for me to formulate its words in my mind. i just cannot seem to get them," he answered, "but i thought of this one the other night and promised myself i would sing it for you sometime. it's _old granny mistletoe_. "old granny mistletoe, lyin' in the bed, out the window she poked her head. "she says, 'old man, the gray goose's gone, and i think i heard her holler, king-cant-you-o, king-cant-you-o!' "the old fox stepped around, a mighty fast step. he hung the old gray goose up by the neck. "her wings went flip-flop over her back, and her legs hung down. ding-downy-o, ding-downy-o. "the old fox marched on to his den. out come his young ones, some nine or ten. "now we will have some-supper-o, some-summer-o. now we will have some-supper-o, some-supper-o." "the only riddle i remember is the one about: 'what goes around the house, and just makes one track?' i believe they said it was a wheelbarrow. mighty few people in that settlement believed in such things as charms. they were too intelligent for that sort of thing. "old man dillard love didn't know half of his slaves. they were called 'love's free niggers.' some of the white folks in that settlement would get after their niggers and say 'who do you think you are, you must think you are one of dillard love's free niggers the way you act.' then the slave was led to the whipping post and brushed down, and his marster would tell him, 'now you see who is boss.' "marse dillard often met a darkey in the road, he would stop and inquire of him, 'who's nigger is you?' the darkey would say 'boss i'se your nigger.' if marse dillard was feeling good he would give the darkey a present. heaps of times he gave them as much as five dollars, 'cording to how good he was feeling. he treated his darkies mighty good. "my grandfather belonged to marse dillard love, and when the war was declared he was too old to go. marse george sellars went and was wounded. you know all about the blanket rolls they carried over their shoulders. well, that bullet that hit him had to go all the way through that roll that had i don't know how many folds, and its force was just about spent by the time it got to his shoulder; that was why it didn't kill him, otherwise it would have gone through him. the bullet was extracted, but it left him with a lame shoulder. "our mr. tommy angel went to the war, and he got so much experience shooting at the yankees that he could shoot at a target all day long, and then cover all the bullet holes he made with the palm of one hand. mr. tommy was at home when the yankees come though. "folks around our settlement put their darkies on all their good mules and horses, and loaded them down with food and valuables, then sent them to the nearby mountains and caves to hide until the soldiers were gone. mr. angel himself told me later that lots of the folks who came around pilfering after the war, warn't northerners at all, but men from just anywhere, who had fought in the war and came back home to find all they had was gone, and they had to live some way. "one day my father and another servant were laughing fit to kill at a greedy little calf that had caught his head in the feed basket. they thought it was just too funny. about that time a yankee, in his blue uniform coming down the road, took the notion the men were laughing at him. 'what are you laughing at?' he said, and at that they lit out to run. the man called my father and made him come back, 'cause he was the one laughing so hard. father thought the yankee vas going to shoot him before he could make him understand they were just laughing at the calf. "when the war was over, mr. love called his slaves together and told them they had been set free. he explained everything to them very carefully, and told them he would make farming arrangements for all that wanted to stay on there with him. lots of the darkies left after they heard about folks getting rich working on the railroads in tennessee and about the high wages that were being paid on those big plantations in mississippi. some of those labor agents were powerful smart about stretching the truth, but those folks that believed them and left home found out that it's pretty much the same the world over, as far as folks and human nature is concerned. those that had even average common sense got along comfortable and all right in tennessee and mississippi, and those that suffered out there were the sort that are so stupid they would starve in the middle of a good apple pie. my brother that went with the others to tennessee never came back, and we never saw him again. "my father did not want me to leave our home at franklin, north carolina, and come to georgia, for he had been told georgia people were awful mean. there was a tale told us about the mr. oglethorpe, who settled georgia, bringing over folks from the jails of england to settle in georgia and it was said they became the ruling class of the state. anyway, i came on just the same, and pretty soon i married a georgia girl, and have found the people who live here are all right." laney eagerly took advantage of the pause that followed to tell of her mother's owner. "mother said that he was an old, old man and would set in his big armchair 'most all day. when he heard good news from the soldiers he would drum his fingers on his chair and pat his feet, whilst he tried to sing, 'te deum, te deum. good news today! we won today!' whenever he heard the southern armies were losing, he would lie around moaning and crying out loud. nobody could comfort him then." john was delighted to talk about religion. "yes, mam, after the war, darkies used to meet at each others' houses for religious services until they got churches of their own. those meetings were little more than just prayermeetings. our white folks were powerful careful to teach their slaves how to do the right thing, and long after we were free mr. tommy would give long talks at our meetings. we loved to listen to him and have him interested in us, for we had never been treated mean like heaps of the slaves in that neighborhood had. "one white man in our county needed the help of the lord. his name was boney ridley and he just couldn't keep away from liquor. he was an uncle of that famous preacher and poet, mr. caleb ridley. one day when mr. boney had been drinking hard and kind of out of his head, he was stretched out on the ground in a sort of stupor. he opened his eyes and looked at the buzzards circling low over him and said, sort of sick and fretful-like, 'git on off, buzzards; i ain't dead yet.'" "the reverend doctor george truett was a fine boy and he has grown into a splendid man. he is one of god's chosen ones. i well remember the first time i heard him speak. i was a janitor at the state normal school when he was a pupil there in . i still think he is about the greatest orator i ever listened to. in those days, back in , i always made it convenient to be doing something around the school room when time came for him to recite or to be on a debate. after he left that school he went on to the seminary at louisville and he has become known throughout this country as a great christian. "i started teaching in old field schools with no education but just what our white folks had taught me. they taught me to read and write, and i must say i really was a mighty apt person, and took advantage of every opportunity that came my way to learn. you know, teaching is a mighty good way to learn. after i had been teaching for some time i went back to school, but most of my knowledge was gotten by studying what books and papers i could get hold of and by watching folks who were really educated; by listening carefully to them, i found i could often learn a good deal that way." laney could be quiet no longer. "my husband," she said, "is a self-made man. his educated brother, claude, that graduated from maryville school in tennessee, says that he cannot cope with my husband." john smiled indulgently and continued: "we were in sad and woeful want after the war. once i asked my father why he let us go so hungry and ragged, and he answered: 'how can we help it? why, even the white folks don't have enough to eat and wear now.' "eleven years ago i rented a little farm from. mr. jasper thompson, in jackson county. after the boll-weevil got bad i came to the other side of the river yonder, where i stayed years. by this time most of the children by my first two wives had grown up and gone off up north. my first wife's children were robert, ella, the twins, julius and julia anne, (who died soon after they were grown-up), and charlie, and dan. robert is in philadelphia, ella in cincinnati, and dan is dead. "fred, george, and johnny, my second wife's children are all living, but are scattered in far-off places. "everybody was powerful sorry to hear about lincoln's assassination. at that time jefferson davis was considered the greatest man that ever lived, but the effect of lincoln's life and deeds will live on forever. his life grows greater in reputation with the years and his wisdom more apparent. "as long as we were their property our masters were mighty careful to have us doctored up right when there was the least sign of sickness. there was always some old woman too old for field work that nursed the sick on the big plantations, but the marsters sent for regular doctors mighty quick if the patient seemed much sick. "after the war we were slower to call in doctors because we had no money, and that's how i lost my good right eye. if i had gone to the doctor when it first got hurt it would have been all right now. when we didn't have money we used to pay the doctor with corn, fodder, wheat, chickens, pork, or anything we had that he wanted. "we learned to use lots of herbs and other home-made remedies during the war when medicine was scarce at the stores, and some old folks still use these simple teas and poultices. comfrey was a herb used much for poultices on risings, boils, and the like, and tea made from it is said to be soothing to the nerves. garlic tea was much used for worms, but it was also counted a good pneumonia remedy, and garlic poultices helped folks to breathe when they had grippe or pneumonia. boneset tea was for colds. goldenrod was used leaf, stem, blossom, and all in various ways, chiefly for fever and coughs. black snake root was a good cure for childbed fever, and it saved the life of my second wife after her last child was born. slippery ellum was used for poultices to heal burns, bruises, and any abrasions, and we gargled slippery ellum tea to heal sore throats, but red oak bark tea was our best sore throat remedy. for indigestion and shortness of the breath we chewed calamus root or drank tea made from it. in fact, we still think it is mighty useful for those purposes. it was a long time after the war before there were any darkies with enough medical education to practice as doctors. dr. doyle in gainesville was the first colored physician that i ever saw. "the world seems to be gradually drifting the wrong way, and it won't get any better 'til all people put their belief--and i mean by that--simple faith, in the bible. what they like of it they are in the habit of quoting, but they distort it and try to make it appear to mean whatever will suit their wicked convenience. they have got to take the whole bible and live by it, and they must remember they cannot leave out those wise old laws of the old testament that god gave for men everywhere to live by." laney had quietly left the room, but as the visitors were taking their departure she returned with a small package. "this," she explained, "is some calamus root that i raised and dried myself, and i hope it comes in handy whenever you ladies need something for the indigestion." "next time you come, i hope to have more songs remembered and written down for you," promised john. plantation life as viewed by an ex-slave addie vinson, age dearing street athens, georgia written by: mrs. sadie b. hornsby athens, georgia edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens, georgia and john n. booth wpa residency no. & august , perched on an embankment high above the street level is the four-room frame cottage where addie vinson lives with her daughter. the visitor scrambled up the steep incline to the vine covered porch, and a rap on the front door brought prompt response. "who dat?" asked a very black woman, who suddenly appeared in the hall. "what you want?... yassum, dis here's addie, but dey calls me mammy, 'cause i'se so old. i s'pects i'se most nigh a hunnert and eight years old." the old negress is very short and stout. her dark blue calico dress was striped with lines of tiny polka dots, and had been lengthened by a band of light blue outing flannel with a darker blue stripe, let in just below the waist line. her high-topped black shoes were worn over grey cotton hose, and the stocking cap that partially concealed her white hair was crowned by a panama hat that flopped down on all sides except where the brim was fastened up across the front with two conspicuous "safety-first" pins. addie's eyesight is poor, and she claims it was "plum ruint by de st. vitus's dance," from which she has suffered for many years. she readily agreed to tell of her early life, and her eyes brightened as she began: "lawsy, missy! is dat what you come 'ere for? oh, dem good old days! i was thinkin' 'bout old miss jus' t'other day. "i was borned down in oconee county on marse ike vinson's place. old miss was marse ike's mother. my mammy and pappy was peter and 'nerva vinson and dey was both field hands. marse ike buyed my pappy from marse sam brightwell. me and bill, willis, maze, harrison, easter, and sue was all de chillun my mammy and pappy had. dere warn't but four of us big enough to wuk when marse ike married miss ann hayes and dey tuk mammy wid 'em to dey new home in town. i stayed dar on de plantation and done lots of little jobs lak waitin' on table; totin' old miss' breakfast to her in her room evvy mornin', and i holped 'tend to de grainery. dey says now dat folkses is livin' in dat old grainery house. "dat was a be-yootiful place, wid woods, cricks, and fields spread out most as fur as you could see. de slave quarters would'a reached from here to milledge avenue. us lived in a one-room log cabin what had a chimbly made out of sticks and mud. dem homemade beds what us slep' on had big old high posties wid a great big knob on de top of each post. our matt'esses was coarse home-wove cloth stuffed wid field straw. you know i laked dem matt'esses 'cause when de chinches got too bad you could shake out dat straw and burn it, den scald de tick and fill it wid fresh straw, and rest in peace again. you can't never git de chinches out of dese cotton matt'esses us has to sleep on now days. pillows? what you talkin' 'bout? you know niggers never had no pillows dem days, leaseways us never had none. us did have plenty of kivver dough. folkses was all time a-piecin' quilts and having quiltin's. all dat sort of wuk was done at night. "pappy's ma and pa was grandma nancy and grandpa jacob. day was field hands, and dey b'longed to marse obe jackson. grandma lucy and grandpa toney murrah was owned by marse billy murrah. marse billy was a preacher what sho could come down wid de gospel at church. grandma lucy was his cook. miss sadie leseur got grandma lucy and tuk her to columbus, georgy, and us never seed our grandma no more. miss sadie had been one of de vinson gals. she tuk our aunt haley 'long too to wait on her when she started out for europe, and 'fore dey got crost de water, aunt haley, she died on de boat. miss sarah, she had a time keepin' dem boatsmens from th'owing aunt haley to de sharks. she is buried in de old country somewhar. "now missy, how was nigger chillun gwine to git holt of money in slavery time? old marse, he give us plenty of somepin t'eat and all de clothes us needed, but he sho kep' his money for his own self. "now 'bout dat somepin t'eat. sho dat! us had plenty of dem good old collards, turnips, and dem sort of oatments, and dar was allus a good chunk of meat to bile wid 'em. marse ike, he kep' plenty of evvy sort of meat folkses knowed about dem days. he had his own beef cattle, lots of sheep, and he killed more'n a hunnert hogs evvy year. dey tells me dat old bench dey used to lay de meat out on to cut it up is standin' dar yet. "'possums? lawd, dey was plentiful, and dat ain't all dere was on dat plantation. one time a slave man was 'possum huntin' and, as he was runnin' 'round in de bresh, he looked up and dar was a b'ar standin' right up on his hind laigs grinnin' and ready to eat dat nigger up. oh, good gracious, how dat nigger did run! dey fetched in 'possums in piles, and dere was lots of rabbits, fixes, and coons. dem coon, fox and 'possum hounds sho knowed deir business. lawsy, i kin jus' smell one of dem good old 'possums roastin' right now, atter all dese years. you parbiled de 'possum fust, and den roasted him in a heavy iron skillet what had a big old thick lid. jus' 'fore de 'possum got done, you peeled ash-roasted 'taters and put 'em all 'round da 'possum so as day would soak up some of dat good old gravy, and would git good and brown. is you ever et any good old ashcake? you wropped de raw hoecake in cabbage or collard leafs and roasted 'em in de ashes. when dey got done, you had somepin fit for a king to eat. "de kitchen was sot off a piece from de big house, and our white folkses wouldn't eat deir supper 'fore time to light de lamps to save your life; den i had to stan' 'hind old miss' cheer and fan her wid a turkey-feather fan to keep de flies off. no matter how rich folkses was dem days dere warn't no screens in de houses. "i never will forgit pore old aunt mary; she was our cook, and she had to be tapped evvy now and den 'cause she had de drapsy so bad. aunt mary's old man was uncle harris, and i 'members how he used to go fishin' at night. de udder slaves went fishin' too. many's de time i'se seed my mammy come back from barber's crick wid a string of fish draggin' from her shoulders down to de ground. me, i laked milk more'n anything else. you jus' oughta seed dat place at milkin' time. dere was a heap of cows a fightin', chillun hollerin', and sich a bedlam as you can't think up. dat old plantation was a grand place for chillun, in summertime 'specially, 'cause dere was so many branches and cricks close by what us chillun could hop in and cool off. "chillun didn't wear nothin' but cotton slips in summer, but de winter clothes was good and warm. under our heavy winter dresses us wore quilted underskirts dat was sho nice and warm. sunday clothes? yes mar'm, us allus had nice clothes for sunday. dey made up our summertime sunday dresses out of a thin cloth called sunday-parade. dey was made spenser fashion, wid ruffles 'round de neck and waist. our ruffled petticoats was all starched and ironed stiff and slick, and us jus' knowed our long pantalettes, wid deir scalloped ruffles, was mighty fine. some of de 'omans would wuk fancy eyelets what dey punched in de scallops wid locust thorns. dem pantalettes was buttoned on to our drawers. our sunday dresses for winter was made out of linsey-woolsey cloth. white ladies wore hoopskirts wid deir dresses, and dey looked lak fairy queens. boys wore plain shirts in summer, but in winter dey had warmer shirts and quilted pants. dey would put two pair of britches togedder and quilt 'em up so you couldn't tell what sort of cloth dey was made out of. dem pants was called suggins. "all de niggers went barfoots in summer, but in winter us all wore brogans. old miss had a shoe shop in de cellar under de big house, and when dem two white 'omans dat she hired to make our shoes come, us knowed wintertime was nigh. dem 'omans would stay 'til day had made up shoes enough to last us all winter long, den dey would go on to de next place what dey s'pected to make shoes. "marse ike vinson was sho good to his niggers. he was de hanger, 'cept he never hung nobody. him and miss ann had six chillun. dey was miss lucy, miss myrt, miss sarah, miss nettie, marse charlie, and marse tom. marse ike's ma, old miss, wouldn't move to town wid him and miss ann; she stayed on in de big house on de plantation. to tell de truf i done forgot old miss' name. de overseer and his wife was mr. edmond and miss betsey, and dey moved up to de big house wid old miss atter marse ike and miss ann moved to town. stiles vinson was de carriage driver, and he fotched marse ike out to de plantation evvy day. lord! gracious alive! it would take a week to walk all over dat plantation. dere was more'n a thousand acres in it and, countin' all de chillun, dere was mighty nigh a hunnert slaves. "long 'fore day, dat overseer blowed a bugle to wake up de niggers. you could hear it far as high shoals, and us lived dis side of watkinsville. heaps of folkses all over dat part of de country got up by dat old bugle. i will never forgit one time when de overseer said to us chillun, 'you fellows go to do field and fetch some corn tops.' mandy said: 'he ain't talkin' to us 'cause us ain't fellows and i ain't gwine.' bless your sweet life, i runned and got dem corn tops, 'cause i didn't want no beatin'. dem udder 'chillun got deir footses most cut off wid dem switches whan dat overseer got to wuk to sho 'em dey had to obey him. dat overseer sho did wuk de niggers hard; he driv' 'em all de time. dey had to go to de field long 'fore sunup, and it was way atter sundown 'fore dey could stop dat field wuk. den dey had to hustle to finish deir night wuk in time for supper, or go to bed widout it. [hw sidenote: beating] "you know dey whupped niggers den. atter dey had done wukked hard in de fields all day long, de beatin' started up, and he allus had somepin in mind to beat 'em about. when dey beat my aunt sallie she would fight back, and once when uncle randall said somepin he hadn't oughta, dat overseer beat him so bad he couldn't wuk for a week. he had to be grez all over evvy day wid hoalin' ointment for a long time 'fore dem gashes got well. "rita and retta was de nigger 'omans what put pizen in some collards what dey give aunt vira and her baby to eat. she had been laughin' at a man 'cause his coattail was a-flappin' so funny whilst he was dancin', and dem two jezebels thought she was makin' fun of dem. at de graveyard, 'fore dey buried her, dey cut her open and found her heart was all decayed. de overseer driv dem 'omans clear off de plantation, and marster, he was mighty mad. he said he had done lost 'bout $ , . if he had kotched dem 'omans he woulda hung 'em, cause he was de hanger. in 'bout two weeks dat overseer left dar, and old marse had to git him anudder man to take his place. "sho! dere was a jail for slaves and a hangin' place right in front of de jail, but none of old marster's niggers warn't never put in no jailhouse. oh god! yes, dey sold slaves. my own granddaddy was made to git up on dat block, and dey sold him. one time i seed old marse buy four boys." at this point the narrative ceased when addie suddenly remembered that she must stop to get supper for the daughter, who would soon be returning from work. the visitor called early in the morning of the following day, and found addie bent over her washtubs in the back yard. "have dat cheer," was the greeting as the old negress lifted a dripping hand to point out a chair under the spreading branches of a huge oak tree, "you knows you don't want to hear no more 'bout dat old stuff," she said, "and anyhow, is you gittin' paid for doin' dis?" when the visitor admitted that these interviews were part of her salaried work, addie quickly asked: "what is you gwine to give me?" when the last piece of wash had been hung on the line and addie had turned a large lard can upside down for a stool, she settled down and began to talk freely. "no ma'm, dey didn't low niggers to larn how to read and write. i had to go wid de white chillun to deir school on hog mountain road evvy day to wait on 'em. i toted water for 'em kep' de fire goin', and done all sorts of little jobs lak dat. miss martha, de overseer's daughter, tried to larn me to read and write, but i wouldn't take it in. "no ma'm dere warn't no churches for niggers in slavery time, so slaves had to go to deir white folkses churches. us went to church at betty berry (bethabara) and mars hill. when time come for de sermon to de niggers, sometimes de white folkses would leave and den again dey would stay, but dat overseer, he was dar all de time. old man isaac vandiver, a nigger preacher what couldn't read a word in de bible, would git up in dat pulpit and talk from his heart. you know dere's heaps of folkses what's got dat sort of 'ligion--it's deep in deir hearts. de reverend freeman was de white folkses' preacher. i laked him best, for what he said allus sounded good to me. "at funerals us used to sing _hark from de tomb a doleful sound_. i never went to no funerals, but old marster's and aunt nira's, 'fore de end of de war. "when old marster went off to de war, he had all his slaves go to de musterin' ground to see him leave. he was captain of his company from oconee county, and 'fore he left he had de mens in dat company bury deir silver and gold, deir watches, rings, and jus' anything dey wanted to keep, on hog mountain. ha lef' a guard to watch de hidin' place so as dey would have somepin when dey come back home, den dey marched back to de musterin' ground dat was twixt de hopkins' plantation and old marster's place. uncle solomon went along to de war to tote marster's gun, cook for him, and sich lak. it warn't long 'fore old marse was kilt in dat war, and uncle solomon fetches him back in a coffin. all de slaves dat went to de buryin' jus' trembled when guns was fired over old marster's grave. dat was done to show dat old marster had been a powerful high-up man in de army. "good gracious! dere didn't nary a nigger go off from our place to de north, 'cause us was skeered of dem yankees. dere was a white slave-trader named mcraleigh what used to come to old marster's plantation to buy up niggers to take 'em to de mississippi bottoms. when us seed him comin' us lit out for de woods. he got aunt rachel; you could hear her hollerin' a mile down de road. "oh! good lord! dem patterollers was awful. folkses what dey cotched widout no paper, dey jus' plum wore out. old man john was de fiddler on our place, and when de patterollers cotched him dey beat him up de wust of all, 'cause him and his fiddle was all de time drawin' niggers out to do dances. "if old marster wanted to send a massage he sont uncle randall on a mule named jim. sometimes dat old mule tuk a notion he didn't want to go; den he wouldn't budge. i ricollects one time dey tuk a bundle of fodder and tied it to old jim's tail, but still he wouldn't move. old marster kep' a special man to fetch and carry mail for de plantation in a road cyart, and nobody warn't 'lowed to go nigh dat cyart. "when slaves got in from de fields at night dey cooked and et deir supper and went to bed. dey had done been wukin' since sunup. when dere warn't so much to do in de fields, sometimes old marster let his niggers lay off from wuk atter dinner on saddays. if de chinches was most eatin' de niggers up, now and den de 'omans was 'lowed to stay to de house to scald evvything and clear 'em out, but de menfolkses had to go on to de field. on sadday nights de 'omans patched, washed, and cut off peaches and apples to dry in fruit season. in de daytime dey had to cut off and dry fruit for old miss. when slaves got smart wid deir white folkses, deir marsters would have 'em beat, and dat was de end of de matter. dat was a heap better'n dey does now days, 'cause if a nigger gits out of place dey puts him on de chaingang. [tr: 'whipping' written in margin.] "sunday was a day off for all de slaves on our plantation. cause, de mens had to look atter de stock in de lot right back of de cabins. de 'omans cooked all day for de next week. if dey tuk a notion to go to church, mules was hitched to wagons made lak dippers, and dey jigged off down de road. us had four days holiday for christmas. old miss give us lots of good things to eat dem four days; dere was cake, fresh meat, and all kinds of dried fruit what had been done stored away. all de niggers tuk dat time to rest but my mammy. she tuk me and went 'round to de white folkses' houses to wash and weave. dey said i was a right smart, peart little gal, and white folkses used to try to hire me from old miss. when dey axed her for me, old miss allus told 'em: 'you don't want to hire dat gal; she ain't no 'count.' she wouldn't let nobody hire her niggers, 'cept mammy, 'cause she knowed mammy warn't gwine to leave her nohow. on new year's day, if dere warn't too much snow on de ground, de niggers burnt brush and cleared new ground. "when aunt patience led de singin' at cornshuckin's, de shucks sho'ly did fly. atter de corn was shucked, dey fed us lots of good things and give us plenty of liquor. de way cotton pickin' was managed was dis: evvybody dat picked a thousand pounds of cotton in a week's time was 'lowed a day off. mammy picked her thousand pounds evvy week. "dances? now you's talkin' 'bout somepin' sho' 'nough. old john, de fiddler man, was right dere on our plantation. niggers dat had done danced half de night would be so sleepy when de bugle sounded dey wouldn't have time to cook breakfast. den 'bout de middle of de mawnin' dey would complain 'bout bein' so weak and hongry dat de overseer would fetch 'em in and have 'em fed. he let 'em rest 'bout a hour and a half; den he marched 'em back to de field and wuked 'em 'til slap black dark. aunt sook was called de lead wench. if de moon warn't out, she put a white cloth 'round her shoulders and led 'em on. "didn't none of old marsters chillun marry in slavery time, but old miss, she let us see a nigger gal named frances hester git married. when i sot down to dat weddin' supper i flung de chicken bones over my shoulder, 'cause i didn't know no better. i don't 'member what gals played when i was little, but boys played ball all day long if dey was 'lowed to. one boy, named sam, played and run so hard he tuk his bed monday and never got up no more. "i heared tell of raw haid and bloody bones. old folkses would skeer us most nigh to death tellin' us he was comin'. mankind! us made for de house den. missy, please mam, don't ax me 'bout dem ha'nts. i sees 'em all de time. atter she had done died out, old miss used to come back all de time. she didn't lak it 'cause day wropped her in a windin' sheet and buried her by de doorsteps, but i reckon dey done fixed her by now, 'cause she don't come back no more. dere's a house in athens, called de bell house, dat nobody kin live in, 'cause a man run his wife from home and atter she died, she come back and ha'nted dat house. "lawd have mercy! look here, don't talk lak dat. i ain't told you before but part o' dis here yard is conjured. a man comes here early evvy mornin' and dresses dis yard down wid conjuration. soon as i sot down here to talk to you, a pain started in my laigs, and it is done gone all over me now. i started to leave you and go in de house. come on. let's leave dis yard right now. hurry!" on reaching the kitchen addie hastily grasped the pepper box and shook its contents over each shoulder and on her head, saying: "anything hot lak dis will sho drive dis spell away. de reason i shakes lak i does, one day i was in de yard and somepin cotch me. it helt fast to my footses, den i started to shake all over, and i been shakin' ever since. a white 'oman gimme some white soap, and evvy mornin' i washes myself good wid dat soap 'fore i puts on my clothes." leaving the kitchen, addie entered the front room which serves as a bedroom. "lawdy, missy!" she exclaimed, "does you smell dat funny scent? oh, good lawd! jus' look at dem white powders on my doorstep! let me git some hot water and wash 'em out quick! now missy, see how dese niggers 'round here is allus up to deir meanness? dere's a man in de udder room bilin' his pizen right now. i has to keep a eye on him all de time or dis here old nigger would be in her grave. i has to keep somepin hot all de time to keep off dem conjure spells. i got three pids of pepper most ready to pick, and i'se gwine to tie 'em 'round my neck, den dese here spells folkses is all de time tryin' to put on me won't do me no harm." addie now lowered her voice to a stage whisper. "i found a folded up piece of white paper under our back doorstep dis very mornin'. bless your life, i got a stick from de kitchen quick and poked it in a crack in de steps and got it out 'fore i put my foots down on dem steps. i sho did." here addie reverted to her story of the plantation. "old marster was mighty good to his niggers," she said. when any of 'em got sick old miss sont to town for him, and he allus come right out and fetched a doctor. old miss done her very best for pappy when he was tuk sick, but he died out jus' de same. pappy used to drive a oxcart and, when he was bad off sick and out of his haid, he hollered out: 'scotch dat wheel! scotch dat wheel!' in his mind, he was deep in de bad place den, and didn't know how to pray. old miss, she would say: 'pray, pete, pray.' old miss made a heap of teas from diff'unt things lak pennyroyal, algaroba wood, sassafras, flat tobacco, and mullein. us wore rabbits foots, little bags of asfiddy (asafetida), and garlic tabs 'round our necks to keep off mis'ries. i wishes i had a garlic tab to wear 'round my neck now. "one day old miss called us togedder and told us dat us was free as jay birds. de niggers started hollerin': 'thank de lawd, us is free as de jay birds.' 'bout dat time a white man come along and told dem niggers if he heared 'em say dat again he would kill de last one of 'em. old miss axed us to stay on wid her and dar us stayed for 'bout three years. it paid us to stay dere 'stead of runnin' off lak some udder niggars dat played de fool done. t'warn't long 'fore dem yankees come 'long, and us hustled off to town to see what dey looked lak. i never seed so many mens at one time in my life before. when us got back to de plantation de overseer told us not to drink no water out of de well, 'cause somebody had done put a peck of pizen in dar. he flung a whole bushel of salt in de well to help git rid of de pizen. "atter de end of de war, i went to wuk as a plow-hand. i sho did keep out of de way of dem ku kluxers. folkses would see 'em comin' and holler out: 'de ku kluxers is ridin' tonight. keep out of deir way, or dey will sho kill you.' dem what was skeered of bein' cotched and beat up, done deir best to stay out of sight. "it was a long time atter de war was done over 'fore schools for niggers was sot up, and den when nigger chillun did git to go to school dey warn't 'lowed to use de old blue-back spellin' book 'cause white folkses said it larn't 'em too much. "it was two or three years atter de war 'fore any of de niggers could save up enough money to start buyin' land, and den, if dey didn't watch dey steps mighty keerful, de white folkses would find a way to git dat land back from de niggers. "what! is i got to tell you 'bout dat old nigger i got married up wid? i don't want to talk 'bout dat low down, no 'count devil. anyhow, i married ed griffeth and, sho dat, i had a weddin'. my weddin' dress was jus' de purtiest thing; it was made out of parade cloth, and it had a full skirt wid ruffles from de knees to de hem. de waist fitted tight and it was cut lowneck wid three ruffles 'round de shoulder. dem puff sleeves was full from de elbow to de hand. all dem ruffles was aidged wid lace and, 'round my waist i wore a wide pink sash. de underskirt was trimmed wid lace, and dere was lace on de bottom of de drawers laigs. dat was sho one purty outfit dat i wore to marry dat no 'count man in. i had bought dat dress from my young mist'ess. "us had seven chillun and ten grandchillun. most of 'em is livin' off up in detroit. if ed ain't daid by now he ought to be; he was a good match for de devil. "i reckon mr. lincoln and mr. jeff davis done right as fur as dey knowed how and could. if dem northern folkses hadn't fotched us here, us sho wouldn't never have been here in de fust place. den dey hauled off and said de south was mean to us niggers and sot us free, but i don't know no diffunce. de north sho let us be atter dat war, and some of de old niggers is still mad 'cause dey is free and ain't got no marster to feed 'em and give 'em good warm clothes no more. "oh! you gits happy when you jines up wid de church. i sho don't want to go to de bad place. dere ain't but two places to go to, heaven and hell, and i'se tryin' to head for heaven. folkses says dat when old dives done so bad he had to go to de bad place, a dog was sot at his heels for to keep him in dar. no mam, if it's de good lawd's will to let me git to heaven, i is sho gwine to keep out of hell, if i kin. "goodbye, missy. next time you comes fetch me a garlic tab to keep de conjure spells 'way from me," was addie's parting request. plantation life as viewed by an ex-slave emma virgel, age w. broad street athens, georgia written by: grace mccune athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, ga. [date stamp: may ] hurrying for shelter from a sudden shower, the interviewer heard a cheerful voice singing "lord i'se comin' home," as she rushed up the steps of aunt emma's small cabin. until the song was ended she quietly waited on the tiny porch and looked out over the yard which was attractive with roses and other old-fashioned flowers; then she knocked on the door. dragging footsteps and the tap, tap of a crutch sounded as aunt emma approached the door. "come in out of dat rain, chile, or you sho' will have de pneumony," she said. "come right on in and set here by my fire. fire feels mighty good today. i had to build it to iron de white folkses clothes." aunt emma leaned heavily on her crutch as she wielded the iron with a dexterity attainable only by long years of experience. asked if her lameness and use of a crutch made her work difficult, she grinned and answered: "lawsy chile, i'se jus' so used to it, i don't never think 'bout it no more. i'se had to wuk all of my life, no matter what was in de way." the comfort, warmth and cheer of the small kitchen encouraged intimate conversation and when aunt emma was asked for the story of her childhood days and her recollections of slavery, she replied: "i was too little to 'member much, but i'se heared my ma tell 'bout dem days. "my pa and ma was louis and mary jackson. dey b'longed to marse john montgomery, way down in oconee county. marse john didn't have no wife den, 'cause he didn't git married 'til atter de war. he had a big place wid lots of slaves. he was sho' good to 'em, and let 'em have plenty of evvything. de slave quarters was log cabins wid big fireplaces, whar dey done de cookin'. dey had racks to hang pots on to bile and dey baked in ovens set on de harth (hearth). dat was powerful good eatin'. dey had a big old gyarden whar dey raised plenty of corn, peas, cabbages, potatoes, collards, and turnip greens. out in de fields dey growed mostly corn, wheat, and cotton. marster kep' lots of chickens, cows, hogs, goats, and sheep; and he fed 'em all mighty good. "marster let his slaves dance, and my ma was sho' one grand dancer in all de breakdown's. dey give 'em plenty of toddy and niggers is dancers f'um way back yonder while de toddy lasts. "slaves went to deir marster's meetin's and sot in de back of de church. dey had to be good den 'cause marster sho' didn't 'low no cuttin' up 'mongst his niggers at de church. ma said he didn't believe in whuppin' his niggers lessen it jus' had to be done, but den dey knowed he was 'round dar when he did have to whup 'em. "ma said when dey had big baptizin's in de river dey prayed and shouted and sung 'washin' 'way my sins,'--'whar de healin' water flows,' and 'crossin' de river jerdan.' de white preacher baptized de slaves and den he preached--dat was all dere was to it 'ceppen de big dinner dey had in de churchyard on baptizin' days. "when slaves died, dey made coffins out of pine wood and buried 'em whar de white folkses was buried. if it warn't too fur a piece to de graveyard, dey toted de coffin on three or four hand sticks. yessum, hand sticks, dat's what day called 'em. dey was poles what dey sot de coffin on wid a nigger totin' each end of de poles. de white preacher prayed and de niggers sung 'hark f'um de tomb.' "ma said she had a grand big weddin'. she wore a white swiss dress wid a bleachin' petticoat, made wid heaps of ruffles and a wreath of flowers 'round her head. she didn't have no flower gals. pa had on a long, frock tail, jim swinger coat lak de preacher's wore. a white preacher married 'em in de yard at de big house. all de niggers was dar, and marster let 'em dance mos' all night. "i was de oldest of ma's chillun. dey done all gone to rest now 'ceptin' jus' de three of us what's lef in dis world of trouble. yessum, dere sho' is a heap of trouble here. "atter de war, ma and pa moved on mr. bill marshall's place to farm for him and dar's whar i was born. dey didn't stay dar long 'fore dey moved to mr. jim mayne's place away out in de country, in de forks of de big road down below watkinsville. i sho' was a country gal. yessum, i sho' was. mr. mayne's wife was mrs. emma mayne and she took a lakin' to me 'cause i was named emma. i stayed wid her chilluns all de time, slep' in de big house, and et dar too, jus' lak one of dem, and when dey bought for dey chillun dey bought for me too. "us wore homespun dresses and brass toed shoes. sometimes us would git mighty mad and fuss over our games and den miss emma would make us come in de big house and set down. no ma'am, she never did whup us. she was good and she jus' talked to us, and told us us never would git to heb'en lessen us was good chillun. us played games wid blocks and jumped de rope and, when it was warm, us waded in de crick. atter i was big 'nough, i tuk de white chillun to sunday school, but i didn't go inside den--jus' waited on de outside for 'em. i never got a chanct to go to school none, but de white chilluns larnt me some. "marse jim was mighty good to de niggers what wukked for him, and us all loved him. he didn't 'low no patterollers or none of dem ku kluxers neither to bother de niggers on his place. he said he could look atter 'em his own self. he let 'em have dances, and evvy fourth of july he had big barbecues. yessum, he kilt hogs, goats, sheep and sometimes a cow for dem barbecues. he believed in havin' plenty to eat. "i 'members dem big corn shuckin's. he had de mostes' corn, what was in great big piles put in a circle. all de neighbors was axed to come and bring deir niggers. de fus' thing to do was to 'lect a gen'ral to stand in de middle of all dem piles of corn and lead de singin' of de reels. no ma'am, i don't 'member if he had no shuck stuck up on his hat or not, and i can't ricollec' what de words of de reels was, 'cause us chillun was little den, but de gen'ral he pulled off de fus' shuck. den he started singin' and den dey all sung in answer to him, and deir two hands a-shuckin' corn kep' time wid de song. as he sung faster, dey jus' made dem shucks more dan fly. evvy time de gen'ral would speed up de song, de niggers would speed up deir corn shuckin's. if it got dark 'fore dey finished, us chillun would hold torch lights for 'em to see how to wuk. de lights was made out of big pine knots what would burn a long time. us felt mighty big when us was 'lowed to hold dem torches. when dey got done shuckin' all de corn, dey had a big supper, and honey, dem was sho' some good eatments--barbecue of all sorts--jus' thinkin' 'bout dem pies makes me hongry, even now. ma made 'em, and she couldn't be beat on chicken pies and sweet potato pies. atter dey done et and drunk all dey wanted, marse jim would tell 'em to go to it. dat was de word for de gen'ral to start up de dancin', and dat lasted de rest of de night; dat is if dey didn't all fall out, for old time corn shuckin' breakdowns was drag-outs and atter all dem 'freshments, hit sho' kept somebody busy draggin' out dem what fell out. us chillun was 'lowed to stay up long as us wanted to at corn shuckin's, and sometimes us would git out and try to do lak de grown-up niggers. hit was de mos' fun. "dey went huntin' and fishin' and when dey cotch or kilt much, dey had a big supper. i 'members de fus' time i ever cooked 'possum. ma was sick in de bed, and de mens had done been 'possum huntin'. ma said i would jus' have to cook dem 'possums. she told me how to fix 'em and she said to fix 'em wid potatoes and plenty of butter and red pepper. den she looked at me right hard and said dat dey had better be jus' right. dat skeered me so i ain't never been so i could eat no 'possum since den. yessum, dey was cooked jus' right, but cookin' 'em jus' once when i was skeered cured me of de taste for eatin' 'possum. "us chillun didn't git out and go off lak dey does dese days. us stayed dar on de plantation. in winter us had to wear plenty of clothes, wid flannel petticoats and sich lak, and us stayed in by de fire. big boys had clothes made out of jeans, but little boys wore homespun shirts. on hot days us jus' wore one piece of clothes, a sort of shirt what was made long and had a yoke in it. "dey made me use snuff to cure my sore eyes when i was little, and i never could quit usin' it no more. when i was 'bout , ma and pa moved to athens and i went to wuk for mr. joe webb's fambly. i wukked for 'em for years and raised all deir chillun. dey was all mighty good to me and seed dat i had plenty of evvything. i would still be dar, but de old folkses all done died out and gone to dey rest and de younguns done married and lef' here. "i was wukkin' right in de house wid 'em when i 'cided to git married. yes ma'am, i sho' done had one swell elegant weddin'. jus' evvything heart could ask for. i married at my ma's house, but my white folkses was all right dar, and dey had done fixed de house up pretty wid flowers all over it. dey give me my white flannel weddin' dress and it was sho' pretty, but dey warn't nothin' lackin' 'bout my second day dress. my white folkses bought dat too,--it was a bottle green silk. lawsy, but i was sho' one dressed up bride. it was o'clock dat night when de preacher got finished wid tyin' dat knot for me and sam virgel. my sister and her fellow stood up wid us and us had a big crowd at our weddin' supper. dere was one long table full of our white folkses, 'sides all de niggers, and i jus' never seed so much to eat. my white folkses said dat emma jus' had to have plenty for her weddin' feast and dey evermore did lay out good things for dat supper, and dem niggers sho' did hide dat chicken and cake away lak dey hadn't never seed none before. "i wukked on for de webbs 'til dey was all gone. de old folks is in heb'en whar i 'spects to see 'em some day when de lord done called me home. de younguns moved away, but i still loves 'em evvyone, 'cause dey looked atter old emma so good when dey was here. us never had no chillun and sam done been gone to his res' long years ago. i'se jus' a-wukkin and a-waitin 'til i gits called to go too. i don't have plenty all de time now lak i used to, and nobody here looks atter old emma no more, but i makes out. "i'se mighty glad it rained if dat's what sont you to my door. it's been nice to talk wid white folkses again. i wisht i had somepin' nice for you! let me cut you a bunch of my flowers?" she carefully placed her iron on the hearth and hobbled out in the yard. the may shower had been followed by sunshine as she handed her guest a huge bouquet of roses, aunt emma bowed low. "good-bye, missy," she said, "please come back to see me." [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] adella s. dixon interview with rhodus walton, ex-slave, age [date stamp: may ] ten years before the emancipation proclamation was signed, a son was born to antony and patience walton who lived in lumpkin, stewart county, ga. when this son, rhodus, was three weeks old, his mother, along with the three younger children, was sold. his father and the thirteen sons and daughters that she left behind were never seen again. his parents' birthplace and the name they bore before moving to the walton home are unknown to rhodus and he never was able to trace his family even after "freedom." the walton plantation, home of mr. sam b. walton who purchased his mother, was a very large one with the "big house" on an elevation near the center. the majestic colonial home with its massive columns was seen for miles around and from its central location the master was able to view his entire estate. approximately one block from the planter's home, the "quarters" were clustered. these were numerous loghouses with stick-and-clay chimneys in which the slave families dwelt. each house was composed of one room sparsely furnished. the beds were corded with rope and as large families were stressed, it was often necessary for several members to sleep on the floor. there was an open fireplace at which family meals were prepared. equipment consisted of an iron pot suspended by a hanger and a skillet with long legs that enabled the cook to place fire beneath it. bread known as "ash cake" was sometimes cooked on the hot coals. the auction block was located not far from this old home. here rhodus walton with other young children watched slaves emerge from boxcars, where they had been packed so closely that there was no room to sit, to be sold to the highest bidder. this was one of his most vivid recollections. as rhodus' father did not come to this home with his family, he knows nothing of him. except for brief intervals his mother worked in the house where cotton and wool were spun into thread and then woven into cloth from which the slaves' clothing was made. an elder sister nursed the master's smaller children. rhodus' first duties were to drive the cows to and from the pastures and to keep the calves from annoying the milkers. his master was a very cruel man whose favorite form of punishment was to take a man (or woman) to the edge of the plantation where a rail fence was located. his head was then placed between two rails so that escape was impossible and he was whipped until the overseer was exhausted. this was an almost daily occurrence, administered on the slightest provocation. saturday was the only afternoon off and christmas was the only vacation period, but one week of festivities made this season long remembered. many "frolics" were given and everyone danced where banjoes were available; also, these resourceful people secured much of their music from an improvised fiddle fashioned from a hand saw. immediately after these festivities, preparations began for spring planting. new ground was cleared; old land fertilized and the corn fields cleared of last year's rubbish. courtship began at a later age than is customary now but they were much more brief. gifts to one's sweetheart were not permitted, but verses such as: roses are red, violets blue, i don't love no one but you were invariably recited to the loved one. young negro men always "cocked" their hats on one side of their heads when they became interested in the other sex. marriages were performed by the master. common law situations did not exist. serious illnesses were not frequent and home remedies compounded of roots and herbes usually sufficed. queensy's light root, butterfly roots, scurry root, red shank root, bull tongue root were all found in the woods and the teas made from their use were "cures" for many ailments. whenever an illness necessitated the services of a physician, he was called. one difference in the old family doctor and those of today was the method of treatment. the former always carried his medicine with him, the latter writes prescriptions. the fee was also much smaller in olden times. food was distributed weekly in quantities according to the size of the family. a single man would receive: pk. meal on sunday qt. syrup flour (seconds) - / lbs. meat holidays--july th and christmas fresh meat. peas, pepper grass, polk salad were plentiful in the fields. milk and "pot likker" could be had from the big house when desired, although every family cooked for itself. saturday afternoon was the general fishing time and each person might catch as many as he needed for his personal use. the slaves did most of the weaving on the plantation, but after the cloth was woven the problem of giving it color presented itself. as they had no commercial dye, certain plants were boiled to give color. a plant called indigo, found in the cotton patch, was the chief type of dye, although thare was another called copperas. the dresses made from this material were very plain. walton believes in most of the old signs and superstitions because he has "watched them and found that they are true." the continuous singing of a whipporwill near a house is a sign of death, but if an iron is placed in the fire and allowed to remain there, the bird will fly away. when the news of the war finally reached the plantation, the slaves followed the progress with keen interest and when battles were fought near columbus, and firing of guns was heard, they cried joyfully--"it ain't gonna be long now." two of their master's sons fought in the confederate army, but both returned home before the close of the war. one day news came that the yankee soldiers were soon to come, and walton began to hide all valuables. the slaves were sent to the cemetery to dig very deep graves where all manner of food was stored. they were covered like real graves and wooden slabs placed at either end. for three days before the soldiers were expected, all the house servants were kept busy preparing delicacies with which to tempt the yankees and thus avoid having their place destroyed. in spite of all this preparation, they were caught unawares and when the "blue coats" were seen approaching, the master and his two sons ran. the elder made his way to the woods; the younger made away on "black eagle" a horse reputed to run almost a mile a minute. nearly everything on the place was destroyed by these invaders. one bit of information has been given in every interview where northern soldiers visited a plantation, they found, before coming, whether the master was mean or kind and always treated him as he had treated his slaves. thus mr. walton was "given the works" as our modern soldiers would say. when the war ended the slaves were notified that they were free. just before rhodus' family prepared to move, his mother was struck on the head by a drunken guest visiting at the "big house." as soon as she regained consciousness, the family ran off without communicating with an elder sister who had been sold to a neighbor the previous year. a year later, news of this sister reached them through a wagoner who recognized the small boys as he passed them. he carried the news to the family's new residence back to the lost sister and in a few weeks she arrived at cuthbert to make her home with her relatives. for the past years rhodus has been unable to work as he is a victim of a stroke on his left side; both sides have been ruptured, and his nerves are bad. he attributes his long life to his faith in god. [hw: dist. ex-slave # (ross)] an account of slavery related by william ward--ex-slave [date stamp: - - ] in a small one-room apartment located on one of atlanta's back streets lives william ward, an ex-slave, whose physical appearance in no way justifies his claim to being years of age. he is about five ft. in height with a rather smooth brown complexion. what hair he has is gray. he moves about like a much younger person. for a person of his age his thoughts and speech are remarkably clear. on a bright sunny afternoon in september this writer had an opportunity of talking with mr. ward and in the course of the conversation some very interesting things were learned regarding the institution of slavery and its customs. ward took a dip of snuff from his little tin box and began his story by saying that he is the son of bill and leana ward who were brought to this country from jamaica, b.w.i. the first thing he remembers was the falling of the stars in . from that time until he was years old he played around the yard with other slave children. then his parents were sent back to jamaica by their master, the former governor joseph e. brown. while he was in bondage he carried the name of his masters instead of ward, his parents' name. from the age of until he was old enough to do heavy work, he kept the master's yard clean. although mr. brown owned between and slaves, he had no plantation but hired his slaves out to other men who needed more help but were not able to own as many slaves as their work required. mr. ward and his fellow slaves lived in one-room houses in the rear of the master's home. the furnishings consisted of a bed which was known as a "grand rascal" due to its peculiar construction. the mattress made in the form of a large bag was stuffed with hat and dried grass. at daybreak each morning they were called from these crude beds to prepare for the day's work. breakfast, which consisted of white bacon, corn bread, and imitation coffee, was served before they left for the scene of their day's work. incidentally the slaves under mr. brown's ownership never had any other form of bread than corn bread. this imitation coffee was made by putting corn meal in a pan, parching it until it reached a deep golden brown and steeping it in boiling water. at noon, dinner was brought to them in the field in wash tubs placed on carts drawn by oxen. dinner consisted of fat meat, peas and corn bread. often all laundry was done in these same tubs. the only time that this diet ever varied was at christmas time when the master had all slaves gathered in one large field. then several hogs were killed and barbecued. everyone was permitted to eat as much as he could, but was forbidden to take anything home. when some one was fortunate enough to catch a possum or a coon, he had a change of food. on sundays the slaves were permitted to have a religious meeting of their own. this usually took place in the back yard or in a building dedicated for this purpose. they sang spirituals which gave vent to their true feelings. many of these songs are sung today. there was one person who did the preaching. his sermon was always built according to the master's instructions which were that slaves must always remember that they belonged to their masters and were intended to lead a life of loyal servitude. none of the slaves believed this, although they pretended to believe because of the presence of the white overseer. if this overseer was absent sometimes and the preacher varied in the text of his sermon, that is, if he preached exactly what he thought and felt, he was given a sound whipping. mr. brown was a kind person and never mistreated his slaves, although he did furnish them with the whip for infractions of rules such as fighting, stealing, visiting other plantations without a "pass", etc. ward vividly recalls that one of the soundest thrashings he ever got was for stealing mr. brown's whisky. his most numerous offenses were fighting. another form of punishment used in those days was the stocks, such as those used in early times in england. serious offenses like killing another person was also handled by the master who might hang him to a tree by the feet or by the neck, as he saw fit. few slaves ever attempted to escape from mr. brown, partially because of his kindliness and partically because of the fear inspired by the pack of blood hounds which he kept. when an escaped slave was caught he was returned to his master and a sound beating was administered. as far as marriage was concerned on the brown estate, mr. brown, himself placed every two individuals together that he saw fit to. there was no other wedding ceremony. if any children were born from the union, mr. brown named them. one peculiarity on the brown estate was the fact that the slaves were allowed no preference or choice as to who his or her mate would be. another peculiarity was these married couples were not permitted to sleep together except when the husband received permission to spend the night with his wife. ward is the father of children whose whereabouts he does not know. at this point ward began to smile, and when he was asked the cause of his mirth, he replied that he was thinking about his fellow slaves beliefs in conjuring one another. this was done by putting some sort of wild berries in the person's food. what he can't understand is why some of this black magic was not tried on the white people since they were holding the negroes as slaves. ward recalls vividly sherman's march through georgia. when sherman reached the present site of hapeville, he bombarded atlanta with cannon, afterwards marching through and burning the city. the white residents made all sorts of frantic attempts to hide their money and other valuables. some hiding places were under stumps of trees and in sides of hills. incidentally sherman's army found quite a bit of the hidden wealth. slaves were never allowed to talk over events and so very few, if any, knew about the war or its results for them before it actually happened. at the time that sherman marched through atlanta, ward and other slaves were living in an old mansion at the present site of peachtree and baker streets. he says that sherman took him and his fellow slaves as far as virginia to carry powder and shot to the soldiers. he states that he himself did not know whether sherman intended to keep him in slavery or free him. at the close of the war, his master, mr. brown, became ill and died later. before his death he informed the slaves that they could remain on his property or go where they wanted to. ward was taken to mississippi where he remained in another form of slavery (peonage system) for years. he remembers when atlanta was just a few hills without any buildings. some of the buildings he worked on are the herman building and the original kimball house, a picture of which is attached. he attributes his old age to his belief in god and living a sane life. whenever he feels bad or in low spirits, a drink of coffee or a small amount of whisky is enough to brace him. he believes that his remedy is better than that used in slavery which consisted mainly of pills and castor oil. with a cheerful good-bye, ward asked that the writer stop in to see him again; said that he would rather live in the present age under existing conditions than live in slavery. driskell jwl - - [mr. william ward] following is mr. william ward's description of the bed called "the grand rascal." "de beds dat all o' de slaves slept in wus called 'grand rascals'. dey wus made on de same order as a box. de way dey made 'em wus like dis: dey took four strips of narrow wood, each one of 'em 'bout a foot wide, an' den dey nailed 'em together so dat dey wus in de shape of a square. den dey nailed a bottom onto dis square shape. dis bottom wus called de slats. when dis wus finished dey set dis box on some legs to keep it off'n de floor, an' den dey got busy wid de mattress. dey took ol' oat sacks an' filled 'em wid straw an' hay an' den dey put dis in de box an' slept on it. dere wusn't no springs on dese bunks an' everybody had a hard time sleepin'. "de real name of dese wus 'sonova-bitches' but de slaves called 'em 'grand rascals' 'cause dey didn't want people to hear 'em use a bad word. "after sherman come through atlanta he let de slaves go, an' when he did, me an' some of de other slaves went back to our ol' masters. ol' man gov. brown wus my boss man. after de war wus over ol' man gordon took me an' some of de others out to mississippi. i stayed in peonage out dere fer 'bout forty years. i wus located at jes' 'bout forty miles south of greenwood, an' i worked on de plantations of ol' man sara jones an' ol' man gordon. "i couldn't git away 'cause dey watched us wid guns all de time. when de levee busted dat kinda freed me. man, dey was devils; dey wouldn't 'low you to go nowhere--not even to church. you done good to git sumpin' to eat. dey wouldn't give you no clothes, an' if you got wet you jes' had to lay down in whut you got wet in. "an', man, dey would whup you in spite of de devil. you had to ask to git water--if you didn't dey would stretch you 'cross a barrel an' wear you out. if you didn't work in a hurry dey would whup you wid a strap dat had five-six holes in it. i ain't talkin' 'bout whut i heard--i'm talkin' 'bout whut i done see'd. "one time dey sent me on ol' man mack williams' farm here in jasper county, georgia. dat man would kill you sho. if dat little branch on his plantation could talk it would tell many a tale 'bout folks bein' knocked in de head. i done seen mack williams kill folks an' i done seen 'im have folks killed. one day he tol' me dat if my wife had been good lookin', i never would sleep wid her again 'cause he'd kill me an' take her an' raise chilluns off'n her. dey uster take women away fum dere husbands an' put wid some other man to breed jes' like dey would do cattle. dey always kept a man penned up an' dey used 'im like a stud hoss. "when you didn't do right ol' mack williams would shoot you or tie a chain 'roun your neck an' throw you in de river. he'd git dem other niggers to carry dem to de river an' if dey didn't he'd shoot 'em down. any time dey didn't do whut he said he would shoot 'em down. he'd tell 'em to "ketch dat nigger", an' dey would do it. den he would tell 'em to put de chain 'roun dere neck an' throw 'em in de river. i ain't heard dis--i done seen it. "in i wus still in peonage but i wus back in mississippi on gordon's farm. when de levee broke in may of dat same year i lost my wife an' three chilluns. i climbed a tree an' stayed dere fer four days an' four nights. airplanes dropped food an' when i got ready to eat i had to squeeze de water out of de bread. after four days i got out of de tree an' floated on logs down de river 'till i got to mobile, alabama, an' i wade fum dere to palmetto, georgia, where i got down sick. de boss mans dere called gov. harden an' he sent de grady hospital examiners down dere an' got me an' i been in atlanta since dat time." willie h. cole - - the story of an ex-slave [mrs. lula washington, age ] mrs. lula washington was born a slave. she claims to be eighty-four years old. mrs. washington was confined to bed because of a recent accident in which she received a broken leg. she is the mother of twenty-three children of which only two are living. she lives in one room at butler st., n.e. with one of her daughters. since the death of her husband several years ago she has been making her living as a dray-women, driving a mule and wagon. following are some of the events she remembers. "ah wuz born in randolph, alabama on de plantation of marster john terrell, de sixth child of my mammy and pappy". "when ah wuz six years old marster john sold me an' my sister, lize and brother, ben to marster charlie henson." "marster charlie wuz good to his niggers. "he never whipped dem 'less dey done somethin' awful bad, like stealin chickens or slipping off de plantation without permission." "it wuz funny, de white folks would whipped de niggers for stealin' but if dey saw a hog in de woods, dey would make the niggers catch de hog an kill him an hide him under dey bushes. den at night de niggers would hafta' go down to de spring, build a fire, heat water an skin de hog." "de man on de plantation next to us' shore wuz mean to his niggers, marster jim roberts wus his name. he would take his niggers an strip there clothes to dere waist an' lay dem 'cross a barrel an beat dem 'til the blood run. den he would pore salt water on de sore places." "oh 'member one time he tied two wimmen by dere thumbs to a limb of a tree for blessin' out the missus." "us had plenty to eat and plenty to wear, calico dresses an' brogan shoes. sometimes dere misses would give the wimmen some of her old clothes". "all de niggers on marster charlie's plantation had to work in de field 'cept malindy lu, a mulatto nigger gal. marster charlie kept her in de house to take care of missus jane, dat wuz marster charlie wife." "one thing 'bout de mulatto niggers, wuz, dey thought dey wuz better than de black niggers. i guess it wuz 'cause dey was half white. dere wuz a bad feelin' 'tween the mulatto slaves an de black ones." asked, how did the slaves marry? she replied, "ah jest don't 'member seeing any marry 'cause ah wuz so small. ah wuz jest eleven years old de time of de war but ah' members hearing some of dem say dat when two slaves wanted to git married dey would hafta get permission from dere marster. den dey would come 'fore de marster an' he would have dem to jump over a broom an den 'nounce dem married." "when de yankees come thru" de white folks told us to go down to de swamp an hide cause dey would git us. when de war wuz over de white folks told us we wuz free." "marster terrell gave my mammy an pappy a oxcart an mule an a bushel of meal. den my pappy an mammy come got me an my sister an' brother. den we come from randolph, alabama to georgia." "sometimes i wish i wuz back in slavery, times is so hard." mrs. washington's chief concern now is getting her old-age pension. plantation life as viewed by an ex-slave green willbanks, age fairview street athens, georgia written by: mrs. sadie b. hornsby athens edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, georgia sept. , fairview street, where green willbanks lives is a section of shabby cottages encircled by privet hedges. as the visitor carefully ascended the shaky steps to his house a mulatto man, who was sitting on the veranda, quickly arose. "good morning," he said, "yes mam, this is green willbanks. have a seat in the swing." the porch furniture was comprised of a chair, a swing, and a long bench. green is tall, slender, and stooped; a man with white hair and grizzled face. a white broadcloth shirt, white cotton trousers, blue socks, and low-cut black shoes made up his far from immaculate costume. the old man's eyes brightened when he was asked to give the story of his life. his speech showed but little dialect, except when he was carried away by interest and emotion, and his enunciation was remarkably free from negroid accent. "i don't mind telling you what i know," he began, "but i was such a little chap when the war ended that there's mighty little i can recollect about slavery time, and it seems that your chief interest is in that period. i was born on a plantation the other side of commerce, georgia, in jackson county. my ma and pa were mary and isom willbanks; they were raised on the same plantation where i was born. ma was a field hand, and this time of the year when work was short in the field--laying-by time, we called it--and on rainy days she spun thread and wove cloth. as the thread left the spinning wheel it went on a reel where it was wound into hanks, and then it was carried to the loom to be woven into cloth. pa had a little trade; he made shoes and baskets, and old boss let him sell them. pa didn't make shoes for the slaves on our plantation; old boss bought them ready-made and had them shipped here from the west. "me and jane, sarah, mitchell, and willie were the five children in our family. oh! miss, i was not big enough to do much work. about the most i done was pick up chips and take my little tin bucket to the spring to get a cool, fresh drink for old miss. us children stayed 'round the kitchen and drunk lots of buttermilk. old miss used to say, 'give my pickaninnies plenty of buttermilk.' i can see that old churn now; it helt about seven or eight gallons. "our houses? slaves lived in log cabins built the common way. there was lots of forest pine in those days. logs were cut the desired length and notches put in each end so they would fit closely and have as few cracks as possible, when they stacked them for a cabin. they sawed pine logs into blocks and used a frow to split them into planks that were used to cover the cracks between the logs. don't you know what a frow is? that's a wooden wedge that you drive into a pine block by hitting it with a heavy wooden mallet, or maul, as they are more commonly called. they closed the cracks in some of the cabins by daubing them with red mud. the old stack chimneys were made of mud and sticks. to make a bed, they first cut four posts, usually of pine, and bored holes through them with augers; then they made two short pieces for the head and foot. two long pieces for the sides were stuck through the auger holes and the bedstead was ready to lay on the slats or cross pieces to hold up the mattress. the best beds had heavy cords, wove crossways and lengthways, instead of slats. very few slaves had corded beds. mattresses were not much; they were made of suggin sacks filled with straw. they called that straw 'georgia feathers.' pillows were made of the same things. suggin cloth was made of coarse flax wove in a loom. they separated the flax into two grades; fine for the white folks, and coarse for the negroes. "the only one of my grandparents i can bring to memory now is grandma rose on my pa's side. she was some worker, a regular man-woman; she could do any kind of work a man could do. she was a hot horse in her time and it took an extra good man to keep up with her when it came to work. "children were not allowed to do much work, because their masters desired them to have the chance to grow big and strong, and therefore they had few opportunities to earn money of their own. i never did own any money during slavery days, but i saw plenty of ten cent greenbacks (shinplasters). "white children and slave children played around the plantation together but they were not allowed to fight. they had to be on friendly terms with each other. "what about our food? the biggest thing we had was buttermilk, some sweet milk, and plenty of cornbread, hog meat, and peas. as a rule we had wheat bread once a week, usually on sunday. all kinds of fruits were plentiful in their seasons. each slave family was permitted to have separate garden space, in fact, old boss insisted that they work their own gardens, and they raised plenty of vegetables. grown folks had rabbits and 'possums but i never did get much 'quainted with them. we fished in the cricks and rills 'round the plantation and brought in lots of hornyheads and perch. you never saw any hornyheads? why they is just fish a little bigger and longer than minnows and they have little horns on their heads. we caught a good many eels too; they look like snakes, but folks call them eels. i wasn't much 'quainted with them fish they brought from way down south; they called them mullets. "the kitchen was a separate log house out in the back yard. the fireplace, where the cooking was done, took up one end of the kitchen, and there was a rack acrost it to hang the cook-pots on for biling. baking and frying was done in ovens and heavy iron skillets that sat on trivets so coals could be piled underneath, as well as over the lids. "the long shirts slave boys wore in summer were straight like a meal sack open at both ends, with holes in the sides for your arms to go through. you stuck your head in one end and it came out the other; then you were fully dressed for any whole summer day. these summer shirts were made of thin osnaburg. our winter clothes were made of woolen cloth called merino. old boss kept enough sheep to provide plenty of wool and some mighty good food. slave children had no extra or special clothes for sunday; they wore the same kind of gowns, or long shirts, seven days a week. old boss provided brass-toed brogans for winter, but we never thought of such a thing as shoes to wear in hot weather. "my owners were marse solomon and his wife, miss ann willbanks. we called them old boss and old miss. as i saw it, they were just as good as they could be. old boss never allowed nobody to impose on his slave children. when i was a little chap playing around the big house, i would often drop off to sleep the minute i got still. good old boss would pick me up and go lay me on his own bed and keep me there 'til ma come in from the field. "old boss and old miss had five children. the boys were solomon, isaac, james, and wesley. for the life of me i can't bring to memory the name of their only daughter. i guess that's because we frolicked with the four boys, but we were not allowed to play with little miss. "it was a right decent house they lived in, a log house with a fine rock chimney. old boss was building a nice house when the war come on and he never had a chance to finish it. the log house was in a cedar grove; that was the style then. back of the house were his orchards where fruit trees of every kind we knew anything about provided plenty for all to eat in season as well as enough for good preserves, pickles, and the like for winter. old boss done his own overseeing and, 'cording to my memory, one of the young bosses done the driving. "that plantation covered a large space of land, but to tell you how many acres is something i can't do. there were not so many slaves. i've forgot how they managed that business of getting slaves up, but i do know we didn't get up before day on our place. their rule was to work slaves from sunup to sundown. before they had supper they had a little piddlin' around to do, but the time was their own to do as they pleased after they had supper. heaps of times they got passes and went off to neighboring plantations to visit and dance, but sometimes they went to hold prayer-meetings. there were certain plantations where we were not permitted to go and certain folks were never allowed on our place. old boss was particular about how folks behaved on his place; all his slaves had to come up to a certain notch and if they didn't do that he punished them in some way or other. there was no whipping done, for old boss never did believe in whipping slaves. "none of the slaves from our place was ever put in that county jail at jefferson. that was the only jail we ever heard of in those days. old boss attended to all the correction necessary to keep order among his own slaves. once a slave trader came by the place and offered to buy ma. old boss took her to jefferson to sell her on the block to that man. it seemed like sales of slaves were not legal unless they took place on the trading block in certain places, usually in the county site. the trader wouldn't pay what old boss asked for her, and old miss and the young bosses all objected strong to his selling her, so he brought ma back home. she was a fine healthy woman and would have made a nice looking house girl. "the biggest part of the teaching done among the slaves was by our young bosses but, as far as schools for slaves was concerned, there were no such things until after the end of the war, and then we were no longer slaves. there were just a few separate churches for slaves; none in our part of the country. slaves went to the same church as their white folks and sat in the back of the house or in a gallery. my pa could read the bible in his own way, even in that time of slavery; no other slave on our place could do that. "not one slave or white person either died on our plantation during the part of slavery that i can bring to memory. i was too busy playing to take in any of the singing at funerals and at church, and i never went to a baptizing until i was a great big chap, long after slavery days were over. "slaves ran off to the woods all right, but i never heard of them running off to no north. paterollers never came on old boss' place unless he sont for them, otherwise they knowed to stay off. they sho was devils in sheeps' clothing; that's what we thought of them paterollers. slaves worked all day saddays when there was work to be done, but that night was their free time. they went where they pleased just so old boss gave them a pass to protect them from paterollers. "after slaves went to church sunday they were free the rest of the day as far as they knowed. lots of times they got 'em a stump speaker--usually a negro--to preach to them. there were not as many preachers then as now. "'bout christmas day? they always had something like brandy, cider, or whiskey to stimulate the slaves on christmas day. then there was fresh meat and ash-roasted sweet 'taters, but no cake for slaves on our place, anyhow, i never saw no cake, and surely no santa claus. all we knowed bout christmas was eating and drinking. as a general thing there was a big day's work expected on new years day because we had to start the year off right, even if there was nothing for the slaves to do that day but clean fence corners, cut brush and briers, and burn off new ground. new years day ended up with a big old pot of hog jowl and peas. that was for luck, but i never really knowed if it brought luck or not. "well, yes, once a year they had big cornshuckings in our section and they had generals to lead off in all the singing; that was done to whoop up the work. my pa was one of the generals and he toted the jug of liquor that was passed 'round to make his crowd hustle. after the corn was shucked the crowd divided into two groups. their object was to see which could reach the owner of the corn first and carry him where he wanted to go. usually they marched with him on their shoulders to his big house and set him down on his porch, then he would give the word for them to all start eating the good things spread out on tables in the yard. there was a heap of drinking done then, and dancing too--just all kinds of dancing that could be done to fiddle and banjo music. my pa was one of them fiddlers in his young days. one of the dances was the cotillion, but just anybody couldn't dance that one. there was a heap of bowing and scraping to it, and if you were not 'quainted with it you just couldn't use it. "when any of the slaves were bad sick old boss called in his own family doctor, dr. joe bradbury. his plantation hit up against ours. the main things they gave for medicine them days was oil and turpentine. sometimes folks got black snakeroot from the woods, biled it, and gave the tea to sick folks; that was to clean off the stomach. everybody wore buckeyes 'round their necks to keep off diseases for we never knowed nothing about asefetida them days; that came later. "when the yankees came through after the surrender old boss and old miss hid their valuables. they told us children, 'now, if they ask you questions, don't you tell them where we hid a thing.' we knowed enough to keep our mouths shut. we never had knowed nothing but to mind old boss, and we were scared 'cause our white folks seemed to fear the yankees. "old boss had done told slaves they were free as he was and could go their own way, but we stayed on with him. he provided for pa and give him his share of the crops he made. all of us growed up as field hands. "them night-riders were something else. they sho did beat on negroes that didn't behave mighty careful. slaves didn't buy much land for a long time after the war because they didn't have no money, but schools were set up for negroes very soon. i got the biggest part of my education in west athens on biggers hill. when i went to the union baptist school my teacher was professor lyons, the founder of that institution. "when me and molly tate were married years ago we went to the church, because that was the cheapest place to go to have a big gathering. molly had on a common, ordinary dress. folks didn't dress up then like they does now; it was quite indifferent. of our children, are living now and we have grandchildren. six of our children live in the north and two have remained here in athens. one of them is employed at bernstein's funeral home and the other works on the university campus. i thanks the lord that molly is still with me. we bought this place a long time ago and have farmed here ever since. in fact, i have never done nothing but farm work. now i'm too old and don't have strength to work no more. "i thinks abraham lincoln was a all right man; god so intended that we should be sot free. jeff davis was all right in his way, but i can't say much for him. yes mam, i'd rather be free. sho! give me freedom all the time. jesus said: 'if my son sets you free, you shall be free indeed.' "when i jined the church, i felt like i was rid of my burden. i sot aside the things i had been doing and i ain't never been back to pick 'em up no more. i jined the baptist church and have been teaching a class of boys every sunday that i'm able to go. i sho am free from sin and i lives up to it. "i wonder if molly's got them sweet 'taters cooked what i dug this morning. they warn't much 'count 'cause the sun has baked them hard and it's been so dry. if you is through with me, i wants to go eat one of them 'taters and then lay this old nigger on the bed and let him go to sleep." [hw: dist ] josephine lowell [hw: eliza williamson] [tr: this interview contained many handwritten edits; where text was transposed or meaning was significantly changed, it has been noted.] just a few recollections of life in slavery time, as told me by [tr: illegible] who was eliza taliaferro williamson, daughter of dickerson and polly taliaferro. my mother was born at mt. airy, north carolina, near the virginia line, and always went to school, across the line, in virginia. her grandfather was john taliaferro, slave holder, tobacco raiser, and farmer. the negro quarters were near the main or big house. mother said that great-grandfather would go to the back door each night and call every slave to come in for family prayer. they came and knelt in the big house, while old marster prayed. mother said it was like a camp-meeting when he died--wailing and weeping by the negroes for their old marster. she said the slaves had the same food that the white family had and the same warm clothes for winter. all clothing, bed sheeting, table linen, towels, etc. were hand woven. they raised sheep for wool, and flax for linen, but i don't know where they got the cotton they used. the work of the house and farm was divided as with a big family. some of the women cooked, sewed, wove, washed, milked, but was never sent to the field. none of the toliver family believed in women working in the field. when each of great-grandfather's children married, he or she was given a few slaves. i think he gave my grandfather, dickerson taliaferro, three slaves, and these he brought with him to georgia when they settled in whitfield county. my grandfather was a member of the legislature from whitfield county for two terms. he was as gentle with his slaves as a father would have been, and was never known to abuse one of them. one of his slaves, who was a small boy at the close of the war, stayed with my grandfather until he was a grown man, then after a few years away from home, came home to old marster to die. this is the picture of good slave holders, but sad to say all were not of that type. [tr: deleted: 'see next sheet for'] a picture of horror, which was also told me by my mother. [tr: deleted: 'the thought of it'] was like a nightmare to my childish mind. the story of little joe. [tr: deleted: 'mother said there were'] two families lived on farms adjacent to her father. they were the two tucker brothers, tobacco raisers. one of the wives, polly, or pol, as she was called, hated the family of her husband's brother because they were more affluent than she liked them to be. it [hw: her jealousy] caused the two families to live in disagreement. little joe belonged to pol's family, and was somewhere between ten and fourteen years old. mother said pol made joe work in the field at night, and forced him to sing so they would know he wasn't asleep. he wore nothing in summer but an old shirt made of rough factory cloth which came below his knees. she said the only food pol would give him was swill [hw: scraps] from the table--handed to him out the back door. mother said pol had some kind of impediment in her speech, which caused her to say 'ah' at the close of a sentence. so, when she called joe to the back door to give him his mess of scraps, she would say, "here, joe, here's your truck, ah." mother was a little girl then, and she and grandmother felt so sorry for joe that they would bake baskets of sweet potatoes and slip [tr: 'to the field to give him' replaced with illegible text ending 'in the field']. she said he would come through the corn, almost crawling, so pol wouldn't see him, and take the sweet potatoes in the tail of his shirt and scuttle back through the tall stuff where he might hide and eat it them. she had a negro woman who had a baby (and there may have been other women) but this negro woman was not allowed to see her baby except just as a cow would be let in to her calf at certain times during the day, [tr: 'then' replaced by ??] she had to go to the field and leave it alone. mother said that pol either threw or kicked the baby into the yard because it cried, and it died. i don't know why the authorities didn't arrest her, but she may have had an alibi, or some excuse for the death of the child. the burning of the tobacco barn the [hw: other] tucker brother had made a fine crop of tobacco that year, more than a thousand dollars worth in his big barn. pol made one of her slaves go with her, [hw: when] and she set fire to the tobacco barn of her brother-in-law's barn, and not being able to get away [hw: unable to escape] before the flames [hw: brought] a crowd, she hid in the grass, right near the path where the people were running to the fire. she had some kind of stroke, perhaps from fright, or pure deviltry which 'put her out of business'. i wish i could remember whether it killed her or just made a paralytic of her, but this is a true story. plantation life as viewed by an ex-slave frances willingham, age bridge street athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens leila harris augusta and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & the interviewer arrived at frances willingham's address on a sultry july morning, and found a fat and very black negress sweeping the sidewalk before the three-room frame house. there was no front yard and the front steps led up from the sidewalk into the house. a vegetable garden was visible at the rear of the lot. the plump sweeper appeared to be about five feet tall. her wooly white hair was plaited in tiny braids, and she wore a brown print dress trimmed in red and blue. a strand of red beads encircled her short neck, and a blue checked coat and high topped black shoes completed her costume. asked if frances willingham was at home, the woman replied: "dis is her you is a-talkin' to. come right in and have a seat." when frances was asked for the story of her life, her daughter who had doubtless been eavesdropping, suddenly appeared and interrupted the conversation with, "ma, now don't you git started 'bout dem old times. you knows your mind ain't no good no more. tomorrow your tongue will be runnin' lak a bell clapper a-talkin' to yourself." "shut your big mouth, henrietta." frances answered. "i been sick, and i knows it, but dere ain't nothin' wrong wid my mind and you knows it. what i knows i'se gwine to tell de lady, and what i don't know i sho' ain't gwine tell no lie about. now, missus, what does you want to know? don't pay no 'tention to dis fool gal of mine 'cause her mouth is big as dis room. "i was born way off down in twiggs county 'bout a mile from de town of jeffersonville. my pa and ma was otto and sarah rutherford. our mist'ess, dat was miss polly, she called ma, sallie for short. dere was nine of us chillun, me and esau, harry, jerry, bob, calvin, otto, sallie and susan. susan was our half-sister by our pa's last marriage. us chillun never done much but play 'round de house and yards wid de white chillun. i warn't but four years old when dey made us free." henrietta again interrupted, "see dere, i told you she don't know what she's a-talkin' 'bout." frances ignored the interruption and continued: "us lived in log cabins what had jus' one room wid a stick and mud chimbly at de end. our bedsteads was made out of rough planks and poles and some of 'em was nailed to de sides of de cabins. mattress ticks was made out of osnaburg and us filled 'em wid wheat straw in season. when dat was used up us got grass from de fields. most any kind of hay was counted good 'nough to put in a slave's mattress. dey let us mix some cotton wid de hay our pillows was stuffed wid. "my grandmas lived on another plantation. i 'members once grandma suck, she wes my ma's mammy, come to our house and stayed one or two days wid us. daddy's ma was named puss. both my grandmas was field hands, but ma, she was a house gal 'til she got big enough to do de cyardin' and spinnin'. aunt phoebie done de weavin' and aunt polly was de seamster. all de lak of dat was done atter de craps was done laid by. "no ma'am, nobody never give slave chillun no money in dem times. i never had none 'til atter us had done been give our freedom. i used to see old marster countin' of it, but de slaves never did git none of dat money. "our old marster was a pow'ful rich man, and he sho' b'lieved in givin' us plenty to eat. it warn't nothin' fine, but it was good plain eatin' what filled you up and kept you well. dere was cornbread and meat, greens of all sorts, 'taters, roas'en-ears and more other kinds of veg'tables dan i could call up all day. marster had one big old gyarden whar he kept most evvything a-growin' 'cept cabbages and 'matoes. he said dem things warn't fittin' for nobody to eat. marster let daddy go huntin' enough to fetch in lots of 'possums, coons, rabbits, and squirrels. us cooked 'em 'bout lak us does now, only us never had no stoves den, and had to do all de cookin' in open fireplaces in big old pots and long handled skillets what had big old heavy lids. i'se seed ma clean many a 'possum in hot ashes. den she scalded him and tuk out his innards. she par-boiled and den baked him and when she fetched him to de table wid a heap of sweet 'taters 'round him on de dish, dat was sho' somepin good to eat. daddy done his fishin' in muddy crick 'cause slaves wern't 'lowed to leave de plantation for nothin' lak dat. "summertimes us wore homespun dresses, made wid full skirts sewed on to tight fittin' waisties what was fastened down de back wid buttons made out of cows and rams horns. our white petticoat slips and pantalettes was made on bodices. in winter us wore balmorals what had three stripes 'round de bottom, and over dem us had on long sleeved ap'ons what was long as de balmorals. slave gals' pantalettes warn't ruffled and tucked and trimmed up wid lace and 'broidery lak miss polly's chilluns' was. ours was jus' made plain. grown folks wore rough brogans, but me, i wore de shoes what miss polly's chillun had done outgrowed. dey called 'em jackson shoes, 'cause dey was made wid a extra wide piece of leather sewed on de outside so as when you knocked your ankles 'gainst one another, it wouldn't wear no holes in your shoes. our sunday shoes warn't no diffunt from what us wore evvyday. [tr: hw sidenote: 'durable', regarding jackson shoes] "marse lish jones and his wife--she was miss polly--was our marster and mist'ess. dey sho' did love to be good to deir little niggers. dey had five chillun of deir own, two gals and three boys. dey was: mary, anna della, steve, john, and bob. 'bout deir house! oh, missus, dat was somepin to see for sho'. it was a big old fine two-story frame house wid a porch 'cross de front and 'round both sides. dere was five rooms on de fust floor and three upstairs. it sho' did look grand a-settin' back dar in dat big old oak grove. "old marster had a overseer but he never had no car'iage driver 'cause he loved to drive for hisself so good. oh lord! how big was dat plantation? why, it must have been as big as from here to town. i never did know how many slaves marster had, but dat old plantation was plumb full of 'em. i ain't never seed old marster do nothin' 'cept drive his car'iage, walk a little, and eat all he wanted to. he was a rich man, and didn't have to do nothin'. "our overseer got all de slaves up 'fore break of day and dey had to be done et deir breakfast and in de field when de sun riz up. dat sun would be down good 'fore dey got to de house at night. i never seed none of de grown folks git whupped, but i sho' got a good beatin' myself one time. i had done got up on top of de big house porch and was a-flappin' my arms and crowin' lak a rooster. dey told me to come on down, but i wouldn't mind nobody and kept on a-crowin' and a-flappin', so dey whupped me down. "dey had jails in jeffersonville, but dem jails was for white folks what didn't be-have deirselfs. old marster, de overseer, and de patterollers kept de slaves straight. dey didn't need no jails for dem. "i ain't never been to school a day in my life, 'cause when i was little, niggers warn't 'lowed to larn to read and write. i heared ma say de colored preacher read out of de bible, but i never seed him do it, 'cause i never went to church none when i was a chap. colored folks had deir own church in a out settlement called john de baptist. dat's whar all de slaves went to meetin'. chilluns was 'lowed to go to baptizin's. evvybody went to 'em. dey tuk dem converts to a hole in de crick what dey had got ready for dat purpose. de preacher went fust, and den he called for de converts to come on in and have deir sins washed away. "our marster sot aside a piece of ground 'long side of his own place for his niggers to have a graveyard. us didn't know nothin' 'bout no fun'rals. when one of de slaves died, dey was put in unpainted home-made coffins and tuk to de graveyard whar de grave had done been dug. dey put 'em in dar and kivvered 'em up and dat was all dey done 'bout it. "us heared a plenty 'bout patterollers beatin' up niggers what dey cotched off deir marsters' plantations widout no passes. sometimes dey cotched one of our marster's slaves and sometimes dey didn't, but dey was all time on deir job. "when slaves come in from de fields at night de 'omans cleant up deir houses atter dey et, and den washed and got up early next mornin' to put de clothes out to dry. mens would eat, set 'round talkin' to other mens and den go to bed. on our place evvybody wukked on saddays 'til 'bout three or four o'clock and if de wuk was tight dey wukked right on 'til night lak any other day. sadday nights de young folks got together to have deir fun. dey danced, frolicked, drunk likker, and de lak of dat. old marster warn't too hard on 'em no time, but he jus' let 'em have dat night to frolic. on sunday he give dem what wanted 'em passes to go to church and visit 'round. "christmas times, chilluns went to bed early 'cause dey was skeered santa claus wouldn't come. us carried our stockin's up to de big house to hang 'em up. next mornin' us found 'em full of all sorts of good things, 'cept oranges. i never seed nary a orange 'til i was a big gal. miss polly had fresh meat, cake, syrup puddin' and plenty of good sweet butter what she 'lowanced out to her slaves at christmas. old marster, he made syrup by de barrel. plenty of apples and nuts and groundpeas was raised right dar on de plantation. in de christmas, de only wuk slaves done was jus' piddlin' 'round de house and yards, cuttin' wood, rakin' leaves, lookin' atter de stock, waitin' on de white folks and little chores lak dat. hard work started again on de day atter new year's day. old marster 'lowed 'em mighty little rest from den 'til atter de craps was laid by. "course marster let his slaves have cornshuckin's, cornshellin's, cotton pickin's, and quiltin's. he had grove atter grove of pecan, chestnut, walnut, hickor'nut, scalybark, and chinquapin trees. when de nuts was all gathered, old marster sold 'em to de big men in de city. dat was why he was so rich. atter all dese things was gathered and tended to, he give his slaves a big feast and plenty to drink, and den he let 'em rest up a few days 'fore dey started back to hard wuk. "i never seed but one marriage on old marster's plantation, and i never will forgit dat day. miss polly had done gimme one of little miss mary's sho' 'nough pretty dresses and i wore it to dat weddin', only dey never had no real weddin'. dey was jus' married in de yard by de colored preacher and dat was all dere was to it. "ma used to tell us if us didn't be-have raw head and bloody bones would come git us and take us off. i tried to see him but i never did. grown folks was all time skeerin' chillun. then us went to bed at night, us used to see ghosties, what looked lak goats tryin' to butt us down. ma said i evermore used to holler out in my sleep 'bout dem things i was so skeered of. [hw sidenote: home remedies] "white folks was mighty good and kind when deir slaves got sick. old marster sont for dr. 'pree (dupree) and when he couldn't git him, he got dr. brown. he made us swallow bitter tastin' powders what he had done mixed up in water. miss polly made us drink tea made out of jerusalem oak weeds. she biled dem weeds and sweetened de tea wid syrup. dat was good for stomach trouble, and us wore elder roots strung 'round our necks to keep off ailments. "mercy me! i'se seed plenty of dem yankees a-gwine and comin'. dey come to our marster's house and stole his good mules. dey tuk what dey wanted of his meat, chickens, lard and syrup and den poured de rest of de syrup out on de ground. atter de war was over niggers got so rowdy dem ku kluxers come 'long to make 'em be-have deirselfs.' dem niggers and kluxers too jus' went hog wild. "what did niggers have to buy no land wid, when dey never had no money paid 'em for nothin' 'til atter dey was free? us jus' stayed on and wukked for old marster, 'cause dere warn't no need to leave and go to no other place. i was raised up for a field hand, and i ain't never wukked in no white folks house. "me i'se sho' glad mr. lincoln sot us free. iffen it was still slav'ry time now old as i is, i would have to wuk jus' de same, sick or no. now i don't have to ax nobody what i kin do. dat's why i'se glad i'se free. "now, 'bout my marriage; i was a-living in putnam county at dat time, and i got married up wid green willingham. he had come dar from jasper county. i didn't have no weddin'. ma jus' cooked a chicken for us, and i was married in a white dress. de waist had ruffles 'round de neck and sleeves. us had chilluns in all, seven boys and gals, dere was grandchillun and great grandchillun. dey ain't all of 'em livin', and my old man, he's done been daid a long time ago." henrietta again made her appearance and addressed her mother: "hush your mouth ma, for you knows you ain't got all dem chillun. i done told de lady you ain't got your right mind." frances retorted: "you shut up your mouth, henrietta. i is so got my right mind, and i knows how many chillun of mine dere was. one thing sho' you is got more mouth dan all de rest of my chillun put together." the interviewer closed her notebook and took her departure, leaving frances dozing in her chair. [hw: dist- - ex-slave # (mrs. stonestreet)] adeline willis--ex-slave [date stamp: may ] who is the oldest ex-slave in wilkes county? this question was answered the other day when the quest ended on the sunny porch of a little cottage on lexington road in washington-wilkes, for there in a straight old-fashioned split-bottom chair sat "aunt" adeline willis basking in the warm october sunshine. she is remarkable for her age--she doesn't know just exactly how old she is, from all she tells and what her "white folks" say she is around a hundred. her general health is good, she spends her days in the open and tires only on the days she cannot be out in her place in the sun. she has the brightest eyes, her sight is so good she has never had to wear glasses; she gets around in the house and yard on her cane. her memory is excellent, only a time or two did she slowly shake her head and say apologetically--"mistress, it's been so long er go, i reckon i done forgot". from her long association with white people she uses very little negro dialect and always refers to her mother as "mother", never as ma or mammy as most negroes do. this is very noticable. her mother was marina ragan, "cause she belonged to the ragans," explained aunt adeline, "and she was born on the ragan plantation right down on little river in greene county" (georgia). when marina's "young mistress" married young mr. mose wright of oglethorpe county, she took marina to her new home to be her own servant, and there is where adeline was born. the place was known as the wright plantation and was a very large one. adeline doesn't remember her father, and strange to say, she cannot recall how many brothers and sisters she had though she tried hard to name them all. she is sure, however, there were some older and some younger, "i reckon i must er come along about the middle", she said. after a little while aunt adeline was living far back in the past and talked freely--with questions now and then to encourage her reminiscences, she told many interesting things about her life as a slave. she told about the slaves living in the quarters--log houses all in a long row near the "white folks' house", and how happy they were. she couldn't remember how many slaves were on the plantation, but was sure there were many: "yas'm, my marster had lots of niggers, jest how many, i don't know, but there sho' was a sight of us". they were given their allowance of "rations" every week and cooked their own meals in their cabins. they had good, plain, home-raised things to eat--"and we was glad to get it too. we didn't have no fancy fixings, jest plain food". their clothes were made by negro sewing women out of cloth spun and woven right there in the quarters. all the little dresses were made alike. "when they took a notion to give us striped dresses we sho' was dressed up. i never will forget long as i live, a hickory stripe--(that's what they called stripes in them days)--dress they made me, it had brass buttons at the wrist bands. i was so proud of that dress and felt so dressed up in it i jest strutted er round with it on", and she chuckled over the recollection of that wonderful dress she wore so long ago. when asked what was the very first thing she remembered, aunt adeline gave a rather surprising answer: "the first thing i recollect is my love for my mother--i loved her so and would cry when i couldn't be with her, and as i growed up i kept on loving her jest that a-way even after i married and had children of my own." the first work she did was waiting in the house. before she could read her mistress taught her the letters on the newspapers and what they spelled so she could bring them the papers they wanted. her mother worked in the field: she drove steers and could do all kinds of farm work and was the best meat cutter on the plantation. she was a good spinner too, and was required to spin a broach of "wool spinning" every night. all the negro women had to spin, but aunt adeline said her mother was specially good in spinning wool and "that kind of spinning was powerful slow". thinking a moment, she added: "and my mother was one of the best dyers anywhere 'round, and i was too. i did make the most colors by mixing up all kinds of bark and leaves. i recollect the prettiest sort of a lilac color i made with maple bark and pine bark, not the outside pine bark, but that little thin skin that grows right down next to the tree--it was pretty, that color was." aunt adeline thinks they were more fortunate than any other little slaves she knew because their marster had a little store right there where he would give them candy every now and then--bright pretty sticks of candy. she remembers one time he gave them candy in little tin cups, and how proud of those cups they were. he never gave them money, but out of the store they could get what money bought so they were happy. but they had to have whippings, "yas'um, good er bad we got them whippings with a long cowhide kept jest fer that. they whipped us to make us grow better, i reckon". although they got whippings a-plenty they were never separated by sale. "no mam, my white folks never believed in selling their niggers", said aunt adeline, and related an incident proving this. "i recollect once my oldest brother done something marster didn't like an' he got mighty mad with him an' said 'gus, i'm goin' ter sell you, i ain't a-goin' to keep you no longer'. mistress spoke up right quick and said: 'no you ain't a-goin' to sell gus, neither, he's nussed and looked after all our oldest chillun, and he's goin' to stay right here'. and that was the last of that, gus was never sold--he went to war with his young marster when he went and died up there in the war cause he was homesick, so marster come back and said." aunt adeline was surprised when asked if the doctor ever was called in to see her or any of the slaves when they were sick back in slavery days--in fact she was a bit indignant as she answered; "_no mam_, i was born, growed up, married, had sixteen children and never had no doctor with me 'til here since i got so old". she went on to say that her white folks looked after their negroes when they were sick. they were given tonics and things to keep them well so sickness among them was rare. no "store-bought" medicines, but good old home-made remedies were used. for instance, at the first sniffle they were called in and given a drink of fat lightwood tea, made by pouring boiling water over finely split kindling--"that" explained aunt adeline, "was cause lightwood got turpentine in it". in the springtime there was a mixture of anvil dust (gathered up from around the anvil in the blacksmith's shop) and mixed with syrup, and a teaspoon full given every morning or so to each little piccaninny as they were called up in the "white folks' yard". sometimes instead of this mixture they were given a dose of garlic and whisky--all to keep them healthy and well. there was great rejoicing over the birth of a negro baby and the white folks were called upon to give the little black stranger a name. adeline doesn't remember anything about the holidays and how they were spent, not even christmas and thanksgiving, but one thing she does remember clearly and that is: "all my white folks was methodist folks, and they had fast days and no work was done while they was fastin' and prayin'. and we couldn't do no work on sunday, no mam, everybody had to rest on that day and on preachin' days everybody went to church, white and black to the same church, us niggers set up in the gallery that was built in the white folks' church for us". there wasn't any time for play because there was so much work to do on a big plantation, but they had good times together even if they did have so much to do. before adeline was grown her "young mistress," miss mary wright, married mr. william turner from wilkes county, so she came to the turner plantation to live, and lived there until several years after the war. adeline hadn't been in her new home long before lewis willis, a young negro from the adjoining plantation, started coming to see her. "lewis come to see me any time 'cause his marster, mr. willis, give him a pass so he wasn't scared to be out at night 'count of the patterollers. they didn't bother a nigger if he had a pass, they sho' did beat him." [hw: ?] when adeline was fourteen years old she and lewis married, or rather it was like this: "we didn't have no preacher when we married, my marster and mistess said they didn't care, and lewis's master and mistress said they didn't care, so they all met up at my white folks' house and had us come in and told us they didn't mind our marryin'. my marster said, 'now you and lewis wants to marry and there ain't no objections so go on and jump over the broom stick together and you is married'. that was all there was to it and we was married. i lived on with my white folks and he lived on with his and kept comin' to see me jest like he had done when he was a courtin'. he never brought me any presents 'cause he didn't have no money to buy them with, but he was good to me and that was what counted." superstition and signs still have a big place in the life of this woman even after a hundred long years. she has outlived or forgotten many she used to believe in, but still holds fast to those she remembers. if a rooster crows anywhere near your door somebody is coming "and you might as well look for 'em, 'cause that rooster done told you". when a person dies if there is a clock in the room it must be stopped the very minute of death or it will never be any more good--if left ticking it will be ruined. every dark cloudy day brings death--"somebody leaving this unfriendly world today". then she is sure when she "feels sadness" and doesn't know why, it a sign somebody is dying "way off somewhere and we don't know it". yes, she certainly believes in all the signs she remembers even "to this good day", as she says. when asked about the war aunt adeline said that times were much harder then: "why we didn't have no salt--jest plain salt, and couldn't get none them days. we had to get up the dirt in the smokehouse where the meat had dripped and 'run it' like lye, to get salt to put on things--yas'm, times was sho' hard and our marster was off in war all four years and we had to do the best we could. we niggers wouldn't know nothing about it all if it hadn't a been for a little old black, sassy woman in the quarters that was a talkin' all the time about 'freedom'. she give our white folks lots of trouble--she was so sassy to them, but they didn't sell her and she was set free along with us. when they all come home from the war and marster called us up and told us we was free, some rejoiced so they shouted, but some didn't, they was sorry. lewis come a runnin' over there an' wanted me and the chillun to go on over to his white folks' place with him, an' i wouldn't go--_no mam_, i wouldn't leave my white folks. i told lewis to go on and let me 'lone, i knowed my white folks and they was good to me, but i didn't know his white folks. so we kept living like we did in slavery, but he come to see me every day. after a few years he finally 'suaded me to go on over to the willis place and live with him, and his white folks was powerful good to me. after a while, tho' we all went back and lived with my white folks and i worked on for them as long as i was able to work and always felt like i belonged to 'em, and you know, after all this long time, i feel like i am their's." "why i live so long, you asking? 'cause i always been careful and took good care of myself, eat a plenty and stayed out in the good fresh open air and sunshine when i could--and then i had a good husband that took care of me." this last reason for her long life was added as an after thought and since lewis, her husband, has been dead these forty years maybe those first named causes were the real ones. be that as it may, aunt adeline is a very remarkable old woman and is most interesting to talk with. federal writers' projects augusta-athens supervisor: miss velma bell excerpts from slave interviews uncle willis [date stamp: apr ] [tr: also in combined interviews as willis bennefield.] "uncle willis" lived with his daughter, rena, who is years old. "i his baby," said rena. "all dead but me and i ain't no good for him now, 'cause i kain't tote nothin'." when asked where her father was, rena looked out over the blazing cotton field and called: "pap! oh--pappy! stop pickin' cotton and come in awhile. dey's some ladies wants to see you." uncle willis hobbled slowly to the cabin, which was set in the middle of the cotton patch. he wore clean blue overalls, obviously new. his small, regular features had high cheekbones. there was a tuft of white hair on his chin, and his head was covered with a "sundown" hat. "mawnin," he said. "i bin sick. so i thought i might git some cotton terday." willis thinks he is years old. he said: "i was years old when freedom declared." he belonged to a doctor in burke county, who, willis at first said, had three or four plantations. later he stated that the good doctor had five or six places, all in burke county. "i wuk in de fiel'," he went on: "and i drove de doctor thirty years. he owned slaves. i never went to school a day in my life, 'cept sunday school, but i tuk de doctor's sons four miles ev'y day to school. guess he had so much business in hand he thought de chillun could walk. i used to sit down on de school steps 'till dey turn out. i got way up de alphabet by listenin', but when i went to courtin' i forgot all dat." asked what his regular duties were, willis answered with pride: "marster had a ca'yage and a buggy too. my father driv' de doctor. sometimes i was fixin' to go to bed, and had to hitch up my horse and go five or six mile. i had a regular saddle horse, two pair of horses for ca'yage. doctor were a rich man. richest man in burke county. he made his money on his farm. when summertime come, i went wid him to bath, wheh he had a house on tena hill. we driv' down in de ca'yage. sundays we went to church when dr. goulding preach. de darkies went in de side do'. i hear him preach many times." asked about living conditions on the plantation, willis replied: "de big house was set in a half acre yard. 'bout fifty yards on one side was my house, and fifty yards on de yudder side was de house o' granny, a woman what tended de chillun and had charge o'de yard when we went to bath." willis gestured behind him. "back yonder was de quarters, half a mile long; dey wuz one room 'crost, and some had shed room. when any of 'em got sick, marster would go round to see 'em all." as to church, willis said: "i belongst to hopeful church. church people would have singin' and prayin' and de wicked people would have dancin' and singin'." willis chuckled. "at dat time i wuz a regular dancer! i cut de pigeon wing high enough! not many cullud peoples know de bible in slavery time. we had dances, and prayers, and sing, too. we sang a song, 'on jordan's stormy banks i stand, and cast a wishful eye.'" "how about marriages?" willis was asked. "colored preacher marry 'em. you had to get license and give it to de preacher and he marry 'em. when de men on our plantation had wives on udder plantations, dey call 'em broad wives." "did you give your wife presents when you were courting?" he was asked. "i went to courtin' and never give her nuthin' till i marry her." as to punishments, willis said that slaves were whipped as they needed it, and as a general rule the overseer did the whipping. "when derky wouldn't take whippin' from de overseer," he said, "he had to ca'y dem to de boss; and if we needed any brushin' de marster brush 'em. why, de darkies would whip de overseer!" willis was asked to describe how slaves earned money for personal use, and replied: "dey made dey own money. in slavery time, if you wanted four-five acre of land to plant you anything on, marster give it to you and whatever dat land make, it belong to you. you could take dat money and spend it any way you wanted. still he give you somethin' to eat and clothe you, but dat patch you mek cotton on, sometimes a whole bale, dat money yours." willis thought the plantation house was still there, "but it badly wounded," he said. "dey tell me dere ain't nobuddy living in it now. it south of waynesboro." "when de soldiers come thoo'," continued willis, "dey didn't burn dat place, but dey went in dere and took out ev'yting dey want and give it to de cullud people. dey kep' it till dey got free. de soldiers tuk de doctor's horses and ca'y 'em off. got in de crib and tek de corn. got in de smoke 'ouse and tek de meat out. old marssa bury his money and silver in an iron chist. dey tuk it yards away to a clump o' trees and bury it. it tuk fo' men to ca'y it. dere was money widout mention in dat chist! after de soldiers pass thoo' dey went down and got it back." "what did you do after freedom was declared?" willis straightened up. "i went down to augusta to de freedman's bureau to see if twas true we wuz free. i reckon dere was over a hundred people dere. de man got up and stated to de people: 'you all is jus' as free as i am. you ain't got no mistis and no marster. work when you want.' on sunday morning old marster sont de house gal and tell us to all come to de house. he said: 'what i want to send for you all is to tell you dat you are free. you hab de privilege to go anywheh you want, but i don't want none o' you to leave me now. i wants you-all to stay right wid me. if you stay, you mus' sign to it.' i asked him: 'what you want me to sign for? i is free.' 'dat will hold me to my word and hold you to yo' word,' he say. "all my folks sign it, but i wouldn't sign. marster call me up and say: 'willis, why wouldn't you sign?' i say: 'if i is already free, i don't need to sign no paper. if i was workin' for you and doin' for you befo' i got free, i kin do it still, if you wants me to stay wid you.' "my father and mother tried to git me to sign, but i wouldn't sign. my mother said: 'you oughter sign. how you know marster gwine pay?' i say: 'den i kin go somewheh else.' "marster pay first class hands $ . a month, other hands $ . , and den on down to five and six dollars. he give rations like dey always have. when christmus' come, all come up to be paid off. den he calls me. ask whar is me? i was standin' roun' de corner of de house. 'come up here, willis,' he say. 'you didn't sign dat paper but i reckon i hab to pay you too.' he paid me and my wife $ . . i said: 'well, you-all thought he wouldn't pay me, but i got my money too.' "i stayed to my marster's place one year after de war, den i lef' dere. nex' year i decided i would quit dere and go somewheh else. it was on account o' my wife. you see, marster bought her off, as de highes' bidder, down in waynesboro, and she ain't seen her mother and father for fifteen years. when she got free, she went down to see 'em. waren't willin' to come back. t'was on account o' mistis and her. dey bofe had chilluns, five-six year old. de chilluns had disagreement. mistis slap my gal. my wife sass de mistis. but my marster, he wuz as good a man as ever born. i wouldn't have lef' him for nobody, just on account of his wife and her fell out." "what did your master say when you told him you were going to leave? was he sorry?" "i quit and goes over three miles to another widow lady's house, and mek bargain wid her," said willis. "i pass right by de do'. old boss sittin' on de pi--za. he say: 'hey, boy, wheh you gwine?' i say: 'i 'cided to go.' i wuz de fo'man' o' de plow-han' den. i saw to all de looking up, and things like dat. he say: 'hold on dere.' he come out to de gate. 'tell you what i give you to stay on here. i give you five acre of as good land as i got, and $ . a month, to stay here and see to my bizness.'" willis paused a moment, thinking back on that long distant parting. "i say," he went on, "'i can't, marster. it don't suit my wife 'round here. she won't come back. i can't stay.' "he turn on me den, and busted out crying. 'i didn't tho't i could raise up a darky dat would talk dat-a-way,' he said. well, i went on off. i got de wagon and come by de house. marster say: 'now, you gwine off but don't forget me, boy. remember me as you always done.' i said: 'all right.'" willis chewed his tobacco reflectively for a few minutes, spat into the rosemary bush and resumed his story. "i went over to dat widow lady's house and work. along about may i got sick. she say: 'i going send for de doctor.' i say: 'please ma'am, don't do dat.' (i thought maybe he kill me 'cause i lef' him.) she say: 'well, i gwine send fo' him.' i in desprut condition. when i know anything, he walk up in de do'. i was laying' wid my face toward de do', and i turn over. "doctor come up to de bed. 'boy, how you gettin' on?' 'i bad off,' i say. he say: 'see you is. yeh.' lady say: 'doctor, whut you think of him?' doctor say: 'mistis, it mos' too late, but i do all i kin.' she say: 'please do all you kin, he 'bout de bes' han' i got.' "doctor fix up med'cine and tole her to give it to me. "she say: 'uncle will, tek dis med'cine. i 'fraid to tek it. 'fraid he wuz tryin' to kill me. den two men, john and charlie, come in. lady say: 'get dis med'cine in uncle will.' one o' de men hold my hand and dey gag me and put it in me. nex' few days i kin talk and ax for somethin' to eat so i git better. (i say: "well, he didn't kill me when i tuk de med'cine!') "i stayed dere wid her," continued willis. "nex' year i move right back in two miles, other side wheh i always live, wid anudder lady. i stay dere three year. got along all right. when i lef' from there, i lef' dere wid $ . and plenty corn and hog. everything i want, and three hundred cash dollars in my pocket!" it was plain that in his present status of relief ward, uncle willis looked back on that sum of money as a small fortune. he thought about it awhile, spat again, and went on: "fourth year i lef and went down to anudder place near de creek. i stay dere years in dat one place." "uncle willis, did you ever see the doctor again?" "he die 'fore i know it," he replied. "i was 'bout fifteen miles from him, and by de time i year o' his death, he bury on plantation near de creek." willis was asked about superstitions and answered with great seriousness: "eve'ybuddy in de worl' hab got a sperrit what follow 'em roun' and dey kin see diffrunt things. in my sleep i hab vision." "pappy, tell de ladies 'bout de hant," urged aunt rena from her post in the doorway, and willis took up the story with eagerness: "one night i was gwine to a lady's store, ridin' a horse. de graveyard was yards from de road i wuz passin'. de moon was shinin' bright as day. i saw somethin' comin' out of dat graveyard. it come across de road, right befo' me. his tail were draggin' on de ground--a long tail. he had hair on both sides of him, layin' down on de road. he crep' up. i pull de horse dis way. he move too. i yell out: 'what in de name o' god is dat?' and it turn right straight around and went back to de graveyard. i went on to de lady's house and done my shoppin'. i tell you i wuz skeered, 'cause i was sho' i would see it going back, but i never saw it. de horse was turrible skeered of it. it looked like a maryno sheep and it had a long, swishy tail." uncle willis was asked if he had ever seen a person "conjured" and he answered: "dey is people in de worl' got sense enough to kill out de conjur in anybuddy, but nobuddy ever conjur me. i year 'um say, if a person conjur you, you'll git somethin' in you dat would kill you." asked to what he attributed his long, healthy life, willis raised his head with a preaching look and replied: "i tell you, missis, 'zactly what i believe, i bin tryin' to serve god ever since i come to be a man of family. i bin tryin' to serve de lawd years, and i live by precept of de word. until today nobuddy can turn me away from god business. i am a man studying my gospel, i ain't able to go to church, but i still keep serving god." [tr: return visit] a week later uncle willis was found standing in his cabin door. "do you want to ride to the old plantation to-day?" he was asked. his vitality was almost too low for him to grasp the invitation. "i'se mighty weak to-day," he said in a feeble voice. "i don't feel good for much." "where is aunt rena?" he was asked. "do you think she would mind your taking an automobile trip?" "she gone to town on de bus, to see de fambly welfare." "have you had breakfast?" "i had some coffee, but i ain't eat none." "well, come on, uncle willis. we'll get you some breakfast and then we'll take you to the plantation and take your picture in the place where you were born, years ago." uncle willis appeared to be somewhat in a daze as he padlocked the cabin door, put on his "sundown" hat, took up his stout stick and tottered down the steps. he wore a frayed sweater with several layers of shirts showing at the cuffs. on the way he recalled the first railroad train that passed through burke county. "i kinder skeered," he recollected. "we wuz all 'mazed to see dat train flying' long 'thout any horses. de people wuz all afraid." "had you heard of airplanes before you saw one, uncle willis?" "yes, ma'am. i yeared o' dem but you couldn't gimme dis car full o' money to fly. dey's too high off de ground. i never is gwine in one!" uncle willis was deposited on the porch of one of the remaining slave cabins to eat his "breakkus," while his kidnapers sought over hill and field for "the big house," but only two cabins and the chimney foundations of a large burned dwelling rewarded the search. the old ex-slave was posed in front of the cabin, to one side of the clay and brick chimney, and took great pleasure in the ceremony, rearing his head up straight so that his white beard stuck out. the brutal reality of finding the glories of the plantation forever vanished must have been a severe blow for the old man. several times on the way back he wiped tears from his eyes. once again at his cabin in the cottonfield, his vitality reasserted itself, and he greeted his curious dusky neighbors with the proud statement. "dey tuk me when i was bred and born! i ain't ax no better time!" willis' farewell words were: "goo'bye! i hopes you all gits to paradise!" [hw: dist - ex-slave # ] ex-slave interview cornelia winfield, age richmond county ninth street augusta, georgia by: (mrs.) margaret johnson--editor federal writers' project augusta, georgia [date stamp: may ] cornelia winfield, ninth street, was born in crawford, oglethorpe county, georgia march , . her father, being the same age as her master, was given to him as a little boy. they grew up together, playing games, and becoming devoted to each other. when her master was married her father went to his home with him and became the overseer of all the slaves on the plantation. "my father and mother wuz house servants. my marster served my father's plate from his own table and sent it to him, every meal. he had charge of the work shop, and when marster was away he always stayed at the big house, to take care of my missis and the children. my mother was a seamstress and had three younger seamsters under her, that she taught to sew. we made the clothes for all the house servants and fiel' hans. my mother made some of the clothes for my marster and missis. my mother was a midwife too, and useter go to all the birthings on our place. she had a bag she always carried and when she went to other plantations she had a horse and buggy to go in. "all the slaves on our place wuz treated well. i never heard of any of 'em bein' whipped. i was ten years old when freedom come, and i always knowed i wuz to belong to one of marster's daughters. after freedom my father and mother worked on just the same for marster. when my father died, marster's fam'ly wanted him buried in the fam'ly lot but i wanted him to lie by my mother." cornelia's husband was a methodist preacher, and she lived with him to celebrate their golden wedding. during the last years of his life they lived in augusta. for sixteen years she washed all the blankets for the fire department, and did some of the washing for the firemen. cornelia is now years of age, but her memory is good and her mind active; and she is extremely loquacious. she is quite heavy, and crippled, having to use a crutch when she walks. her room was clean, but over-crowded with furniture, every piece of which has recently been painted. of the wardrobe in her room cornelia told the following story. "all the planks eny of our family was laid out on, my father kep'. when he came to augusta he brought all these planks and made this here wardrobe. when the fire burnt me out, this here wardrobe was the only thing in my house that was saved." during the past summer she put up quantities of preserves, pickles and canned fruits. these she sells in a little shop-room adjoining her house, and when the weather permits, on the steps of the post office. cornelia can read, and spends much of time reading the bible but she learned to read after "freedom." she is greatly interested to tell of the "best families" she has worked for and the gifts she has received from them. [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] e. driskell whitley - - george womble ex-slave [date stamp: may ] one of the relics of slavery is george womble. from all appearances mr. womble looks to be fifty-three years of age instead of the ripe old age of ninety-three that he claims. he is about five and one-half or six feet in height, weighs one-hundred and seventy-five pounds or more, and has good sight and hearing in addition to a skin that is almost devoid of any wrinkle. besides all of this he is a clear thinker and has a good sense of humor. following is an account of the experiences of mr. womble as a slave and of the conditions in general on the plantations where he lived: "i was born in the year of near the present site of what is now known as clinton, georgia. the names of my parents were patsy and raleigh ridley. i never saw my father as he was sold before i was old enough to recognize him as being my father. i was still quite young when my mother was sold to a plantation owner who lived in new orleans, la. as she was being put on the wagon to be taken away i heard her say: "let me see my poor child one more time because i know i'll never see him again". that was the last i ever saw or heard of her. as i had no brothers or sisters or any other relatives to care for me my master, who was mr. robert ridley, had me placed in his house where i was taught to wait tables and to do all kinds of house work. mr. ridley had a very large plantation and he raised cotton, corn, oats, wheat, peas, and live stock. horses and mules were his specialty--i remember that he had one little boy whose job was to break these animals so that they could be easily sold. my job was to wait tables, help with the house cleaning, and to act as nurse maid to three young children belonging to the master. at other times i drove the cows to and from the pasture and i often helped with the planting in the fields when the field hands were rushed. out of the forty-odd slaves that were held by the ridleys all worked in the field with the exception of myself and the cook whose name was harriet ridley." continuing, mr. womble says: "i believe that mr. ridley was one of the meanest men that ever lived. sometimes he whipped us, especially us boys, just to give himself a little fun. he would tie us in such a way as to cause our bodies to form an angle and then he preceeded to use the whip. when he had finished he would ask: "who do you belong to?" and we had to answer; "marse robert". at other times he would throw us in a large tank that held about two-thousand gallons of water. he then stood back and laughed while we struggled to keep from drowning." "when marse robert died i was still a small boy. several months after his death mrs. ridley gave the plantation up and took her share of the slaves (ten in number) of which i was one, and moved to tolbert county, georgia near the present location of talbottom, georgia. the other slaves and the plantation were turned over to marse robert's relatives. after a few months stay in this place i was sold to mrs. ridley's brother, enoch womble. on the day that i was sold three doctors examined me and i heard one of them say: "this is a thoroughbred boy. his teeth are good and he has good muscles and eyes. he'll live a long time." then mr. womble said: "he looks intelligent too. i think i'll take him and make a blacksmith out of him." and so to close the deal he paid his sister five-hundred dollars for me." according to mr. womble his new master was even meaner than the deceased mr. ridley. he was likewise a plantation owner and a farmer and as such he raised the same things that mr. ridley did with the exception of the horses and the mules. in all there were about five-hundred acres to the plantation. there were six children in the womble family in addition to mr. womble and his wife, and they all lived in a large one-storied frame house. a large hickory tree grew through the center of the porch where a hole had been cut out for its growth. mr. womble says that his reputation of being an excellent house boy had preceded him, and so here too he was put to work in the master's house where he helped with the cooking, washed the dishes, cleaned the house, and also acted as nurse for the younger white children. in addition to this, he was also required to attend to the cows. he remembers how on one night at a very late hour he was called by the master to go and drive the cows from the pasture as the sleet and snow might do them more harm than good. he was so cold that on the way back from the pasture he stopped at the pig pens where he pushed one or two of them out of the spots where they had lain so that he could squat there, and warm his feet in the places left warm by their bodies. to add to his discomfort the snow and sleet froze in his long hair and this made him even more miserable than ever. mr. womble was asked to tell what time he had to arise in the morning to be at his day's work, and he replied that sometimes he didn't even go to sleep as he had to keep one hand on the baby crib to keep it from crying. most of the time he got up at four o'clock in the morning, and went to the kitchen where he helped the cook prepare breakfast. after this was done, and he had finished waiting on the master and his family he started to clean the house. when he had finished this, he had to take care of the younger womble children, and do countless the other things to be done around a house. of the other slaves, mr. womble says: "none of them ever suffered from that disease known as "mattress fever". they all got up long before day, and prepared their breakfasts and then before it was light enough to see clearly they were standing in the field holding their hoes and other implements--afraid to start work for fear that they would cover the cotton plants with dirt because they could'nt see clearly due to the darkness." an overseer was hired by the master to see that the work was done properly. if any of the slaves were careless about their work they were made to take off their clothes in the field before all the rest and then a sound whipping was administered. field hands also get whippings when they failed to pick the required three-hundred pounds of cotton daily. to avoid a whipping for this they sprinkled the white sand of the fields on the dew soaked cotton and at the time it was weighed they were credited with more pounds than they had actually picked. around ten or eleven o'clock in the morning they were all allowed to go to the cook house where they were given dinner by the plantation cook. by one o'clock they were all back in the field where they remained until it was too dark to see clearly, and then they were dismissed by the overseer after he had checked the number of pounds of cotton that they had picked. the slaves knew that whenever mr. womble hired a new overseer he always told the prospect that if he could'nt handle the slaves his services would not be needed. the cook had heard the master tell a prospective overseer this and so whenever a new one was hired the slaves were quick to see how far they could go with him. mr. womble says that an overseer had to be a very capable man in order to keep his job as overseer on the womble plantation because if the slaves found out that he was afraid of them fighting him (and they did sometimes) they took advantage of him so much so that the production dropped and the overseer either found himself trying to explain to his employer or else looking for another job. the master would never punish a slave for beating an overseer with his fists stated mr. womble. during rainy weather the slaves shucked corn, piled manure in the barns, and made cloth. in the winter season the men split rails, built fences, and dug ditches, while the women did the weaving and the making of cloth. these slaves who were too old to work in the fields remained at home where they nursed the sick slaves (when there was sickness) and attended to the needs of those children who were too young for field work. those children who were still being fed from their mother's breasts were also under the care of one of these old persons. however, in this case the mothers were permitted to leave the field twice a day (once between breakfast and dinner and once between dinner and supper) so that these children could be fed. at times mr. womble hired some of his slaves out to work by the day for some of the other nearby plantation owners. mr. geo. womble says that he was often hired out to the other white ladies of the community to take care of their children and to do their housework. because of his ability to clean a house and to handle children he was in constant demand. the men worked every day in the week while the women were given saturday afternoon off so that they might do their personal work such as the washing and the repairing of their clothing etc. the women were required to do the washing and the repairing of the single men's clothing in addition to their own. no night work was required of any of them except during the winter when they were given three cuts of thread to card, reel, and spin each night. there were some days when the master called them all to his back yard and told them that they could have a frolic. while they danced and sang the master and his family sat and looked on. on days like the fourth of july and christmas in addition to the frolic barbecue was served and says mr. womble: "it was right funny to see all of them dancing around the yard with a piece of meat in one hand and a piece of bread in the other. mr. womble stated further that clothes were given to all the slaves once a year. an issue for the men usually consisted of one or two pairs of pants and some shirts, underwear, woolen socks, and a pair of heavy brogans that had been made of horse hide. these shoes were reddish in appearance and were as stiff as board according to mr. womble. for special wear the men were given a garment that was made into one piece by sewing the pants and shirt together. this was known as a "roundabout". the women were given one or two dresses that had been made of the same material as that of the men's pants. as the cloth that these clothes were made of was very coarse and heavy most of them lasted until the time for the next issue. none of the clothing that the slaves wore was bought. after the cloth had been made by the slaves who did all the spinning and the weaving the master's wife cut the clothes out while the slave women did the sewing. one of the men was a cobbler and it was he who made all of the shoes for slave use. in the summer months the field hands worked in their bare feet regardless of whether they had shoes or not. mr. womble says that he was fifteen years of age when he was given his first pair of shoes. they were a pair of red boots and were so stiff that he needed help to get them on his feet as well as to get them off. once when the master had suffered some few financial losses the slaves had to wear clothes that were made of crocus material. the children wore sacks after holes had been cut out for their heads and arms. this garment looked like a slightly lengthened shirt in appearance. a dye made from red clay was used to give color to these clothes. the bed clothing consisted of bagging sacks and quilts that were made out of old clothes. at the end of the week all the field hands met in the master's backyard where they were given a certain amount of food which was supposedly enough to last for a week. such an issue was made up of three pounds of fat meat, one peck of meal, and one quart of black molasses. mr. womble was asked what the slaves did if their allowance of food ran out before the end of the week, and he replied in the following manner: "if their food gave out before the time for another issue they waited until night and then one or two of them would go to the mill-house where the flour and the meal was kept. after they had succeeded in getting in they would take an auger and bore a hole in the barrel containing the meal. one held the sack while the other took a stick and worked it around in the opening made by the auger so as to make the meal flow freely. after their bags were filled the hole was stopped up, and a hasty departure was made. sometimes when they wanted meat they either went to the smoke house and stole a ham or else they would go to the pen where the pigs were kept and take a small pig out. when they got to the woods with this animal they proceeded to skin and clean it (it had already been killed with a blow in the head before they left the pen). all the parts that they did not want were either buried or thrown in the nearby river. after going home all of this meat was cooked and hidden. as there was danger in being caught none of this stolen meat was ever fried because there was more danger of the odor of frying meat going farther away than that odor made by meat being boiled." at this point mr. womble stated that the slaves were taught to steal by their masters. sometimes they were sent to the nearby plantations to steal chickens, pigs, and other things that could be carried away easily. at such times the master would tell them that he was not going to mistreat them and that he was not going to allow anyone else to mistreat them and that by taking the above mentioned things they were helping him to be more able to take care of them. at breakfast the field hands ate fried meat, corn bread, and molasses. when they went to the house for dinner they were given some kind of vegetable along with pot liquor and milk. when the days work was done and it was time for the evening meal there was the fried meat again with the molasses and the corn bread. mr. womble says that they ate this kind of food every day in the week. the only variation was on sunday when they were given the seconds of the flour and a little more molasses so that they might make a cake. no other sweetening was used except the molasses. as for mr. womble and the cook they fared better as they ate the same kind of food that the master and his family did. he remembers how he used to take biscuits from the dishes that were being sent to the masters table. he was the waiter and this was an easy matter. later he took some of these biscuits and sold them to the other little boys for a nickle each. neither the master or the slaves had real coffee. they all drank a type of this beverage that had been made by parching bran or meal and then boiled in water. the younger children were fed from a trough that was twenty feet in length. at meal time each day the master would come out and supervise the cook whose duty it was to fill the trough with food. for breakfast the milk and bread was all mixed together in the trough by the master who used his walking cane to stir it with. at dinner and supper the children were fed pot liquor and bread and sometimes milk that had been mixed together in the same manner. all stood back until the master had finished stirring the food and then at a given signal they dashed to the trough where they began eating with their hands. some even put their mouths in the trough and ate. there were times when the master's dogs and some of the pigs that ran round the yard all came to the trough to share these meals. mr. womble states that they were not permitted to strike any of these animals so as to drive them away and so they protected their faces from the tongues of the intruders by placing their hands on the sides of their faces as they ate. during the meal the master walked from one end of the trough to the other to see that all was as it should be. before mr. womble started to work in the master's house he ate as the other children for a short time. some of the times he did not have enough food to eat and so when the time came to feed the cows he took a part of their food (a mixture of cotton seed, collard stalks, and small ears of corn) and ate it when night came. when he started working in the house regularly he always had sufficient food from then on. all the food that was eaten was grown on the plantation in the master's gardens. he did not permit the slaves to have a garden of their own neither could they raise their own chickens and so the only time that they got the chance to enjoy the eating of chicken was when they decided to make a special trip to the master's poultry yard. the housing facilities varied with the work a slave was engaged in on the womble plantation according to mr. womble. he slept in the house under the dining-room table all of the time. the cook also slept in the house of her owner. for those who worked on the fields log cabins (some distance behind the master's house.) were provide [sic]. asked to describe one of these cabins mr. womble replied: "they were two roomed buildings made out of logs and daubed with mud to keep the weather out. at one end there was a chimney that was made out of dried mud, sticks and stones. the fireplace was about five or six feet in length and on the inside of it there were some hooks to hang the pots from when there was cooking to be done. "there was only one door and this was the front one. they would'nt put a back door in a cabin because it would be easy for a slave to slip out of the back way if the master or the overseer came to punish an occupant. there were one or two small openings cut in the back so that they could get air." "the furniture was made by the blacksmith", continued mr. womble. "in one corner of the room there was a large bed that had been made out of heavy wood. rope that ran from side to side served as the springs while the mattress was a large bag that had been stuffed with wheat straw. the only other furnishings were a few cooking utensils and one or two benches." as many as four families lived in one of these cabins although the usual number to a cabin was three families. there was one other house where the young children were kept while their parents worked in the fields. most of the sickness on the womble plantation was due to colds and fever. for the treatment of either of these ailments the master always kept a large can filled with a mixture of turpentine and caster oil. when anyone complained of a cold a dose of this oil was prescribed. the master gave this dose from a very large spoon that always hung from the can. the slaves also had their own home made remedies for the treatment of different ailments. yellow root tea and black-hall tea were used in the treatment of colds while willow tea was used in the treatment of fever. another tea made from the droppings of sheep was used as a remedy for the measles. a doctor was always called when anyone was seriously ill. he was always called to attend those cases of childbirth. unless a slave was too sick to walk he was required to go to the field and work like the others. if, however, he was confined to his bed a nurse was provided to attend to his needs. on sundays all of the slaves were allowed to attend the white church where they listened to the services from the rear of the church. when the white minister was almost through he would walk back to where the slaves sat and tell them not to steal their master's chickens, eggs, or his hogs and their backs would not be whipped with many stripes. after this they were dismissed and they all left the church wondering what the preacher's sermon meant. some nights they went to the woods and conducted their own services. at a certain spot they all knelt and turned their faces toward the ground and then they began moaning and praying. mr. womble says that by huddling in this circle and turning their voices toward the ground the sound would not travel very far. none of them ever had the chance to learn how to read and write. some times the young boys who carried the master's children's books to and from school would ask these children to teach them to write but as they were afraid of what their father might do they always refused. on the adjoining plantation the owner caught his son teaching a little slave boy to write. he was furious and after giving his son a severe beating he then cut the thumb and forefinger off of the slave. the only things that were taught the slaves was the use of their hands. mr. womble says that all the while that he was working in the master's house they still found the time for him to learn to be a blacksmith. when a male slave reached the age of twenty-one he was allowed to court. the same was true of a girl that had reached the age of eighteen. if a couple wished to marry they had to get permission from the master who asked each in turn if they wished to be joined as man and wife and if both answered that they did they were taken into the master's house where the ceremony was performed. mr. womble says that he has actually seen one of these weddings and that it was conducted in the following manner: "a broom was placed in the center of the floor and the couple was told to hold hands. after joining hands they were commanded to jump over the broom and then to turn around and jump back. "after this they were pronounced man and wife." a man who was small in stature was never allowed to marry a large, robust woman. sometimes when the male slaves on one plantation were large and healthy looking and the women slaves on some nearby plantation looked like they might be good breeders the two owners agreed to allow the men belonging to the one visit the women belonging to the other, in fact they encouraged this sort of thing in hopes that they would marry and produce big healthy children. in such cases passes were given freely. all of the newly born babies were named by the master. "the only baptisms that any of us get was with a stick over the head and then we baptised our cheeks with our tears," stated mr. wombly. continuing, mr. wombly stated that the slaves on the womble plantation were treated more like animals rather than like humans. on one or two occasions some of them were sold. at such a time those to be sold were put in a large pen and then they were examined by the doctors and prospective buyers and later sold to the highest bidder the same as a horse or a mule. they were sold for various reasons says mr. womble. his mother was sold because she was too hard to rule and because she made it difficult to discipline the other slaves. mr. womble further reported that most of his fellow slaves believed in signs. they believed that if a screech owl or a "hoot" owl came near a house and made noises at night somebody was going to die and instead of going to heaven the devil would get them. "on the night that old marse ridley died the screech owls like to have taken the house away," he says. there was always a great amount of whipping on this plantation. this was practically the only form of punishment used. most of them were whipped for being disobedient or for being unruly. mr. womble has heard his master say that he would not have a slave that he could not rule and to be sure that the slaves held him and his family in awe he even went so far as to make all of them go and pay their respects to the newly born white children on the day after their birth. at such a time they were required to get in line outside of the door and then one by one they went through the room and bowed their heads as they passed the bed and uttered the following words: "young marster" or if the baby was a girl they said: "young mistress". on one occasion mr. womble says that he has seen his master and a group of other white men beat an unruly slave until his back was raw and then a red hot iron bar was applied to his back. even this did not make the slave submissive because he ran away immediately afterwards. after this inhuman treatment any number of the slaves ran away, especially on the ridley plantation. some were caught and some were not. one of the slaves on the womble plantation took his wife and ran away. he and his wife lived in a cave that they found in the woods and there they raised a family. when freedom was declared and these children saw the light of day for the first time they almost went blind stated mr. womble. mr. womble says that he himself has been whipped to such an extent by his master, who used a walking cane, that he had no feeling in his legs. one other time he was sent off by the master and instead of returning immediately he stopped to eat some persimmons. the master came upon him at the tree and started beating him on the head with a wagon spoke. by the time he reached the house his head was covered with knots the size of hen eggs and blood was flowing from each of them. the slaves on the womble plantation seldom if ever came in contact with the "paddle-rollers" who punished those slaves who had the misfortune to be caught off of their plantations without passes. in those days the jails were built for the white folks because the masters always punished the slaves when they broke any of the laws exclaimed mr. womble. several years before the war mr. wombly was sold to mr. jim wombly, the son of mr. enoch wombly. he was as mean as his father or meaner, mr. wombly says that the first thing that he remembers in regard to the war was to hear his master say that he was going to join the army and bring abe lincoln's head back for a soap dish. he also said that he would wade in blood up to his neck to keep the slaves from being freed. the slaves would go to the woods at night where they sang and prayed. some used to say; "i knew that some day we'll be free and if we die before that time our children will live to see it." when the yankees marched through they took all of the silver and gold that had been hidden in the wall on the womble plantation. they also took all of the live stock on the plantation, most of which had been hidden in the swamps. these soldiers then went into the house and tore the beds up and poured syrup in the mattresses. at the time all of the white people who lived on the plantation were hiding in the woods. after the soldiers had departed (taking these slaves along who wished to follow) mrs. womble went back into the house and continued to make the clothes and the bandages that were to be used by the confederate soldiers. after the slaves were set free any number of them were bound over and kept, says mr. womble. he himself was to remain with the womble family until he reached the age of twenty-one. when this time came mr. womble refused to let him go. however, mrs. womble helped him to escape but he was soon caught one night at the home of an elderly white lady who had befriended him. a rope was tied around his neck and he was made to run the entire way back to the plantation while the others rode on horse back. after a few more months of cruel treatment he ran away again. this time he was successful in his escape and after he had gone what he considered a safe distance he set up a blacksmith shop where he made a living for quite a few years. later one of the white men in that community hired him to work in his store. after a number of years at this place he decided to come to atlanta where he has been since. mr. womble concluded by saying that he has been able to reach his present age because he has never done any smoking or drinking. an old lady once told him not to use soap on his face and he would not wrinkle. he accounts for his smooth skin in this manner. [hw: dist. ex. slave # e. driskell] slavery as seen through the eyes of henry wright--ex-slave, age in atlanta among that ever decreasing group of persons known as ex-slaves there is an old negro man named henry wright. although mr. wright is years of age his appearance is that of a much younger man. he is about feet in height; his dark skin is almost free of wrinkles and his head is thickly covered with gray hair. his speech and thought indicate that he is very intelligent and there is no doubt that he still possesses a clear and active mind. as he noisily puffed on a battered old pipe he related the following tale of his experiences in slavery and of conditions in general as he saw them at that time. mr. wright was born on the plantation of mr. phil house. this plantation was located near the present site of buckhead, ga. his parents were henry wright and margaret house. in those days it was customary for slaves to carry the name of their owners. his father was owned by mr. spencer wright and his mother was owned by mr. phil house. both of these slave owners lived in the same district. his grandparents, kittie and anite house also belonged to mr. phil house and it was they who told him how they had been sold like cattle while in virginia to a speculator (slave dealer) and brought to decatur, ga. where they were sold to mr. house. mr. wright lived with his mother on the house plantation for several years then he was given to mr. george house, the brother of phil house, as a wedding present. however, he saw his parents often as they were all allowed "passes" so that they might visit one another. according to mr. wright, his master was a very rich man and a very intelligent one. his plantation consisted of about three or four hundred acres of land on which he raised cotton, cane, corn, vegetables and live stock. although he was not very mean to his slaves or "servants" as he called them, neither did his kindness reach the gushing or overflowing stage. on this plantation there were a large number of slaves, some of whom worked in "old marster's" (as mr. house was called) house and some of whom worked in the fields. as a youngster mr. wright had to pick up chips around the yard, make fires and keep the house supplied with water which he got from the well. when he was ten years of age he was sent to the field as a plow-boy. he remembers that his mother and father also worked in the fields. in relating his experience as a field hand mr. wright says that he and his fellow slaves were roused each morning about o'clock by the blowing of a horn. this horn was usually blown by the white overseer or by the negro foreman who was known among the slaves as the "nigger driver." at the sounding of the horn they had to get up and feed the stock. shortly after the horn was blown a bell was rung and at this signal they all started for the fields to begin work for the day. they were in the field long before the sun was up. their working hours were described as being from "sun to sun." when the time came to pick the cotton each slave was required to pick at least lbs. of cotton per day. for this purpose each was given a bag and a large basket. the bag was hung around the neck and the basket was placed at the end of the row. at the close of the day the overseer met all hands at the scales with the lamp, the slate and the whip. if any slave failed to pick the required lbs. he was soundly whipped by the overseer. sometimes they were able to escape this whipping by giving illness as an excuse. another form of strategy adopted by the slaves was to dampen the cotton or conceal stones in the baskets, either of which would make the cotton weigh more. sometimes after leaving the fields at dark they had to work at night--shucking corn, ginning cotton or weaving. everyday except sunday was considered a work day. the only form of work on sunday was the feeding of the live stock, etc. when mr. wright was asked about the treatment that was given the house slaves in comparison to that given the field slaves, he replied with a broad grin that "old marster" treated them much the same as he would a horse and a mule. that is, the horse was given the kind of treatment that would make him show off in appearance, while the mule was given only enough care to keep him well and fit for work. "you see," continued mr. wright, "in those days a plantation owner was partially judged by the appearance of his house servants." and so in addition to receiving the discarded clothes of "old marster" and his wife, better clothing was bought for the house slaves. the working hours of the house slave and the field slave were practically the same. in some cases the house slaves had to work at night due to the fact that the master was entertaining his friends or he was invited out and so someone had to remain up to attend to all the necessary details. on the plantation of mr. house the house slaves thought themselves better than the field slaves because of the fact that they received better treatment. on the other hand those slaves who worked in the fields said that they would rather work in the fields than work in the house because they had a chance to earn spending money in their spare or leisure time. house servants had no such opportunity. in bad weather they were not required to go to the fields--instead they cut hedges or did other small jobs around the house. the master did not want them to work in bad weather because there was too much danger of illness which meant a loss of time and money in the end. mr. house wanted his slaves to learn a trade such as masonry or carpentry, etc., not because it would benefit the slave, says mr. wright, but because it would make the slave sell for more in case he had "to get shet (rid) of him." the slaves who were allowed to work with these white mechanics, from whom they eventually learned the trade, were eager because they would be permitted to hire themselves out. the money they earned could be used to help buy their freedom, that is, what money remained after the master had taken his share. on the other hand the white mechanic had no particular objection to the slaves being there to help him, even though they were learning the trade, because he was able to place all the hard work on the slave which made his job easier. mr. wright remembers how his grandfather used to hire his time out doing carpentry work, making caskets and doing some masonry. he himself can plaster, although he never hired out during slavery. clothing was issued once per year usually around september. an issue consisted mostly of the following: pair of heavy shoes called "negro brogans." several homespun shirts, woolen socks and two or three pairs of jeans pants. the women were either given dresses and underskirts that were already made or just the plain cloth to make these garments from. some of their clothing was bought and some was made on the plantation. the wool socks were knitted on the plantation along with the homespun which was woven there. the homespun was dyed by placing it in a boiling mixture of green walnut leaves or walnut hulls. in the event that plaid material was to be made the threads were dyed the desired color before being woven. another kind of dye was made from the use of a type of red or blue berry, or by boiling red dirt in water (probably madder). the house slaves wore calico dresses or sometimes dresses made from woolen material. often this clothing was insufficient to meet the individual needs. with a broad smile and an almost imperceptible shake of his old gray head mr. wright told how he had worked in the field without shoes when it was so cold until the skin cracked and the blood flowed from these wounds. he also told how he used to save his shoes by placing them under his arm and walking barefooted when he had a long distance to go. in order to polish these shoes a mixture of soot and syrup was used. the young slave children wore a one-piece garment with holes cut for the head and arms to go through. in appearance it resembled a slightly long shirt. as mr. house did not give blankets, the slaves were required to make the necessary cover by piecing together left over goods. after this process was completed, it was padded with cotton and then dyed in much the same way as homespun. after the dyeing was completed the slave was the owner of a new quilt. the food that the slaves ate [**tr: was] all raised on the plantation. at the end of each week each slave was given lbs. of meat (usually pork), peck of meal and some syrup. breakfast and dinner usually consisted of fried meat, corn bread and syrup. vegetables were usually given at dinner time. sometimes milk was given at supper. it was necessary to send the meals to the field slaves as they were usually too far away from the house to make the trip themselves. for this purpose there was a woman who did all the cooking for the field hands in a cook house located among the slave cabins. mr. house permitted his slaves to have a garden and chickens of their own. in fact, he gave each of them land, a small plot of ground for this purpose. the benefit of this was twofold as far as the slave was concerned. in the first place he could vary his diet. in the second place he was able to earn money by selling his produce either in town or to "old marster." sometimes old marster took the produce to town and sold it for them. when he returned from town the money for the sale of this produce was given to the slave. mr. wright says that he and all the other slaves felt that they were being cheated when the master sold their goods. mr. house also permitted his slaves to hunt and fish both of which were done at night for the most part. coffee was made by parching meal and then placing it in boiling water. to sweeten this coffee, syrup was used. one delicacy that he and the other slaves used to have on sunday was biscuit bread which they called "cake bread." all children who were too young to work in the field were cared for by some old slave woman who was too old to go to the field. she did all of their cooking, etc. the diet of these children usually consisted of pot liquor, milk, vegetables and in rare cases, meat. mr. wright laughed here as he stated that these children were given long handled spoons and were seated on a long bench before a trough out of which they all ate like little pigs. not a slave ever suffered the pangs of hunger on the plantation of mr. george house. the houses or cabins of the slaves were located a short distance in the rear of "old marster's" house. these houses were usually made from logs--the chinks being closed with mud. in some cases boards were used on the inside of the cabin to keep the weather out, but according to mr. wright, mud was always the more effective. the floor was usually covered with boards and there were two or three windows to each cabin, shutters being used in place of glass. the chimney and fireplace were made of mud, sticks and stones. all cooking was done on the fireplace in iron utensils, which mr. wright declares were a lot better than those used today. for boiling, the pots hung from a long hook directly above the fire. such furniture as each cabin contained was all made by the slaves. this furniture usually consisted of a wooden bench, instead of a chair, and a crude bed made from heavy wood. slats were used in the place of springs. the mattress was made stuffing a large bag with wheat straw. "this slept as good as any feather bed" says mr. wright. candles were used to furnish light at night. on this plantation each family did not have an individual cabin. sometimes as many as three families shared a cabin, which of course was rather a large one. in this case it was partitioned off by the use of curtains. besides having to take care of the young children, these older slaves were required to care for those slaves who were ill. mr. house employed a doctor to attend his slaves when their cases seemed to warrant it. if the illness was of a minor nature he gave them castor oil, salts or pills himself. then, too, the slaves had their own home remedies. among these were different tonics made from "yarbs" (herbs), plasters made from mustard, and whisky, etc. most illnesses were caused by colds and fevers. mr. wright says that his two brothers and his sister, all of whom were younger than he, died as a result of typhoid fever. even with all the hardships that the slaves had to suffer they still had time to have fun and to enjoy themselves, mr. wright continued. at various times mr. house permitted them to have a frolic. these frolics usually took place on such holidays as th of july, christmas or "laying-by time", after the cultivating of the crops was finished and before gathering time. during the day the master provided a big barbecue and at night the singing and dancing started. music was furnished by slaves who were able to play the banjo or the fiddle. the slaves usually bought these instruments themselves and in some cases the master bought them. "in my case," declared mr. wright, "i made a fiddle out of a large sized gourd--a long wooden handle was used as a neck, and the hair from a horse's tail was used for the bow. the strings were made of cat-gut. after i learned to play this i bought a better violin." sometimes the slaves slipped away to the woods to indulge in a frolic. as a means of protection they tied ropes across the paths where they would be less likely to be seen. these ropes were placed at such a height as to knock a man from his horse if he came riding up at a great speed. in this way the master or the overseer was stopped temporarily, thereby giving the slaves time to scamper to safety. in addition to the presents given at christmas (candy and clothing) the master also gave each family half a gallon of whisky. this made the parties more lively. one of the songs that the slaves on the house plantation used to sing at their parties runs as follows: "oh, i wouldn't have a poor girl, (another version says, "old maid") and i'll tell you the reason why, her neck's so long and stringy, i'm afraid she'd never die." on sundays mr. house required all of his slaves to attend church. all attended a white church where they sat in the back or in the balcony. after preaching to the white audience, the white pastor turned his attention to the slaves. his sermon usually ran: "obey your master and your mistress and the lord will love you." sometimes a colored preacher was allowed to preach from the same rostrum after the white pastor had finished. his sermon was along similar lines because that is what he had been instructed to say. none of the slaves believed in the sermons but they pretended to do so. marriages were usually performed by the colored preacher although in most cases it was only necessary for the man to approach "old marster" and tell him that he wanted a certain woman for his wife. "old marster" then called the woman in question and if she agreed they were pronounced man and wife. if the woman was a prolific breeder and if the man was a strong, healthy-looking individual she was forced to take him as a husband whether she wanted to or not. when mr. wright was asked if he had ever been arrested and placed in jail for any offense while he was a slave he replied that in those days few laws, if any, applied to slaves. he knows that it was against the law for anyone to teach a slave to write because on one occasion his father who had learned to do this with the help of his master's son was told by the master to keep it to himself, because if the men of the community found out that he could write they would cut his fingers or his hand off. horse stealing or house burning was another serious crime. on the house plantation was a mulato slave who was to have been given his freedom when he reached the age of . when this time came mr. house refused to free him and so an attempt was made to burn the house mansion. mr. wright remembers seeing the sheriff come from town and take this slave. later they heard on the plantation that said slave had been hanged. for the most part punishment consisted of severe whipping sometimes administered by the slaves' master and sometimes by the white men of the community known as the patrol. to the slaves this patrol was known as the "paddle" or "paddie-rollers." mr. wright says that he has been whipped numerous times by his master for running away. when he was caught after an attempted escape he was placed on the ground where he was "spread-eagled," that is, his arms and feet were stretched out and tied to stakes driven in the ground. after a severe beating, brine water or turpentine was poured over the wounds. this kept the flies away, he says. mr. house did not like to whip his slaves as a scarred slave brought very little money when placed on the auction block. a slave who had a scarred back was considered as being unruly. whenever a slave attempted to escape the hounds were put on his trail. mr. wright was caught and treed by hounds several times. he later found a way to elude them. this was done by rubbing his feet in the refuse material of the barnyard or the pasture, then he covered his legs with pine tar. on one occasion he managed to stay away from the plantation for months before he returned of his own accord. he ran away after striking his master who had attempted to whip him. when he returned of his own accord his master did nothing to him because he was glad that he was not forever lost in which case a large sum of money would have been lost. mr. wright says that slave owners advertised in the newspapers for lost slaves, giving their description, etc. if a slave was found after his master had stopped his advertisements he was placed on the block and sold as a "stray." while a fugitive he slept in the woods, eating wild berries, etc. sometimes he slipped to the plantation of his mother or that of his father where he was able to secure food. he took a deep puff on his pipe and a look of satisfaction crossed his face as he told how he had escaped from the "paddle rollers." it was the "paddle-rollers" duty to patrol the roads and the streets and to see that no slave was out unless he had a "pass" from his master. further, he was not supposed to be any great distance away from the place he had been permitted to go. if a slave was caught visiting without a "pass" or if at any time he was off his plantation without said "pass" and had the misfortune to be caught by the "paddle-rollers" he was given a sound whipping and returned to his master. when the civil war began all the slaves on the house plantation grew hopeful and glad of the prospect of being set free. mr. house was heard by some of the slaves to say that he hoped to be dead the day negroes were set free. although the slaves prayed for their freedom they were afraid to even sing any type of spiritual for fear of being punished. when the yankee troops came through near the house plantation they asked the slaves if their master was mean to them. as the answer was "no" the soldiers marched on after taking all the livestock that they could find. at the adjoining plantation where the master was mean, all property was burned. mr. house was not present for when he heard of the approach of sherman he took his family, a few valuables and some slaves and fled to augusta. he later joined the army but was not wounded. however, his brother, phil house, lost a leg while in action. mr. wrights says that he witnessed one battle which was fought just a few miles beyond his plantation near nancy's creek. although he did not officially join the yankee army he cooked for them while they were camped in his vicinity. when freedom was declared he says that he was a very happy man. freedom to him did not mean that he could quit work but that he could work for himself as he saw fit to. after he was freed he continued working for his master who was considerably poorer than he had ever been before. after the war things were in such a state that even common table salt was not available. he remembers going to the smokehouse and taking the dirt from the floor which he later boiled. after the boiling process of this water which was now salty was used as a result of the dripping from the meats which had been hung there to be smoked in the "good old days." after seven years of share-cropping with his former master mr. wright decided to come to atlanta where he has been since. he attributes his ripe old age to sane and careful living. in any case he says that he would rather be free than be a slave but--and as he paused he shook his head sadly--"in those days a man did not have to worry about anything to eat as there was always a plenty. it's a lot different now." [hw: dist. ex-slave # v. ] "mammy dink" [hw: dink walton young], age place of birth: on the walton plantation, near old baughville, talbot county, georgia date of birth: about present residence: fifth avenue, between th and th streets, columbus, georgia interviewed: august , dink walton young, better known as "mammy dink", is one of the oldest ex-slaves living in muscogee county. she was born the chattel of major jack walton, the largest ante-bellum planter and slave-holder of talbot county, a man who owned several hundred negroes and ten thousand or more acres of land. as a child, "mammy dink" was "brung up" with the walton white children, often joining and playing with them in such games as "mollie bright", "william trembletoe", and "picking up sticks". the boys, white and black, and slightly older than she, played "fox" and "paddle-the-cat" together. in fact, until the white boys and girls were ten or twelve years of age, their little negro playmates, satellites, bodyguards, "gangs", and servants, usually addressed them rather familiarly by their first names, or replied to their nicknames that amounted to titles of endearment. thus, miss susie walton--the later mrs. robert carter--was "susie sweet" to a host of little negro girls of her age. later on, of course, this form of familiarity between slave child and white child definitely ceased; but for all time there existed a strong bond of close friendship, mutual understanding, and spirit of comradeship between the whites and blacks of every plantation. as an example, pat walton, aged , colored and slave, "allowed" to his young master in : "marse rosalius, youse gwine to de war, ain't yer?" and without waiting for an answer, continued: "so is pat. you knows you ain't got no bizness in no army 'thout a nigger to wait on yer an keep yer outa devilment, marse rosalius. now, doen gin me no argyment, marse rosalius, case ise gwine 'long wid yer, and dat settles it, sah, it do, whether you laks it or you don't lak it." parenthetically, it might be here inserted that this speech of pat's to his young master was typical of a "style" that many slaves adopted in "dictating" to their white folks, and many southern negroes still employ an inoffensive, similar style to "dominate" their white friends. according to "mammy dink", and otherwise verified, every time a negro baby was born on one of his plantations, major dalton gave the mother a calico dress and a "bright, shiny", silver dollar. all walton slaves were well fed and clothed and, for a "drove" of about fifty or sixty little "back-yard" piccaninnies, the waltons assumed all responsibility, except at night. a kind of compound was fenced off for "dese brats" to keep them in by day. when it rained, they had a shelter to go under; play-houses were built for them, and they also had see-saws, toys, etc. here, their parents "parked dese younguns" every morning as they went to the fields and to other duties, and picked them up at night. these children were fed about five times a day in little wooden trough-like receptacles. their principal foods were milk, rice, pot-licker, vegetables and corn dumplings; and they stayed so fat and sleek "dat de niggers calt 'em marse major's little black pigs." the average weekly ration allowed an adult walton slave was a peck of meal, two "dusters" of flour (about six pounds), seven pounds of flitch bacon, a "bag" of peas, a gallon of grits, from one to two quarts of molasses, a half pound of green coffee--which the slave himself parched and "beat up" or ground, from one to two cups of sugar, a "hatful" of peas, and any "nicknacks" that the major might have--as extras. many acres were planted to vegetables each year for the slaves and, in season, they had all the vegetables they could eat, also irish potatoes, sweet potatoes, roasting ears, watermelons and "stingy green" (home raised tobacco). in truth, the planters and "niggers" all used "stingy green", there then being very little if any "menufro" (processed tobacco) on the market. the standard clothes of the slaves were: jeans in the winter for men and women, cottonades and osnabergs for men in the summer, and calicos and "light goods" for the women in the summer time. about % of the cloth used for slaves' clothing was made at home. if a "nigger come down sick", the family doctor was promptly called to attend him and, if he was bad off, the major "sat up" with him, or had one of his over-seers do so. never in her life was "mammy dink" whipped by any of the waltons or their over-seers. moreover, she never knew a negro to be whipped by a white person on any of the dozen or more walton plantations. she never "seed" a pataroler in her life, though she "has heard tell dat judge henry willis, marses johnnie b. jones, ned giddens, gus o'neal, bob baugh, an jedge henry collier rid as patarolers" when she was a girl. when the yankee raiders came through in ' , "mammy dink" was badly frightened by them. she was also highly infuriated with them for "stealin de white fokes' things", burning their gins, cotton and barns, and conducting themselves generally as bandits and perverts. in , the year of the cyclone "whooch kilt sebenteen fokes twixt ellesli (ellerslie) and talbotton", including an uncle of her's. "mammy dink" was living at the dr. m.w. peter's place near baughville. later, she moved with her husband--acquired subsequent to freedom--to the dr. thomas d. ashford's place, in harris county, near ellerslie. there, she lost her husband and, about thirty-five years ago, moved to columbus to be near mrs. john t. davis, jr., an only daughter of dr. ashford, to whom she long ago became very attached. when interviewed, "mammy dink" was at mrs. davis' home, "jes piddlin 'round", as she still takes a pride in "waiting on her white fokes." naturally, for one of her age, the shadows are lengthening. "mammy dink" has never had a child; all her kin are dead; she is and has no money and no property, but she has her memories and, "thank gawd", mrs. davis--her guardian-angel, friend and benefactress. whitley, - - ex-slave # mammy dink is dead [hw: (from columbus news-record of dec- - )] mammy dink, who cooked and served and gained pure joy through faithful service, has gone to the big house in the skies. she lacked but a few years of a hundred and most of it was spent in loving service. she was loyal to the families she worked for and was, to all practical intents, a member of the family circle. she was or when she passed away--mammy was about to lose track of mere age, she was so busy with other things--and she was happily at work to within a week of her death. she was an institution in columbus, and one of the best known of the many faithful and loyal colored servants in this city. mammy dink--her full name, by the way, was dink young--started out as a cook in a talbot county family and wound up her career as cook for the granddaughter of her original employer. she was first in service in the home of dr. m.w. peters, in talbot county, and later was the cook in the family of dr. t.r. ashford, at ellerslie, in harris county. then, coming to columbus, she was cook in the home of the late captain t.j. hunt for some years. for the last years she had been cook for mrs. john t. davis, just as she had been cook in the home of her father, dr. ashford, and her grandfather, dr. peters. mammy, in leisure hours, used to sit on the coping at the sixteenth street school, and watch the world go by. but her greatest joy was in the kitchen. the davis family was devoted to the faithful old servant. a week ago she developed a severe cold and was sent to the hospital. she passed away saturday night--the old body had given out. the funeral service was conducted yesterday afternoon from st. philips colored church in girard. she was buried in a churchyard cemetery, two or three miles out, on the opelika road. the white people who were present wept at the departure of one who was both servant and friend. thus passes, to a sure reward, mammy dink, whose life was such a success. [hw: mammy dink died saturday night, dec. th, ] combined interviews [hw: dist - ex-slave # ] federal writers' projects, augusta-athens supervisor: miss velma bell [date stamp: may ] excerpts from slave interviews [adeline] "aunt adeline," an ex-slave of wilkes county, georgia, thinks she is "around a hundred." her first memory is, in her own words, "my love for my mother. i loved her so! i would cry when i couldn't be with her. when i growed up, i kep' on loving her jes' that-a-way, even after i married and had children of my own." adeline's mother worked in the field, drove steers, and was considered the best meat cutter on the plantation. the slave women were required to spin, and adeline's mother was unusually good at spinning wool, "and that kind of spinning was powerful slow," added the old woman. "my mother was one of the best dyers anywhere around. i was too. i made colors by mixing up all kinds of bark and leaves. i made the prettiest sort of lilac color with maple bark and pine bark--not the outside pine bark, but that little thin skin that grows right down next to the tree." adeline remembers one dress she loved: "i never will forget it as long as i live. it was a hickory stripe dress they made for me, with brass buttons at the wrist bands. i was so proud of that dress and felt so dressed up in it, i just strutted!" she remembers the plantation store and the candy the master gave the negro children. "bright, pretty sticks of candy!" tin cups hold a special niche in her memory. but there were punishments, too. "good or bad, we got whippings with a long cowhide kept just for that. they whipped us to make us grow better, i reckon!" asked about doctors, adeline replied: "i was born, growed up, married and had sixteen children and never had no doctor till here since i got so old!" plantation ingenuity was shown in home concoctions and tonics. at the first sniffle of a cold, the slaves were called in and given a drink of fat lightwood tea, made by pouring boiling water over split kindling. "'cause lightwood got turpentine in it," explained adeline. she said that a springtime tonic was made of anvil dust, gathered at the blacksmith's shop, mixed with syrup. this was occasionally varied with a concoction of garlic and whiskey! adeline adheres to traditional negro beliefs, and concluded her recountal of folklore with the dark prediction: "every gloomy day brings death. somebody leaving this unfriendly world to-day!" [eugene] another version of slavery was given by eugene, an augusta negro. his mother was brought to augusta from pennsylvania and freed when she came of age. she married a slave whose master kept a jewelry store. the freed woman was required to put a guardian over her children. the jeweler paid eugene's father fifty cents a week and was angry when his mother refused to allow her children to work for him. eugene's mother supported her children by laundry work. "free colored folks had to pay taxes," said eugene, "and in augusta you had to have a pass to go from house to house. you couldn't go out at night in augusta after o'clock. they had a bell at the old market down yonder, and it would strike every hour and half hour. there was an uptown market, too, at broad and mckinne." eugene told of an old negro preacher, ned purdee, who had a school for negro children in his back yard, in defiance of a law prohibiting the education of negroes. ned, said eugene, was put in jail but the punishment of stocks and lashes was not intended to be executed. the sympathetic jailor told the old man: "ned, i won't whip you. i'll just whip down on the stock, and you holler!" so ned made a great noise, the jailor thrashed about with his stick, and no harm was done. eugene touched on an unusual angle of slavery when he spoke of husbands and wives discovering that they were brother and sister. "they'd talk about their grandfathers and grandmothers, and find out that they had been separated when they were children," he said. "when freedom was declared, they called the colored people down to the parade ground. they had built a big stand, and the yankees and some of the leading colored men made addresses. 'you are free now. don't steal. work and make a living. do honest work. there are no more masters. you are all free.' he said the negro troops came in, singing: "don't you see the lightning? don't you hear the thunder? it isn't the lightning, it isn't the thunder, it's the buttons on the negro uniforms!" [mary] mary is a tiny woman, years old. "i'd love to see some of the white folks boys and girls," she said, smiling and showing a set of strong new teeth. "we had school on our plantation, and a negro teacher named mathis, but they couldn't make me learn nothin'. i sure is sorry now!" mary's plantation memories, in contrast to those of slaves who remember mostly molasses and corn-pone, include tomato rice, chickens, baked, fried and stewed. "and chicken pies!" mary closed her eyes. "don't talk about 'em! i told my grand children last week, i wanted to eat some old-time potato pie!" they played "peep-squirrel," mary remembered. "i never could put up to dance much, but none could beat me runnin'. "peep squirrel" was a game we made up on the plantation. the girls peeped out, then ran by the men, and they'd be caught and twirled around. they said i was like a kildee bird, i was so little and could run so fast! they said i was married when i was years old. i know it was after freedom. i had the finest kind of marrying dress that my father bought for me. it had great big grapes hanging down from the sleeves and around the skirt." mary sighed. "i wish't i had-a kep' it for my children to saw!" [rachel] rachel's master called his people "servants", not negroes or slaves. "he de bes' marster in de worl'," said rachel. "i love his grave!" rachel nursed her aunt's children while the mother acted as nurse for "de lady's baby whut come fum russia wid de marster's wife." the czarina was godmother for the ambassador's baby. "marster bin somewheh in de back part o' de worl'." explained the old woman, "you see, he wuz de guv'nor. he knowed all de big people, senetras and all." rachel laughed. "i was a old maid when i married," she said. "de broom wuz de law. all we hadder do was step over de broom befo' witnesses and we wuz marry!" [laura] "as far as i kin rekellec'," said laura, "my mother was give." she could not remember her age, but estimated that she might be years old. her native dignity was evident in her calm manner, her neat clothing and the comfortable, home-like room. "dey say in dem days," she continued, "when you marry, dey give you so many colored people. my mother, her brother and her aunt was give to young mistis when she marry de baptis' preacher and come to augusta. when dey brought us to augusta, i wuz de baby. round wheh de barracks is now, was de baptis' parsonage. my mother was a cook. i kin remember de yankees comin' down broad street. dey put up wheh de barracks is on reynolds street. dey ca'yed me to de fairground. de man was speakin'. i thought it wuz up in de trees, but i know now it muster been a platform in bushes. mistis say to me: 'well, laura, what did you see?' i say: 'mistis, we is all free.' i such a lil' chile she jus' laugh at me for saying sich a thing. when i was sick, she nuss me good." laura remembered a long house with porches on ellis street, "running almost to greene," between th and th, where slaves were herded and kept for market day. "dey would line 'em up like horses or cows," she said, "and look in de mouf' at dey teeth. den dey march 'em down together to market, in crowds, first tuesday sale day." [matilda] in contrast to the pleasant recollections of most of the ex-slaves, matilda gave a vivid picture of the worst phase of plantation life on a georgia plantation. she had been plowing for four years when the war started. "i wuz in about my thirteen when de war end," she mumbled, "fum de fus' overseer, dey whu-op me to show me how to wuk. i wuk hard, all de time. i never had no good times. i so old i kain't rekellec' my marster's name. i kain't 'member, honey. i had too hard time. we live in, a weather-board house, jus' hulled in. we had to eat anyting dey give us, mos'ly black 'lasses in a great big ole hogshead. when de war gwine on, we had to live on rice, mos'ly, what dey raise. we had a hard time. didn't know we wuz free for a long time. all give overseer so mean, de slaves run away. dey gits de blood-houn' to fin' 'em. dey done dug cave in de wood, down in de ground, and hide dere. dey buckle de slave down to a log and beat de breaf' outter dem, till de blood run all over everywhere. when night come, dey drug 'em to dey house and greases 'em down wid turpentine and rub salt in dey woun's to mek 'em hurt wuss. de overseer give de man whiskey to mek him mean. when dey whu-op my mother, i crawl under de house and cry." one of matilda's younger friends, listening, nodded her head in sympathy. "when matilda's mind was clearer she told us terrible stories," she said. "it makes all the rest of us thankful we weren't born in those times." matilda was mumbling end weeping. "dey wuz mean overseer," she whispered. "but dey wuz run out o' de country. some white ladies in de neighborhood reported 'um and had 'um run out." [easter] "aunt easter" is from burke county. her recollections are not quite so appalling as matilda's, but they are not happy memories. "dey didn' learn me nothin' but to churn and clean up house. 'tend day boy, churn dat milk, spin and cyard dat roll." asked if the slaves were required to go to church, easter shook her head. "too tired. sometime we even had to pull fodder on sunday. sometime we go to church, but all dey talk about wuz obeyin' massa and obeyin' missus. befo' we went to church, we had to git up early and wash and iron our clo'es." easter's brother was born the day lee surrendered. "dey name him richmond," she said. [carrie] carrie had plenty to eat in slavery days. "i'd be a heap better off if it was dem times now," she said, "my folks didn't mistreet de slaves. when freedom come, de niggers come 'long wid dere babies on dey backs and say i wuz free. i tell 'em i already free! didn't mek no diffrunce to me, freedom!" [malinda] malinda would gladly exchange all worldly possessions and freedom to have plantation days back again. she owns her home and has a garden of old-fashioned flowers, due to her magic "growing hand." "i belonged to a preacher in ca'lina," said malinda. "a baptis' preacher. my fambly wasn't fiel' han's, dey wuz all house servants. marster wouldn't sell none o' his slaves. when he wanted to buy one, he'd buy de whole fambly to keep fum having 'em separated." malinda and her sister belonged to the young girls. "whar'ever da young mistises visited, we went right erlong. my own mammy tuk long trips wid ole mistis to de blue ridge mountings and sometimes over de big water." malinda said the slaves danced to "quills," a home-made reed instrument. "my mammy wuz de bes' dancer on de planteshun," asserted the old woman. "she could dance so sturdy, she could balance a glass of water on her head and never spill a drap!" [amelia] amelia, like many of the old slaves in augusta to-day, came from south carolina. "i put on a hoopskirt one time," she said. "i wanted to go to church wid a hoop on. i such a lil' gal, all de chillun laugh at me, playin' lady. i take it off and hide it in de wood." amelia remembered her young mistresses with affection. "dey wuz so good to me," she said, "dey like to dress me up! i was a lil' gal wid a tiny wais'. dey put corsets on me and lace me up tight, and then dey take off all dey medallion and jewelry and hang 'em roun' my neck and put long sash on me. i look pretty to go to dance. when i git back, i so tired i thow myself on de bed and sleep wid dat tight corset on me!" four slaves interviewed by maude barragan, edith bell love, ruby lorraine radford ellen campbell, brayton street, augusta, ga., born . ellen campbell lives in a little house in a garden behind a picket fence. ellen is a sprightly, erect, black woman ninety years old. beady little eyes sparkled behind her glasses as she talked to us. her manner is alert, her mind is very keen and her memory of the old days very clear. though the temperature was in the high nineties she wore two waists, and her clothes were clean and neatly patched. there was no headcloth covering the fuzzy grey wool that was braided into innumerable plaits. she invited us into her tiny cabin. the little porch had recently been repaired, while the many flowers about the yard and porch gave evidence of constant and loving care to this place which had been bought for her long ago by a grandson who drove a "hack." when she took us into the crowded, but clean room, she showed us proudly the portrait of this big grandson, now dead. all the walls were thickly covered with framed pictures of different members of her family, most of whom are now dead. in their midst was a large picture of abraham lincoln. "dere's all my chillun. i had fo' daughter and three 'grands', but all gone now but one niece. i deeded de place to her. she live out north now, but she send back de money fer de taxes and insurance and to pay de firemens." then she proudly pointed out a framed picture of herself when she was young. "why auntie, you were certainly nice looking then." her chest expanded and her manner became more sprightly as she said, "i wus de pebble on de beach den!" "and i suppose you remember about slavery days?" "yes ma'm, i'm ninety years old--i wus a grown 'oman when freedom come. i 'longed to mr. william eve. de plantachun was right back here--all dis land was fields den, slap down to bolzes'." "so you remember a lot about those times?" she laughed delightedly. "yas'm. i 'longed to miss eva eve. my missus married colonel jones. he got a boy by her and de boy died." "you mean colonel jones, the one who wrote books?" "yas'm. he a lawyer, too, down to de cote house. my missus was mrs. carpenter's mother, but she didn't brought her here." "you mean she was her step-mother?" "yas'm, dat it. i go to see dem folks on de hill sometime. dey good to me, allus put somepen in mah hands." "what kind of work did you do on the plantation?" "when i wus 'bout ten years old dey started me totin' water--you know ca'in water to de hands in de field. 'bout two years later i got my first field job, 'tending sheep. when i wus fifteen my old missus gib me to miss eva--you know she de one marry colonel jones. my young missus wus fixin' to git married, but she couldn't on account de war, so she brought me to town and rented me out to a lady runnin' a boarding house. de rent was paid to my missus. one day i wus takin' a tray from de out-door kitchen to de house when i stumbled and dropped it. de food spill all over de ground. de lady got so mad she picked up a butcher knife and chop me in de haid. i went runnin' till i come to de place where my white folks live. miss eva took me and wash de blood out mah head and put medicine on it, and she wrote a note to de lady and she say, 'ellen is my slave, give to me by my mother. i wouldn't had dis happen to her no more dan to me. she won't come back dere no more.'" "were you ever sold during slavery times, aunt ellen?" "no'm. i wa'nt sold, but i knows dem whut wus. jedge robinson he kept de nigger trade office over in hamburg." "oh yes, i remember the old brick building." "yas'm, dat it. well, all de colored people whut gonner be sold was kept dere. den dey brung 'em over to de market and put 'em up fer sale. anybody fixin' to buy 'em, 'zamines 'em to see if dey all right. looks at de teef to tell 'bout de age." "and was your master good to you, auntie?" "i'll say dis fer mr. william eve--he de bes' white man anywhere round here on any dese plantachuns. dey all own slaves. my boss would feed 'em well. he wus killin' hogs stidy fum jinury to march. he had two smoke-houses. dere wus four cows. at night de folks on one side de row o' cabins go wid de piggins fer milk, and in de mawnin's dose on de odder side go fer de piggins o' milk." "and did you have plenty of other things to eat?" "law, yas'm. rations wus given out to de slaves; meal, meat and jugs o' syrup. dey give us white flour at christmas. every slave family had de gyrden patch, and chickens. marster buy eggs and chickens fum us at market prices." "did the overseers ever whip the slaves or treat them cruelly?" "sometimes dey whup 'em--make 'em strip off dey shirt and whup 'em on de bare skin. my boss had a white overseer and two colored men dey call drivers. if dey didn't done right dey dus whup you and turn you loose." "did the eves have a house on the plantation, too?" "no'm, dey live in town, and he come back and fo'th every day. it warn't but three miles. de road run right fru de plantachun, and everybody drive fru it had to pay toll. dat toll gate wus on de d'laigle plantachun. dey built a house fer miss kitty bowles down by de double gate where dey had to pay de toll. dat road where de savannah road is." when asked about war times on the plantation ellen recalled that when the northern troops were around waynesboro orders were sent to all the masters of the nearby plantations to send ten of their best men to build breastworks to hold back the northern advance. "do you remember anything about the good times or weddings on the plantation?" she laughed delightedly. "yas'm. when anybody gwine be married dey tell de boss and he have a cake fix. den when sunday come, atter dey be married, she put on de white dress she be married in and dey go up to town so de boss see de young couple." "den sometimes on sadday night we have a big frolic. de nigger frum hammond's place and phinizy place, eve place, clayton place, d'laigle place all git togedder fer big dance and frolic. a lot o' de young white sports used to come dere and push de nigger bucks aside and dance wid de wenches." "what happened, auntie, if a slave from one plantation wanted to marry a slave from another?" she laughed significantly. "plenty. old mr. miller had a man name jolly and he wanner marry a woman off anudder plantachun, but jolly's marster wanna buy de woman to come to de plantachun. he say, 'whut's fair fer de goose is fair fer de gander.' when dey couldn't come to no 'greement de man he run away to de woods. den dey sot de bloodhounds on 'im. dey let down de rail fence so de hounds could git fru. dey sarch de woods and de swamps fer jolly but dey neber find him. "de slaves dey know whar he is, and de woman she visit him. he had a den down dere and plenty o' grub dey take 'im, but de white folks neber find him. five hundred dollars wus what miller put out for whomsover git him." "and you say the woman went to visit him?" "yes, ma'm. de woman would go dere in de woods wid him. finally one night when he was outer de swamp he had to lie hidin' in de ditch all night, cross from de nigger hospital. den somebody crep' up and shot him, but he didn't die den. dey cay'ed his [tr: sic] crost to de hospital and he die three days later." "what about church? did you go to church in those days?" "yas'm, we used to go to town. but de padderolas wus ridin' in dem days, and you couldn't go off de plantachun widout a pass. so my boss he build a brick church on de plantachuhn, and de d'laigles build a church on dere's." "what happened if they caught you off without a pass?" "if you had no pass dey ca'y you to de cote house, and your marster hadder come git you out." "do you remember anything about the yankees coming to this part of the country?" at this her manner became quite sprightly, as she replied, "yas'm, i seen 'em comin' down de street. every one had er canteen on he side, a blanket on his shoulder, caps cocked on one side de haid. de cavalry had boots on and spurros on de boots. first dey sot de niggers free on dead river, den dey come on here to sot us free. dey march straight up broad street to de planters' hotel, den dey camped on dead river, den dey camped on de river. dey stayed here six months till dey sot dis place free. when dey campin' on de river bank we go down dere and wash dey clo'es fer a good price. dey had hard tack to eat. dey gib us de hard tack and tell us to soak it in water, and fry it in de meat gravy. i ain't taste nothing so good since. dey say, 'dis hard tack whut we hadder lib on while we fightin' to sot you free." rachel sullivan, reynolds street, augusta, ga., born . we found rachel sullivan sitting on the porch of a two room house on reynolds street. she is a large, fleshy woman. her handmade yellow homespun was baggy and soiled, and her feet were bare, though her shoes were beside her rocker. we approached her cautiously. "auntie, we heard you were one of the slaves who used to live on governor pickens' place over near edgefield." "yas'm, yas'm. i shore wus. he gin us our chu'ch--de one over yonder on de edgefield road. no'm you can't see it fum de road. you has to cross de creek. old marster had it pulled out de low ground under de brush arbor, and set it dere." "and what did you do on the plantation, auntie?" "i wus a nu's gal, 'bout 'leben years old. i nu'sed my auntie's chillun, while she nu'sed de lady's baby whut come from russia wid de marster's wife--nu'sed dat baby fum de breas's i mean. all de white ladies had wet nusses in dem days. her master had just returned from russia, where he had been ambassador. her baby had the czarina for a godmother." "and so you used to look after you aunt's children?" "yas'm. i used to play wid 'em in de big ground wid de monuments all around." "miss lucy holcome was governor pickens' second wife, wasn't she?" "musta wus, ma'm." "and were you born on the plantation at edgefield?" "i wus born at ninety-six. log creek place was marster's second place. oh, he had plantachuns everywhere, clear over to alabama. he had overseers on all de places, ma'm." "did the overseers whip you or were they good?" "overseers wus good. dey better been good to us, marster wouldn't let 'em been nothin' else. and marster wus good. lawdy, us had de bes' marster in de world. it wus great times when he come to visit de plantachun. oh lord, when de governor would come--dey brung in all de sarvants. marster call us 'sarvants', not 'niggers.' he say 'niggers wuk down in de lagoons.' so when de governor come dey brung in all de sarvants, and all de little chillun, line 'em's up whar marster's cai'age gwine pass. and marster stop dere in de lane and 'zamine us all to see is us all right. he de bes' marster in de world. i love his grave!" "den he'd talk to de overseer. dere was emmanuel and mr. deloach. he gib 'em a charge. dey couldn't whup us or treat us mean." "how many slaves did your master have, auntie?" "oh, i don't know 'xactly--over a thousand in all i reckon. he had plantachuns clear over to alabama. marster wus a world manager! lordy, i luv my marster. dere wus 'bout seventy plower hands, and 'bout a hunnard hoe hands." "did your master ever sell any of the slaves off his plantation?" "no'm--not 'less dey did wrong. three of 'em had chillun by de overseer, mr. whitefield, and marster put 'em on de block. no ma'm he wouldn't tolerate dat. he say you keep de race pure. lawdy, he made us lib right in dem time." "and what did he do to the overseer?" "he sont him off--he sont him down to de low place." "i guess you had plenty to eat in those good old days?" "oh, yes ma'm--dey's kill a hunnard hogs." "and what kind of houses did you have?" "des like dis street--two rows facin' each odder, only dey wus log houses." "did they have only one room?" "yas'm. but sometimes dey drap a shed room down if dere wus heap o' chullun.' "did you have a good time at christmas?" "oh yas'm. no matter where marster wus--crost de water er ennywhere he send us a barrel o' apples, and chestnuts--dey had chestnuts in dem days--and boxes o' candy. he sont 'em to 'manuel and mr. deloach to gib out." "so your master would sometimes be across the water?" "lawdy, yas'm, he be dere somewhere in de back part o' de world. you see he wus gov'nur. he knowed all de big people--mr. ben tillman and all--he was senetra." "auntie do you remember seeing any of the soldiers during the war?" "does i? law honey! dey come dere to de plantachun 'bout ten o'clock after dey surrender. oh and dey wus awful, some of 'em wid legs off or arms off. de niggers took all de mules and put 'em down in de sand field. den dey took all de wimmens and put 'em in de chillun's house. and dey lef' a guard dere to stand over 'em, and tell him not to git off de foot. you know dey didn't want put no temptation in de way o' dem soldiers." "what kind of work did some of the slave women do?" "everything. i had a one-legged auntie--she was de seamster. she sew fum one year end to de odder. anodder auntie wus a loomer." "and where did you go to church?" "we went to de salem chu'ch. yas'm we all go to chu'ch. marster want us to go to chu'ch. we sit on one side--so--and dey sit over dere. dey wus methodis'. my mother was methodis', but dey gib her her letter when freedom come." "how about dances, auntie? did they have dances and frolics?" "yassum, on sadday night. but boys had to git a pass when dey go out or de padderola git 'em." "so you had a happy time in those days, eh?" "lawdy, yas'm. if de world would done now like dey did den de world wouldn't be in such a mess. i gwine on eighty-five, but i wish de young ones wus raise now like i was raise. marster taught us to do right." "how many children have you?" "i had 'leben--seben livin now." then she laughed. "but i wus ole maid when i git married." "i wus twenty years old! in dem days all dey hadder do to git married wus step over de broom." "step over the broom. didn't your master have the preacher come and marry you?" "lawdy, no'm. de broom wus de law!" then she laughed. "jus' say you wanner be married and de couple git together 'fore witnesses and step ober de broom." "do you remember when freedom came?" "lawdy yas'm. mr. deloach come riding up to de plantachun in one o' dem low-bellied ca'yages. he call to jo and james--dem de boys what stay round de house to bring wood and rake de grass and sich--he sont jo and jim down to all de fields to tell all de hands to come up. dey unhitch de mules fum de plows and come wid de chains rattlin', and de cotton hoers put dey hoes on dey shoulders--wid de blades shinin' in de sun, and all come hurrying to hear what mr. deloach want wid'em. den he read de freedom warrant to 'em. one man so upset he start runnin' and run clear down to de riber and jump in." eugene wesley smith, robert street, augusta, ga., born eugene is years old. he has thin features, trembling lips and a sparse beard. his skin is a deep brown, lined and veined. his legs showing over white socks are scaly. his hands are palsied, but his mind is intelligent. he shows evidences of association with white people in his manner of speech, which at times is in the manner of white persons, again reverting to dialect. eugene stated that his father was a slave who belonged to steadman clark of augusta, and acted as porter in mr. clark's jewelry store on broad street. his grandmother came from pennsylvania with her white owners. in accordance with the laws of the state they had left, she was freed when she came of age, and married a man named smith. her name was louisa. eugene's "arnt" married a slave. as his mother was free, her children were free, but eugene added: "she had put a guardian over us, and captain crump was our guardian. guardians protected the negro children who belonged to them." to illustrate that children were considered the property of the mothers' owners, he added that his uncle went to columbia county and married a slave, and that all of her children belonged to her master. mr. clark, who owned eugene's father, paid him ¢ a week, and was angry when louisa refused to allow her children to work for him. "he was good in a way," admitted eugene, "some masters were cruel to the colored people, but a heap of white people won't believe it. "i was too little to do any work before freedom. i just stayed with my mother, and ran around. she did washing for white folks. we lived in a rented house. my father's master, mr. clark, let him come to see us sometimes at night. free colored folks had to pay taxes. mother had to pay taxes. then when they came of age, they had to pay taxes again. even in augusta you had to have a pass to go from house to house. they had frolics. sometimes the white people came and looked at 'em having a good time. you couldn't go out at night in augusta after o'clock. they had a bell at the old market down yonder, and it would strike every hour and every half hour. there was an uptown market, too, at broad and mckinne." asked about school, eugene said: "going to school wasn't allowed, but still some people would slip their children to school. there was an old methodist preacher, a negro named ned purdee, he had a school for boys and girls going on in his back yard. they caught him and put him in jail. he was to be put in stocks and get so many lashes every day for a month. i heard him tell many times how the man said: 'ned, i won't whip you. i'll whip on the stock, and you holler.' so ned would holler out loud, as if they were whipping him. they put his feet and hands in the holes, and he was supposed to be whipped across his back." "i read in the paper where a lady said slaves were never sold here in augusta at the old market, but i saw them selling slaves myself. they put them up on something like a table, bid 'em off just like you would horses or cows. dey was two men. i kin rekellect. i know one was called mr. tom heckle. he used to buy slaves, speculating. the other was named wilson. they would sell your mother from the children. that was the reason so many colored people married their sisters and brothers, not knowing until they got to talking about it. one would say, 'i remember my grandmother,' and another would say, "that's _my_ grandmother," then they'd find out they were sister and brother. "speculators used to steal children," said eugene. "i saw the wagons. they were just like the wagons that came from north carolina with apples in. dey had big covers on them. the speculators had plantations where they kept the children until they were big enough to sell, and they had an old woman there to tend to those children." "i was a butler." (a dreamy look came into eugene's old eyes.) "so i were young. i saw a girl and fell in love with her, and asked her to marry me. 'yes,' she said, 'when i get grown!' i said, 'i am not quite grown myself.' i was sixteen years old. when i was twenty-one years old i married her in my father's house. my mother and father were dead then. i had two sisters left, but my brothers were dead too." "i quit butling when i got married. they was enlarging the canal here. it was just wide enough for the big flats to go up with cotton. they widened it, and i went to work on dat, for $ . a day. they got in some chinese when it was near finished, but they wasn't any good. the irishmen wouldn't work with niggers, because they said they could make the job last eight years--the niggers worked too fast. they accomplished it in about four years. "after working on the canal, i left there and helped dig the foundations of sibley mill. the raceway, the water that run from canal to river, i helped dig that. then after that, i went to mr. berckmans and worked for him for fifty years. all my children were raised on his place. that's how come my boy do garden work now. i worked for ¢ a day, but he give me a house on the place. he 'lowed me to have chickens, a little fence, and a garden. he was very good to us. that was mr. p.j. berckmans. i potted plants all day long. i used to work at night. i wouldn't draw no money, just let them keep it for me. after they found out i could read and write and was an honest fellow, they let me take my work home, and my children helped me make the apple grass and plum grass, and mulberry grass. a man come and told me he would give me $ a month if i would go with him, but i didn't i couldn't see hardly at all then--i was wearing glasses. now, in my th year, i can read the newspaper, bible and everything without glasses. my wife died two years ago." (tears came into eugene's eyes, and his face broke up) "we lived together years!" asked if his wife had been a slave, eugene answered that she was but a painful effort of memory did not reveal her owner's name. "i do remember she told me she had a hard time," he went on slowly. "her master and misses called themselves 'religious people' but they were not good to her. they took her about in the barouche when they were visiting. she had to mind the children. they had a little seat on the back, and they'd tie her up there to keep her from falling off. once when they got to a big gate, they told her to get down and open it for the driver to go through, not knowing the hinges was broken. that big gate fell on her back and she was down for i don't know how long. before she died, she complained of a pain in her back, and the doctor said it must have been from a lick when she was a child. "during the war there were some southern soldiers went through. i and two friends of mine were together. those soldiers caught us and made us put our hands down at our knees, and tied 'em, and run the stick through underneath. "it was wintertime. they had a big fire. they pushed us nearer and nearer the fire, until we hollered. it was just devilment. they was having fun with us, kept us tied up about a half hour. there was a mulatto boy with us, but they thought he was white, and didn't bother him. one time they caught us and throwed us up in blankets, way up, too--i was about years old then." asked about church, eugene said: "we went to bush meetings up on the sand hill out in the woods. they didn't have a church then." eugene's recollections were vivid as to the ending of the war: "the northern soldiers come to town playing yankee doodle. when freedom come, they called all the white people to the courthouse first, and told them the darkies was free. then on a certain day they called all the colored people down to the parade ground. they had built a big stand, and the yankees and some of our leading colored men got up and spoke, and told the negroes: "you are free now. don't steal. now work and make a living. do honest work, make an honest living to support yourself and children. no more masters. you are free." eugene said when the colored troops come in, they sang: "don't you see the lightning? don't you hear the thunder? it isn't the lightning, it isn't the thunder, but its the button on the negro uniforms! "the slaves that was freed, and the country negroes that had been run off, or had run away from the plantations, was staying in augusta in guv'ment houses, great big ole barns. they would all get free provisions from the freedmen's bureau, but people like us, augusta citizens, didn't get free provisions, we had to work. it spoiled some of them. when the small pox come, they died like hogs, all over broad street and everywhere." willis bennefield, hephzibah, ga., born . [tr: "uncle willis" in individual interviews.] "uncle willis" lives with his daughter rena berrian, who is years old. "i his baby," said rena, "all dead but me, and i ain't no good for him now 'cause i can't tote nothin'." when asked where uncle willis was, rena looked out over the blazing cotton field and called: "pap! oh--pappy! stop pickin' cotton and come in awhile. dey's some ladies wants to see you." uncle willis hobbled slowly to the cabin, set in the middle of the cotton patch. he wore clean blue overalls, obviously new. his small, regular features had high cheekbones. there was a tuft of curly white hair on his chin, and his head was covered with a "sundown" hat. "mawnin," he said, "i bin sick. so i thought i might git some cotton terday." willis thinks he is years old. he said, "i was years old when freedom delcared." he belonged to dr. balding miller, who lived on rock creek plantation. dr. miller had three or four plantations, willis said at first, but later stated that the good doctor had five or six places, all in burke county. "i wuk in de fiel'," he went on, "and i drove de doctor thirty years. he owned slaves. i never went to school a day in my life, 'cept sunday school, but i tuk de doctor's sons fo' miles ev'y day to school. guess he had so much business in hand he thought the chillun could walk. i used to sit down on de school steps 'till dey turn out. i got way up in de alphabet by listenin', but when i went to courtin' i forgot all dat." asked what his regular duties were, willis answered with pride: "marster had a cay'age and a buggy too. my father driv' de cay'age and i driv de doctor. sometimes i was fixing to go to bed, and had to hitch up my horse and go five or six miles. i had a regular saddle horse, two pairs for cay'age. doctor were a rich man. richest man in burke county. he made his money on his farm. when summertime come, i went wid him to bath, wheh he had a house on tena hill. we driv' down in de cay'age. sundays we went to church when dr. goulding preach. de darkies went in de side do'. i hear him preach many times." asked about living conditions on rock creek plantation, willis replied: "de big house was set in ahalf acre yard. 'bout fifty yards on one side was my house, and fifty yards on de udder side was de house of granny, a woman that tended de chillun and had charge of de yard when we went to bath," willis gestured behind him, "and back yonder was de quarters, a half mile long; dey wuz one room 'crost, and some had shed room. when any of 'em got sick, marster would go round to see 'em all." asked about church and bible study, willis said: "i belongst to hopeful church. church people would have singin' and prayin', and de wicked would have dancin' and singin'. at dat time i was a regular dancer" willis chuckled. "i cut de pigeon wing high enough! not many cullud people know de bible in slavery time. we had dances, and prayers and sing too," he went on, "and we sang a song, 'on jordan's stormy banks i stand, and cast a wishful eye.'" "how about marriages?" he was asked. "colored preacher marry 'em. you had to get license and give it to the preacher, and he marry 'em. then de men on our plantation had wives on udder plantations, dey call 'em broad wives." "did you give your wife presents when you were courting?" he was asked. "i went to courtin' and never give her nuthin' till i marry her." as to punishment, willis said that slaves were whipped as they needed it, and as a general rule the overseer did the whipping. "when darky wouldn't take whippin' from de overseer," he said, he had to cay'y dem to de boss; and if we needed any brushin' de marster brush 'em. why, de darkies would whip de overseer!" willis was asked to describe how slaves earned money for personal use, and replied: "dey made dey own money. in slavery time, if you wanted four or five acres of land to plant anything on, marster give it to you, and whatever dat land make, it belong to you. you could take dat money and spend it any you wanted to. still he give you somethin' to eat and clothe you, but dat patch you mek cotton on, sometimes a whole bale, dat money yours." willis thought the plantation house was still there, "but it badly wounded," he said. "dey tell me dere ain't nobody living in it now. it seven miles from waynesboro, south." "when de soldiers come thoo'," continued willis, "dey didn't burn dat place, but dey went in dere and took out ev'thing dey want, and give it to de cullud people. dey kep' it till dey got free. de soldiers tuk dr. millers horses and carry 'em off. got in de crib and tuk de corn. got in de smoke'ouse and tuk de meat out. old marssa bury his money and silver in a iron chist. dey tuk it yards away to a clump of trees and bury it. it tuk fo' men to ca'y it. dere was money without mention in dat chist! after de soldiers pass thoo, de went down and got it back." "what did you do after freedom was declared?" willis straightened up. "i went down to augusta to de freedmen's bureau to see if twas true we wuz free. i reckon dere was, over a hundred people dere. the man got up and stated to de people, "you is jus' as free as i am. you ain't got no mistis and no marster. work wheh you want." on sunday morning old marster sent de house girl and tell us to all come to de house. he said: "what i want to send for you all, is to tell you you are free. you hab de privilege to go anywhere you want, but i don't want none of you to leave me now. i wants you-all to stay right wid me. if you stay, you you mus' sign to it' i asked him: "what you want me to sign for?, i is free." 'dat will hold me to my word, and hold you to yo' word,' he say. all my folks sign it, but i wouldn't sign. marster call me up and say: 'willis, why wouldn't you sign?' i say: 'if i already is free, i don't need to sign no paper. if i was working for you, and doing for you befo' i got free, i can do it still, if you want me to stay wid yo'.' my father and mother tried to git me to sign, but i wouldn't sign. my mother said: 'you oughter sign. how you know marster gwine pay?' i said: 'den i kin go somewhere else.' marster pay first class hands $ . a month, other hands $ . , and den on down to five and six dollars. he give rations like dey always. when christmas come, all come up to be paid off. den he call me. ask whar is me? i wus standin' roun' de corner of de house. 'come up here,' he say, 'you didn't sign dat paper, but i reckon i have to pay you too.' he paid me and my wife $ . . i said: 'well, you-all thought he wouldn't pay me, but i got my money too.' i stayed to my marster's place one year after de war den i lef'dere. nex' year i decided i wuld quit dere and go somewhere else. it was on account of my wife. you see, marster bought her off, as de highes', and she hadn't seen her mother and father in waynesboro for years. when she got free, she went down to see 'em. waren't willin' to come back. t'was on account mistis and her. dey bofe had chilluns, five-six years old. de chillun had disagreement. mistis slap my girl. my wife sass de mistis. but my marster, he was as good a man as ever born. i wouldn't have lef' him for anybody, just on account of his wife and her fell out." "what did your marster say when you told him you were going to leave? was he sorry?" "i quit and goes over three miles to another widow lady house, and mek bargain wid her," said willis. "i pass right by de do'. old boss sitting on de pi-za. he say: 'hey, boy, wheh you gwine?' i say; 'i 'cided to go.' i was de fo'man of de plow-han' den. i saw to all de locking up, and things like dat. he say: 'hold on dere.' he come out to de gate. 'i tell you what i give you to stay on here, i give you five acre of as good land as i got, and $ . a month, to stay here and see to my bizness.'" willis paused a moment, thinking back on that long distant parting. "i say," he went on, "i can't, marster. it don't suit my wife 'round here, and she won't come back, and i can't stay.' he turn on me den, and busted out crying. 'i didn't tho't i could raise up a darky that would talk thataway,' he said to me. well, i went on off. i got de wagon and come by de house. marster says: 'now you gwone off, but don't forget me, boy. remember me as you always done.' i said: 'all right.'" willis chewed his tobacco reflectively for a few minutes, spat into the rosemary bush, and resumed his story: "i went over to dat widow lady's house and work. along about may i got sick. she say: 'i going to send for de doctor.' i said: 'please ma'am, don't do dat.' i thought maybe he kill me 'cause i lef' him. she say: 'well, i gwine send fo' him.' i in desprut condition. when i know anything, he walk up in de do'. i was laying wid my face toward de do' and i turn over. "doctor come up to de bed. 'boy, how you getting on?' 'i bad off,' i say. he say: 'i see you is. 'yeh.' lady say: 'doctor, what you think of him?' 'mistis, it mos' too late,' he say, 'but i do all i kin.' she say: 'please do all yo' kin, he 'bout de bes' han' i got.' "doctor fix up med'cine and tole her to give it to me. she say: 'uncle will, tek dis med'cine.' i 'fraid to tek it, 'fraid he wuz tryin' to kill me. den two men, john and charles, come in. lady say: 'get dis med'cine in uncle will.' one of de men hold my hand, one hold my head, and dey gagged me and put it in me. nex few days i kin talk, and ax for somethin' to eat, so i git better. i say: 'well, he didn't kill me when i tuk de med'cine.' "i stayed dere wid her. nex' yar i move right back in two miles other side wheh i always live, wid anudder lady. i stay dere three years. got along all right. when i lef' from there, i lef' dere wid $ . and plenty corn and hog. everything i want, and three hundred dollars cash in my pocket!" (it was plain that in his present status of relief ward, uncle willis looked back on that sum of money as a small fortune. he thought about it awhile, spat again, and went on:) "fourth year i lef' and went down to de john fryer place on rock creek. i stayed dere years in dat one place." "uncle willis, did you ever see the doctor again?" "he die 'fore i know it," he replied, "i was 'bout fifteen miles from him and be de time i hear of his death, he bury on plantation near rock creek." willis was asked about superstitions, and answered with great seriousness: "eberybody in de worl' have got a spirit what follow 'em roun' and dey kin see diffrunt things. in my sleep i hab vision." "pappy, tell de ladies 'bout de hant," urged aunt rena from her post in the doorway, and willis took up the story with eagerness: "one night i was gwine to a lady's store, riding a horse. de graveyard was yards from de road i wuz passing. de moon was shining bright as day. i saw somethin' coming out of dat graveyard. it come across de road, right befo' me. his tail were dragging on de ground, a long tail. he had hair on both sides of him, laying down on de road. he crep' up. i pull de horse dis way, he move too. i pull him dat way, he move too. i yell out: 'what in de name o' god is dat?' and it turn right straight 'round de graveyard and went back. i went on to de lady's store, and done my shoppin'. i tell you i was skeered, 'cause i was sho' i would see it going back, but i never saw it. de horse was turrible skeered of it. it looked like a maryno sheep, and it had a long, swishy tail." uncle willis was asked if he had ever seen a person "conjured" and he answered: "dey is people in de worl' got sense to kill out de conjur in anybody, but nobuddy ever conjur me. i year 'um say if a person conjur you, you'll git somethin' in you dat would kill you." asked to what he attributed his long, healthy life, he raised his head with a preaching look and replied: "i tell you, missis, 'zactly what i believe. i bin tryin' to serve god ever since i come to be a man of family. i bin trying to serve de lawd years, and i live by precepts of de word. until today nobuddy can turn me away from god business. i am a man studying my gospel. i ain't able to go to church, but i still keep serving god." a week later uncle willis was found standing in the cabin door. "do you want to ride to the old plantation to-day?" he was asked. his vitality was almost too low form to grasp the invitation. "i'se might weak today," he said in a feeble voice. "i don't feel good for much." "where is aunt rena?" he was asked. "do you think she would mind your taking an automobile trip?" "she gone to town on de bus, to see de fambly welfare." "have you had breakfast?" his weak appearance indicated lack of food. "i had some coffee, but i ain't eat 'none." "well, come on, uncle willis. we'll get you some breakfast, and then we'll take you to the plantation and take your picture in the place where you were born years ago." uncle willis appeared to be somewhat in a daze as he padlocked the cabin door, put on his "sundown" hat, took up his stout stick and tottered down the steps. he wore a frayed sweater, with several layers of shirts showing at the cuffs. on the way he recalled the first railroad train that passed through burke county. "i kinder scared," he recollected, "we wuz all 'mazed to see dat train flyin' long 'thout any horses. de people wuz all afraid." "had you hear of airplanes before you saw one, uncle willis?" "yes, ma'am. i yeared o' them, but you couldn't gimme dis car full of money to fly, they's too high off de ground. i never is gwine in one." uncle willis was deposited on the porch of one of the remaining slave cabins to eat his "brekkus," while his kidnappers sought over hill and field for "the big house," but only two cabins and the chimney foundation of a large burned dwelling rewarded the search. he was posed in front of the cabin, just in front of the clay and brick end chimney, and took great pleasure in the ceremony, rearing his head up straight so that his white beard stuck out. the brutal reality of finding the glories of rock creek plantation forever vanished must have been a severe blow for the old man, for several times on the way back he wiped tears from his eyes. once again at his cabin in the cotton field, his vitality reasserted itself, and he greeted his curious dusky neighbors with the proud statement: "dey tuk me wheh i was bred and born. i don't ax no better time." his farewell words were: "goo'bye. i hopes you all gits to paradise." folklore interviews obtained from: mrs. emmaline heard, cain st. ne mrs. rosa millegan, chestnut ave. ne mr. jasper millegan, chestnut ave. ne atlanta, ga. [date stamp: may ] [mrs. emmaline heard] mrs. emmaline heard, who resides at cain st. ne has proved to be a regular storehouse for conjure and ghost stories. not only this but she is a firm believer in the practice of conjure. to back up her belief in conjure is her appearance. she is a dark brown-skinned woman of medium height and always wears a dirty towel on her head. the towel which was at one time white gives her the weird look of an old-time fortune teller. tuesday, december , a visit was made to her home and the following information was secured: "there wuz onct a house in mcdonough and it wuz owned by the smiths that wuz slave owners way back yonder. now, this is the trufe cause it wuz told ter me by old uncle joe turner and he 'spirience it. nobody could live in this house i don't care how they tried. dey say this house wuz hanted and anybody that tried to stay there wuz pulled out of bed by a hant. well, sir, they offered the house and $ , to anyone who could stay there over night. uncle joe said he decided to try it so sho nuff he got ready one night and went ter this house to stay. after while, says he, something come in the room and started over ter the bed, but fore it got there, he said, "what in the name of the lord you want with me." it said, 'follow me. there is a pot of gold buried near the chimney; go find it and you won't be worried with me no more.' der next morning uncle joe went out there and begin ter dig and sho nuff he found the gold; and sides that he got the house. dis here is the trufe. uncle joe's house is right there in mcdonough now and anybody round there will tell you the same thing cause he wuz well-known. uncle joe is dead now. "anudder story that happened during slavery time and wuz told ter me by father wuz this; the master had a old man on his plantation named jimson. well, jimson's wife wuz sick and had been fer nearly a year. one day there she wanted some peas, black eyed peas; but old man harper didn't have none on his plantation, so jimson planned ter steal off that night and go ter old marse daniel's farm, which wuz miles from marse harper's farm, and steal a few peas for his wife. well, between midnight and day he got a sack and started off down the road. long after while a owl started hootin, sho-o-o are-e-e, who-o-o-o-, and it wounded jest lak someone saying 'who are you.' jimson got scared, pulled off his cap and run all the way to old man daniel's farm. as he run he wuz saying, "sir, dis is me, old jimson" over and over again. now, when he got near the farm old daniel heard him and got up in the loft ter watch him. finally old jimson got dar and started creeping up in the loft. when he got up dar, chile, marse daniel grabbed his whip and 'most beat jimson ter death. "this here story happened in mississippi years ago, but den folks that tell it ter me said it wuz the trufe. 'there wuz a woman that wuz sick; her name wuz mary jones. well, she lingered and lingered till she finally died. in them days folks all around would come ter the settin-up if somebody wuz dead. they done sent some men after the casket. since they had ter go miles they wuz a good while getting back, so the folkses decided ter sing. after while they heard the men come up on the porch and somebody got up ter let 'em in. chile, jest as they opened the door that 'oman set straight up on that bed; and sech another runnin and getting out of that house you never heard; but some folks realized she wuzn't dead so they got the casket out der way so she wouldn't see it, cause they wuz fraid she would pass out sho nuff; jest the same they wuz fraid of her, too. the man went off and come back with postols, guns, sticks, and everything; and when this 'oman saw 'em she said, 'don't run, i won't bother you.' but, chile, they left there in a big hurry, too. well, this here mary went to her sister's house and knocked on the door, and said: 'let me in. this is mary. i want to talk to you and tell you where i've been.' the sister's husband opened the door and let her in. this 'oman told 'em that god had brought her to and that she had been in a trance with the lord. after that every one wuz always afraid of that 'oman and they wouldn't even sit next ter her in the church. they say she is still living. "this happened right yonder in mcdonough years ago. a gal went to a party with her sweet'art and her ma told her not ter go. well, she went on anyhow in a buggy; when they got ter the railroad crossing a train hit the buggy and killed the gal, but the boy didn't git hurted at all. well, while they wuz sittin up with this dead gal, the boy comes long there in his buggy with anudder gal, and do you know that horse stopped right in front uv that house and wouldn't budge one inch. no matter how hard he whip that horse it wouldn't move; instid he rared and kicked and jumped about and almost turned the buggy over. the gal in the buggy fainted. finally a old slavery time man come along and told him to git a quart of whiskey and pour it around the buggy and the hant would go away. so they done that and the sperit let 'em pass. if a hant laked whisky in they lifetime, and you pour it round where they's at, they will go away." the following are true conjure stories supposedly witnessed by mrs. heard: "there wuz a rev. dennis that lived below the federal prison. now, he wuz the preacher of the hardshell baptist church in this community. this man stayed sick about a year and kept gittin different doctors and none uv them did him any good. well, his wife kept on at him till he decided ter go ter see dr. geech. his complaint wuz that he felt something run up his legs ter his thighs. old dr. geech told him that he had snakes in his body and they wuz put there by the lady he had been going wid. dr. geech give him some medicine ter take and told him that on the th day from then that 'oman would come and take the medicine off the shelf and throw it away. course rev. dennis didn't believe a thing he said, so sho nuff she come jest lak dr. geech said and took the medicine away. dr. geech told him that he would die when the snakes got up in his arm, but if he would do lak he told him he would get all right. dis 'oman had put this stuff in some whiskey and he drunk it so the snakes breed in his body. after he quit taking the medicine he got bad off and had ter stay in the bed; sho nuff the morning he died you could see the snake in his arm; the print uv it wuz there when he died. the snake stretched out in his arm and died, too. "i got a son named jack heard. well, somebody fixed him. i wuz in chicago when that happened and my daughter kept writing ter me ter come home cause jack wuz acting funny and she thought maybe he wuz losing his mind. they wuz living in thomasville then and every day he would go sit round the store and laugh and talk, but jest as soon as night would come and he would eat his supper them fits would come on him. he would squeal jest lak a pig and he would get down on his knees and bark jest lak a dog. well, i come home and went ter see a old conjure doctor. he says ter me, 'that boy is hurt and when you go home you look in the corner of the mattress and you will find it. 'sho nuff i went home and looked in the corner of the mattress and there the package wuz. it wuz a mixture of his hair and bluestone wrapped up in red flannel with new needles running all through it. when i went back he says ter me, 'emmaline, have you got dimes?' no, i said, but i got a dollar. 'well, get that dollar changed into dimes and take of 'em and give 'em ter me. then he took jack in a room, took off his clothes and started ter rubbin him down with medicine; all at the same time he wuz saying a ceremony over him; then he took them dimes, put 'em in a bag and tied them around jack's chest somewhere so that they would hang over his heart. 'now, wear them always,' says he ter jack. jack wore them dimes a long time but he finally drunk 'em up anyway, that doctor cured him cause he sho would a died." the following aroma [hw: is a] few facts as related by mrs. heard concerning an old conjure doctor known as aunt barkas [tr: darkas throughout rest of story]. "aunt darkas lived in mcdonough, ga. until a few years ago. she died when she wuz years old; but, chile, lemme tell you that 'oman knowed just what ter do fer you. she wuz blind but she could go ter the woods and pick out any kind of root or herb she wanted. she always said the lord told her what roots to get and always fore sun-up you would see her in the woods with a short handled pick. she said she had ter pick 'em for sun-up; i don't know why. if you wuz sick all you had ter do wuz go ter see aunt darkas and tell her. she had a well and after listening to your complaint she would go out there and draw a bucket of water and set it on the floor, and then she would wave her hand over it and say something. she called this healing the water. after this she would give you a drink of water. as she hand it ter you, she would say, 'now drink, take this and drink.' honey, i had some of that water myself and blieve me it goes all over you and makes you feel so good. old aunt darkas would give you a supply of water and tell you ter come back fer more when that wuz gone. old aunt darkas said the lord gave her power and vision, and she used to fast for a week at a time. when she died there wuz a piece in the paper bout her. "this here is sho the trufe, and if you don't believe it, go out ter southview cemetery and see sid heard, my oldest son; he been out there over years as sexton and bookkeeper. yessir, he tole it ter me and i believe it. this happen long ago, or years. there wuz a couple that lived in macon, ga., but their home wuz in atlanta and they had a lot out ter southview. well, they had a young baby that tuck sick and died so they had the baby's funeral there in macon; then they put the coffin in the box, placed the label on the box, then brought it ter atlanta. folkes are always buried so that they head faces the east. they say when judgment day come and gabriel blow that trumpet everybody will rise up facing the east. well, as i wuz saying, they came here. sid heard met 'em out yonder and instructed his men fer arrangements fer the grave and everything. a few weeks later the 'oman called sid heard up long distance. she said, 'mr. heard.' yesmam, he said. 'i call you ter tell you me and my husband can't rest at all.' 'why?' he asked. 'because we can hear our baby crying every night and it is worrying us ter death. our neighbors next door say our baby must be buried wrong.' sid heard said, well, i buried the baby according ter the way you got the box labeled. 'i am not blaming you, mr. heard, but if i pay you will you take my baby up?' yesmam, i will if you want me to; jest let me know the day you will be here and i'll have everything ready. alright, said she. 'well,' said sid heard, 'the day she wuz ter come she wuz sick and instead sent a car load of her friends. the men got busy and started digging till they got ter the box; when they took it up sho nuff after they opened it, they found the baby had been buried wrong; the head was facing the west instead of the east. they turned the box around and covered it up. the folks then went on back to macon. a week later the 'omen called up again. 'mr. heard,' she says. yesmam, says he. 'well, i haven't heard my baby cry at all in the past week. i wuzn't there but i know the exact date you took my baby up, cause i never heard it cry no more.' [mrs. rosa millegan and mr. jasper millegan] on december , mr. and mrs. millegan who reside at chestnut ave. ne. were interviewed on the subject of superstitions, signs, conjure, etc. mrs. rosa millegan studied awhile after the facts of the interview were made clear to her. finally she said; "i kin tell you more bout conjure; that's all i know bout cause i done been hurted myself and every word of it is the trufe. "well, it happen lak this. i wuz suffering with rheumatism in my arm and a old man in the neighborhood came ter me and gave me some medicine that he said would help me. well, i done suffered so i thought mebbe it might help me a little. chile honey, 'after i done tuck some of that stuff i nearly went crazy. i couldn't talk; couldn't hardly move and my head look lak it bust open. i didn't know what ter do. i called medical doctors and they jest didn't do me no good. let me tell you right here, when you done been conjured, medical doctors can't do you no good; you got ter get a nudder conjur doctor ter get it off you. well, one day i says to my daughter, "i'm through wid medical doctors. i'm gwine ter sam durham. they say he is good and i go find out. chile, folks done give me up ter die. i use ter lay in bed and hear 'em say, she won't never get up. well, i went ter sam durham and he looked at me and said: 'you is hurt in the mouth.' he carried me in a small room, put some medicine around my face, and told me ter sit down a while. after while my mouth and face begin ter feel lak it wuz paralyzed, and he begin ter talk. 'that man that give you that medicine is mad wid you about his wife and he fixed you. now do what i tell you and you will overcome it. he is coming ter your door and is gwine want ter shake your hand. don't let him touch you, but speak ter him in the name of the lord and throw your hands over your head; by doing this you will overcome him and the devil.' anudder thing he says; 'this man is coming from around the back of your house.' then he give me vials of different lengths and a half cup of pills, and told me ter take all that medicine. he told me too ter get a rooster and let him stay on my porch all the time and he couldn't get ter me no more. sho nuff, that nigger come jest lak he said he wuz going ter do, but i fixed him. later on this same man tried ter fix his wife cause he thought she had anudder man. do you know that oman couldn't drink water in her house? and when he died he wuz nearly crazy; they had ter strap him in the bed; all the while he wuz cussin god and raving." the next stories were told to the writer by mr. jasper millegan: "my uncle wuz poisoned. yes, sir, somebody fixed him in coffee. he lingered and lingered and finally got so he wuz confined ter bed fer good. somebody put scorpions in him and whenever they would crawl under his skin he would nearly go crazy, and it looked lak his eyes would jest pop out. he waited so long ter go ter the conjure doctors they couldn't do him any good. and the medical doctors ain't no good fer nothing lak that. yes, sir, them snakes would start in his feet and run up his leg. he nebber did get any better and he died. "a long time ago i saw a lady that wuz conjured in her feet; somebody put something down fer her ter walk over. well, anyway she got down with her feet and couldn't travel from her bed ter a chair. well, she got a old conjure doctor ter come treat her and he rubbed her feet with medicine and after he done that a while he told her that something wuz coming out of her feet. sho nuff, i see'd them maggots with my own eyes when they come out of her feet; but she got well." the following are preventatives to use against conjure; also a few home treatments for different sickness. "ter keep from being conjured, always use plenty salt and pepper. always get up soon in the morning so nobody can see you and sprinkle salt and pepper around your door and they sho can't git at you. "if you think you done been poisoned or conjured, take a bitter gourd and remove the seeds, then beat 'em up and make a tea. you sho will heave all of it up. "ef you think you will have a stroke, go to running water and get four flint rocks; heat 'em and lay on all of them, and believe me, it will start your blood circulating and prevent the stroke. another way to start your blood circulating; heat a brick and (lay) lie on it. "to get rid of corns, bathe your feet in salt water and take a little salt and put it 'tween your toes." mrs. millegan closed her interview by telling the writer that every morning found her sprinkling her salt and pepper, cause she knows what it means ter be fixed. as the writer started out the door she noticed a horse shoe hanging over the door. folklore (negro) minnie b. ross [mrs. camilla jackson] on november , mrs. camilla jackson was interviewed concerning superstitions, signs, etc. mrs. jackson, an ex-slave, is about years of age and although advanced in years she is unusually intelligent in her speech and thoughts. the writer was well acquainted with her having previously interviewed her concerning life as a slave. mrs. jackson related to the writer the following signs and incidents: if a tree is standing in your yard or near your house and an owl lights in it and begins to hoot, some one in the family will die. if, during the illness of a person, a cat comes in the room, or the house, and whines, the person will die. another sure sign of death and one that has been experienced by mrs. jackson is as follows: listen child if a bird flies in your house some one is going to die. my daughter and i were ironing one day and a bird flew in the window right over her head. she looked up and said, "mama that bird came after me or you, but i believe it came for me." one month later my daughter took sick with pneumonia and died. my mother said before the civil war ended her mistress owned an old slave woman years old. this old woman was very wicked and the old miss used to visit her cabin and read the bible to her. well sir, she died and do you know the horses balked and would go every way but the right way to the grave. they rared and kicked and would turn straight around in the road 'cause the evil spirits were frightening them. it was a long time before they could get the body to the grave. mrs. jackson before relating the following experiences emphatically stated her belief in seeing the dead but only believes that you can see them in a dream. "many a night my sister has come to me all dressed in white. i have heard her call me too; but i have never answered. no longer than one night last week old mr. and mrs. tanner came to me in a dream. the old lady came in my room and stood over my bed. her hair was done up on the top of her head just like she always wore it. she was distressed and spoke about some one being after her. old mr. tanner came and led her away. they really were in my room, you see both of them died in this house years ago." mrs. jackson could not relate any stories of conjuring; but did mention the fact that she had often heard of people wearing money around their legs to keep from being conjured. she also spoke of people keeping a horseshoe over the door for good luck. during slavery and since that time, if you should go out doors on a drizzling night for any thing, before you could get back jack o'lantern would grab you and carry you to the swamps. if you hollowed and some one bring a torch to the door the jack o'lantern would turn you aloose. another way to get rid of them is to turn your pockets wrong side out. one day a man came here selling roots called "john the conqueror" and sister blakely there, paid him ¢ for one of the plants, but she never did plant it. he said the plant would bring good luck. [mrs. anna grant] on the same day mrs. jackson was interviewed, mrs. anna grant told the writer that if she didn't mind she would relate to her a ghost story that was supposed to be true. in her own words the writer gives the following story: onst a 'oman, her husband and two chillun wuz travelin'. this 'oman wuz a preacher and only wanted to stop over night. now this 'oman's husban' wuz a sinner, but she wuz a christian. well she saw an old empty house setting in a field but when she went ter inquire 'bout it she wuz told that it wuz hanted and no one had ebber been able ter stay there over night. de lady dat owned de house offered her pillows, bed clothes, sheets, etc., if she intended to stay, and even told her that she would give her de house if she could stay there. the woman that owned the house told her butler to go and make a fire for the family and carry the pillows, sheets, etc. well, they all got there the 'oman built a fire, cooked supper and fed 'em all. her husband and children went ter bed. the husband wanted to know why his wife wanted him to go to bed and she wanted ter stay up. the wife didn't say nothin', just told him ter go to bed, then she laid the bible on the table bottom side up and kept looking behind her. the house wuz two story and after while something came ter the top steps and said, "can i throw down," she said "throw down in the name of the father, son and holy ghost." two thighs and a foot came down. later the same voice sed, "can i throw down," and she said, "throw down in the name of the father, son and the holy ghost," and then a whole body came down. the husband woke up when he heard the noise and ran away from the house. the ghost told the 'oman ter follow her, and she picked up her bible and kept on reading and went on behind the ghost. the ghost showed her where some money was buried near a big oak tree and then vanished. the next morning the 'oman dug and found der money, but the 'oman of the house wouldn't take a penny, said she didn't want it, sides that she gave her the house. they said this wuz a true story and der reason dat house wus hanted wuz 'cause der family dat used to live there got killed about money. mrs. grant ended by saying "deres a horseshoe over my door right now for luck." [mrs. emmaline heard] mrs. emmaline heard lives on cain st. between fort and butler sts. she is an ex-slave and on a previous occasion had given the writer an interesting account of slavery as she knew it. when the writer approached her concerning superstitious signs, ghost tales, conjure etc., mrs. heard's face became lit with interest and quickly assured the writer that she believed in conjuring, ghosts, and signs. it was not long before our interview began. mrs. heard, although seventy or seventy-five years old, is very intelligent in her expression of her different thoughts. this interview, as nearly as possible, was taken in the exact words of the person interviewed. "if you are eating with a mouthful of food and sneeze, that sho is a true sign of death. i know that 'cause years ago i wuz havin' breakfast with my son wylie and one other boy and wylie sneezed and said "mama i'm so sorry i jist coundn't help it the sneeze came on me so quick." i jist sat there and looked at him and began ter wonder. two weeks later my brother rode up and announced my mother's death. that is one sign thats true, yes sir. if a picture falls off the wall some one in the family will die. if you dream about teeth, if one falls out thats another sign of death. another sign of death jest as sho as you live is ter dream of a person naked. i dreamed my son was naked but his body was covered with hair. three months later he died. yes sir, that sho is a true sign. jest as sho as your left hand itches you will receive money. if fire pops on you from the stove, or fire place, you will get a letter. if the left side of your nose itches a man is coming to the house. if it itches on the tip, he will come riding. if the right side of your nose itches a woman is coming to the house. following are stories told to mrs. heard by her parents, which took place during the period of slavery. they are supposed to be true as they were experienced by the persons who told them. "my mother told me a story that happened when she was a slave. when her mistress whipped her she would run away ter the woods; but at night she would sneak back to nurse her babies. the plantation was on old mcdonough road, so ter get ter the plantation she had ter come by a cemetery and you could see the white stones shining in the moonlight. this cemetery was near a cut in the road that people said was hanted and they still say old mcdonough road is hanted. one night, mama said she was on her way to the plantation walking on the middle of the road and the moon was shining very bright. when she reached this cut she heard a noise, clack! clack! clack!, and this noise reminded a person of a lot of machines moving. all at once a big thing as large as a house came down the side of the road. she said it looked like a lot of chains, wheels, posts all mangled together, and it seemed that there were more wheels and chains than anything else. it kept on by making that noise, clack! clack! clack!. she stood right still till it passed and came on ter the farm. on her way back she say she didn't see it any more, but right till ter day that spot is hanted. i have knowed horses to run away right there with people and hurt them. then sometimes they have rared and kicked and turned to go in the other direction. you see, horses can see hants sometimes when folks can't. now the reason fer this cut being hanted was because old dave copeland used to whip his slaves to death and bury them along there." the next story was told to mrs. heard by her father, who experienced it, as a slave boy. "my father sed when he wuz a boy him and two more boys run away from the master 'cause the master whipped 'em. they set out and walked till it got dark, and they saw a big old empty house settin' back from der road. now this house was or miles from any other house. so they went in and made a fire, and laid down 'cause they wuz tired from running from the pader rollers. soon they heard something say tap! tap! tap!, down the stairs it came, a loud noise and then "oh lordy master, i aint goin' do it no more; let me off this time." after a while they heard this same noise like a house falling in and the same words "oh lordy master, i ant goin' do it no more. let me off this time." by this time they had got good and scared, so my pa sed he and his friends looked at each other and got up and ran away from that house jest as fast as they could go. nobody knowed why this old house wuz hanted; but they believed that some slaves had been killed in it." the next is a story of the jack o'lantern as told by mrs. heard. "old south river on' the jonesboro road is jest full of swampy land and on a rainy drizzly night jack o'lanterns will lead you. one night my uncle started out ter see his girl end he had ter go through the woods and the swamps. when he got in der swamp land he had ter cross a branch and the night wuz dark and drizzly, so dark you could hardly see your hand before your face. way up the creek he saw a little bright light, so he followed it thinking he wuz on his way. all night long he sed he followed this light up and down the swamp, but never got near ter it. when day came he was still in the creek and had not gone any distance at all. he went home and told the folks and they went back ter the swamps and saw his tracks up and down in the mud. later a group of 'em set out to find the jack o'lantern and way down the creek they found it on a bush. it looked like soot hanging down from a bush, burnt out. my uncle went ter bed 'cause he wuz sleepy and tired down from walking all night." the following three stories related by mrs. heard deals with practices of conjure. she definitely states that they are true stories; and backs up this statement by saying she is a firm believer in conjure. "as i told you before, my daddy came from virginia. he wuz bought there by old harper and brought ter mcdonough as a slave boy. well as the speculator drove along south, he learned who the different slaves were. when he got here he wuz told by the master to live with old uncle ned 'cause he wuz the only bachelor on the plantation. the master said ter old ned, "well ned, i have bought me a fine young plow boy. i want him ter stay with you and you treat him right." every night uncle ned would make a pallet on the floor for daddy and make him go to bed. when he got in bed he (uncle ned) would watch him out of the corner of his eye, but daddy would pretend he wuz asleep and watch old uncle ned to see what he wuz going ter do. after a while uncle ned would take a broom and sweep the fireplace clean, then he would get a basket and take out of it a whole lot of little bundles wrapped in white cloth. as he lay out a package he would say "grass hoppers," "spiders", "scorpian," "snake heads", etc., then he, would take the tongs and turn 'em around before the blaze so that they would parch. night after night he would do this same thing until they had parched enough, then he would beat all of it together and make a powder; then put it up in little bags. my daddy wuz afraid ter ask old uncle ned what he did with these bags, but heard he conjured folks with 'em. in fact he did conjure a gal 'cause she wouldn't pay him any attention. this gal wuz very young and preferred talking to the younger men, but uncle ned always tried ter hang around her and help hoe, but she would always tell him to go do his own work 'cause she could do hers. one day he said ter her "all right madam, i'll see you later, you wont notice me now but you'll wish you had. when the dinner came, and they left the field they left their hoes standing so they would know jest where ter start when they got back. when that gal went back ter the field the minute she touched that hoe she fell dead. some folks say they saw uncle ned dressing that hoe with conjure. "my sister lizzie sho did get fixed, honey, and it took a old conjurer ter get the spell off of her. it wuz like this: sister lizzie had a pretty peachtree and one limb spreaded out over the walk and jest as soon as she would walk under this limb, she would stay sick all the time. the funny part 'bout it wuz that while she wuz at other folks house she would feel all right, but the minute she passed under this limb, she would begin ter feel bad. one day she sent fer a conjurer, and he looked under the house, and sho nuff, he found it stuck in the sill. it looked like a bundle of rags, red flannel all stuck up with needles and every thing else. this old conjurer told her that the tree had been dressed for her an t'would be best fer her ter cut it down. it wuz a pretty tree and she sho did hate to cut it down, but she did like he told her. yes child, i don't know whither i've ever been conjured or not, but sometimes my head hurts and i wonder." mrs. heard asked the writer to return at a later date and she would probably be able to relate more interesting incidents. folklore (negro) edwin driscoll [mrs. julia rush, mr. george leonard, mr. henry holmes, mr. ellis strickland, mr. sam stevens, joe (a boy)] the negro folklore as recounted below was secured from the following persons: mrs. julia rush (an ex-slave) who lives at coleman street, s.w.; mr. george leonard (a very intelligent elderly person) whose address is chestnut avenue n.e.; and mr. henry holmes (an ex-slave); mr. ellis strickland; mr. sam stevens and a young boy known only as joe. the latter named people can be found at the address of old wheat street, n.e. according to these people this lore represents the sort of thing that their parents and grandparents believed in and at various times they have been heard to tell about these beliefs. voodoo and conjure mr. leonard says: "in dem days de old folks b'lieved in witch-craft and conjure and sicha stuff like dat. dey b'lieved dat an old person could punish anybody by taking a piece of chip and spitting on it and den dey would throw it on 'em. dey said dat in two weeks time maggots would be in 'em." "i have seen 'em take a black cat an' put 'im in a sack an' den dey took 'im an' put 'im in a pot of boiling hot water alive. man de cat would almos' tear dat pot up tryin' to git out. after dey had cooked all de meat off de cat dey took one of his bones (i don't know which one of 'em) and put it crossways in their front teeth while dey mumbled somethin' under their breath an' den dey took dis bone an' throwed it 'cross de right shoulder an' when dey went an' picked it up an' put it in their pocket it was supposed to give 'em de bes' kind of luck. dey could say or do anything dey wanted to an' ole marster couldn't hit 'em." regarding the black cat's bone mr. strickland told the following story which he says he once heard an old man tell his father: "you goes out in de valley in de woods an' you takes a live black cat an' throws 'im in a pot of boiling water. you boils 'im 'till he gits done all to pieces an' den you takes all de bones an' throws 'em in de creek an' de one dat floats up de creek is de one to use. you takes dis bone an' draws it through your teech an' gits all de meat off an' den you can take dat bone an' do all kinds of majic. you can talk to folks an' dey can't see you. you can even disappear an' come right back. it takes a good 'un to do dat (get a black cat's bone). while you's boilin' de cat dat thunder an' lightnin' look like it goin' tear up de face of de earth--you can even see de wind which is like a red blaze of fire." continuing mr. strickland says: "some of de roots dat dey used to bring 'im luck an' to trick folks wid wuz rattle-snake marster, and john de conquerer. john de conquerer is supposed to conquer any kind of trouble you gits intuh. some folks says dat you can tote it in your pocket an' have good luck. "i once knowed a woman who had some lodestone dat she uster work. she could take men an' dere wives apart an' den put 'em back together again. she say dat she had killed so many folks (by the use of conjure and majic etc.) dat she did'nt know whether she would ever git fit fer forgiveness. she sold she sold herself to de devil fer twenty years." "aint nuthin wrong wid folks all de time when dey thinks dey is tricked," says mr. strickland. "i had a friend named joe once an' he uster fool 'roun wid roots an' stuff like dat. one day he heard about a man who had promised to pay five-hundred dollars to anybody dat could cure him of de misery in his stomach. he thought somebody had "tricked" him by puttin' a snake in 'im. joe stayed wid 'im fer two days an' he did'nt git no better an' so he went out de nex' day an' bought a rubber snake an den he come back an' give de man some medecine to make 'im vomit. when he comited joe throwed de snake in de can an' den he said to de man: "dere it is, i knowed somebody had fixed you." de man said: "dey tol' me somebody had put a snake in me." joe took de snake an' done away wid it an' de nex' day de man wuz up walkin' 'roun. he never did know how he had been fooled an' joe made de five-hundred dollars." according to mrs. rush the wife of the colored foreman on her master's plantation was always working with roots. she says "one day i come in fum de field to nurse my baby an' when i got to my house dere was dis woman standing at my door." i said to her: "name o' god aunt candis (dat wus her name) whut is you doin'?" she wus makin' all kings of funny motions when i come up on her. if you aint scared of 'em dey can't do nuthin to you. when i hollored at her de sweat broke out on her face. by dis time i had stayed away fum de field too long an' i knowed i wus goin' to git a whippin' but candis gimme some of de roots she had in her mouth an'in her pockets. she tol' me to put piece of it in my mouth an' chew it. when i got near de overseer i was to spit some of de juice towars him an' i would'nt git a whippin'. i tied a piece of it 'roun my waist an' put some in my trunk too. i did'nt git a whippin' when i got to de field but when i went to look fer de root 'roun my waist it wus gone. when i went back to de house dat night de other piece was gone too. i aint seed it fum dat day to dis. de rest of de women on de plantation honored candis but i did'nt. dey say dat folks like dem can put stuff down fer you to walk in er set in or drink an' dat dey can fix you lie dat. but dey can't do nuthin' wid you if you aint scared of 'em." "not so long ago a woman whut uster live back of me tried to do sumpin' to me after we had a fuss. i woke up one mornin' an' looked out by my back fence an' dere wus a lotsa salt an' sulphur an' stuff all 'roun de yard. de other women wus scared fer me but i wus'nt." several of my informants say that salt can be used as a weapon of conjure. according to joe salt may be used to make a gambler lose all of his money. to do this all that is necessary is to stand behind the person to be conjured and then sprinkle a small amount of salt on his back. from that instant on he will lose money. joe has also seen a woman use the following method to make her male friend remain at home: "she taken some salt an' pepper an' sprinkled it up an' down de steps," says joe, "an' den she taken a plain eatin' fork an' stuck it under de door steps an' de man stayed right in de house until she moved de fork." mr. stevens says: "if you want to fix somebody all you got to do is to sprinkle some salt an' petter 'roun 'em an' it'll make 'em bus' dere brains out. if you wants to make 'em move you go out to de grave yard an' stick your hand down in de middle of a grave an' git a handful of dat red graveyard dirt an' den you comes back an' sprinkles it 'roun dere door an' dey's gone, dey can't stay dere. another conjuration is fer a woman to make three waves over a man's head. i saw one do dat once." another method used to fix or conjure people, according to mrs. rush, is to take a lizard and parch it. the remains must be put in something that the person is to eat and when the food is eaten the individual will be conjured. mr. holmes says if a black cat's tail is tied on someone's doorknob it will "cut dey luck off." silver money tied around the leg will ward off the effects of conjure. mrs. rush says if you are feeling ill and you wish to determine whether or not someone has been trying to conjure you or not just take a silver coin and place it in your mouth. if it turns black somebody is working conjure on you. "i knowed a man who went to newnan to see his mother who wus sick," stated mrs. rush. "she wus so sick dat she could'nt tell whut wus de matter wid her an' so her son took a silver quarter an' put it in her mouth an' it turned as black as a kettle." says mr. holmes: "if anybody comes to your house an' you don't want 'em dere, when dey leaves you take some salt an' throw it at 'em when dey gits out of hearin' you cuss at 'em an' dey won't never come back again." following are some songs that used to be sung about conjure, etc.: son: "mother, make my bed down i will freely lie down, mother, make my bed down i will freely lie down" mother: "ransom, my son, what did she give you to eat? ransom, my son, what did she give you to eat? son: "red head (parched lizard) and speckle back oh, make my bed down i will freely lie down." "i'm goin' to pizen (poison) you, i'm goin' to pizen you, i'm jus' sick an' tired of de way you do, i'm goin' to sprinkle spider legs 'roun yo' bed an' you gonna wake up in de mornin' an find yourself dead" "you beat me an' you kick me an' you black my eyes, i'm gonna take dis butcher knife an' hew you down to my size, you mark my words, my name is lou, you mind out what i say, i'm goin' to pizen you." positive cures and controls mrs. rush says that backache can be cured by rubbing a hot iron up and down the afflicted person's back. asafetida tied around the neck will prevent smallpox. risings can be cured by rubbing them with a poultice made from house-leak root. to prevent a fall while walking from one side of a creek to the other on a log, place a small stick crosswise in the front-teeth and no mishap will result. hold the mouth full of water while peeling onions and the onion juice will not get in the eyes. if a man wishes to make a woman fall in love with him all that he has to do is to take some of her hair, tie it up, and then throw it in running water. in a short while she will fall deeply in love with him. a man may also cause a woman to fall in love with him by letting her drink whiskey in which he has allowed "gin-root" to soak. if a woman wishes to make a man fall in love with her she has only to take the small bow usually found in the back of a man's cap on the sweatband, or the bow usually found on the band of the man's hat. after this has been secured it must be taken and worn under her clothes next to her body. witch riding mrs. betty brown of butler street, n.e. says that when people die angry with someone they usually come back after death in the form of a witch and then they ride the person that they were angry with at the time of their death. according to mr. favors who lives at raymond street, when a witch rides anyone it is a sign that a man, a woman, or a dog, is after that person. mrs. julia rush says: "de old folks uster call witches hags. dey wus some kind of sperrits (spirits) an' dey would ride anybody. my grandmother uster sleep wid de sissors under her pillow to keep 'em away." "i once heerd a woman dat a witch come to a house one night an' took her skin off an' went through de key hole. somebody foun' de skin an' sprinkled salt on it an' when de witch come out she could'nt git in de skin an' she started saying: 'skinny, skinny, don't you know me?'" regarding witches mr. leonard made the following statement: "the old folks b'lieved dat any house a person died in was "hainted" and dat de dead person's spirit was a witch dat would come back at night. they used to put a pan of salt on de corpse to keep it fum purgin' an' to keep de witches away. they burned lamps all night long fer about three weeks after de person was dead an' they sprinkled salt an' pepper 'roun too to keep de witches away." another informant claims that if a person sleeps with his or her shoes under the bed the witches are liable to ride him. mr. strickland says that when the witches are riding anyone if that person can say any three words of the bible such as: "lord have mercy," or "jesus save me" the witch will stop riding. apparitions and ghosts mr. henry holmes claims that he has seen the jack o'lantern and that at one time he even followed it. he says: "one night me an' two more fellows followed de jack o'lantern. it looked like a light in a house or sumpin. we did'nt know where we wus until de nex' mornin' an' when we did find ourselfs we wus at home. all de while we followed it it jus' kep' goin' further an' further until it jus' vanished." according to mr. leonard the jack o'lantern is a light that comes out of the swamps at night and after getting in front of a person it will lead him on and on. the old folks also used to think that the vapor seen rising out of the swamps at night were ghosts. one night he and his grandfather were walking down the railroad tracks when suddenly his grandfather said: "stand back dere george don't you see dat man walkin' 'long dere wid no head?" he says, however, that he himself failed to see any such thing. according to both mrs. brown and mrs. [rush?] people who are born with cauls (a kind of a veil) over their eyes are able to see ghosts. customs concerning courtship and marriage mr. leonard says that a young man wishing to accompany a young woman to her home always spoke in the following manner: "dear kind miss, if you have no objection of my being your protection, i'm going in your direction." it was in this manner that he asked her to allow him to escort her home. for several years after freedom was declared it was the custom for the bride and the groom to jump over the broom together before they were pronounced man and wife. hunting lore the best time to hunt 'possums is on a cloudy night just before the break of day. all of the big ones are out then mr. favors claims. compilation folklore interviews--richmond county conjuration written by: louise oliphant federal writers' project augusta, georgia edited by: john n. booth, district supervisor, residencies & , federal writers' project augusta, georgia conjuration richmond county's older colored citizens, particularly the few surviving ex-slaves, are outspoken in their firm belief concerning powers of conjurers and root workers. "when it comes to conjuration, don't nobody know more 'bout that, and there ain't nobody had as much of it done to 'em as i have," said a wizened old woman. "i know nobody could stand what i have stood. the first i knowed 'bout conjuration was when a woman named lucinda hurt my sister. she was always a 'big me,' and her chillun was better than anybody elses. well her oldest child got pregnant and that worried lucinda nearly to death. she thought everybody she seed was talkin' 'bout her child. one day she passed my sister and another 'oman standin' on the street laughin' and talkin'. lucinda was so worried 'bout her daughter she thought they was laughin' at her. she got so mad she cussed 'em out right there and told 'em their 'turn was in the mill.' my sister called the other 'oman in the house and shut the door to keep from listenin' at her. that made it wuss. "'bout three weeks later my sister started complainin'. us had two or three doctors with her, but none of 'em done her any good. the more doctors us got the wuss she got. finally all of the doctors give her up and told us there warn't nothin' they could do. after she had been sick 'bout two months she told us 'bout a strange man comin' to her house a few days 'fore she took sick. she said he had been there three or four times. she 'membered it when he come back after she took sick and offered to do somethin' for her. the doctors hadn't done her no good and she was just 'bout to let him doctor on her when this 'oman that was with her the day lucinda cussed 'em out told her he was lucinda's great uncle. she said that everybody called him the greatest root worker in south carolina. then my sister thought 'bout how this man had come to her house and asked for water every time. he wouldn't ever let her get the water for him, he always went to the pump and got it hisself. after he had pumped it off real cool he would always offer to get a bucket full for her. she didn't think nothin' 'bout it and she would let him fill her bucket. that's how he got her. "she stayed sick a long time and mamie stayed by her bed 'til she died. i noticed mamie wipin' her mouth every few minutes, so one day i asked her what did she keep wipin' from my sister's mouth. she told me it wasn't nothin' but spit. but i had got very anxious to know so i stood by her head myself. finally i seed what it was. small spiders came crawlin' out of her mouth and nose. mamie thought it would skeer me, that's why she didn't want me to know. "that happened on tuesday and that friday when she died a small snake come out of her forehead and stood straight up and stuck his tongue out at us. a old man who was sittin' there with us caught the snake, put him in a bottle, and kept him 'bout two weeks before he died. "don't think lucinda didn't have pore mamie conjured too. mamie took sick just one month after my sister died. after she found out the doctors couldn't do her no good, she got a real good root worker to doctor on her. he got her up and she stayed up for nearly a year before lucinda doubled the dose. that time pore mamie couldn't git up. she suffered and suffered before she died. but lucinda got her pay for all of it. when mamie died lucinda come to see her and said 'some folks was better off dead anyhow'. mamie's daughter started to jump on her but some of the old folks wouldn't let her. "lucinda went a long time, but when she fell she sho' fell hard. she almost went crazy. she stayed sick as long as my sister and mamie put together. she got so bad off 'til nobody couldn't even go in her house. everybody said she was reapin' what she sowed. she wouldn't even let her own chillun come in the house. after she got so sick she couldn't get off the bed she would cuss 'em and yell to the top of her voice 'til they left. nobody didn't feel sorry for her 'cause they knowed she had done too much devilment. "just 'fore she died, lucinda was so sick and everybody was talkin' 'bout it was such a shame for her to have to stay there by herself that her youngest daughter and her husband went to live with her. her daughter was 'fraid to go by herself. when she died you could stand in the street and hear her cussin' and yellin'. she kept sayin' 'take 'em off of me, i ain't done nothin' to 'em. tell 'em i didn't hurt 'em, don't let 'em kill me.' and all of a sudden she would start cussin' god and anybody she could think of. when she died it took four men to hold her down in the bed." "i've been sick so much 'til i can look at other folks when they're sick and tell if its natural sickness or not. once i seed my face always looked like dirty dish water grease was on it every mornin' 'fore i washed it. then after i washed it in the places where the grease was would be places that looked like fish scales. then these places would turn into sores. i went to three doctors and every one of 'em said it was poison grease on my face. i knowed i hadn't put no kind of grease on it, so i couldn't see where it was comin' from. every time i told my husband 'bout it he got mad, but i never paid too much 'tention to that. then one day i was tellin' a friend of mine 'bout it, and she told me my husband must be doin' it. i wondered why he would do such a thing and she said he was just 'bout jealous of me. "the last doctor i went to give me somethin' to put on my face and it really cleared the sores up. but i noticed my husband when my face got clear and he really looked mad. he started grumblin' 'bout every little thing, right or wrong. then one day he brought me a black hen for dinner. my mind told me not to eat the chicken so i told him i wanted to keep the hen and he got mad 'bout that. 'bout two or three days later i noticed a big knot on the side of the chicken's head and it bursted inside of that same week. the chicken started drooping 'round and in a week's time that chicken was dead. you see that chicken was poison. "after that my husband got so fussy i had to start sleepin' in another room. i was still sick, so one day he brought me some medicine he said he got from dr. traylor. i tried to take a dose 'cause i knowed if it was from dr. traylor it was all right, but that medicine burnt me just like lye. i didn't even try to take no more of it. i got some medicine from the doctor myself and put it in the bottom of the sideboard. i took 'bout three doses out of it and it was doing me good, but when i started to take the fourth dose it had lye in it and i had to throw it away. i went and had the doctor to give me another bottle and i called myself hidin' it, but after i took 'bout six doses, lye was put in it. then one day a friend of mine, who come from my husband's home, told me he was a root worker and she thought i already knowed it. well i knowed then how he could find my medicine everytime i hid it. you see he didn't have to do nothin' but run his cards. from then on i carried my medicine 'round in my apron pocket. "i started sleepin' in the kitchen on a cot 'cause his mother was usin' the other room and i didn't want to sleep with her. late at night he would come to the window and blow somethin' in there to make me feel real bad. things can be blowed through the key hole too. i know 'cause i have had it done to me. this kept up for 'bout a year and five or six months. then 'cause he seed he couldn't do just what he wanted to, he told me to get out. i went 'cause i thought that might help me to git out of my misery. but it didn't 'cause he come where i was every night. he never did try to come in, but us would hear somebody stumblin' in the yard and whenever us looked out to see who it was us always found it was him. us told him that us seed him out there, but he always denied it. he does it right now or sometimes he gets other root workers to do it for him. whenever i go out in the yard my feet always feel like they are twistin' over and i can't stop 'em; my legs and knees feel like somethin' is drawin' 'em, and my head starts swimmin'. i know what's wrong, it just what he had put down for me. "when i get up in the mornin' i always have to put sulphur and salt and pepper in my shoes to keep down the devilment he puts out for me. a man who can do that kind of work give me somethin' to help me, but i was s'posed to go back in six months and i ain't been back. that's why it's started worryin' me again. "my sister was conjured by openin' the door and eatin' afterwards without washin' her hands," an -year old ex-slave remarked. "she had just come home and opened her front door and went in the house to eat before goin' to church. she et her supper and started to church with another of my sisters. after she had gone 'bout two or three blocks she started feelin' sick and walkin' as if she was drunk. my sister tried to make her go back home but she wouldn't. when they got to church she couldn't hardly get up the steps and they warn't in church over fifteen minutes 'fore she had a stroke. somebody took a car and carried her home. she couldn't even speak for more than a week. the doctor come and 'xamined her, but he said he didn't see nothin' that would cause her to have a stroke. he treated her for 'bout two weeks but she didn't get no better. a friend told us to try a root worker. she said she knowed one that was good on such things. us was afraid at first, but after the three doctors us had tried didn't seem to do her no good, us decided to get the root worker. "the root worker come that wednesday mornin' and looked at her, but he never touched her. he told us she had been hurt, but he could have her on her feet in 'bout a week or ten days. he didn't give her no medicine, and he never come back 'til after she was up and walkin' 'round. she got up in 'bout seven days, and started talkin' earlier than that. the root worker told her she had got conjured by puttin' her hands on somethin' and eatin' without washin' 'em. "she got along fine for 'bout three years, 'til one day she got home from work and found her house open. she thought her son had gone out and forgot to lock the door. when he come home he told her he had not been back since he left that mornin'. she knowed she didn't forget to lock it, so she guessed somebody had jus 'bout gone in through the window and come out the door. but it was too late then 'cause she had et what was left in the house and had drunk some water. "that night she had her second stroke. us sent for the same man who had got her up before, but he said he doubted gettin' her up this time 'cause the person had made a good job of it by puttin' somethin' in her water and t'eat. he treated her, and she got strong enough to sit up in the house, but she soon had the third stroke and then he give her up. she died 'bout two months later. "i know you don't know how folks can really conjure you. i didn't at one time, but i sho' learnt. everytime somebody gets sick it ain't natchel sickness. i have seed folks die with what the doctors called consumption, and yet they didn't have it. i have seed people die with heart trouble, and they didn't have it. folks is havin' more strokes now than ever but they ain't natchel. i have seed folks fixed so they would bellow like a cow when they die, and i have seed 'em fixed so you have to tie them down in bed to die. i've got so i hardly trust anybody." estella jones thinks conjurers and root workers are much more skillful now than formerly. "folks don't kill you like they used to kill you. they used to put most anythin' in you, but now they got so wise or afraid that somebody will know zactly what killed you, 'til they do it slick as a eel. "once a man named john tried to go with a girl but her step-pa, willie, run him away from the house just like he mought be a dog, so john made it up in his mind to conjure willie. he went to the spring and planted somethin' in the mouth of it, and when willie went there the next day to get a drink he got the stuff in the water. a little while after he drunk the water he started gettin' sick. he tried to stay up but every day he got wuss and wuss 'til he got flat down in bed. "in a few days somethin' started growin' in his throat. every time they tried to give him soup or anythin' to eat, somethin' would come crawlin' up in his throat and choke him. that was what he had drunk in the spring, and he couldn't eat nothin' or drink nothin'. finally he got so bad off he claimed somethin' was chokin' him to death, and so his wife sont off and got a fortune teller. this fortune teller said it was a turtle in his throat. he 'scribed the man that had conjured willie but everybody knowed john had done it 'fore the fortune teller told us. it warn't long after that 'fore willie was dead. that turtle come up in his throat and choked him to death. "some folk don't believe me, but i ain't tellin' no tale 'bout it. i have asked root workers to tell me how they does these things, and one told me that it was easy for folks to put snakes, frogs, turtles, spiders, or most anythin' that you couldn't live with crawlin' and eatin' on the inside of you. he said these things was killed and put up to dry and then beat up into dust like. if any of this dust is put in somethin' you have to eat or drink, these things will come alive like they was eggs hatchin' in you. then the more they grow, the worse off you get. "my aun't son had took a girl away from another man who was going with her too. as soon as this man heard they was going to marry, he started studyin' some way to stop it. so he went to a root worker and got somethin' and then went to this girl's house one night when he knew my cousin was there. finally when he got ready to leave, he was smart enough to get my cousin to take a drink with him. "that next mornin' the boy was feelin' a little bad, but he never paid too much 'tention to it. next day he felt a little wuss, and everyday from then on he felt wuss and wuss 'til he got too sick to stay up. one day a old lady who lived next door told us to try a root worker who lived on jones street. this man came and told us what was wrong, but said us had waited too long to send for him. he give us some thin' to 'lieve the boy of his misery. us kept givin' this to him 'til he finally got up. course he warn't well by no means and this medicine didn't help his stomach. his stomach got so big everybody would ask what was wrong. he told everybody that asked him and some who didn't ask him 'bout the frogs in his stomach. the bigger these frogs got, the weaker he got. "after he had been sick 'bout four months and the frogs had got to be a pretty good size, you could hear 'em holler everytime he opened his mouth. he got to the place where he wouldn't talk much on account of this. his stomach stuck out so far, he looked like he weighed pounds. "after these frogs started hollerin' in him, he lived 'bout three weeks, and 'fore he died you could see the frogs jumpin' 'bout in him and you could even feel 'em. "t'ain't no need talkin'; folks can do anythin' to you they wants to. they can run you crazy or they can kill you. don't you one time believe that every pore pusson they has in the 'sylum is just natchelly crazy. some was run crazy on account of people not likin' 'em, some 'cause they was gettin' 'long a little too good. every time a pusson jumps in the river don't think he was just tryin' to kill hisself; most times he just didn't know what he was doin'. "my daughter was fixed right here under our noses. she was married and had five little chillun and she was the picture of health. but she had a friend that she trusted too much and this friend was single and in love with my daughter's husband. diff'unt people told liza 'bout this girl, but she just didn't believe 'em. every day this girl was at liza's house 'til time for lewis to git off from work. she helped liza wash, clean up, iron and cook, but she always left at the time for lewis to git off from work. "this went on for more'n a year, but i kept tellin' liza to ween off from this girl 'cause i seed she didn't mean her no good. but liza was grown and nobody couldn't tell her nothin'. i think she had liza fixed so she would be crazy 'bout her. people can make you love 'em, even marry 'em when if you was in your right mind you wouldn't give 'em a thought. anyhow liza went on with the girl 'til one afternoon while she was comin' from the store she seed lewis and edna goin' in a house together. he come home 'bout three hours later, and when liza asked him why he was so late he told her they had to work late. he didn't know she had seed him and she never told him. "after this she started watchin' him and edna, and she soon found out what folks had been tellin' her was true. still she never told lewis nothin' 'bout it. she told edna 'bout seein' 'em and asked her to please let lewis alone. edna made up some kind of s'cuse but she never let him alone, and she kept goin' to liza's house. when things finally went too far, liza spoke to lewis 'bout it and asked him to leave edna alone. he did, but that made edna mad and that's when she 'cided to kill liza. lewis really loved liza and would do anythin' she asked him to. "one day edna come to see liza, after she had stayed away for 'bout three weeks, and she was more lovin' than ever. she hung around 'til she got a chance to put somethin' in the water bucket, then she left. people can put somethin' in things for you and everybody else can eat or drink it, but it won't hurt nobody but the one it's put there for. when liza drunk water, she said it tasted like it had salt-peter in it. when she went to bed that night, she never got out 'til she was toted out. she suffered and suffered and we never knowed what was wrong 'til edna told it herself. she took very sick and 'fore she died she told one of her friends 'bout it and this friend told us, but it was too late then, liza was dead." compilation richmond county--ex-slave interviews folk remedies and superstition written by: louise oliphant federal writers' project augusta, georgia edited by: john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project augusta, georgia belief in charms and conjurs is still prevalent among many of augusta's older negroes. signs and omens also play an important part in their lives, as do remedies and cures handed down by word of mouth from generation to generation. if a wrestler can get dirt from the head of a fresh grave, sew it up in a sack, and tie it around his waist, no one can throw him. to make a person leave town, get some dirt out of one of his tracks, sew it up in a sack, and throw it in running water. the person will keep going as long as the water runs. to take a hair out of a person's head and put it in a live fishes mouth will make the person keep traveling as long as the fish swims. if someone dies and comes back to worry you, nail some new lumber into your house and you won't be bothered any more. when the hands of a dead person remain limp, some other member of the family will soon follow him in death. when a spider builds a web in your house, you may expect a visitor the same color as the spider. a singing fire is a sign of snow. if a cat takes up at your house it's a sign of good luck; a dog--bad luck. if a spark of fire pops on you, it is a sign that you will receive some money or a letter. to dream of muddy water, maggots, or fresh meat is a sign of death. to dream of caskets is also a sign of death. you may expect to hear of as many deaths as there are caskets in the dream. to dream of blood is a sign of trouble. to dream of fish is a sign of motherhood. to dream of eggs is a sign of trouble unless the eggs are broken. if the eggs are broken, your trouble is ended. to dream of snakes is a sign of enemies. if you kill the snakes, you have conquered your enemies. to dream of fire is a sign of danger. to dream of a funeral is a sign of a wedding. to dream of a wedding is a sign of a funeral. to dream of silver money is a sign of bad luck; bills--good luck. to dream of dead folk is a sign of rain. wear a raw cotton string tied in nine knots around your waist to cure cramps. to stop nosebleed or hiccoughs cross two straws on top of your head. lick the back of your hand and swallow nine times without stopping to cure hiccoughs. tea made from rue is good for stomach worms. corn shuck tea is good for measles; fodder tea for asthma. goldenrod tea is good for chills and fever. richet weed tea is good for a laxative. tea made from parched egg shells or green coffee is good for leucorrhoea. black snuff, alum, a piece of camphor, and red vaseline mixed together is a sure cure for piles. to rid yourself of a corn, grease it with a mixture of castor oil and kerosine and then soak the foot in warm water. sulphur mixed with lard is good for bad blood. a cloth heated in melted tallow will give relief when applied to a pain in any part of the body. take a pinch of sulphur in the mouth and drink water behind it to cleanse the blood. dog fern is good for colds and fever; boneset tea will serve the same purpose. catnip tea is good for measles or hives. if your right shoe comes unlaced, someone is saying good things about you; left shoe--bad things. if a chunk of fire falls from the fireplace a visitor is coming. if the chunk is short and large the person will be short and fat, etc. don't buy new things for a sick person; if you do he will not live to wear it out. if a person who has money dies without telling where it is, a friend or relative can find it by going to his grave three nights in succession and throwing stones on it. on the fourth night he must go alone, and the person will tell him where the money is hidden. if a witch rides you, put a sifter under the bed and he will have to count the holes in the sifter before he goes out, thus giving you time to catch him. starch your sweetheart's handkerchief and he will love you more. don't give your sweetheart a knife. it will cut your love in two. if it rains while the sun is shining the devil is beating his wife. to bite your tongue while talking is a sign that you have told a lie. persons with gaps between their front teeth are big liars. cut your finger nails on monday, you cut them for news; cut them on tuesday, get a new pair of shoes; cut them on wednesday, you cut them for wealth; cut them on thursday, you cut them for health; cut them on friday, you cut them for sorrow; cut them on saturday, see your sweetheart tomorrow; cut them on sunday, its safety to seek; but the devil will have you the rest of the week. if you start some place and forget something don't turn around without making a cross mark and spitting in it, if you do you will have bad luck. to stump your right foot is good luck, but to stump your left foot is bad luck. to prevent the bad luck you must turn around three times. it is bad luck for a black cat to cross you to the left, but good luck if he crosses you to the right. if a picture of a person falls off the wall it is a sign of death. to dream of crying is a sign of trouble. to dream of dancing is a sign of happiness. if you meet a gray horse pulling a load of hay, a red haired person will soon follow. if you are eating and drop something when you are about to put it in your mouth someone wishes it. if a child never sees his father he will make a good doctor. to dream that your teeth fall out is a sign of death in the family. to dream of a woman's death is a sign of some man's death. to dream of a man's death is the sign of some woman's death. if a chicken sings early in the morning a hawk will catch him before night. always plant corn on the waste of the moon in order for it to yield a good crop. if planted on the growing of the moon there will be more stalk than corn. when there is a new moon, hold up anything you want and make a wish for it and you will get it. if you hear a voice call you and you are not sure it is really someone, don't answer because it may be your spirit, and if you answer it will be a sure sign of death. cross eyed women are bad luck to other women, but cross eyed men are good luck to women and vice-versa for men. to wear a dime around your ankle will ward off witch craft. to put a silver dime in your mouth will determine whether or not you have been bewitched. if the dime turns black, someone has bewitched you, but if it keeps its color, no one has bewitched you. to take a strand of a person's hair and nail it in a tree will run that person crazy. if a rooster crows on your back steps you may look for a stranger. chinaberries are good for wormy children. the top of a pine tree and the top of a cedar tree placed over a large coal of fire, just enough to make a good smoke, will cure chillblain feet. compilation richmond county ex-slave interviews mistreatment of slaves written by: louise oliphant, federal writers' project augusta, georgia edited by: john n. booth, district supervisor, federal writers' project augusta, georgia there are many ex-slaves living in richmond county and augusta who have vivid recollections of the days when their lives were inseparably bound to those of their masters. these people have a past rich in tradition and sentiment, and their memories of customs, habits of work and play, and the superstitious beliefs, which still govern their actions to a large extent weave a colorful pattern in local history. mistreatment at the hands of their masters and the watchdog overseers is outstanding in the memory of most of them. "when i was in slavery, us had what you call good white folk. they warn't rich by no means, but they was good. us had rather have 'em poor and good than rich and mean. plenty of white folk mistreated they slaves, but ours never mistreated us. they was a man lived in callin' distance, on the next plantation, who worked his slaves day and night and on sunday for a rarety. you could hear 'em coming from the field about o'clock at night, and they had to be back in the fields by daylight. they couldn't get off on saturday nights like everbody else. whenever he bought their clothes, it was on sunday when they warn't workin'. he was mean, but he was good about buyin' for 'em, new shoes or a suit or anything of the like they said they needed. "marster had overseers, but he wouldn't let 'em whip his slaves unmerciful. they always whipped us just as your mamas whips you now. "bob lampkin was the meanest slave owner i ever knowed. he would beat his slaves and everybody else's he caught in the road. he was so mean 'til god let him freeze to death. he come to town and got drunk and when he was going back home in his buggy, he froze stiff going up race creek hill. white and colored was glad when he died. "his slaves used to run away whenever they got a chance. i 'member he had a real pretty gal on his place. she was light brown and was built up better than anybody i ever saw. one of the overseers was crazy about her, but her mother had told her not to let any of 'em go with her. so this old overseer would stick close 'round her when they was workin', just so he could get a chance to say somethin' to her. he kept followin' this child and followin' this child until she almost went crazy. way afterwhile she run away and come to our house and stayed 'bout three days. when my marster found out she was there, he told her she would have to go back, or at least she would have to leave his place. he didn't want no trouble with nobody. when that child left us she stayed in the woods until she got so hungry she just had to go back. this old man was mad with her for leavin', and one day while she was in the field he started at her again and when she told him flat footed she warn't goin' with him he took the big end of his cow hide and struck her in the back so hard it knocked her plumb crazy. it was a big lake of water about ten yards in front of 'em, and if her mother hadn't run and caught her she would have walked right in it and drowned. "in them times white men went with colored gals and women bold. any time they saw one and wanted her, she had to go with him, and his wife didn't say nothin' 'bout it. not only the men, but the women went with colored men too. that's why so many women slave owners wouldn't marry, 'cause they was goin' with one of their slaves. these things that's goin' on now ain't new, they been happenin'. that's why i say you just as well leave 'em alone 'cause they gwine to do what they want to anyhow. "my marster never did whip any grown folk. he whipped chillun when they did anything wrong. he didn't 'low us to eat plums before breakfus, but all the chillun, his too, would die or do it, so every time he caught us he would whip us." another ex-slave recalled that "you had to call all your marster's chillun marster or mistis, even the babies. you never wore enough clothes and you always suffered for comfort. us warn't even 'lowed to have fire. if you had a fireplace in your house, it was took out and the place closed up. if you was ever caught with fire you was beat 'most to death. many mothers died in confinement on account of takin' cold 'cause us couldn't have fire. "my young marster tried to go with me, and 'cause i wouldn't go with him he pretended i had done somethin' and beat me. i fought him back because he had no right to beat me for not goin' with him. his mother got mad with me for fightin' him back and i told her why he had beat me. well then she sent me to the courthouse to be whipped for fightin' him. they had stocks there where most people would send their slaves to be whipped. these stocks was in the shape of a cross, and they would strap your clothes up around your waist and have nothin' but your naked part out to whip. they didn't care about who saw your nakedness. anyway they beat me that day until i couldn't sit down. when i went to bed i had to lie on my stomach to sleep. after they finished whippin' me, i told them they needn't think they had done somethin' by strippin' me in front of all them folk 'cause they had also stripped their mamas and sisters. god had made us all, and he made us just alike. "they never carried me back home after that; they put me in the nigger trader's office to be sold. about two days later i was sold to a man at mcbean. when i went to his place everbody told me as soon as i got there how mean he was and they said his wife was still meaner. she was jealous of me because i was light; said she didn't know what her husband wanted to bring that half white nigger there for, and if he didn't get rid of me pretty quick she was goin' to leave. well he didn't get rid of me and she left about a month after i got there. when he saw she warn't comin' back 'til he got rid of me, he brought me back to the nigger trader's office. "as long as you warn't sold, your marster was 'sponsible for you, so whenever they put you on the market you had to praise yourself in order to be sold right away. if you didn't praise yourself you got a beatin'. i didn't stay in the market long. a dissipated woman bought me and i done laundry work for her and other dissipated women to pay my board 'til freedom come. they was all very nice to me. "whenever you was sold your folk never knowed about it 'til afterwards, and sometimes they never saw you again. they didn't even know who you was sold to or where they was carryin' you, unless you could write back and tell 'em. "the market was in the middle of broad and center streets. they made a scaffold whenever they was goin' to sell anybody, and would put the person up on this so everybody could see him good. then they would sell him to the highest bidder. everybody wanted women who would have children fast. they would always ask you if you was a good breeder, and if so they would buy you at your word, but if you had already had too many chillun, they would say you warn't much good. if you hadn't ever had any chillun, your marster would tell 'em you was strong, healthy, and a fast worker. you had to have somethin' about you to be sold. now sometimes, if you was a real pretty young gal, somebody would buy you without knowin' anythin' 'bout you, just for yourself. before my old marster died, he had a pretty gal he was goin' with and he wouldn't let her work nowhere but in the house, and his wife nor nobody else didn't say nothin' 'bout it; they knowed better. she had three chillun for him and when he died his brother come and got the gal and the chillun. "one white lady that lived near us at mcbean slipped in a colored gal's room and cut her baby's head clean off 'cause it belonged to her husband. he beat her 'bout it and started to kill her, but she begged so i reckon he got to feelin' sorry for her. but he kept goin' with the colored gal and they had more chillun. "i never will forget how my marster beat a pore old woman so she couldn't even get up. and 'cause she couldn't get up when he told her to, he hit her on the head with a long piece of iron and broke her skull. then he made one of the other slaves take her to the jail. she suffered in jail all night, and the jailer heard her moanin' and groanin', so the next mornin' he made marster come and get her. he was so mad 'cause he had to take her out of jail that he had water pumped into her skull just as soon as he got back home. then he dropped her down in a field and she died 'fore night. that was a sad time. you saw your own folk killed and couldn't say a word 'bout it; if you did you would be beat and sometimes killed too. "a man in callin' distance from our place had a whippin' pole. this man was just as mean as he could be. i know he is in hell now, and he ought to be. a woman on his place had twins and she warn't strong from the beginnin'. the day after the chillun was borned, he told her to go over to his house and scrub it from front to back. she went over to the house and scrubbed two rooms and was so sick she had to lay down on the floor and rest awhile. his wife told her to go on back to her house and get in bed but she was afraid. finally she got up and scrubbed another room and while she was carryin' the water out she fainted. the mistress had some of the men carry her home and got another slave to finish the scrubbin' so the marster wouldn't beat the pore nigger. she was a good woman but her husband was mean as the devil. he would even beat her. when he got home that night he didn't say nothin' 'cause the house had been scrubbed, but the next mornin' one of the chillun told him about the woman faintin' and the other girl finishin' the scrubbin'. he got mad and said his wife was cloakin' for the slaves, that there was nothin' wrong with the woman, she was just lazy. he beat his wife, then went out and tied the pore colored woman to a whippin' pole and beat her unmerciful. he left her hangin' on the pole and went to church. when he got back she was dead. he had the slaves take her down and bury her in a box. he said that laziness had killed her and that she warn't worth the box she was buried in. the babies died the next day and he said he was glad of it 'cause they would grow up lazy just like their mother. "my marster had a barrel with nails drove in it that he would put you in when he couldn't think of nothin' else mean enough to do. he would put you in this barrel and roll it down a hill. when you got out you would be in a bad fix, but he didn't care. sometimes he rolled the barrel in the river and drowned his slaves. "i had a brother who worked at the acadamy and every night when the teacher had his class he would let my brother come in. he taught him to read and write too. he learned to read and write real well and the teacher said he was the smartest one in the class. marster passed our window one night and heard him readin'. the next mornin' he called him over to the house and fooled him into readin' and writin', told him he had somethin' he wanted him to do if he could read and write good enough. my brother read everythin' marster give him and wrote with a pencil and ink pen. marster was so mad that he could read and write better than his own boy that he beat him, took him away from the academy, and put him to work in the blacksmith shop. marster wouldn't let him wear no shoes in the shop 'cause he wanted the hot cinders to fall on his feet to punish him. when the man in charge of the shop told marster he wouldn't work my brother unless he had on shoes, he bought some brogans that he knowed he couldn't wear, and from then on he made him do the hardest kind of work he could think of. "my marster never whipped us himself. he had a coachman do all the whippin' and he stood by to see that it was done right. he whipped us until we was blistered and then took a cat-o-nine-tails and busted the blisters. after that he would throw salty water on the raw places. i mean it almost gave you spasms. whenever they sent you to the courthouse to be whipped the jail keeper's daughter give you a kick after they put you in the stocks. she kicked me once and when they took me out i sho did beat her. i scratched her everwhere i could and i knowed they would beat me again, but i didn't care so long as i had fixed her." one ex-slave "belonged to an old lady who was a widow. this lady was very good to me. of course most people said it was 'cause her son was my father. but she was just good to all of us. she did keep me in the house with her. she knowed i was her son's child all right. when i married, i still stayed with my mistress 'til she died. my husband stayed with his marster in the day time and would come and stay with me at night. "when my mistress died i had to be sold. my husband told me to ask his marster to buy me. he didn't want me to belong to him because i would have to work real hard and i hadn't been use to no hard work, but he was so afraid somebody would buy me and carry me somewhere way off, 'til he decided it was best for his marster to buy me. so his marster bought me and give me and my husband to his son. i kept house and washed for his son as long as he was single. when he married his wife changed me from the house and put me in the field and she put one of the slaves her mother give her when she married, in the kitchen. my marster's wife was very mean to all of us. she didn't like me at all. she sold my oldest child to somebody where i couldn't ever see him any more and kept me. she just did that to hurt me. she took my baby child and put her in the house with her to nurse her baby and make fire. and all while she was in the house with her she had to sleep on the floor. "whenever she got mad with us she would take the cow hide, that's what she whipped us with, and whip us 'til the blood ran down. her house was high off the ground and one night the calf went under the house and made water. the next morning she saw it, so she took two of my sister-in-law's chillun and carried 'em in the kitchen and tied 'em. she did this while her husband was gone. you see if he had been there he wouldn't have let her done that. she took herself a chair and sit down and made one of the slaves she brought there with her whip those chillun so 'til all of the slaves on the place was cryin'. one of the slaves run all the way where our marster was and got him. he come back as quick as he could and tried to make her open the door, but she wouldn't do it so he had to break the door in to make her stop whippin' them chillun. the chillun couldn't even cry when he got there. and when he asked her what she was whippin' them for she told him that they had went under the house and made that water. my master had two of the men to take 'em over to our house, but they was small and neither one ever got over that whippin'. one died two days later and the other one died about a month afterwards. everybody hated her after that. "just before freedom declared, my husband took very sick and she took her husband and come to my house to make him get up. i told her that he was not able to work, but my husband was so scared they would beat me to death 'til he begged me to hush. i expect marster would have if he hadn't been scared of his father. you see his father give me to him. he told me if the legislature set in his behalf he would make me know a nigger's place. you know it was near freedom. i told him if he made my husband get out of bed as sick as he was and go to work, i would tell his father if he killed me afterwards. and that's one time i was goin' to fight with 'em. i never was scared of none of 'em, so i told 'em if they touched my husband they wouldn't touch nothin' else. they wouldn't give us nothin' to eat that whole day. "course we never did have much to eat. at night they would give us a teacup of meal and a slice of bacon a piece for breakfus' the next mornin'. if you had chillun they would give you a teacup of meal for two chillun. by day light the next mornin' the overseer was at your house to see if you was out, and if you hadn't cooked and eat and got out of that house he would take that bull whip, and whip you nearly to death. he carried that bull whip with him everywhere he went. "those folks killed one of my husband's brothers. he was kind of crack-brained, and 'cause he was half crazy, they beat him all the time. the last time they beat him we was in the field and this overseer beat him with that bull hide all across the head and everywhere. he beat him until he fell down on his knees and couldn't even say a word. and do you know he wouldn't even let a one of us go to see about him. he stayed stretched out in the the field 'til us went home. the next mornin' he was found dead right where he had beat him that evenin'. "'bout two or three weeks later than that they told one of the slaves they was goin' to beat him after we quit work that evenin'. his name was josh. "when the overseer went to the other end of the field josh dropped his hoe and walked off. nobody saw him anymore for about three weeks. he was the best hand us had and us sho' did need him. our master went everywhere he could think of, lookin' for josh, but he couldn't find him and we was glad of it. after he looked and looked and couldn't find him he told all of us to tell josh to come back if we knowed where he was. he said if josh would come back he wouldn't whip him, wouldn't let the overseer whip him. my husband knowed where he was but he warn't goin' to tell nobody. josh would come to our house every night and us would give him some of what us had for dinner and supper. us always saved it for him. us would eat breakfus' at our house, but all of us et dinner and supper at the mess house together. everyday when i et dinner and supper i would take a part of mine and my husband would take a part of his and us would carry it to our house for pore josh. 'bout 'leven o'clock at night, when everybody was sleep, josh would come to the side window and get what us had for him. it's really a shame the way that pore man had to hide about just to keep from bein' beat to death 'bout nothin'. josh said the first day he left he went in the woods and looked and looked for a place to hide. later he saw a tree that the wind had blowed the top off and left 'bout ten feet standin'. this was rather a big tree and all of the insides had rotted out. i reckon you have seen trees like that. well that's the way this one was. so josh climbed up this tree and got down inside of it. he didn't know there was nothin' down in that tree, but there was some little baby bears in there. then there he was down there with no way to come out, and knowin' all the time that the mama bear was comin' back. so he thought and thought and thought. after while he thought 'bout a knife he had in his pocket. you see he couldn't climb out of the tree, it was too tall. when he heard the bear climbin' up the tree he opened his knife. have you ever seen a bear comin' down a tree? well he comes down backwards. so when this bear started down inside of the tree he went down backwards, and josh had his knife open and just caught him by the tail and begin stickin' him with the knife. that's the way josh got out of that tree. when he stuck the bear with the knife the bear went back up the tree, and that pulled josh up. and when the bear got to the top of the tree josh caught a hold of the tree and pulled himself on out, but the bear fell and broke his neck. well josh had to find him somewhere else to hide. in them times there was big caves in the woods, not only the woods but all over the country, and that's where pore josh hid all while he was away. josh stayed there in that cave a long time then he come on back home. he didn't get a whippin' either." childhood memories were recalled by an old woman who said: "when i was about nine years old, for about six months, i slept on a crocus bag sheet in order to get up and nurse the babies when they cried. do you see this finger? you wonder why its broke? well one night the babies cried and i didn't wake up right away to 'tend to 'em and my mistess jumped out of bed, grabbed the piece of iron that was used to push up the fire and began beatin' me with it. that's the night this finger got broke, she hit me on it. i have two more fingers she broke beatin' me at diff'unt times. she made me break this leg too. you see they would put the women in stocks and beat 'em whenever they done somethin' wrong. that's the way my leg was broke. you see us had to call all of our marster's chillun 'mistess' or 'marster.' one day i forgot to call one of my young mistesses, 'miss.' she was about eight or nine months old. my mistess heard me and put me in a stock and beat me. while she was beatin' me, i turned my leg by some means and broke it. don't you think she quit beatin' me 'cause i had broke my leg. no, that made no diff'unce to her. that's been years ago, but it still worries me now. now other times when you called your marster's chillun by their names, they would strip you and let the child beat you. it didn't matter whether the child was large or small, and they always beat you 'til the blood ran down. "have you ever slept in the grave yard? i know you haven't but i have. many a time when i was told that i was goin' to get a beatin', i would hide away in the cemetery where i stayed all night layin' in gullies between graves prayin'. all night long i could see little lights runnin' all over the grave yard, and i could see ha'nts, and hear 'em sayin' 'uh, uh, uh, uh, uh,' which meant they were pityin' my case. "when they whipped the men, all their clothes was took off, their hands was fastened together and then they wound 'em up in the air to a post and tied their feet to the bottom of the post. they would begin whippin' 'em at sundown, and sometimes they would be whippin' 'em as late as 'leven o'clock at night. you could hear 'em cryin' and prayin' a long ways off. when they prayed for the lord to have mercy, their marster would cuss the lord and tell 'em they better not call his name again." the whipping pole, as described by lizzie, was a long post several feet in diameter to which was attached a long rope through a pulley. on one end was a device, similiar to the modern handcuff--the other end was used to draw the hand to an upward position, thereby, rendering the individual helpless. at the base of the pole was a clamp like instrument which held the feet in a motionless position. roy redfield recalls going to the courthouse and seeing the older slaves whipped. "when i would go there with my young marster i would see 'em whippin' the slaves. you see they had stocks there then, and they wouldn't put you in jail like they do now. your marster or mistess would send you to the courthouse with a note and they would put you in them stocks and beat you, then they would give you a note and send you back. they never did beat me, if they had my old mistess would have raised sand with 'em. whenever i was whipped my mother did it. i warn't no slave and my ma neither, but my pa was. "when they whipped you they would strap you down in them stocks, then a man would wind the whippin' machine and beat you 'til they had given you the number of lashes your boss had on the note. i didn't see them whippin' any women there, so i can't say they did and i can't say they didn't. "my master wouldn't let us go to school, but his chillun would slip 'round and teach us what they could out of their books. they would also give us books to read. whenever their pa or ma caught them tryin' to teach us they always whipped them. i learned to read and write from 'em and i'll never forget how hard it was for 'em to get a chance to teach me. but if they caught you tryin' to write they would cut your finger off and if they caught you again they would cut your head off. "when i was a young man, a old man stole the head and pluck (pluck is the liver and lites) out of the hog (some people call it the haslet) and hid it up in the loft of his house. when his marster missed it he went to this man's house lookin' for it. the man told him that he didn't have it. he had already told his wife if his marster come not to own it either. well his master kept askin' him over and over 'bout the head and pluck, but they denied having it. the marster told 'em if they didn't give it to him and that quick he was goin' to give 'em a thousand lashes each, if less didn't kill 'em. this woman's husband told her not to own it. he told her to take three thousand lashes and don't own it. so their marster whipped her and whipped her, but she wouldn't own it. finally he quit whippin' her and started whippin' the old man. just as soon as he started whippin' the man he told his wife to go up in the loft of the house and throw the head and pluck down 'cause he didn't want it. "you always had to get a pass when goin' out. sometimes, when you wouldn't be thinking, a patter roller would step up to the door and ask who was there. if any visitor was there they would ask 'em to show their pass. if you didn't have a pass they would take you out and beat you, then make you go home and when you got home, your marster would take you to the barn, strip you buck naked, tie you to a post and beat you. us didn't have to get passes whenever us wanted to go visitin'. all us had to do was tell 'em who us belonged to, and they always let us by. they knowed our marster would let us go 'thout passes. "us used to go to barn dances all the time. i never will forget the fellow who played the fiddle for them dances. he had run away from his marster seven years before. he lived in a cave he had dug in the ground. he stayed in this cave all day and would come out at night. this cave was in the swamp. he stole just 'bout everythin' he et. his marster had been tryin' to catch him for a long time. well they found out he was playin' for these dances and one night us saw some strange lookin' men come in but us didn't pay it much 'tention. us always made a big oak fire and thats where us got mos' of our light from. well these men danced with the girls a good while and after a while they started goin' out one by one. way after while they all came back in together, they had washed the blackenin' off their faces, and us seen they was white. this man had a song he would always sing. 'fooled my marster seven years--expect to fool him seven more.' so when these men came in they went to him and told him maybe he had fooled 'em for seven years, but he wouldn't fool 'em seven more. when they started to grab him he just reached in the fire and got a piece of wood that was burnin' good on one end and waved it all around (in a circle) until he set three of 'em on fire. while they was puttin' this fire out he run out in the swamp and back in his cave. they tried to catch him again. they painted their faces and done just like they did the first time, but this time they carried pistols. when they pulled their pistols on him he did just like he did the first time, and they never did catch him. he stopped comin' to play for the dances after they was straight after him. dogs couldn't trail him 'cause he kept his feet rubbed with onions. "i have seen some marsters make their slaves walk in snow knee deep, barefooted. their heels would be cracked open jus' like corn bread. "the only real mean thing they did to us when i was young was to sell my father when our marster died. they sold him to somebody way off, and they promised to bring him back to see us, but they never did. we always wished he would come, but until this day us hasn't laid eyes on him again. my mother worried 'bout him 'til she died. "chillun didn't know what shoes was 'til they was 'bout fifteen years old. they would go a mile or a mile and a half in the snow for water anytime, and the only thin' they ever had on their feet would be somethin' made out of home-spun. you don't hardly hear of chilblain feet now, but then most every child you saw had cracked heels. the first pair of shoes i ever wore, i was sixteen years old, was too small for me and i pulled 'em off and throwed 'em in the fire." [hw: dist. # ex. slave # ] slavery by ruby lorraine radford compilation made from interviews with slaves and information from slavery laws and old newspaper files [date stamp: may ] slavery the ex-slaves interviewed ranged in ages from to years old. out of about thirty-five negroes contacted only two seemed to feel bitter over memories of slave days. all the others spoke with much feeling and gratitude of the good old days when they were so well cared for by their masters. without exception the manners of these old men and women were gentle and courteous. the younger ones could pass on to us only traditional memories of slavery times, as given them by their parents; on some points a few were vague, while others could give clear-cut and vivid pictures. practically all the negroes interviewed seemed to be of pure african blood, with black or dark brown skin, negroid features, and kinky, tightly wrapped wool. most of the women were small and thin. we found one who had a strain of indian blood, a woman named mary, who belonged to john roof. her grandfather was an indian, and her grandmother was part indian, having migrated into south carolina from virginia. sarah ray, who was born on the curtis lowe place in mcduffie county was one of the few ex-slaves contacted, who was admittedly half-white. although now wrinkled and weazened with age she has no definite negroid features. her eyes are light hazel and her hair fluffs about her face in soft ringlets instead of the tight kinks of the pure negro. "my father was a white man, de overseer," said sarah. "leastways, dey laid me to him." sarah was brought up like the negro children on the plantation. she had no hard work to do. her mother was a field hand, and they lived in a little house in the quarters. "de ve'y fust thing i kin remember is ridin' down de road in de ox cart wid my mammy," she said. "ole man eli wus drivin'. we wus goin' to miss meg's on de odder side o' hart's branch. marster had give us to miss meg when she married mr. obediah cloud." housing conditions the slave houses were called "quarters," which consisted generally of a double row of houses facing each other in a grove of trees behind the "big house." on prosperous plantations each of these cabins had a garden plot and a chicken yard. some of them were built of logs, but many were of planks. most of them were large, one-room, unceiled, with open fireplaces at one end for cooking. when families grew too large a shed room would be "drap down on de back." another type of slave cabin was called the "double-pen" house. this was a large two-room cabin, with a chimney between the two rooms, and accommodating two families. on the more prosperous plantations the slave quarters were white-washed at intervals. on plantations housing arrangements were left entirely to the discretion of the owner, but in the cities strict rules were made. among the ordinances of the city council of augusta, dated from august th, -july , , section , is the following law concerning the housing of slaves: "no person of color shall occupy any house but that of some white person by whom he or she is owned or hired without a license from the city council. if this license is required application must first be made for permission to take it out. if granted the applicant shall give bond with approved security, not exceeding the sum of $ . for his or her good behavior. on execution of charge the clerk shall issue the license. any person renting a house, or tenament contrary to this section or permitting the occupancy of one, may be fined in a sum not exceeding $ . ." descriptions were given of housing conditions by quite a number of slaves interviewed. fannie fulcher, who was a slave on dr. balding miller's plantation in burke county described the slave quarters thus: "houses wus built in rows, one on dat side, one on dis side--open space in de middle, and de overseer's house at de end, wid a wide hall right through it. (fannie was evidently referring to the breezeway or dogtrot, down the middle of many small plantation houses). we cook on de fireplace in de house. we used to have pots hanging right up in de chimbley. when dere wus lots of chillun it wus crowded. but sometimes dey took some of 'em to de house for house girls. some slep' on de flo' and some on de bed. two-three houses had shed rooms at de back. dey had a patch sometime. my father, he used to have a patch. he clean it up hisself at night in de swamp." susie brown, of the evans plantation on little river in columbia county said, in describing the quarters, "dey look like dis street." she indicated the unpaved street with its rows of unpainted shacks. "some of dem wus plank houses and some wus log houses, two rooms and a shed room. and we had good beds, too--high tester beds wid good corn shuck and hay mattresses." on the plantation of john roof the slave cabins were of logs. large families had two or three rooms; smaller ones one or two rooms. susannah wyman, who was a slave on the starling freeman place near troy, s.c. said, "our houses wus made outer logs. we didn't have nothin' much nohow, but my mammy she had plenty o' room fer her chillun. we didn't sleep on de flo', we had bed. de people in de plantachun all had bed." others described mattresses made of straw and corn shucks. another said, "yas'm, we had good cotton mattresses. marster let us go to de gin house and git all de cotton we need." another described the sleeping conditions thus, "chillun pretty much slep' on de flo' and old folks had beds. dey wus made out o' boards nailed togedder wid a rope strung across it instead o' springs, and a cotton mattress across it." food many of the negroes with whom we talked looked back on those days of plenty with longing. rations of meal, bacon and syrup were given out once a week by the overseer. vegetables, eggs and chickens raised in the little plots back of the cabins were added to these staples. ellen campbell, who was owned by mr. william eve of richmond county said, "my boss would feed 'em good. he was killin' hogs stidy fum jinuary to march. he had two smokehouses. dere wus four cows. at night de folks on one side de row o' cabins go wid de piggins fer milk, and in de mawnin's, dose on de odder side go fer de piggins o' milk." "and did you have plenty of other good things to eat?" we asked. "law, yas'm. rations wus give out to de slaves; meal, meat, and jugs o' syrup. dey give us white flour at christmas. every slave family had de gyarden patch and chickens. marster buy eggs and chickens fum us at market prices." another slave told us that when the slaves got hungry before dinner time they would ask the nursing mothers to bring them back hoe-cake when they went to nurse the babies. those hot hoe-cakes were eaten in mid-morning, "to hold us till dinner-time." on one plantation where the mother was the cook for the owner, her children were fed from the big kitchen. a piece of iron crossed the fireplace, and the pots hung down on hooks. "us cooked corn dodgers," one ex-slave recalled, "the hearth would be swept clean, the ash cakes wrapped up into corn shucks and cooked brown. they sure was good!" types of work the large plantations were really industrial centers in which almost everything necessary to the life of the white family and the large retinue of slaves was grown or manufactured. on estates where there were many slaves there were always trained blacksmiths, coopers, carpenters, tanners, shoemakers, seamstresses, laundresses, weavers, spinners, cooks and house servants; all employed in the interest of the community life of the plantation. those who could not learn to do any of this skilled work were turned into the fields and called, "hands". both men and women were employed in the fields where cotton, corn, rice and tobacco were cultivated. house servants ware always considered superior to field hands. melinda mitchell, who was born a slave in edgefield, s.c., said, "my family wasn't fiel' hands. we wus all house servants. my father wus de butler, and he weighed out de rations fer de slaves. my mammy wus de house 'oman and her mother and sister wus de cooks. marster wouldn't sell none of his slaves, and when he wanted to buy one he'd buy de whole fambly to keep fum havin' 'em separated." at an early age melinda and her younger sister were given to the two young ladies of the house as their personal maids. "i wus given to miss nettie," melinda said, "our young mistresses visited, too, and wherever dey went my sister and me went erlong. my own mammy took long trips with ole mistis to de blue ridge mountains and sometimes over de big water." susannah wyman of the starling freeman plantation in south carolina said, "the house servants wuz trained to cook, clean up, de man wuz trained to make shoes. i don't think us had carpenters. i toted water in de field, hoed some. i wuz quite young. i spun but i didn't weave. dere wuz a lady dey had on de place did de weavin'. i had many a striped dress woven on dat big loom and dey wuz pretty, too." susie brown, who used to live on the evans plantation on little river in columbia county was too little to do any hard work during slavery times. "i jus' stayed at home and 'tend de baby," she said. "but my mother was a cook and my father a blacksmith." mary's mother was a plantation weaver. "mistis would cut out dresses out of homespun. we had purple dyed checks. they was pretty. i had to sew seams. marster had to buy shoes for us, he give us good-soled ones." easter jones, who had only bitter memories of the slavery period said, "sometimes we eben had to pull fodder on sunday. but what i used to hate worse'n anything was wipin' dishes. dey'd make me take de dish out de scaldin' water, den if i drap it dey whip me. dey whip you so hard your back bleed, den dey pour salt and water on it. and your shirt stick to your back, and you hadder get somebody to grease it 'fore you kin take it off." ellen campbell, who used to belong to mr. william eve said she did only simple jobs about the plantation in childhood, "when i was 'bout ten years old dey started me totin' water--you know ca'yin' water to de hands in de field. 'bout two years later i got my first field job 'tending sheep. when i wus fifteen year old missus gib me to miss eva, you know she de one marry colonel jones. my young mistus was fixin' to git married, but she couldn't on account de war, so she brought me to town and rented me out to a lady runnin' a boarding house. de rent wus paid to my mistus. one day i was takin' a tray from de out-door kitchen to de house when i stumbled and dropped it. de food spill all over de ground. da lady got so mad she picked up de butcher knife and chop me in de haid. i went runnin' till i come to da place where mah white folks live. miss eva took me and wash de blood out mah head and put medicine on it, and she wrote a note to de lady and she say, 'ellen is my slave, give to me by my mother. i wouldn't had dis happen to her no more dan to me. she won't come back dere no more.'" willis bennefield, who was a slave on dr. balding miller's plantation in burke county, said, "i wuk in de fiel' and i drove him years. he was a doctor. he had a ca'iage and a buggy, too. my father driv de ca'iage. i driv de doctor. sometimes i was fixin' to go to bed and had to hitch up my horse and go five or six miles. he had regular saddle horses, two pair o' horses fer de ca'iage. he was a rich man--riches' man in burke county--had three hundred slaves. he made his money on de plantachuns, not doctorin'." fannie fulcher, who was also one of dr. miller's slaves, and willis bennefield's sister gives this account of the slaves' work in earning extra money. "de marster give 'em ev'y day work clothes, but dey bought de res' deyselves. some raise pumpkins, squashes, potatoes, all sich things like dat in dey patches; sell 'em to different stores. jus' like somebody want ground clear up, dey git big torches fer light, clean up de new groun' at night, dat money b'long to dem. i year my mother and father say de slaves made baskets and quilts and things and sell 'em for they-selves." education the following appears in the statue laws of georgia for concerning educating negroes, under section ii, minor offences. "punishment for teaching slaves or free persons of color to read. if any slave, negro, or free person of color, or any white person, shall teach any other slave, negro or free person of color, to read or write either written or printed characters, the said free person of color or slave shall be punished by fine and whipping, or fine or whipping, at the direction of the court." among the ordinances passed by the city of augusta, effective between august th, and july th, , was the following concerning the teaching of negroes: "no person shall teach a negro or person of color to read or cause any one to be taught within the limits of the city, nor shall any person suffer a school for the instruction of negroes, or persons of color to be kept on his or her lot." none of the ex-slaves whom we interviewed could either read or write. old willis bennefield, who used to accompany his young master to school, said he "larned something then. i got way up in my a b cs, but atter i got to thinkin' 'bout gals i fergit all 'bout dat." another slave said, "we had a school on our plantation and a negro teacher named, mathis, but they couldn't make me learn nothin'. i sure is sorry now." easter jones, who was once a slave of lawyer bennet, on a plantation about ten miles from waynesboro, said, when we asked if she had been to school, "chillun didn't know whut a book wus in dem days--dey didn't teach 'em nothin' but wuk. dey didn' learn me nothin' but to churn and clean up house, and 'tend to dat boy and spin and cyard de roll." religion most of the ex-slaves interviewed received their early religious training in the churches of their masters. many churches which have slave sections in this district are still standing. sometimes the slaves sat in pews partitioned off at the back of the church, and sometimes there was a gallery with a side entrance. the old bath presbyterian church had a gallery and private entrance of this kind. sunday schools were often conducted for the slaves on the plantation. among the ordinances passed by the city of augusta, february , , was section forty-seven, which concerned negro preaching and teaching: "no slave or free person of color shall be allowed to preach, exhort or teach, in any meeting of slaves or free persons of color, for public worship or religious instruction in this city, but except at funerals or sitting up with the dead, without a license in writing from the inferior court of richmond county, and mayor of the city, regularly granted under the act of the general assembly of this state, passed on the rd day of december, . "no colored preacher residing out of the county of richmond, shall preach, exhort, or teach, until he has produced his license granted under the act aforesaid, and had the same countersigned by the mayor of this city, or in his absence by two members of council. "persons qualified as aforesaid, may hold meetings in this city for the purpose aforesaid, at any time during the sabbath day, and on sunday, tuesday, and thursday nights. no other meetings of slaves or free persons of color for religious purposes shall be held, except by permission of council. "no meeting of slaves or free persons of color for the purpose aforesaid, shall continue at any time later than : at night, and all such meetings shall be superintended by one or more citizens, appointed by the ministers in charge of their respective denominations, and approved by the mayor. all slaves or free persons of color attending such meetings, after that hour, shall be arrested, and punished, under the section, whether with or without tickets from their owners; and all such persons returning from such meetings after the ringing of the market bell, without tickets, shall be arrested and punished as in other cases. "every offense against this section shall be punished by whipping, not exceeding lashes, or fined not exceeding $ . ." harriet white, who told us some of her father's slavery experiences said, "yas'm, dey let'em go to chu'ch, but de colored folks hadder sit behind a boarded up place, so dey hadder stretch dey neck to see de preacher, and den day hadder jine de master's chu'ch--de methodis' chu'ch. de spirit done tole my father to jine da baptis' chu'ch--dat de right t'ing, but he hadder jine de methodis', 'cause his master was methodis'. but when he come to augusta he wus baptise in de river. he say he gwine ca'y god's point." we asked ellen campbell of the eve plantation in richmond county about church going. she replied, "yas'm, we used to go to town. but de padderolas wus ridin' in dem days, and you couldn' go off de plantachun widout a pass. so my boss he built a brick chu'ch on de plantachun, and de d'laigles built a chu'ch on dere's." susie brown, who was a slave on the evans plantation in columbia county, said, in speaking of her mother getting religion, "my maw and paw wasn't married till after freedom. when my maw got 'ligion dey wouldn' let her be baptise till she was married." she stated that her mother had seven children then. aunt susie had had eight children herself, but her husband was now dead. when asked why she didn't get married again, she replied, "whut i wanner git married fer? i ain' able to wuk fer myself let alone a man!" augustus burden, who was born a slave on general walker's plantation at windsor springs, ga., said, "we had no churches on our place. we went to the white people's church at hale's gate. then after they stopped the colored people going there to church, they had their little meetings right at home. we had one preacher, a real fine preacher, named ned walker, who was my uncle by marriage." fannie fulcher, a former slave on dr. miller's plantation in burke county, gave this unique account of the slave children's early religious trainings: "dey had a ole lady stay in de quarters who tuk care o' de chillun whilst de mother wus in de fiel'. den dey met at her house at dark, and a man name, hickman, had prayers. dey all kneel down. den de chillun couln' talk till dey got home--if you talk you git a whippin' frum de ole lady nex' night. ole granny whip 'em." fannie said the slaves went to the "white folks church," and that "white folks baptise 'em at farmer's bridge or rock creek." a white preacher also married the slaves. discipline in the patrol system was organized. this was done as a result of continual threats of uprisings among the slaves. all white male citizens living in each district, between the ages of and were eligible for this service. the better class of people paid fines to avoid this duty. members of the patrol group could commit no violence, but had power to search negro houses and premises, and break up illegal gatherings. they were on duty from nine at night until dawn. by there were many laws on the statute books of georgia concerning the duties of patrols. the justice of the peace in each captain's district of the state was empowered to decide who was eligible to patrol duty and to appoint the patrol. every member of the patrol was required to carry a pistol while on duty. they were required to arrest all slaves found outside their master's domain without a pass, or who was not in company with some white person. he was empowered to whip such slave with twenty lashes. he also had power to search for offensive weapons and fugitive slaves. every time a person evaded patrol duty he was required to pay the sum of five dollars fine. the entire life of the slave was hedged about with rules and regulations. beside those passed by individual masters for their own plantations there were many city and state laws. severe punishment, such as whipping on the bare skin, was the exception rather than the rule, though some slaves have told of treatment that was actually inhuman. in the following laws had been passed in georgia, the violation of which brought the death penalty: "capital crimes when punished with death: the following shall be considered as capital offenses, when committed by a slave or free person of color: insurrection or an attempt to excite it; committing a rape, or attempting it on a free white female; murder of a free white person, or murder of a slave or free person of color, or poisoning a human being; every and each of these offenses shall, on conviction, be punished with death." there were severe punishments for a slave striking a white person, burning or attempting to burn a house, for circulating documents to incite insurrection, conspiracy or resistance of slaves. it was against the law for slaves to harbor other fugitive slaves, to preach without a license, or to kill or brand cattle without instructions. in section forty-five of the ordinances of the city of augusta, passed on feb. , , were the following restrictions: "any slave or free person of color found riding or driving about the city, not having a written pass from his or her owner, hirer, or guardian, expressing the date of such pass, the name of the negro to whom it is given, the place or places to which he or she is going, how long he or she is to be absent, and in the case of a slave, that such slave is in the services of the person before the recorder's court by which he or she shall be tried, and on conviction shall be punished by whipping not to exceed lashes. "no slave or free person of color, other than ministers of the gospel, having charge of churches, in the discharge of their duties, and funeral processions, shall be allowed to ride or drive within the limits of the city, on the sabbath, without written permission from his or her owner, or employer, stating that such slave or free parson of color is on business of such owners or employer. "every slave or free person of color not excepted as aforesaid, who shall be found riding or driving in the city on the sabbath, without such permission from his or her owner or employer shall be arrested and taken to recorder's court; and if such slave or free person of color was actually engaged in the business of said owner or employer, the said slave or free person of color shall be convicted and punished by whipping, not to exceed lashes, which punishment in no case be commuted by a fine. "it shall be the duty of the officer making the arrest of such slave or free person of color as aforesaid, to take into his possession the horse or horse and vehicle, or horses and vehicles, so used by such slave or free person of color, which property may be redeemed by the owner, if white, upon the payment of $ . , and if the owner of such property is a slave or free person of color, he or she shall be punished by whipping not less than lashes." "no slave or free person of color shall be allowed to attend military parades, or any procession of citizens, or at the markethouse on public sale days under the penalty of receiving not exceeding lashes, for each and every offense, to be inflicted by the chief of police, captain or any lieutenant; provided no person shall be prevented from having the attendance of his own servant on such occasions." "no slave or free person of color shall walk with a cane, club, or stick, except such slave or free person of color be blind or infirm; nor smoke a pipe or cigar in any street, lane, alley or other public place, under a penalty of not exceeding lashes, to be inflicted by any officer of the city, by order of the recorder's court." section forty-third "no slave or free person of color shall play upon any instrument of music after sunset, without permission from the mayor or two members of council, unless employed in the house of some citizen. no slave or free person of color shall be absent from his or her house minutes after the bell shall have been rung, without a sufficient pass, under the penalty of lashes, to be inflicted by the chief of police, or any officer of the city, and be confined in the guard-room for further examination, if found under suspicious circumstances. no slave or person of color shall keep lights in the house which they occupy after : at night, unless in case of necessity." section forty-four "no slave or free person of color shall in the streets or alleys, fight, quarrel, riot, or otherwise, act in a disorderly manner, under the penalty of chastisement by any officer of the city, not exceeding lashes, and in all cases of conviction before the recorder's court, he or she shall be punished by whipping, not exceeding lashes. "no slave or free person of color, shall be allowed to keep a shop or shops for the sale of beer, cake, fruit, soda water, or any similar articles on their own account or for the benefit of any other person whomsoever. any slave or slaves, or free person of color, found keeping a shop and selling, bartering, or trading in any way, shall be taken up and punished by whipping, with not more than lashes for each and every offense, and shall stand committed until the officer's fees are paid." most of the slaves interviewed were too young during the slavery period to have experienced any of the more cruel punishments, though some remembered hearing tales of brutal beatings. most of the punishments inflicted were mild chastisements or restrictions. susie brown, who was a slave on the evans' plantation on little river in columbia, said, "my marster wus good to me, good as he could be--only thing he whup me fer wus usin' snuff. and when he go to whup me, mistis beg him to stop, and he only gib me a lick or two. and if mistis try to whup me, he make her stop. no, dey didn't had to do much whuppin'. dey wus good to de hand." when asked about her overseer she replied, "dere wus a overseer, but i disremember his name." most of these old ex-slaves' recollections had to do with the "patterolas", as the patrol was called. one of them said about the patrol, "oh yes, ma'm, i seed da patterolas, but i never heard no song about 'em. dey wus all white mens. jus' like now you want to go off your marster's place to another man's place, you had to get a pass from your boss man. if you didn't have dat pass, de patterolas would whip you." a woman who lived on the roof plantation said, "i worked under four overseers, one of 'em was mean, and he had a big deep voice. when the niggers was at the feed lot, the place where they carried the dinner they brought to the fields, he would hardly give 'em time to eat before he hollered out, 'git up and go back to work!'" she also said that mars. thomas, the red-haired young master, was mean about slaves over-staying pass time. "if they want off and stayed too long, when they came back, he'd strip them stark, mother nekked, tie 'em to a tree, and whip 'em good. but old marster, he didn't believe in whipping. it was different when the boys took possession after he died." very few slaves ran away, but when they did the master hunted them with dogs. when carrie lewis, who belonged to captain ward, was asked if the slaves were ever whipped on their plantation, she replied, "no ma'm, de marster say to de overseer, 'if you whup dem, i whup you.' no ma'm, he wouldn't keep a overseer dat wus mean to us--cap'n ward wus good to us. he wouldn't let de little ones call him 'marster', dey had to call him and de missus, 'grampa' and 'gramma'. my folks didn't mistreat de slaves. i'd be better off now if it wus dem times now." we asked ellen campbell, a richmond county slave if her master was good to her and she replied, "i'll say fer mr. william eve--he de bes' white man anywhere round here on any dese plantachuns. dey all own slaves. sometimes de overseer whup 'em--make 'em strip off dey shirt and whup 'em on de bare skin. my boss had a white overseer and two colored men dey call drivers. if dey didn't done right dey dus whup 'em and turn 'em loose." it was said that those who refused to take whippings were generally negroes of african royal blood, or their descendants. edward glenn of the clinton brown plantation in forsythe county, ga., said, "my father would not take a whipping. he would die before he would take a whipping. the marster thought so much of him, he made young marster clinton promise he would never sell him or put a stripe on him. once, when he wanted to punish him, he give him a horse and bridle and fifty dollars. 'go on off somewhere and get somebody to buy you.' my father stayed away a month. one day he come home, he had been off about miles. he brought with him a man who wanted to buy him. marster put the man up for the night, fed his horse, and father went on out to mother. next day when the man made him a price on father, marster said, 'i was just foolin'. i wouldn't sell him for nothing. i was trying to punish him. he is true and honest, but he won't take a whipping.' "sometimes a slave was treated so bad by his owners he was glad if they put him up to be sold. if he was a bad man, they handcuffed him, put him on a stand, like for preachings and auctioned him off to the highest bidder. "when runaway slave was brought back they was punished. once in alabama i saw a woman stripped naked, laid over a stump in a field with her head hangin' down on one side, her feet on the other, and tied to the stump. then they whipped her hard, and you could hear her hollering far off, 'oh, lawd a'musay! lawd a-musay!'." another punishment edward said, was called the "gameron stick", (sometimes called the gamlin stick, or spanish buck). the slave's arms were bound around the bent knees and fastened to a stick run beneath them. this was called the "spanish buck" punishment. they stripped the slave, who was unable to stand up, and rolled him on one side and whipped him till the blood came. they called the whip the "cowhide". slaves were whipped for small things, such as forgetting orders or spilling food. overseers the most important person in the disciplining of negro slaves was the overseer. however, he occupied an unfortunate position socially. he was not regarded as the equal of the owner's family, and was not allowed to mix socially with the slaves. his was a hard lot, and consequently this position was generally filled by men of inferior grade. however, he was supposed to have an education so that he could handle the finances of the plantation accurately, and to be possessed of a good moral character in order to enforce the regulations. on most georgia plantations overseers were given a house near the slave quarters. in some instances he lived in the house with the plantation owner. the average pay for overseers was from three to five hundred dollars a year. next in authority to the overseer was the driver, who directed the work in the fields. every morning the driver blew the horn or rang the plantation bell to summon slaves to their work. next to him was some trusted slave, who carried the keys to the smokehouse and commissary, and helped to give out rations once a week. many of the overseers were naturally cruel and inclined to treat the slaves harshly. often strict rules and regulations had to be made to hold them in check. overseers were generally made to sign these regulations on receiving their appointments. in the southern cultivator and monthly journal published the following rules of the plantation: rules of the plantation rule st. the overseer will not be expected to work in the crop, but he must constantly with the hands, when not otherwise engaged in the employer's business, and will be required to attend on occasions to any pecuniary transactions connected with the plantation. rule nd. the overseer is not expected to be absent from the plantation unless actual necessity compels him, sundays excepted, and then it is expected that he will, on all occasions, be at home by night. rule rd. he will attend, morning, noon and night, at the stable, and see that the mules and horses are ordered, curried, and fed. rule th. he will see that every negro is out by daylight in the morning--a signal being given by a blast of the horn, the first horn will be blown half an hour before day. he will also visit the negro cabins at least once or twice a week, at night, to see that all are in. no negro must be out of his house after ten oclock in summer and eleven in winter. rule th. the overseer is not to give passes to the negroes without the employer's consent. the families the negroes are allowed to visit will be specified by the employer; also those allowed to visit the premises. nor is any negro allowed to visit the place without showing himself to the employer or overseer. rule th. the overseer is required not to chat with the negroes, except on business, nor to encourage tale bearing, nor is any tale to be told to him or employer, by any negro, unless he has a witness to his statements, nor are they allowed, in any instance, to quarrel and fight. but the employer will question any negro, if confidence can be placed in him, without giving him cause of suspicion, about all matters connected with the plantation, if he has any reason to believe that all things are not going on right. rule th. as the employer pays the overseer for his time and attention, it is not to be expected he will receive much company. rule th. as the employer employs an overseer, not to please himself, but the employer, it will be expected that he will attend strictly to all his instructions. his opinion will be frequently asked relative to plantation matters, and respectfully listened to, but it is required they be given in a polite and respectful manner, and not urged, or insisted upon; and if not adopted, he must carry into effect the views of the employer, and with a sincere desire to produce a successful result. he is expected to carry on all experiments faithfully and carefully note the results, and he must, when required by the employer, give a fair trial to all new methods of culture, and new implements of agriculture. rule th. as the whole stock will be under immediate charge of the overseer, it is expected he will give his personal attention to it, and will accompany the hog feeder once a week and feed them, and count and keep a correct number of the same. the hog feeder is required to attend to feeding them every morning. rule th. the negroes must be made to obey, and to work, which may be done by an overseer who attends regularly to his business, with very little whipping; for much whipping indicates a bad tempered or an inattentive manager. he must _never_, on any occasion, unless in self-defense, kick a negro, or strike him with his fist, or butt end of his whip. no unusual punishment must be resorted to without the employer's consent. he is not expected to punish the foreman, except on some extraordinary emergency that will not allow of delay, until the employer is consulted. of this rule the foreman is to be kept in entire ignorance. rule th. the sick must be attended to. when sick they are to make known the fact to him; if in the field, he is requested to send them to the employer, if at home; and if not, the overseer is expected to attend to them in person, or send for a physician if necessary. suckling and pregnant women must be indulged more than others. sucklers are to be allowed time to visit their children, morning, noon and evening, until they are eight months old, and twice a day from thence until they are twelve months old--they are to be kept working near their children. no lifting, pulling fodder, or hard work is expected of pregnant women. rule th. the negroes are to appear in the field on monday mornings cleanly clad. to carry out said rule they are to be allowed time (say one hour by sun) every saturday evening for the purpose of washing their clothes. rule th. the overseer is particularly required to keep the negroes as much as possible out of the rain, and from all kind of exposure. rule th. it will be expected of a good manager, that he will constantly arrange the daily work of the negroes, so that no negro may wait to know what to go to doing. small jobs that will not reasonably admit of delay must be forthwith attended to. rule th. it is required of him, to keep the tools, ploughs, hoes &c. out of the weather and have all collected after they are done using them. the wagon and cart must be kept under a shed. he is expected to keep good gates, bars and fences. rule th. the employer will give him a list of all the tools and farming utensils and place the same in his care, and he is to return them at the years' end to the employer; if any are broke, the pieces are expected to be returned. rule th. he is not to keep a horse or dog against the employer's approbation--and dogs kept for the purpose of catching negroes will not be allowed under any consideration. rule th. he is required to come to his meals at the blowing of the horn. it is not expected he will leave the field at night before the hands quit their work. rule th. it will be expected he will not speak of the employer's pecuniary business, his domestic affairs, or his arrangements to any one. he will be expected to inform the employer of anything going on that may concern his interest. rule th. he is to have no control whatever over the employer's domestic affairs; nor to take any privileges in the way of using himself, or loaning the employers property to others. rule st. he is expected to be guilty of no disrespectful language in the employer's presence--such as vulgarity, swearing &c; nor is he expected to be guilty of any indecencies, such as spitting on the floor, wearing his hat in the house, sitting at the table with his coat off, or whistling or singing in the house (such habits are frequently indulged in, in bachelor establishments in the south). his room will be appropriated to him, and he will not be expected to obtrude upon the employer's private chamber, except on business. rule nd. it will be expected of him that he will not get drunk, and if he returns home in that state he will be immediately discharged. he will also be immediately discharged, if it is ascertained he is too intimate with any of the negro women. rule rd. it is distinctly understood, in the agreement with every overseer, should they separate, from death or other cause--and either is at liberty to separate from the other whenever dissatisfied--without giving his reasons for so doing; in said event the employer, upon settlement, is not expected to pay the cash nor settle for the year, but for the time only he remained in the employer's service, by note, due january next (with interest) pro rata, he was to pay for the year. amusements in spite of the many restrictions that hedged the slaves about there were many good times on the plantation. old mary of the roof plantation described their frolics thus: "we would sing and there was always a fiddle. i never could put up to dance much but nobody could beat me runnin' 'peep squirrel'. that was a game we made up on the plantation. the girls peeped out, then ran by the men, and they'd be caught and twirled around. they said i was like a kildee bird, i was so little and could run so fast. when we growed up we walked the boys to death! they used to say we walked the heels off their boots. we would have dances every christmas, on different plantations. i tell my grandchildren sometimes that my brother-in-law would carry us to dances and wouldn' allow us to sleep, we'd dance all night long. we had a good time, us girls!" when the negroes got married long tables were set under the trees in the back yard and the people from the big house came down to see how the slaves were dressed and to wish them well. concerning her own marriage mary said, "they say i was married when i was years old. i know it was after freedom. i married a boy who belonged to the childs plantation. i had the finest kind of marrying dress, my father bought it for me. it had great big grapes hanging down from the sleeves and around the skirt." she sighed and a shadow passed over her placid old face, as she added, "i wish't i had a kep' it for my children to saw." a slave from the starling freeman plantation in south carolina said, "when cullud people wus married, white people give a supper. a cullud man whut lives on de place marries 'em." "i used to sing good myself," continued susannah, "you could hear the echo of my voice way out yonder, but i can't sing no more." here susannah stuck out her legs, covered with long-ribbed pink stockings. "my legs got de misery in 'em now, and my voice gone. in my mother's house dey never trained us to sing things like the mos' o' people. we sung the good old hymns, like, 'a charge to keep i have, a god to glorify.'" old tim, who used to live on a plantation in virginia, said in speaking of good times before the war, "sho', we had plenty o' banjo pickers! they was 'lowed to play banjos and guitars at night, if de patterolas didn' interfere. at home de owners wouldn' 'low de patterolas to tech their folks. we used to run mighty fast to git home after de frolics! patterolas wus a club of men who'd go around and catch slaves on strange plantations and break up frolics, and whip 'em sometimes." we asked aunt ellen campbell, who was a slave on the eve plantation in richmond county, about good times in slavery days. she laughed delightedly and said, "when anybody gwine be married dey tell de boss and he have a cake fix. den when sunday come, after dey be married she put on de white dress she be married in and dey go up to town so de boss can see de young couple." she was thoughtful a moment, then continued, "den sometimes on sadday night we have a big frolic. de nigger fum hammond's place and phinizy place, eve place, clayton place, d'laigle place, all git together fer a big dance and frolic. a lot o' de young sports used to come dere and push de young nigger bucks aside and dance wid de wenches." "we used to have big parties sometime," said fannie fulcher, a former slave on dr. miller's plantation in burke county. "no white folks--jus' de overseer come round to see how dey git erlong. i 'member dey have a fiddle. i had a cousin who played fer frolics, and fer de white folks, too." according to melinda mitchell, who lived on the plantation of rev. allen dozier in edgefield county, south carolina, the field hands and house servants forgot cares in merriment and dancing after the day's work was over. when asked about her master, a baptist preacher, condoning dancing melinda replied with the simple statement, "he wasn't only a preacher, he was a religious man. de slaves danced at de house of a man who 'tended de stack, way off in de fiel' away fum de big house." they danced to the tunes of banjos and a homemade instrument termed, "quill", evidently some kind of reed. it was fairly certain that the noise of merriment must have been heard at the big house, but the slaves were not interrupted in their frolic. "my mammy wus de bes' dancer on de plantachun," melinda said proudly. "she could dance so sturdy she could balance a glass o' water on her head an never spill a drop." she recalls watching the dancers late into the night until she fell asleep. she could tell of dances and good times in the big house as well as in the quarters. the young ladies were belles. they were constantly entertaining. one day a wandering fortune-teller came on the piazza where a crowd of young people were gathered, and asked to tell the young ladies' fortunes. everything was satisfactory until he told miss nettie she would marry a one-armed man. at this the young belle was so indignant that the man was driven off and the dogs set on him. "but de fortune teller told true-true," melinda said. a faint ominous note crept into her voice and her eyes seemed to be seeing events that had transpired almost three-quarters of a century ago. "after de war miss nettie did marry a one-arm man, like de fortune-teller said, a confederate officer, captain shelton, who had come back wid his sleeve empty." slave sales there were two legal places for selling slaves in augusta; the lower market, at the corner of fifth and broad street, and the upper market at the corner of broad and marbury streets. the old slave quarters are still standing in hamburg, s.c., directly across the savannah river from the lower market in augusta. slaves who were to be put up for sale were kept there until the legal days of sales. advertisements in the newspapers of that day seem to point to the fact that most slave sales were the results of the death of the master, and the consequent settlement of estates, or a result of the foreclosure of mortgages. in the thirty-seventh section of the ordinances of the city of augusta, august , -july , , is the following concerning vendue masters: "if any person acts as a vendue master within the limits of this city without a license from the city council, he shall be fined in a sum not exceeding $ , . . there shall not be more than four vendue masters for this city. they shall be appointed by ballot, and their license shall expire on the day proceeding the st saturday in october of every year. no license shall be issued to a vendue master until he has given bond, with securities according to the laws of this state, and also a bond with approved security to the council for the faithful discharge of his duties in the sum of $ , . ." the newspapers of the time regularly carried advertisements concerning the sale of slaves. the following is a fair sample: "would sell slaves: with this farm will be sold about thirty likely negroes mostly country born, among them a very good bricklayer, and driver, and two sawyers, of them are fit for field or boat work, and the rest fine, thriving children." the following advertisement appeared in _the georgia constitutionalist_ on january , : "to be sold in savannah on thursday the th. inst. a cargo of prime slaves, chiefly men. just arrived in the scow gambia captain nicholas doyle after a passage of six weeks directly from the river gambia." by inglis and hall. most of the advertisements gave descriptions of each slave, with his age and the type of work he could do. they were generally advertised along with other property belonging to the slave owner. the following appeared in the chronicle and sentinel of augusta on december rd, : "negro sales. at an auction in columbus the annexed prices were obtained: a boy years old, $ , . "at a late sale in wilmington the annexed prices were obtained: a girl years old $ , ; a girl years old, $ , ; a girl years $ , ; a negro boy, years old $ , ." very few of the slaves interviewed had passed through the bitter experience of being sold. janie satterwhite, who was born on a carolina plantation, and was about thirteen years old when she was freed, remembered very distinctly when she was sold away from her parents. "yes'm, my mama died in slavery, and i was sold when i was a little tot," she said. "i 'member when dey put me on de block." "were you separated from your family?" we asked. "yes'm. we wus scattered eberywhere. some went to florida and some to odder places. de missus she die and we wus all sold at one time. atter dat nobody could do nothin' on de ole plantachun fer a year--till all wus settled up. my brudder he wasn't happy den. he run away fer five years." "where was he all that time?" "lawd knows, honey. hidin', i reckon, hidin in de swamp." "did you like your new master?" "honey, i wus too little to have any sense. when dat man bought me--dat dr. henry, he put me in a buggy to take me off. i kin see it all right now, and i say to mama and papa, 'good-bye, i'll be back in de mawnin'.' and dey all feel sorry fer me and say, 'she don' know whut happenin'." "did you ever see your family again?" "yes'm. dey wusn't so far away. when christmas come de marster say i can stay wid mama de whole week." easter jones, who had many bitter memories of slavery days back on the bennet plantation near waynesboro, said, when asked if she was ever sold into slavery, "dey had me up fer sale once, but de horse run away and broke de neck o' de man whut gwine buy me." harriet white, whose father was a slave, gives this account of his sale, "yas'm, he tell me many times 'bout when he wus put up for sale on warren block (in augusta). father say dey put him on de block down here. de gemmen whut bought him name mr. tom crew. but when dey tryin' to sell him--dat right durin' de war, one man say, 'no, i don' want him--he know too much.' he'd done been down to savannah wid de yankees. den my father say, 'if you buy me you can't take me oudder de state of georgia, 'cause de yankees all around." carrie lewis, who was owned by captain phillip ward and lived on a plantation down in richmond county said, "no'm, i wasn't never sold, but my mama was sold fum me. see, i belonged to de young girl and old marster fool missus away fum de house so he git to sell my mama." "did you ever see your mother afterwards?" we asked. "no, ma'm. i wouldn' know my mammy no more den you would." "but were you happy on the plantation?" a smile brightened her wrinkled old face as she replied, "i'd be a heap better off if it was dem times now." when we asked ellen campbell if she was ever sold during slavery times she replied, "no'm. i wa'n't sold, but i know dem whut wus. jedge robinson he kept a nigger trade office over in hamburg." "oh yes, we remember--the old brick building." "yas'm, dat it. well, all de colored people whut gonner be sold was kept dere. den dey brung 'em over to de market and put 'em up fer sale. anybody fixin' to buy 'em, 'zamines 'em to see if day all right. looks at de teef to tell 'bout de age." laura steward, who was a slave in a baptist preacher's family in augusta told some interesting things about slave sales here: "slaves were sold at the augusta market, in spite of what white ladies say." she stated that there was a long house with porches on ellis between th and th, where a garage now stands. in this building slaves were herded for market. "dey would line 'em up like horses or cows," said laura, "and look in de mouf at dey teef; den dey march 'em down togedder to market in crowds, first tuesday sale day." old mary used to live on the roof plantation with her mother, while her father lived on a nearby plantation. she said her father tried for a long time to have his owner buy his wife and children, until finally, "one day mr. tom perry sont his son-in-law to buy us in. you had to get up on what they called the block, but we just stood on some steps. the bidder stood on the ground and called out the prices. there was always a speculator at the sales. we wus bought all right and moved over to the perry place. i had another young marster there. he had his own hands and didn't sell them at all. wouldn't none of us been sold from the roof place, except for my father beggin' mr. perry to buy us, so we wouldn't be separated." susannah wyman of the freeman plantation in south carolina said, "once de marster tried to sell my brudder and anodder youngster fer a pair o' mules, and our mistis said, 'no! you don' sell my chillun for no mules!' and he didn't sell us neider. they never sold anybody off our plantation. but people did sell women, old like i am now--or if they didn't have no chillun. the fus' spec-lator come along and wants to buy 'em, he kin have 'em. de marster say, 'bring me han's in. i want han's!'" eugene smith, who used to belong to mr. steadman clark of augusta said, "i read in the papers where a lady said slaves were never sold here in augusta at the old market, but i saw 'em selling slaves myself. they put 'em up on something like a table, bid 'em off just like you would do horses or cows. dere wus two men. i kin recollect. i know one was call mr. tom heckle. he used to buy slaves, speculatin'. the other was name wilson. they would sell a mother from her children. that's why so many colored people married their sisters and brothers, not knowin' till they got to talking 'bout it. one would say: 'i remember my grandmother,' and another would say, 'that's _my_ grandmother!' then they'd find out they were sister and brother." war memories most of the ex-slaves interviewed were too young to have taken any part in war activities, though many of them remembered that the best slaves were picked and sent from each plantation to help build breastworks for the defense of waynesboro. on some places the yankees were encamped and on others the southern soldiers were entertained. "de yankees come through de plantation on sunday," said hannah murphy, a former slave on a georgia plantation. "i'll never forgit dat! dey wus singin' dixie, 'i wisht i wus in dixie, look away!' dey wus all dress in blue. dey sot de gin house afire, and den dey went in de lot and got all de mules and de horses and ca'y 'em wid 'em. dey didn't bother de smoke house where de food wuz, and dey didn't tek no hogs. but dey did go to de long dairy and thowed out all de milk and cream and butter and stuff. dey didn' bother us none. some o' de cullard folks went wid de yankees. de white folks had yeared dey wuz comin' and dey had lef'--after de yankees all gone away, de white folks come back. de cullud folks stayed dere a while, but de owners of de place declaimed dey wuz free, and sont de people off. i know dat my mother and father and a lot o' people come heah to augusta." old tim, from a plantation in virginia, remembers when lee was fighting near danville, and how frightened the negroes were at the sound of the cannon. "they cay'd the wounded by the 'bacco factory," he said, "on de way to de horspittle." the northern troops came to the william morris plantation in burke county. eliza morris, a slave, who was her master's, "right hand bough" was entrusted with burying the family silver. "there was a battle over by waynesboro," eliza's daughter explained to us. "i hear my mother speak many times about how the yankees come to our place." it seems that some of the other slaves were jealous of eliza because of her being so favored by her master. "some of the niggers told the soldiers that my mother had hidden the silver, but she wouldn' tell the hidin' place. the others were always jealous of my mother, and now they tried to made the yankees shoot her because she wouldn' tell where the silver was hidden. my mother was a good cook and she fixed food for the yankees camped on the place, and this softened the soldiers' hearts. they burned both the plantation houses, but they give my mother a horse and plenty of food to last for some time after they left." "what did your mother do after the war?" we asked. "she spent the rest of her life cookin' for her young mistis, mrs. dr. madden in jacksonville. she was cap'n bill's daughter. that was her home till shortly after the world war when she died." "did your master live through the war?" "yas'm. he come home. some of the old slaves had stayed on at the plantation; others followed the yankees off. long time afterward some of 'em drifted back--half starved and in bad shape." "'let'em come home'", marster said. "and them that he couldn' hire he give patches of land to farm." "'member de war? course i do!" said easter jones, "my marster went to savannah, and dey put him in prison somewhere. he died atter he come back, it done him so bad. i 'member my brudder was born dat sunday when lee surrender. dey name him richmond. but i was sick de day dey came and 'nounced freedom." augustus burden, a former slave on general walker's plantation at windsor springs, ga., served as valet for his master, said, "master was killed at chickamauga. when the war ceased they brought us home--our old master's home. my old mistis was living and we came back to the old lady." when the yankees came through georgia the walkers and schleys asked for protection from gunfire. because of school associations with northern officers nothing on the plantation was disturbed. "mrs. jefferson davis came there to visit the schleys," said augustus, and his face lit up with enthusiasm, "she was a mighty pretty woman--a big lady, very beautiful. she seemed to be real merry amongst the white folks, and miss winnie was a pretty little baby. she was talking then." louis jones was seven years old when he was freed. he said, "i kin 'member de yankees comin'. i wasn't skeered. i wanted to see 'em. i hung on de fence corners, and nearabouts some sich place. after freedom my ma didn't go 'way. she stayed on de plantation till she could make more money cookin' some udder place. i don't think dey did anything to de plantation whar i wus. i yeared dey cay'd out de silver and mebbe hid it in places whar de yankees couldn't find it." when ellen campbell of the eve plantation in richmond county, was asked if she remembered anything about the yankees coming through this part of the country, she replied: "yas'm, i seen 'em comin' down de street. every one had er canteen on de side, a blanket on de shoulder, caps cocked on one side de haid. de cavalry had boots on, and spurros on de boots. first dey sot de niggers free on dead river, den dey come on here and sot us free. dey march straight up broad street to de planters hotel, den dey camped on de river. dey stayed here six months till dey sot dis place free. when dey campin' on de river bank we go down dere and wash dey clo'se fer a good price. day had hard tack to eat. dey gib us hard tack and tell us to soak it in water, and fry it in meat gravy. i ain't taste nothin' so good since. dey say, 'dis hard tack whut we hadder lib on while we fightin' to sot you free.'" freedom although the emancipation proclamation was delivered on january st, it was not until lee's final surrender that most of the negroes knew they were free. the freedman's bureau in augusta gave out the news officially to the negroes, but in most cases the plantation owners themselves summoned their slaves and told them they were free. many negroes stayed right with their masters. carrie lewis, a slave on captain ward's plantation in richmond county, said, when asked where she went when freedom came, "me? i didn't went nowhere. da niggers come 'long wid de babies and dey backs, and say i wus free, and i tell 'em i was free already. didn't make no diffunce to me--freedom." old susannah from the freeman plantation said, "when freedom come i got mad at marster. he cut off my hair. i was free so i come from ca'lina to augusta to sue him. i walk myself to death! den i found i couldn't sue him over here in georgia! i had to go back. he was jus' nachally mad 'cause we was free. soon as i got here, dere was a lady on de street, she tole me to come in, tek a seat. i stayed dere. nex' mornin' i couldn't stand up. my limbs was hurtin' all over." tim from the plantation in virginia remembers distinctly when freedom came to his people. "when we wus about to have freedom," he said, "they thought the yankees was a-goin' to take all the slaves so they put us on trains and run us down south. i went to a place whut they call 'butler' in georgia, then they sent me on down to the chattahoochee, where they were cuttin' a piece of railroad, then to quincy, then to tallahassee. when the war ended i weren't 'xactly in 'gusta, i was in irwinville, where they caught mars. jeff davis. folks said he had de money train, but i never seed no gold, nor nobody whut had any. i come on up to 'gusta and jined de bush arbor springfield church. "when freedom came they called all the white people to the court house first, and told them the darkies ware free. then on a certain day they called all the colored people down to the parade ground. they had a big stand," explained eugene wesley smith, whose father was a slave in augusta. "all the yankees and some of our leading colored men got up there and spoke, and told the negroes: "you are free. don't steal! now work and make a living. do honest work, make an honest living and support yourself and children. there are no more masters. you are free!" "when the colored troops came in, they came in playing: 'don't you see the lightning? don't you hear the thunder? it isn't the lightning, it isn't the thunder but the buttons on the negro uniform!' "the negroes shouted and carried on when they heard they were free." this story of freedom was told by edward glenn of forsythe county: "a local preacher, walter raleigh, used to wait by the road for me every day, and read the paper before i give it to mistis. one day he was waiting for me, and instead of handing it back to me he tho'wed it down and hollered, 'i'm free as a frog!' he ran away. i tuk the paper to mistis. she read it and went to cryin'. i didn't say no more. that was during the week. on sunday morning i was talking to my brother's wife, who was the cook. we were talking about the yankees. mistis come in and say, 'come out in the garden with me.' when we got outside mistis said: 'ed, you suppose them yankees would spill their blood to come down here to free you niggers?' "i said, 'i dunno, but i'se free anyhow, miss mary.'" "'shut up, sir, i'll mash your mouth!" "that day marster was eating, and he said, 'doc' (they called me doc, 'cause i was the seventh son). 'you have been a good boy. what did you tell your mistis?'" "i said, 'i told her the truth, that i knowed i was free.' "he said, 'well, doc, you aren't really free. you are free from me, but you aren't of age yet, and you still belong to your father and mother.' "one morning i saw a blue cloud of yankees coming down the road. the leader was waving his arms and singing: 'ha, ha, ha! trabble all the day! i'm in the rebel's happy land of caanan. needn't mind the weather, jump over double trouble, i'm in the rebel's happy land of caanan.' "the yankee captain, captain brown, gathered all us negroes in the fair ground, july or august after freedom, and he made a speech. lawsy! i can see that crowd yet, a-yelling and a-stomping! and the captain waving his arms and shouting! "'we have achieved the victory over the south. today you are all free men and free women!' "we had everybody shouting and jumping, and my father and mother shouted along with the others. everybody was happy." janie satterwhite's memories were very vivid about freedom. "oh yas'm," she said, "my brudder comed fer me. he say, 'jane, you free now. you wanna go home and see papa?' but old mars say, 'son, i don' know you and you don' know me. you better let jane stay here a while.' so he went off, but pretty soon i slip off. i had my little black bonnet in my hand, and de shoes papa give me, and i started off 'ticht, ticht; crost dat bridge. "i kept on till i got to my sister's. but when i got to de bridge de river wus risin'. and i hadder go down de swamp road. when i got dere, wus i dirty? and my sister say, 'how come you here all by yourself?' den she took off my clo'es and put me to bed. and i remember de next mornin' when i got up it wus sunday and she had my clo'es all wash and iron. de fus' sunday atter freedom." folk lore as most of the ex-slaves interviewed were mere children during the slavery period they remembered only tales that were told them by their parents. two bits of folk lore were outstanding as they were repeated with many variations by several old women. one of these stories may be a relic of race memory, dating back to the dawn of the race in africa. several negroes of the locality gave different versions of this story of the woman who got out of her skin every night. hannah murphy, who was once a slave and now lives in augusta gives this version: "dere was a big pon' on de plantation, and i yeared de ole folks tell a story 'bout dat pon', how one time dere was a white mistis what would go out ev'y evenin' in her cay'age and mek de driver tak her to de pon'. she would stay out a long time. de driver kep' a wonderin' whut she do here. one night he saw her go thu' de bushes, and he crep' behin' her. he saw her step out o' her skin. da skin jus' roll up and lay down on de groun', and den de mistis disappear. de driver wus too skeered to move. in a little while he yeared her voice sayin', 'skinny, skinny, don't you know me? den de skin jump up and dere she wus again, ez big as life. he watch her like dat for a lot o' nights, and den he went and tole de marster. de marster wus so skeered o' her he run away frum de plantation and quit her." laura stewart, who was born a slave in virginia, gives this verson of the same story: "dey always tole me de story 'bout de ole witch who git out her skin. i ain't know it all. in dem days i guess dose kinder things went on. dey said while she was out ridin' wid de ole witch she lef' her skin behind her, and when she come back, de other woman had put salt and pepper on it; and whan she say, 'skinny, skinny, don't you know me?' de ole skin wouldn't jump up, so she ain't had no skin a-tall." "granny," laura's granddaughter called to her, "tell the ladies about the mistis what got bury." "oh yes," laura recalled, "dey didn' bury her so far. a bad man went dere to git her gold ring off her finger. she make a sound like 'shs' like her bref comin' out, and de man got skeered. he run off. she got up direckly and come to de house. dey was skeered o' dat mistis de res' o' her life and say she were a hant." interesting customs on one southern plantation soap was made at a certain time of the year and left in the hollowed-out trough of a big log. indigo was planted for blueing. starch was made out of wheat bran put in soak. the bran was squeezed out and used to feed the hogs, and the starch was saved for clothes. a hollow stump was filled with apples when cider was to be made. a hole was bored in the middle, and a lever put inside, which would crush the apples. as mary put it, "you put the apples in the top, pressed the lever, the cider come out the spout, and my, it was good!" dress most of the old ex-slave women interviewed wore long full skirts, and flat loose shoes. in spite of what tradition and story claim, few of the older negroes of this district wear head clothes. most of them wear their wooly hair "wropped" with string. the women often wear men's discarded slouch hats. though many of the old woman were interviewed in mid-summer, they wore several waists and seemed absolutely unaware of the heat. one man, wearing the typical dress of the poverty-stricken old person of this district, is tim thornton, who used to live on the virginia plantation of mrs. lavinia tinsley. his ragged pants are sewed up with cord, and on his coat nails are used where buttons used to be. in the edges of his "salt and pepper" hair are stuck matches, convenient for lighting his pipe. his beard is bushy and his lower lip pendulous and long, showing strong yellow teeth. his manner is kindly, and he is known as "old singing tim" because he hums spirituals all day long as he stumps around town leaning on a stick. number of slaves plantations owned by dr. balding miller in burke county had about eight hundred slaves. governor pickens of south carolina was said to have had about four hundred on his various plantations. the william morris plantations in burke county had about five hundred slaves. bibliography flanders, ralph betts plantation slavery in georgia. chapel hill: the university press of n.c., pages, p. , c. , pp. - . hotchkiss, william a. statute laws of georgia and state papers; savannah, ga.; john m. cooper, pub., pages, p. , c. , pp. , , , , . rutherford, john acts of the general assembly of the state of georgia savannah, ga.: samuel t. chapman, state printer, pages, p. , c. , p. . jones, j.w., editor, southern cultivator augusta, ga.: j.w. and w.s. jones, pubs., vol. , . ordinances of the city council of augusta. august , ; july , ; feb. , . the daily chronicle & sentinel vol. xxviii. no. . augusta, ga., dec. , . clipping. compilation richmond county ex-slave interviews work, play, food, clothing, marriage, etc. written by: louise oliphant federal writers' project augusta, ga. edited by: john n. booth district supervisor, federal writers' project augusta, ga. in recalling habits of work and play, marriage customs, and like memories of southern life before the civil war, richmond county's ex-slaves tell varied stories. one said: "i didn't start workin' 'til i was 'bout nine years old. before that i had watched chickens, carried in wood, gathered eggs and such light work as that. but when i was nine i started workin' in the field. i didn't plow then because i was too small, but i hoed and did other light jobs. "our marster made our shoes for us out of raw cow hide. us got two pairs of shoes a year, one for every day and one for sunday. us made everythin' us needed. the old women, who couldn't work in the field, would make cloth on the looms and the spinnin' wheels. us didn't have chairs; us made benches and stools to sit on. us didn't know what swings was. us used to tie ropes in trees and swing in 'em. "everybody had his own tin plate and tin cup to eat out of. on saturday they would give everybody three pounds of meat, twelve pounds of flour, twelve pounds of meal, and one quart of syrup. this was to last a week. us always had plenty to eat 'til the war started, then us went hungry many a day because they took the food and carried it to the soldiers. us stole stuff from everybody durin' that time. "they always blowed a horn for you to go to work by and get off for dinner by and stop work in the evening by. when that horn blowed, you couldn't get them mules to plow another foot. they just wouldn't do it. us always et dinner out in the yard, in the summer time, at a long bench. in cold weather us always went inside to eat. whenever us didn't have enough to eat us would tell the overseer and he seed to it that us got plenty. our overseers was colored." another old woman said she "started working at the age of seven as a nurse. i nursed, made fire in the house and around the wash pots 'til i was old enough to go to work in the fields. when i got big enough i hoed and later plowed. us didn't wait 'til sun up to start workin', us started as soon as it was light enough. when it come to field work, you couldn't tell the women from the men. of course my marster had two old women on the place and he never made them work hard, and he never did whip' em. they always took care of the cookin' and the little chillun. "i'll tell you one thing, they had better doctors then than they do now. when folks had high blood pressure the doctors would cut you in your head or your arm and folks would get over it then. they took better care of themselves. whenever anybody was caught in the rain they had to go to the marster's house and take some medicine. they had somethin' that looks like black draught looks now, and they would put it in a gallon jug, fill it a little over half full of boiling water, and finish fillin' it with whiskey. it was real bitter, but it was good for colds. young folk didn't die then like they do now. whenever anybody died it was a old person. "i know more about conjuration than i'll ever be able to tell. i didn't believe in it at one time, but i've seen so much of it that i can almost look at a sick person and tell whether he is conjured or not. i wouldn't believe it now if i hadn't looked at snakes come out of my own sister's daughter. she married a man that had been goin' 'round with a old woman who wasn't nothin'. well one day this woman and my niece got in a fight 'bout him, and my niece whipped her. she was already mad with my niece 'bout him, and after she found she couldn't whip her she decided to get her some way and she just conjured her. "my niece was sick a long time and we had 'bout seven or eight diff'unt doctors with her, but none of 'em done her any good. one day us was sittin' on the porch and a man walked up. us hadn't never seen him before, and he said he wanted to talk with the lady of the house. i 'vited him in and he asked to speak to me alone. so i went in the front room and told him to come on in there. when he got there he said just like this: 'you have sickness don't you?' i said, 'yes.' then he said: 'i know it, and i come by here to tell you i could cure her. all i want is a chance, and you don't have to pay me a cent 'til i get her back on her feet, and if i don't put her back on her feet you won't be out one cent. just promise you'll pay me when the work is done.' i told him to come back the next day 'cause i would have to talk with her husband and her mother 'fore i could tell him anythin'. "us all agreed to let him doctor on her since nobody else had did her any good. two days later he brought her some medicine to take and told us to have her say: 'relieve me of this misery and send it back where it come from.' seven days from the day she started takin' this medicine she was up and walkin' 'round the room. 'fore that time she had been in bed for more than five weeks without puttin' her feet on the floor. well three days after she took the first medicine, she told us she felt like she wanted to heave. so we gave her the bucket and that's what come out of her. i know they was snakes because i know snakes when i see 'em. one was about six inches long, but the others was smaller. he had told us not to be scared 'bout nothin' us saw, so i wasn't, but my sister was. after that day my niece started to get better fast. i put the snakes in a bottle and kept 'em 'til the man come back and showed 'em to him. he took 'em with him. it was 'bout three weeks after this that the other woman took sick and didn't live but 'bout a month." roy redfield recalls that "when a person died several people would come in and bathe the body and dress it. then somebody would knock up some kind of box for 'em to be buried in. they would have the funeral and then put the body on a wagon and all the family and friends would walk to the cemetery behind the wagon. they didn't have graves like they does now; they would dig some kind of hole and put you in it, then cover you up. "in olden times there was only a few undertakers, and of course there warn't any in the country; so when a person died he was bathed and dressed by friends of the family. then he was laid on a ironing board and covered with a sheet. "for a long while us knowed that for some cause a part of the person's nose or lips had been et off, but nobody could find out why. finally somebody caught a cat in the very act. most people didn't believe a cat would do this, but everybody started watchin' and later found out it was so. so from then on, 'til the caskets come into use, a crowd of folks stayed awake all night sittin' up with the dead." one old woman lived on a plantation where "every saturday they would give you your week's 'lowance. they would give you a plenty to eat so you could keep strong and work. they weighed your meat, flour, meal and things like that, but you got all the potatoes, lard and other things you wanted. you got your groceries and washed and ironed on saturday evenin' and on saturday night everybody used that for frolicin'. us would have quiltin's, candy pullin's, play, or dance. us done whatever us wanted to. on these nights our mist'ess would give us chickens or somethin' else so us could have somethin' extra. well, us would dance, quilt, or do whatever us had made up to do for 'bout three hours then us would all stop and eat. when us finished eatin' us would tell tales or somethin' for a while, then everybody would go home. course us have stayed there 'til almost day when us was havin' a good time. "my marster wanted his slaves to have plenty of chillun. he never would make you do much work when you had a lot of chillun, and had them fast. my ma had nineteen chillun, and it looked like she had one every ten months. my marster said he didn't care if she never worked if she kept havin' chillun like that for him. he put ma in the kitchen to cook for the slaves who didn't have families. "people who didn't have families would live in a house together, but whenever you married you lived in a house to yourself. you could fix up your house to suit yourself. the house where everybody lived that warn't married, had 'bout a dozen and a half beds in it. sometimes as many as three and four slept in a bed together when it was cold. the others had to sleep on the floor, but they had plenty of cover. us didn't have anythin' in this house but what was made by some of us. there warn't but one room to this house with one fire place in it. us never et in this room, us had another house where everybody from this house and from the house for the men who warn't married, et. our beds was diff'unt from these you see now. they was made by the slaves out of rough lumber. our marster seed to it that all the chillun had beds to sleep in. they was taken good care of. us had no such things as dressers or the like. us didn't have but a very few chairs 'cause the men didn't have time to waste makin' chairs, but us had plenty of benches. our trunks was made by the men. "people who had families lived by theyselves, but they didn't have but one room to their houses. they had to cook and sleep in this one room, and as their chillun got old enough they was sent over to the big house. everybody called it that. the house you lived in with your family was small. it had a fire place and was only big enough to hold two beds and a bench and maybe a chair. sometimes, if you had chillun fast enough, five and six had to sleep in that other bed together. mothers didn't stay in after their chillun was born then like they do now. whenever a child was born the mother come out in three days afterwards if she was healthy, but nobody stayed in over a week. they never stayed in bed but one day. "when they called you to breakfast it would be dark as night. they did this so you could begin workin' at daybreak. at twelve o'clock they blowed the horn for dinner, but they didn't have to 'cause everybody knowed when it was dinner time. us could tell time by the sun. whenever the sun was over us so us could almost step in our shadow it was time to eat. when us went in to eat all the victuals was on the table and the plates was stacked on the table. you got your plate and fork, then got your dinner. some would sit on the floor, some in chairs, and some would sit on the steps, but mos' everybody held their plates in their laps. whenever any of the slaves had company for dinner, us was allowed to set the table and you and your company would eat at the table. in our dinin'-room, we called it mess house, us only had one long table, one small table, a stove, some benches, a few chairs, and stools. whenever us got out of forks the men would make some out of wood to be used 'til some more could be bought. the food we got on saturday would be turned over to the cook. "when you married, your husband didn't stay with you like they do now. you had to stay with your marster and he had to stay with his. he was 'lowed to come every saturday night and stay with you and the chillun 'til monday mornin'. if he was smart enough to have a little garden or to make little things like little chairs for his chillun to sit in or tables for 'em to eat on and wanted you to have 'em 'fore he could get back to see you, they would be sent by the runner. they had one boy they always used just to go from one place to the other, and they called him a runner. the runner wouldn't do anythin' else but that. "us made everythin' us wore. us knitted our socks and stockin's. things was much better then than they are now. shoes lasted two and three years, and clothes didn't tear or wear out as easy as they do now. us made all our cloth at night or mos' times durin' the winter time when us didn't have so much other work to do. "when a person died he was buried the same day, and the funeral would be preached one year later. the slaves made your coffin and painted it with any kind of paint they could find, but they usually painted the outside box black. "the slaves 'tended church with their marsters and after their service was over they would let the slaves hold service. they always left their pastor to preach for us and sometimes they would leave one of their deacons. when they left a deacon with us one of our preachers would preach. they only had two kinds of song books: baptist cluster, and methodist cluster. i kept one of these 'til a few years ago. our preachers could read some, but only a very few other slaves could read and write. if you found one that could you might know some of his marster's chillun had slipped and learned it to him 'cause one thing they didn't 'low was no colored folk to learn to read and write. us had singin' classes on sunday, and at that time everybody could really sing. people can't sing now." from images provided by the library of congress, manuscript division. [tr: ***] = transcriber note [hw: ***] = handwritten note slave narratives a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress washington volume ii arkansas narratives part prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of arkansas informants quinn, doc ralls, henrietta rankins, diana rassberry, senia reaves, clay reece, jane reed, frank reeves, james rhone, shepherd richard, dora ricks, jim rigger, charlie rigley, ida ritchie, milton rivers, alice roberts, rev. j. robertson (robinson?), george robinson, augustus robinson, malindy robinson, tom rogers, isom rogers, oscar james rogers, will ann rooks, william henry ross, amanda ross, cat ross, mattie rowland, laura rucker, landy ruffin, martha ruffin, thomas rumple, casper russell, henry rye, katie samuels, bob sanderson, emma scott, mary scott, mollie hardy scott, sam scroggins, cora sexton, sarah shaver, roberta shaw, mary shaw, violet shelton, frederick shelton, laura shores, mahalia simmons, rosa sims, fannie sims, jerry sims, victoria sims, virginia singfield, senya sloan, peggy smallwood, arzella smiley, sarah smith, andrew smith, caroline smith, caroline smith, edmond smith, emma hulett smith, ervin e. smith, frances smith, henrietta evelina smith, henry smith, j.l. smith, john h. snow, charlie and maggie solomon, robert spikes, james stanford, kittie stanhouse, tom starnes, isom steel, hezekiah (ky) stenhouse, maggie stephens, charlotte e. stevens, william j. stewart, minnie johnson stiggers, liza stith, james henry stout, caroline street, felix tabon, mary tanner, liza moore tatum, fannie taylor, anthony taylor, lula taylor, millie taylor, sarah taylor, warren teague, sneed teel, mary thermon, wade thomas, dicey thomas, mandy thomas, omelia thomas, omelia thomas, tanner thomas, wester thompson, annie [tr: corrected from "thomas"] thompson, ellen briggs thompson, hattie thompson, mamie thompson, mike thornton, laura tidwell, emma (bama?) tillman, joe tims, j.t. travis, hannah trotter, mark c. tubbs, james tucker, mandy turner, emma turner, henry tuttle, seabe texarkana district folklore subjects name of interviewer: cecil copeland subject: social customs--reminiscences of an ex-slave subject: foods this information given by: doc quinn place of residence: ash street, texarkana, arkansas occupation: none [tr: also reported as ex-slave.] age: [tr: also reported as .] [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] several months ago, i called at ash street, texarkana, arkansas where i had been informed a voluble old negro lived. an aged, gray-haired, negro woman came to the door and informed me her father was in the wood shed at the back of the house. going around to the wood shed i found him busily engaged in storing his winter supply of wood. when i made known my mission he readily agreed to answer all my questions as best he could. seating himself on a block of wood, he told this almost incredible story, along with lengthy discourses on politics, religion and other current events: "i wuz born march , , in monroe county, mississippi, near aberdeen, mah mahster wuz colonel ogburn, one ob de bigges' planters in de state of mississippi. manys de time he raised so much cotton dat dem big steamers just couldnt carry it all down to n'awlins in one year. but den along came de civil war an' we didn't raise nothin' fo' several years. why? becase most uf us jined the confederate army in colonel ogburn's regiment as servants and bodyguards. an' let me tell yo' somethin', whitefolks. dere never wuz a war like dis war. why i 'member dat after de battle of corinth, miss., a five acre field was so thickly covered wid de dead and wounded dat yo' couldn't touch de ground in walkin' across it. and de onliest way to bury dem wuz to cut a deep furrow wid a plow, lay de soldiers head to head, an' plow de dirt back on dem." "about a year after de war started de mahster got one ob dese a.w.o.l.'s frum de army so we could come to miller county, where he bought de place on red river now known as de adams farm. "when we fust came here dis place, as well as de rest ob de valley, wuz just a big canebrake--nothin' lived in dere but bears, wolves, and varmints. why de mahster would habe to round up de livestock each afternoon, put dem in pens, and den put out guards all night to keep de wolves and bears frum gettin' em. de folks didn't go gallivatin' round nights like dey do now or de varmints would get them. but den we didn't stay here but a few months until de mahster's a.w.o.l. wuz up, so we had to go back and jine de army. we fought in mississippi alabama, georgia, and south carolina." "when de war ended de mahster moved us to miller county, but not on de adams farm. for de man whut used to own de farm said uncle sam hadn't made any such money as wuz paid him for de farm, so he wanted his farm back. dat confederate money wuzn't worth de paper it wuz printed on, so de mahster had to gib him back de farm. poor massa ogburn--he didn't live long after dat. he and his wife are buried side by side in rondo cemetery." "not long after de negroes wuz freed, i took ob dem to de votin' place at homan and voted 'em all straight democratic. on my way back home dat evenin' five negroes jumped frum de bushes and stopped me. dey 'splained dat i wuz too 'fluential wid de negroes and proceeded to string me up by de neck. i hollers as loud as i could, and roy nash and hugh burton, de election officers, just happen to be comin' down de road and hear me yell. dey ran off de niggers and cut me down, but by dat time i had passed out. it wuz several weeks befo' i got well, and i can still feel dat rope 'round my neck. iffen dey had known how to tie a hangmans knot i wouldn't be here to tell you about it." "it wuzn't long after dis dat i jined colonel' baker's gang for 'tection. 'colonel' baker wuz a great and brave man and did mo' fo de white folks of dis country den any other man. why iffen it hadn't been fo' him de white folks couldn't hab lived in dis country, de negroes wuz so mean. dey wuz so mean dat dey tied heavy plow shoes aroun' de necks ob two little white boys and threw dem in de lake. yes suh. i wuz dere." "and another time i wuz wid a bunch of niggers when dey wuz plannin' on killin a white man who wuz a friend ob mine. as soon as i could i slips away and tips him off. when i got back one ob dem niggers looks at me suspicious like and asks, "where yo been, nigger?" i wuz shakin' like a leaf in a storm, but i says: "i ain't been nowhere--just went home to get some cartridges to help kill dis white man." "not long after i jined colonel baker's gang, we wuz comin' frum fulton to clipper through de red river bottoms. de river wuz overflowin' an' as we wuz crossin' a deep, swift slough, colonel baker and his horse got tangled up in some grape vines. colonel baker yelled, and i turned my mule around and cut all de grape vine loose wid my bowie knife. dere ain't nothin' like a mule for swimmin'. dey can swim circles aroun' any horse. as long as he lived, colonel baker was always grateful to me fo' savin' his life." "de colonel hated de sight ob mean niggers. we would ride up to a negro settlement, and tell de niggers we wuz organizing a colored militia to catch cullen baker and his gang. most ob de negroes would join, but some ob dem had to be encouraged by colonel baker's big gun. de recruits would be lined up in an open field fo' drilling. and dey sho wuz drilled. colonel baker and his men would shoot them by the score. dey killed at homan, arkansas, at rocky comfort, (foreman) arkansas, near ogden, arkansas, on de temple place, at jefferson, texas, in north louisiana, at marshall, texas, and several others." "all of de big planters wuz friendly to cullen baker. i have carried supplies many times frum de big plantations--hervey, glass, and others--to cullen baker. de colonel always carried a big double-barrel shotgun. it must have been de biggest shotgun in de world, not less den a number eight size. he whipped soldiers at old boston wid dis gun one time." "i saw colonel baker killed. we had just arrived at his father-in-law's house and i wuz in the horse lot, about yards from de house, when joe davis. thomas orr and some more men rode up." "de colonel wuz standin' by de chimney an did not see dem come aroun' de house. dey killed him befo' he knew dey wuz aroun'. one ob de men asked mr. foster, "where at dat d--n nigger?" i ducked down and crawled in under de rail fence and ran--i didn't stop 'til i wuz deep in the sulphur river bottoms. every minute my heart seemed like it wuz goin' to jump right out uv my mouth. i wuz the worst scared nigger that ever lived." "i have lived many years since dat time. de times and ways of livin' have changed. i 'member killing deer where the texarkana national bank stands, way befo' texarkana wuz even thought of. this place wuz one of my favorite deer stands. nix creek used to be just full ob fish. what used to be the best fishing hole aroun' here is now covered by the methodist church (negro), in east texarkana. dr. weetten had a big fine home out where springlake park is. he wuz killed when thrown by a buckin' horse. all of de young people i knew den have been dead many years." foods the question of eating special food on a particular day immediately brings in mind thanksgiving day, when turkey becomes the universal dish. perhaps no other day in the year can be so designated, except among a few religious orders when the eating of meat is strictly prohibited on certain days. the belief that negroes are particularly addicted to eating pork is well founded, as witness the sales of pork to colored people in most any meat market. but who could imagine that cotton-seed was once the universal food eaten in this vicinity by the colored people? that, according to doc quinn, a former slave, and self-styled exmember of cullen baker's gang, was the custom before and shortly after the civil war. the cotton-seed would be dumped into a hugh pot, and boiled for several hours, the seed gradually rising to the top. the seed would then be dipped off with a ladle. the next and final step would be to pour corn-meal into the thick liquid, after which it was ready to be eaten. cotton-seed, it must be remembered, had little value at that time, except as livestock feed. "yes suh, cap'n," the old negro went on to explain. "i has never eaten anything whut tasted any better, or whut would stick to your ribs like cotton-seed, and corn-meal cake. rich? why dey's nuthin dat is more nutritious. you never saw a healthier or finer lookin' bunch of negroes dan wuz on colonel harvey's place. "i 'member one time tho' when he changed us off cotton-seed, but we didn't stay changed fo' long. no suh. of all de grumblin' dem niggers did, becase dey insides had got so used to dat cotton-seed and corn-meal dey wouldn't be satisfied wid nothing else." "one mornin' when about forty of us niggers had reported sick, de mahster came down to de qua'ters. 'whut ailin' ye' lazy neggers?' he asked. dem niggers los' about fifty pounds of weight apiece, and didn' feel like doin' anything. 'mahster,' i say. 'iffen you'll have de wimmen folks make us a pot full of dat cotton-seed and corn-meal, we'll be ready to go to work.' and as long as i work fo' colonel harvey, one uv de bes' men whut ever lived, we always had cotton-seed and corn-meal to eat." texarkana district folklore subjects name of interviewer: mrs. w.m. ball subject: anecdotes of an aged ex-slave. subject: superstitious beliefs among negroes. (negro lore) story:--information: information given by: doc quinn place of residence: th & ash sts., texarkana, ark. occupation: none (ex-slave) age: [tr: information moved from bottom of second page.] [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] "mah young marster wuz joe ogburn. me and him growed up togedder an' i wuz his body guard durin' de wahr. many's de day i'ze watched de smoke ob battle clear away an' wait fo' de return ob mah marster. all de time i felt we wuz born to win dat wahr, but god knowed bes' an' you know de result. "three years ago i went to little rook wid mr. fisher. lac' all folks whut goes to dis city, we wend our way to de capitol to see de governor. gov. futtrell sittin' bac' in his great fine office, saw me and jined me in conversation. de fus' question he axed me wuz 'whut party does yo' 'filiate wif?' i sez, 'de democrat--de party whut's a frien' to de nigger.' de governor axed me how does i lac' dis life? i sez 'very well, tho' things has changed since slavery days. those wuz good ole days for de black man; didn't hafter worry about nuthin'. now, i sho' does mah share ob worryin'. i worries from one meal to de odder, i worries about whure i'ze gwine get some mo' clothes when dese wears out?' "i tole de governor mah 'sperience wif de republican party durin' de wahr. i been hung fo' times in mah life an' one ob de times by de republicans. long time ago, mr. roy nash an' mr. hugh sutton wuz a settin' ovah de ballot box on 'lection day, when i voted democrats. yas, suh; i jus' marches 'em in an' tells 'em how to cas' dey vote. dat night, on mah way home frum de votin', goin' down de lonely road, i wuz stopped an' strung up to a tree by de neck. dey 'splained dat i wuz too 'fluential wid de niggers. when i wuz hangin' dere i did some manful howlin'. dat howlin' sho brought de white folks. when dey see mah distres' dey 'leased de rope an' i wuz saved. dat is when i 'pealed to col. baker for 'tection. he wuz mah frien' as long as he lib, and he wuz a good frien' ob de south 'cause he saved lots ob white folks frum de wrath ob de mean niggers." (note: the col. baker referred to was cullen baker, the leader of a ruthless gang of bushwhackers that operated in this section shortly after the civil war.) doc quinn tells a "ghost story" connected with the old church at rondo, built in . "de masonic hall wuz built up ovah dis buildin' an' ever month dey had dey meetin'. one night, when dey was 'sembled, two men wuz kilt. dat sho' did scatter dat lot ob masons and frum dat time on de spirits ob dese men roamed dis chu'ch. sometime in de dead ob night, dat bell wud ring loud an' clear, wakin' all de folks. down dey wud come, clos' like, to de chu'ch,--but scared to go closer. mr. bill crabtree, a rich man an' a man whut wuz scared too, offered anybody $ . to go inside dat chu'ch an' stay one hour. didn't nobody need dat $ . dat bad!" the old negro tells the following grave yard story: "one dark, drizzly night, de niggers wuz out in de woods shootin' craps. i didn't hab no money to jine in de game. one nigger say, "doc, effen you go down to de cemetey' an' bring bac' one ob dem 'foot boa'ds' frum one ob dem graves, we'll gib yo' a dollar." i ambles off to de cemete'y, 'cause i really needed dat money. i goes inside, walks careful like, not wantin' to distu'b nuthin', an' finally de grave stone leapt up in front ob me. i retches down to pick up de foot boa'd, an' lo! de black cats wuz habin' a meetin' ovah dat grave an' dey objected to mah intrudin', but i didn't pay 'em no mind; jus' fetched dat boa'd bac' to dem niggers, an'--bless de lawd,--dey gib me two dollars!" superstitious beliefs among negroes some aged negroes believe that many of the superstitious ideas that are practiced by their race today had their origin in africa. a practice that was quite common in ante bellum days was for each member of the family to extract all of their teeth, in the belief that in doing so the family would never disagree. fortunately, this and similar practices of self mutilation have about become extinct. an old custom practiced to prevent the separation of a husband and wife was to wrap a rabbit's forefoot, a piece of loadstone, and hairs from the top of the head in red flannel, and bury it under the front door steps. as a preventitive against being tricked or hoo-dooed, punch a hole through a dime, insert a string through the hole, and tie it around the left ankle. to carry an axe or hoe into the house means bad luck. an itching nose indicates some one is coming to see you, while an itching eye indicates you will cry. interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: henrietta ralls fluker st. pine bluff, ark. age: "yes ma'am, i was here in slavery times. i was born in mississippi, lee county, march , . come to arkansas when i was ten years old. had to walk. my old master was henry ralls. sometimes we jump up in the wagon and he'd whip us out. "my old mistes name was drunetta. she was good to us. we called her miss netta. old master was mean. he'd whip us. one day he come along and picked up sand and throwed it in my eyes. he was a mean old devil. he thought i was scared of him. cose i was. that was before the war. "i recollect when the yankees come. i knowed they was a'ridin'. white folks made me hide things. i hid a barrel of wool once--put meal on top. they'd a'took it ever bit if they could have found it. they wanted chickens and milk. they'd take things they wanted--they would that. would a'taken ever bit of our wool if they could have found it. "they wouldn't talk to old mistes--just talk to me and ask where things was. she didn't notice them and they didn't notice her. "i reckon the lord intended for the yankees to free the people. they was fightin' to free the people. "i hear em say war is still goin' on in the world. "the owners was tryin' to hide the colored people. our white folks took some of us clear out in texas to keep the yankees from gettin' em. miss liza was miss netta's daughter and she was mean as her old daddy. she said, 'oh, yes, you little devils, you thought you was goin' to be free! she had a good brother though. he wanted to swap a girl for me so i could be back here with my mammy, but miss liza wouldn't turn me loose. no sir, she wouldn't. "after freedom i hired out--cooked, milked cows and washed and ironed. "i went back to mississippi and stayed with my father. old henry ralls sold my father fore we come to arkansas. "i never been married. i could have married, but i didn't. i don't know hardly why. "i been makin' my own livin' pretty much since i left my father. "biggest majority of younger generation looks like they tryin' to get a education and tryin' to make a livin' with their brain without usin' their hands. but i'd rather use my hands--cose i would. "i went to school some after the war, but i had to pay for it. "i been disabled bout five or six years. got to have somethin' to take us away, i guess." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: diana rankins, brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born at arlington, tennessee but when i was a chile the depot was called with. my parents' name sarah and solomon green. there was seven girls and one boy of us. my sister died last year had two children old as i was. i was the youngest chile. folks mated younger than they do now and seem like they had better times when there was a big family. "adam turnover in charleston, south carolina owned my papa. when he died they sold him. he was one year and six months old when he was sold. "i think s.c. bachelor, around brownsville, tennessee, owned mama first. she said they put her upon the block and sold her and her mother was crying. the man after he sold her ask her if she didn't want him to sell her. she said she didn't care but said she knowed she was afraid to say she cared cause she was crying. she never seen her mama no more. she was carried off on a horse. she was a little girl then. general hayes bought her and he bought papa too. they played together. general hayes made the little boys run races so he could see who could run the fastest. "papa said they picked him up and carried him off. he said they pressed him into the breastworks of the war. he didn't want to go to war. mr. hayes kept him hid out but they stole him and took him to fight. he come home. he belong to jack hayes, general hayes' son. they called him mr. jack or mr. hayes when freedom come. mr. jack sent him to como, mississippi to work and to duncan, arkansas to work his land. i was fifteen years old when we come to arkansas. mr. walker hayes that was president of the commercial appeal over at memphis lost his land. we been from place to place over arkansas since then. mr. walker was general hayes' grandson. we worked field hands till then, we do anything since. i nursed some for mr. charles williams in memphis. i have done house work. i got two children. my son got one leg off. i live with him. this little gran'boy is the most pleasure to us all. "the ku klux never did interfere with us. they never come to our house. i have seen them. "when papa come from war it was all over. we knowed it was freedom. everybody was in a stir and talking and going somewhere. he had got his fill of freedom in the war. he said turn us all out to freeze and starve. he stayed with the hayes till he died and mama died and all of us scattered out when mr. walker hayes lost his land. "ladies used to be too fine to be voting. i'm too old now. my men-folks said they voted. they come home and say how they voted all i know about voting. "walker avenue in memphis is named for mr. walker hayes and macremore was named for him or by him one. "we never was give a thing at freedom but papa was buying a place from his master and got in debt and sold it. i don't own a home. "i have high blood pressure and the welfare gives me $ a month. i'm not able to work. when you been used to a good plenty it is mighty bad to get mighty near helpless." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: senia rassberry catalpa street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm, i know what i hear em say. well, in slavery times i helped make the soldiers' clothes. "i was born on the old jack hall place on the arkansas river in jefferson county. "i know i was 'leven years old when peace declared. i reckon i can member fore the war started. i know i was bastin' them coats and pants. "my old master's name was jack hall and old mistress' name was priscilla. oh, yes'm, they was good to me--just as good to me as they could be. but ever' once in awhile they'd call me and say, 'senia.' i'd say, 'what you want?' they say, 'wasn't you out there doin' so and so?' i'd say, 'no.' they say, 'now, you're tellin' a lie' and they'd whip me. "i was the house girl, me and my sister. my mammy was the cook. "old master had two plantations. sometimes he had a overseer and sometimes he didn't. "oh, they had plenty to eat, hog meat and cracklin' bread. yes ma'am. i loved that, i reckon. i et so much of it then i don't hardly ever want it now. they had so much to eat. blackberry cobbler? oh lawd. "how many brothers and sisters? me? my dear, i don't know how many i had but i heard my mother say that all the chillun she did have, that she had 'leven chillun. "our white folks took us to texas durin' of the war. i think my old master said we stayed there three years. my mother died there with a congestive chill. "we come back here to arkansas after freedom and i think my father worked for jack hall three or four years. he wouldn't let him leave. he raised my father and thought so much of him. he worked on the shares. "after freedom i went to school. i learnt to read and write but i just wouldn't _do_ it. i learnt the other chillun though. i did _that_. i was into ever'thing. i learnt them that what i could do. blue back? them's the very ones i studied. "in slavery times i had to rise as early as i could. old master would give me any little thing around the house that i wanted. they said he was too old to go to war. some of the hands run off but i didn't know where they went to. "some of the people was better off slaves than they was free. i don't study bout things now but sometimes seems like all them things comes before me. "i used to hear em talkin' bout old jeff davis. i didn't know what they was talkin' bout but i heered em. "i was sixteen when i married and i had eleven chillun. all dead but four. "yes'm, i been treated good all my life by white and black. all of em loved me seemed like. "i been livin' in arkansas all my life. i never have worked in the field. i always worked in the house. i always was a seamstress--made pants for the men on the place. "after i come here to pine bluff i worked for the white folks. used to cook and wash and iron. done a lot of work. i _did_ that. "i been blind 'leven years but i thank the lord i been here that long. glory to jesus! oh, lord have mercy! glory, glory, glory to jesus!" interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: clay reaves, (light mulatto, large man) palestine, arkansas age: "i will be eighty years old my next birthday. it will be july th. father was bought from kentucky. i couldn't tell you about him. he stayed on the reaves place that year, the year of the surrender, and left. he didn't live with mother ever again. i never did hear no reason. he went on joe night's farm. he left me and a sister older but there was one dead between us. mother raised us. she stayed on with the reaves two years after he left. the last year she was there she hired to them. the only thing she ever done before freedom was cook and weave. she had her loom in the kitchen. it was a great big kitchen built off from the house and a portico joined it to the house. i used to lay up under her loom. it was warm there in winter time. i was the baby. i heard mother say some things i remember well. "she said she was never sold. she said the reaves said her children need never worry, they would never be sold. we was reaves from back yonder. mother's grandfather was a white man. she was a reaves and her children are mostly reaves. she was light. father was about, might be a little darker than i am (mulatto). at times she worked in the field, but in rush time. she wove all the clothes on the place. she worked at the loom and i lay up under there all day long. mother had three girls and five boys. "mr. reaves, we called him master, had two boys in the army. he was a real old man. he may have had more than two but i know there was two gone off. the white folks lived in sight of the quarters. their house was a big house and painted white. i've been in there. i never seen no grand parents of mine that i was allowed to claim kin with. "when i got up some size i was allowed to go see father. i went over to see him sometimes. after freedom he went to where his brothers lived. they wanted him to change his name from reaves to cox and he did. he changed it from james reaves to james cox. but i couldn't tell you if at one time they belong to cox in kentucky or if they belong to cox in tennessee or if they took on a name they liked. "i kept my name reaves. i am a reaves from start to finish. i was raised by mother and she was a reaves. her name was olive reaves. her old mistress' name was charlotte reaves, old master was edmond reaves. now the boys i come to know was john, bob; girls, mary and jane. there was older children. mother was a sensible, obedient woman. nobody ever treated her very wrong. she was the only one ever chastised me. they spoiled me. we got plenty plain rations. i never seen nobody married till after the surrender. i seen one woman chastised. i wasn't close. i never learned what it was about. old master reaves was laying it on. "mother moved to new castle, tennessee from mr. reaves' place. we farmed--three of us. we had been living southeast of boliver, tennessee, in hardeman county. i think my kin folks are all dead. father's other children may be over in tennessee now. yes, i know them. mother died over at palestine with me. she always lived with me. i married twice, had one child by each wife. both wives are dead and my children are dead. "mother said i had three older brothers went to the civil war and never come back home. she never heard from them after they went off. i don't know but it was my understanding that they was to be soldiers. i don't recollect them. "mother got so she wasn't able to work in the field several years before she died. she worked in the field long as she was able. she lived with me all my whole life till she died. but i farmed. some years we done well and some years we jess could live. i farmed all my life but a few years. i love farm life. it is independent living. i mean you are about your own man out there. i work my garden out at my shop now. i make baskets and bottom chairs at palestine. a few years i kept mrs. wilkerson's yard and garden. her husband died and she moved off to memphis. they did live at palestine. "i heard it said that reaves said he could keep his own farm. the ku klux never bothered us. i have heard a lot of things but i am telling you what i know. i don't know nothing about the civil war nor the ku klux. i was most too small a boy at that time to know much. "i used to vote. can't write my name. don't fool with it. "i went to school on rainy days. i went a few other days. people used to have to work. i always wanted to work. i piddle around all the time working now. i went to colored teachers all together. i can read a little. "i had a brother-in-law in arkansas. i heard a lot of talk. i come on a visit and stayed three months. i went back and moved here. i come to this state--over at palestine--march , on sunday. i have a good recollection, or i think i have for my age. i've lived a pretty sensible life, worked hard but had good health. if i had another life to live now i would go to the farm. i love farm life. "i chop wood, garden, go in the woods get my splints for baskets, chairs. i live by myself. i eat out some with i call them kin. they are my sister's children. i get some help, $ and commodities. "when i did vote i voted republican or i thought i did. but now if i did vote, i might change up. times have changed. "i don't know much about the young generation. i do talk with them--some. they are coming up in a changed time. i wouldn't talk against the colored race of people. some of them work--are good. some don't. i think some will not work. maybe they would. i come to know mighty little about them--no more than i know about the white girls and boys. i see them on the streets about as much as i ever see colored folks anywhere." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: jane reece w. ninth street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i know this--i'm . i was born in north carolina. "oh, yes'm, i 'member the war. "i'm three thousand miles from my home. "old john blue (belew?) was my white folks. "i did have good white folks. yes ma'am, i'll say that. stayed there a long time after we was sot free. they was good to us. "my mother was the mother of twelve chillun--she was a fast breeder. "i was the onliest girl and old missis was just wild about me. i had good owners. i don't remember no hard treatment among 'em. "i 'member she used to have me runnin' from house to house totin' a little note. that's the reason i had such a good time. heap of times i slept up at the big house with old missis. "i got a good memory. we was allowed to sing and pray. i know our white folks was good that way. i'll say that for 'em. i won't go back on 'em. "our folks stayed right on there a long time. "my father died three years after ever'thing had done got quiet and peaceful. "i left my husband back there and come here to arkansas with my mother. "the bigges' work i done--i used to be terrible 'bout cookin', washin' and ironin', and field work. ever'thing a man ever done i've done--cut wood, cut down sprouts, barn brush--i've done ever'thing. "oh yes, i went to school a whole lot. got so i could read. used to write too, but all that done left me. "i'm gwine tell you the truth, lady. i don't know whether the folks is better off free or not. they is better off in one way--they is free--but this young race is the devil." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: frank reed, missouri street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was a little boy pickin' up chips and helpin' feed the hog in slavery times for old master. name was george houston. that was in alabama. "i reckon i do remember george houston. as far as i know he was good to us. i remember when he died. "our people stayed right there after freedom. my mother was a houston till she married. "i reckon i do remember the paddyrollers. i remember the hounds runnin' too. i never thought i would remember that no more. "they didn't get after me 'cause i was too little. it didn't last long enough for 'em to get after me. "i'm sick and not able to help myself. i got run over by a wagon. "i'm livin' here with my daughter. her husband is a preacher and they got eight children, so you can imagine how much they can do for me. "one word of the white folks is worth a thousand of ours." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: james reeves w. twentieth street, little rock, arkansas age: occupation: preacher "i was born in down in ouachita county about fourteen miles south of camden going on toward el dorado. they didn't have no railroad then. i was a young man when they put the branch through. you see, i was born five years after slavery, but i remember my mother, my grandmother, and my great-grandmother. they taken me and talked to me freely and i know everything they knew. great-grandmother on mother's side "my great-grandmother belonged to the goodmans. her master was named bob goodman. she lived to get one hundred thirteen years old. from the children of the old master, i got the information concerning her age. i looked it up after emancipation. one of old master's sons was named frank goodman, and another was named norphleet goodman, and there was another whose name i don't recall. "my grandmother, great-grandmother, was named frankie goodman. i wasn't here in slavery time, but i knew her after emancipation. grandmother on mother's side "my grandmother was named hannah goodman. these were different goodmans but they were kin to these others. there was a large family of them. i don't know the correct age of my grandmother but she was up in the eighties when she died. mother "my mother was born a goodman, but she married reeves, my father. the record of their marriage i ain't got. back there, they didn't keep up like you and i do, and we don't keep up like these younger folks do. near as i could get it, she lived to be about seventy-one years old. father "my father was named adam reeves. his master was named rick reeves. my father was born in union county about ten miles from el dorado. you might say north of el dorado because he lived south of camden. he lived there all his life. i have known him to move out of ouachita county into union, and from union back to ouachita. grandfather on mother's side "my grandfather on my mother's aide was henry goodman. his mistress was a woman by the name of lucy goodman. she was the same woman who owned my mother. there was a big family of them goodmans. "his age--he lived to be about eighty years old. he died in hot spring county. grandmother on father's side "my grandmother on my father's side was named hetty. her master was named sam abbott. she lived right close to seventy-four or seventy-five years. she been gone quite a while now. she used to live with papa. other ancestors "i don't know so much about another of my ancestors. wife "my wife didn't have many people. she knows her mother, her mother's mistress, and all. her ma was named martha henson. that was her married name. her mistress' last name was stribling. martha henson was a well-treated slave. the striblings lived in rockport, arkansas, but their native home was georgia. i don't know where the striblings are now. the old man died before the civil war broke out. i guess they are all dead and in torment. my wife's grandmother and grandfather on her mother's side were gone so far back that neither she nor i know anything about them. whippings "my great-grandmother on my mother's side was in union county when i knew anything of her--close to el dorado. i was about twenty-two years old when she died. she was tall and spare built, dark ginger cake color. coarse straight black hair that had begun to mingle with gray. she never did get real gray, and her hair was never white. even when she died, at a hundred and thirteen years, her hair was mostly black mingled with gray. "the overseer knocked her in the head in slavery times, and they had to put a silver half-dollar in her head to hold her brains in. i have seen the place myself. when i was a little fellow she used to let me feel the place and she would say, 'that's where the overseer knocked granny in the head, son. i got a half-dollar in there.' i would put her hair aside--my but she had beautiful hair!--and look at the place. "my wife could tell you what my mother told her. she has seen the marks on my mother's back and has asked, 'mama, what's all these marks on your back?' and mama would say, 'that's where i was whipped in slavery times, daughter.' she never did like to tell the details. but the scars were awful. "my grandmother was roughly treated and she had pretty near lost her eyesight from the ill treatment. she got so before she died that she could hardly see to go nowhere. i don't know what it was they done to her that made her eyesight bad, but she insisted that it was due to bad treatment in slavery time. patrollers "i have heard that the pateroles used to run the slaves if they didn't have a pass from their mistress and master. the pateroles would run them and catch them and whip them. how freedom came "all my mother knew was that it got out that the negroes were free. the day before the old woman told them that they were free, my grandfather, henry goodman who was a teamster, old mis' called him and told him to tell all the darkies to come up to the house the next day. "next morning, she said, 'henry, you forgot what i told you. i want you to call all the darkies up here this morning.' henry had a voice like a fog-horn. he started hollering. i wish i could holler the way he did, but i got to consider the neighbors. he hollered. 'tention, 'tention, hey; miss lucy says she wants you all up to the big house this morning. she's got somepin to tell you.' "they all come up to the yard before the house. when they got there, she says to him--not to them; she wouldn't talk to them that morning; maybe she was too full--'henry, you all just as free now as i am. you can stay here with miss lucy or you can go to work with whomsoever you will. you don't belong to miss lucy no more.' "she had been sick for quite a bit, and she was just able to come to the door and deliver that message. three weeks after that time, they brought her out of the house feet foremost and took her to the cemetery. the news killed her dead. that's been seventy years ago, and they just now picking up on it! slave time amusements "the old people say they used to have breakdowns in slave time--breakdown dances with fiddle and banjo music. far after slavery, they had them. the only other amusement worth speaking about was the churches. far as the churches was concerned, they had to steal out and go to them. old man balm whitlow can tell you all about the way they held church. they would slip off in the woods and carry a gang of darkies down, and the next morning old master would whip them for it. next sunday they would do the same thing again and get another whipping. and it went on like that every week. when old man whitlow came out from slavery, he continued to preach. but the darkies didn't have to steal out then. he's dead now, him and the old lady both. houses "the slaves lived in old log houses. some of them would be hewed and put up well. i have seen lots of them. sometimes they would dob the cracks with mud and would have box planks floors, one by eight or one by ten, rough lumber, not dressed. set 'em as close together as they could but then there would be cracks in them. i can carry you to some old log houses down in union county now if they haven't been torn down recently. "one old log house there used to be old lady lucy goodman's home. it has four rooms. it has a hall running through it. it was built in slave times. there is a spring about two hundred yards from it. that is about ten or twelve feet deep. there is a big cypress tree trunk hollowed out and sunk down in it to make a curbing. that cypress is about two or three feet across. the old man, henry goodman, sunk that cypress down in there in slavery time. he drove an ox team all the time. that is all the work he done. she would tell all the overseers, 'now, don't you fool with henry because we ain't never whipped him ourselves.' "i don't know who it is that is living now. it's been fifty years ago since i was there. right after freedom "right after freedom, when the surrender came, my mother was just a girl 'bout fifteen or sixteen. she married after freedom. her and her husband farmed for a living--you know, sharecropped. ku klux klan "the ku klux and the pateroles were the same thing, only the klan was more up to date. it's all set up with a hellish principle. it's old pharaoh exactly. "the ku klux klan didn't have no particular effect on the negro except to scare him. "when the emancipation came about, the people of the south went to work to see what they could do about it. the whole south was under martial law. some of the people formed the ku klux klan to keep the negro down. i never remember that they bothered any of our family or the people in our house. but they scared some and whipped more, and killed some. political trouble about "the darkies and the white folks in union county had an insurrection over the polls about the year . in them days, when you wanted to put a republican man in, you didn't have to do much campaigning. they just went to the polls and put him in. everybody that could vote was republican. in the fall of they had a great trouble down there, and some of them got killed. they went around and commanded the negroes not to go to the polls the next day. some of the negroes would tell them, 'well, i am going to the polls tomorrow if i have to crawl.' and then some of them would say, 'i'd like to know how you goin' to vote.' the nigger would ask right back, 'how you goin' to vote?' the white man would say, 'i'm goin' to vote as i damn please.' then the nigger would say, 'i'm going to do the same thing.' that started the trouble. "on sunday before the election on monday, they went around through that county in gangs. they shot some few of the negroes. as the negroes didn't have no weapons to protect theirselves, they didn't have no chance. in that way, quite a few of the negroes disbanded their homes and went into different counties and different portions of the state and different states. henry goodman, my grandfather, came into hot spring county in this way. opinions "roosevelt has got himself in a predicament. they are drunk and don't know what to do. the whole world is stirred up over why one-fourth of the world should rule the other three-fourths. one-fourth of the world is white. the bible says a house divided can't stand. the people don't know what to do. look how they fight the wage hour bill. look at the excitement they raised when it was first suggested that the union and confederate veterans meet together. "we were savages when we came over here. everything we got and everything we know, good and bad, we got from the white folks. don't know how they can get impatient with us when everything we do they learnt us. "roosevelt has done more than any democrat that has ever been in the chair. he had to do something to keep down a rebellion. then we like to had one as it is through the labor question. "the poor white man always has been in a tight [hw: place]. he was almost as much oppressed as the negro. "the young people of today ain't got no sense. they don't give no thought to nothing. they don't know how to think at all. all the schools and education they give don't make them think. if i had as much education as they have, i would be able to accomplish something. the teachers don't press down on them and make them know what they go over. there is a whole lot of things happening now. old people in pulaski county "out in pulaski county, going west out the nineteenth street pike till you strike the saline county line, there are quite a few old colored people. i guess you would find no leas than twenty-five or thirty out that way. there is one old man named junius peterson out that way who used to run a mill. if you find him, he is very old and has a good memory. he is a mulatto. you could get out to him by going down till you come to a place that is called the henderson lane. you turn to the right and go off the pike less than a mile and you come to a big one-story house settin' on a hill where peterson lives. right on beyond that about three-fourths of a mile on the right side of the road, you come to george gregory's. the mother of my church is about eighty-one years old but she is over in saline county. her name is jane joyner. "there are quite a few old persons around woodson that can give you information. but that is in saline county, i think. sweet home, wrightsville, toltec--all of them have a few old colored persons on the farm that was here in slavery times." interviewer's comment reeves' story was taken because of his clear memories of his parents and grandparents. he described to me an old log house still standing in union county. i got all agog with excitement. i asked him for the exact location. he gave it. then i suggested that maybe he would go down with me sometime to visit it. he agreed. then at the last moment caution began to assert itself, and i said, "when was the last time you saw the cabin?" he reflected a moment; then he said, "waal, i guess it was a little more 'an fifty years ago." i lost my enthusiasm. reeves told the phill-la-me-york story which was told by austin pen parnell. you will find it in his story. the only difference between his story and parnell's is that reeves had the conclusion. he claimed that the old master got in a fight with one of the slaves present and yelled out his identity when he was getting badly beaten. the story sounds like it came from the arkansas folklore collection or from someone who contributed it to that collection. an aftermath of reeves' story is finding out that most people consider henry banner, whose story has been previously given and whose age was given as eighty-nine, is considered by many persons to be ninety-four. neely, one of the adult school-teachers, says that he has gone over banner's life carefully with him, and that he must have been twenty-one or twenty-two at the close of the war because during slavery, he had experience at logging, or rather at logrolling, a work so difficult that only full-grown men were used at it. since banner is slightly built, there is scarcely a possibility that he did such work before the normal time. [hw: cf. for interview with parnell.] interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: shepherd rhone th and kentucky pine bluff, ark. age: "yes ma'am, i was bred and born in 'sixty-three in phillips county, arkansas, close to helena, on old judge jones' plantation. judge jones, he was a lawyer. remember him? i ought to, he whiped me enough. his wife's name was caroline jones. she used to smack my jaws and pull my ears but she was a pretty good woman. the old judge was a raw one though. you had to step around or he'd step around for you. "i stayed right there till i was grown. my mother was named katie rhone and my father was named daniel rhone. my mother was born in richmond, virginia and my father in petersburg, virginia. "judge jones brought em here to arkansas. my father was a bodyguard for old judge jones' son tom in the war. my father stuck with him till peace declared--had to do it. "they was thirteen of us chillun and they is all gone but me, and i'll soon be gone. "i know when the yankees come i run from em. when peace declared, the yankees come all through our house and took everything they could get hold of to eat. "the only reason the yankees whipped the south was they starved em. "i know one time when peace declared i caught afire and i run and jumped in a tub of water and i had sense enough not to tell my mother. a girl i was raised up with went and told her though. "after freedom i worked for old judge jones on the half system. he give me everthing that was due me. when he was eighty years old, he called all his old tenants up and give em a mule and twenty-five dollars. he was pretty good to em after all. "i went to free school in the summertime after the crops was laid by, i can read and write pretty good. "i came here to jefferson county in 'eighty-six and i put in thirty-six years at the cotton belt shops. when that strike come on they told us colored folks to quit and i never went back. i worked for em when she was a narrow gauge. "i worked in the north three years. i nightwatched all over st. louis and madison, illinois. i liked it fine up there--white folks is more familiar up there and seems like you can get favors. if i don't get somethin' here, i'm goin' back up there. "when i got big enough i voted the republican ticket and after they got this primary. i think the colored people ought to vote now cause they make em pay taxes. "i'll tell you right now, the younger generation is goin' to the dogs. we'll never make a nation of em as long as they go out to these places at night. they ought to be a law passed. when nine o'clock comes they ought to be home in bed, but they is just gettin' started then. "i belong to the catholic church. i think it's a pretty good church. we have a white priest and i'll tell you one thing thing--you can't get a divorce and marry again and stay in the catholic church." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: dora richard w. th avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in south carolina and i was my mother's baby chile. "jacob foster was our old master and he sold my mother over in east tennessee. now of cose she wasn't put upon the block and sold. she was the house woman and spin and wove. after they sold her my father run off. oh sure, they caught him and i know old mistress said, 'now, jacob, if you want to go where lydia is, you can go.' so they sold him near her. "i stayed with the fosters till peace was declared and ever'thing was declared free. then my father come after me. "i can just sketch things. i try to forget it. my mother and father was pretty agreeable when they was set free. "in tennessee we stayed at the foot of lookout mountain and i can remember seein' the cannon balls. "here's the way i want to tell you. some of the white people are as good to the colored people as they could be and some of em are mean. my own folks do so bad i'm ashamed of em. "so many of the colored of the south have emigrated to the north. i have lived there and i don't know why i'm here now. "some of my color don't like that about the jim crow law, but i say if they furnish us a nice comfortable coach i would rather be with my own people. and i don't care to go to the white folks' church. "my mother used to tell me how they used to hide behind trees so the boss man couldn't see em when they was prayin' and at night put out the light and turn the pot down. "i went to school in tennessee. i never will forget it. i had a white teacher. he was in the war and he had a leg shot off. i went through the sixth grade and was ready for the seventh ray's arithmetic. i walked four miles there and four miles back--eight miles a day. "i can remember too when my mother and father was baptized. i know mama come out of the water a shoutin'. oh, that was good times then. i felt better when i was under my mother cause when i married my life was over. i raised about ten children. "i remember when the ku klux come to my sister's house lookin' for her husband. i know i was in the bed and i raised up. i was scared you know. "when i hear some colored folks say they wish the old slavery times was back, i just knows they is lazy. they don't want any responsibility." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: jim ricks e. nd avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in slavery times. i 'member runnin' from the yankees when they wanted to carry me off. just devilin' me, you know. you know how little chillun was 'bout white folks in them days. "i went to school three weeks and my daddy stopped me and put me to work. "old master was named jimmie ricks. they named me after him, i think. "my mother said he was a mighty good master. didn't 'low his niggers whipped. "yes'm, i was born and raised in arkansas, down here in calhoun county. "i had a chance to learn but i was a rowdy. i wanted to hunt. i was a mighty huntsman. "i was a good worker too. white folks was all stuck on me 'cause i was a good worker. "i did farm work and then did public work after the crops was laid by. but now i got too old to work. "i seen the ku klux once or twice when they was ku klukin' around. some of 'em would holler 'kluk, kluk, kluk.' i was quite small, but i could remember 'am 'cause i was scared of 'em. "i farmed all my life till year before last. i was a good farmer too. "i used to vote years ago. i voted republican. yes ma'am. "younger generation ain't near like they was when i was young. i was well thought of. couldn't be out after sundown or they'd bump my head. my stepfather would give me a flailin'. i thought he was mean to me but i see now he done right by whippin' me. "i know in slavery times they got plenty of somethin' to eat. old master fed us well." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: charlie rigger r.f.d., three miles, palestine, arkansas age: plus, doesn't know age "i was born six miles from mounticellar close to the line of morgan and jasper county. mother belong to the smiths. her father was part creek (indian). they all was sold to floyd malone. his wife was betsy malone. they had five children. "when i was a child i lay under the loom day after day picking up the sickle. ma was a cook and a weaver too. "malone was a good man but his wife was one of 'em. she was a terrible piece of humanity. father was a farm hand. they had a gin, a shoe shop, and a blacksmith shop all on floyd malone's place. i picked a little cotton before 'mancipation. floyd malone had to buy my mother to git her where my father was. "some of the boys wore dresses till they was twelve or fifteen years old. one fellar rode a mule or cow one the other to preaching. while he sit talking to his gal at the window a steer cone up and et off his dress tail. boys got to courting before they got to take off their long shirts. "they wasn't so good to mother. she run off several times. she went 'bout one and one-half miles to her mother on the compton place. they didn't whoop her. they promised her a whooping. they whooped her and me too but i never knowed 'em to whoop my father. when they whoop my mother i'd run off to place we lived and crawl under the house. "we chillun had nothing to do wid coffee. we drunk milk out little bowls. we'd turn it up or lap it out which one could do the best. they fed us. we'd ask for more till we got filled up. "i recollect the soldiers come by in july or and back in december. i heard talk so long 'fore they got there i knowed who they was. they took my oldest brother. he didn't want to go. we never heard from him. he never come back. my white master hid out. he didn't go to war. one son went and come back. it was the yankees made my oldest brother go. the first crowd in july swapped their wore-out scrub stock for our good stock. that second crowd cleaned them out, took our hogs. miss betty had died 'fore they come in july. that second crowd come in december. they cleaned out everything to eat and wear. they set the house 'fire several times with paper and coal oil (kerosene). it went out every time. one told the captain. he come up behind. it went out every time. he said, 'let's move on.' they left it clean and bare. we didn't like them. we had meat hid in the cellar. we got hungry that spring sure as you born. "the old man married pretty soon after freedom. he married young to what he was. "i didn't find much fault to slavery 'cepting the abuse. we et three times a day and now if i get one piece i do well. mother cooked, washed, ironed and spun four cuts a day. we all et at the master's kitchen three times a day. we had thirty-two families. i've heard that ag'in time and ag'in so as i recollect it till now. we didn't have to work no harder 'en we do now if you have a living. "master waited till all there. he had a horn made sorter like a bugle for that business. called us to our meals. we stayed a year. went to his brother's one year, then to major lane's big farm. we had to work about the same as b'fore freedom. not much change. "the ku klux come 'round right smart. some had on skin coverings, cow heads and horns. some wore white sheets and black dresses on white horses. they was scary looking. they would whoop and kill too. i was too scared to get caught off at night. "mother died. i was traveling about. i spent thirteen months in mississippi. three winters right in memphis. i married in mississippi. i left two daughters in georgia. my wife died. i come to arkansas in . i live all alone. "this present generation is traveling too fast. it-is-to-be. fast traveling and education. times not good as it always have been b'fore that last war (world war). when the white folks start jowing we black folks suffers. it ain't a bit our fault. education causes the black man to see he is bit (cheated) but he better not say a word. it very good thing if it is used right. fast traveling is all right in its place. but too many is traveling and they all want to be going. we got into pretty fast time of it now. it-is-to-be and it's getting shoved on faster." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: ida rigley, forrest city, arkansas age: "i was born in richmond, virginia. colonel radford and emma radford owned my mother. they had a older girl, emma and betty and three boys. i called her miss betty. "my mother was sylvia jones and she had five children. bill jones was my father. he was a born free man and a blacksmith at lynchburg, virginia in slavery times. "he asked colonel radford could he come to see my mama and marry her. they had a wedding in colonel radford's dining room and a preacher on the place married them. they told me. my father was a presbyterian preacher. i heard papa preach at lynchburg. he had a white principle but no white blood. i never knew him very much till long after freedom. "miss betty radford was raising me for a house girl. i was younger than her children. mother was a weaver for all on the place. old aunt caroline was the regular cook but my mother helped to cook for hands he hired at busy seasons of the year. my sisters lived in the quarters and mama slept with them. she helped them. they worked in the field some. they was careful not to overwork young hands. they cooked down at the quarters. they had a real old man and woman to set about and see after the children and feed them. the older children looked after the babies. when miss betty went off visiting she would send me down there. i did love it. "emma and betty went to school at richmond in a buggy. they had a colored boy driver. he was the carriage driver. emma and betty would play with me too. miss betty fed me all the time. she made me a bonnet and i can't get shed of my bonnet yet. i got four bonnets now. "when the white folks had a wedding it lasted a week. they had a second day dress and a third day dress and had suppers and dinner receptions about among the kin folks. they had big chests full of quilts and coverlets and counterpanes they been packing back. some of them would have big dances. a wedding would last a week, night and day. "they had a farm right. we had peacocks, white guinea and big black turkeys, cows, sheep, goats, hogs; he had deer. he kept their horns cut off and some of the cow's horns were off. we had a acre in a garden and had roses and all kinds of flowers. i like flowers now. tries to have 'em. they had a gin on the place. he raised corn, rye, cotton, and tobacco. the hands got their supplies on saturday. on rainy days all the women would knit, white and colored both. miss betty knitted some at night in winter. they had a shop to sharpen and keep all the tools in. a particular old man made the brooms and rakes. "it seem like there wasn't so many flies. miss betty mixed up molasses and flour and poison and killed flies sometimes. she spread it on brown paper. we had fly weed tea to set about too sometimes. we didn't have to use anything regular. we didn't have no screens. we had mighty few mosquitoes. we had peafowl fly brushes. they was mighty pretty. "one thing we had was a deep walled well and an ice-house. they cut ice in blocks and put it up for winter[hw:?]. we had one spring on the place i know. "they kept hounds. colonel radford's boys and the colored boys all went hunting. we had 'possum and potatoes all along in winter; 'possum grease won't make you sick. eat all you want. i'd hear their horn and the dogs. they would come in hungry every time. i never seen no whiskey. he had his cider and vinegar press and made wine. we had cider and wine all along. colonel radford was his own overseer and charlie his oldest boy. they whooped mighty little. they would stand up and be whooped. some of the young ones was hard-headed and rude. he advised them and they minded him pretty well. "our yards was large and beautiful; some had grass and some clean spots about in the shade. friday was wash day. saturday was iron day. miss betty would go about in the quarters to see if the houses was scrubbed every week after washing. they had to wear clean clothes and have clean beds about her place. she'd shame them to death. "colonel radford had a colored church for us all. it was a log house and he had a office for his boys to read and write and smoke cob pipes in. the white folks' church was at the corner of his place. i went there most. they shouted and pat their hands. colonel radford was a baptist. "nearly every farm had a fiddler. ever so often he had a big dance in their parlor. i'd try to dance by myself. he had his own music by the hands on his place. he let them have dances at the quarters every now and then. dancing was a piece of his religion. "i don't think our everyday frocks was stiffened but our dress up clothes was. it was made out of flour--boiled flour starch. we had striped dresses and stockings too. we had checked dresses. we had goobers and a chestnut grove. we had a huckleberry patch. we had maple sugar to eat. it was good. we had popcorn and chinquapins in the fall of the year, i used to pick up chips to use at the pot. i had a little basket. i picked up corn cobs. they burnt them and made corn cob soda to use in the bread and cakes. we parched peeled sweet potatoes slice thin and made coffee. "the civil war was terrible. one morning before we was all out of bed the yankees come. it was about daylight. he and the three boys were there. they didn't burn any houses and they didn't hesitate but they took everything. they took all miss betty's nice silverware. they took fine quilts and feather beds. that was in the fall of the year. they drove off a line of our slaves (a block long) fer as from me to that railroad. made them go. they walked fast in front of the cavalrymen. they took mama and my sisters. she got away from them with her girls and found her way back to papa at lynchburg. "colonel radford went and took some of the slave men and his boys. they brought home plenty beds and a barrel of salt. he brought back plenty. he sent his slave man to town any time. they had no notion leaving. "one time some yankees come. i run hid around miss betty's long dress. she was crying. they was pulling her rings off her fingers. i told them to quit that. one of the mean things said, 'little nigger, i shoot your head off.' they took all her nice clothes. they said they took all niggers. i sassed them. they went in another room. i shot under miss betty's big skirt. they looked about for me but they thought i run off to my mama. she was gone but they didn't know it. i seen my best times then. we had a good time there. miss betty was good and kind to me. good as i wanted. i wish i had that good now. freedom "the soldiers come and i knowed it was the yankees i hated. they took all they could find and wasted a lot of it. i was scared. i kept hid about. the slaves put their beds and clothes up on the wagons and went off behind them and some clumb up in the wagons. i heard miss betty say, 'they need not follow them off, they are already free.' the way she said it, like she was heart broken, made me nearly cry and i remember her very words till this day. she was a good woman. "mama come and got me long time after that and i didn't want to go nor stay neither. it was like taking me off from my own home. papa was freeborn and freedom i couldn't understand till i was long grown. i never got a whooping in my life. i was taught politeness. "during slavery we bought mighty little. flour in barrels, salt. we had maple sugar and sorghum molasses in bounty. we was happy and had plenty to eat and wear. "i learned to make the fine cakes from a jew woman (jewess), mrs. isaac. i've been called a cook here in forrest city. i was taught by mrs. isaac to make angel food, coffee cake, white bread and white cakes. from that i made the other kinds my own self." interviewer's comment people in forrest city send for ida and keep her a week or two baking christmas and wedding cakes. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: milton ritchie r.f.d., brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born in marietta hotel at marietta, georgia. the hotel belong to milton stevens. he had two sons. one died fo i was born and pink was in the war. mistress thursday was old moster's wife. we all had to refugee. my sister was down in the bottoms with all the slaves and cattle when she died. she took sick and died suddenly. they heard the soldiers was coming to atlanta and knowed they would come by marietta. moster stevens sold the hotel just at the beginning of the war. he moved to the country. mama cooked at the hotel and in the country both. the hotel was a brick house on the railroad where they fed a lot of people every day. moster milton used to take me bout where he went, rode me on his foot when i was a baby. after they went to the farm every evening mistress thursday come get me, take me to the house. she got bread and butter, sugar, give it to me and i slept on a pallet in her room. i never did know why she done that. mama had a little house she slept in. she cooked. they never whooped me. they never whooped mama. "one time the federal army camped not a great ways from us. one time i was playing in a gully--big red ditch. i spied the federals coming. i flew out the ditch up the hill and across the field. they was calvary men camped back of our field. we all left that place and refugeed to another place. they didn't burn the house but they sent two bullets through the walls or that house. 'old granny' was too old to refugee. she kept living by herself in a house on the place. they never bothered her. she wasn't kin to us but moster milton owned her and kept her fed. we raised sugar-cane, hogs, corn, and goobers. the sugar-cane had no top. i got a whooping every monday. mama whoop me. we go drink sugar-cane juice in the trough at the mill. we got up in there with our feet. they had to wash out the troughs. it was a wood house. it was a big mill. he sold that good syrup in atlanta. it wasn't sorghum. the men at the mill would scare us but we hid around. they come up to the house and tell on us. "we had moved from the farm when they burned atlanta. from the place where moster milton refugeed i could hear a roaring all the time nearly, sometimes clearer, and the roaring was broke sometimes. "moster milton ran the farm when he run the hotel cept i was born at the hotel and mistress thursday lived there then too. he had all negro overseers. each overseer had a certain lot of hands to do what he told them. he didn't have no trouble. he told them if they made something for them and him too it would be fine, if they didn't work they would have to do without. they had plenty they said. "my mama was sold on the block in virginia when she was twelve years old. she and her little brother sold the same day. moster milton stevens bought her. the same man couldn't buy them both, didn't have money enough. they had a little blanket and she and her brother cut it into and put it around their shoulders. they been sleeping together and moster milton brought her home on his horse up behind him. her mama was crying when she left her. she never heard nor seen none of her folks no more she told me. (the old negro cried.) "my mama and papa was dark but both was mixed. they never told me if it was white or indian. papa was a tall, big bony man. mama wasn't so big and stouter. he never tried to get away from his owners. he belong to sam ritchie five or six miles away. i never beard much about them. they had negro overseers. papa was a foreman. he tanned the cow hides and made shoes for all the hands on ritchie's place. he made our shoes over there too. they said stevens and ritchies didn't keep bad dogs. mistress eliza ritchie was a stevens before she married. papa never was sold. he said they was good to them. mama was named eliza too and papa george ritchie. "when freedom was on papa went to atlanta and got transportation to chattanooga. i don't know why. he met me and mama. she picked me up and run away and met him. we went in a freight box. it had been a soldier's home--great big house. we et on the first story out of tin pans. we had white beans or peas, crackers and coffee. meat and wheat and cornbread we never smelt at that place. somebody ask him how we got there and he showed them a ticket from the freedmans bureau in atlanta. he showed that on the train every now and then. upstairs they brought out a stack of wool blankets and started the rows of beds. each man took his three as he was numbered. every night the same one got his own blankets. the room was full of beds and white guards with a gun over his shoulder guarded them all night long. we stayed there a long time--nearly a year. they tried to get jobs fast as they could and push em out but it was slow work. mama got a place to cook at--mrs. crutchfield's. she run a hotel in town but lived in the country. we stayed there about a year. papa was hired somewhere else there. "papa got us on a farm in middle tennessee after that. we come to mr. hooper's place and share cropped one year, then we went to share crop for wells brothers close to murfreesboro. i been on the farm all my life since then. "the ku klux never pestered us. i heard about them. "the welfare helps me and i would do work if i could get work i can do. i could do light work. times is hard. hard to get a living. i don't mind work. i couldn't do a day's work now. "the young generation is beyond me. i don't be about them much." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: alice rivers w. th, highland addition, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm, i remember when the yankees come. i ricollect when they throwed out all the meat from old master's smokehouse. the colored folks was tryin' to ketch it and i know i tried to ketch it too. "don't i look like i been here in reb. time? i was born in mississippi on colonel reed's place in . "i just know the yankees come through. had on blue coats with gold lookin' buttons. i never will forget it 'cause it was so frightening. "i can ricollect way back there. "i don't know whether the white folks was good or not, we hardly ever saw 'em. had a old woman that cooked for the chillun at the quarters. i ricollect they had a big old kittle and she'd cook that full of somethin'. i know the old lady give us plenty of somethin' to eat. "all the white folks didn't treat their hands mean. some of 'em was a fool 'bout them little niggers. "old woman what cooked for the chillun was old aunt henie and she walked half bent with a stick. "i went to school some after freedom. learned how to spell and read but not much writin'. "i can't tell you 'bout no whippin's 'cause if they whipped the folks they didn't do it at the quarters where the chillun was. "i been farmin' all my life till i come to arkansas in . since then i first cooked and washed. i ain't worked out in three years now. "i gets a little pension from the welfare and i make out on that. my granddaughter lives with me. she will finish high school in may and then she can take care of herself. "i used to own this place but it was sold for taxes. don't make any difference if you is as old as methuselah you got to pay them taxes. old caeser started 'em and we've had to pay 'em ever since. "younger generation ain't mannerly now like they was when i was young. chillun used to be obedient but they got to have their way now. old folks done put the chillun where they is now and they ought to take care of 'em. "i don't know where the world gwine come to in the next five years. i reckon they'll all be dead way they're gwine now. storms takin' 'em away here and war in them other countries." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: j. roberts, brinkley, arkansas age: or occupation: methodist preacher "my father was a federal soldier in the civil war. he was from winston, virginia. he went to war and soon after the end he came to holly grove. he was in company "k". he signed up six or seven papers for men in his company he knew and they all got their pensions. oh yes! he knew them. he was an awful exact honest man. he was a very young man when he went into the war and never married till he come to arkansas. he married a slave woman. she was a field woman. they farmed. father sat by the hour and told how he endured the war. he never expected to come out alive after a few months in the war. "john roberts collins was his owner in slavery. i never heard why he cut off the collins. i call my own self j. roberts." "the present times are hard times. sin hath caused it all. machinery has taken so much of the work." "the present generation are fair folks but wild. yes, the young folks today are wilder than my set was. i can't tell you how but i see it every way i go." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: george robertson? or george robinson? brinkley, arkansas age: "my papa named abe robertson. his owner named tom robertson. i was born in middle tennessee. my mama named isabela brooks. her master named billy brooks. his wife name mary brooks. my master boys come through here six years ago wid a tent show. my papa went off wid the yankees. last i seed of him he was in memphis. they took my mama off when i was a baby to texas to keep the yankees from gettin' her. my grandma raised me. we stayed on the big plantation till . "i don't want no sociable welfare help till i ain't able to work. i don't want none now." (to be continued) [tr: no continuation found.] interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: augustus robinson w. tenth street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in calhoun county, arkansas in , january th. i am going according to what my daddy told me and nothing else. that is all i could do. how the children were fed "my grandmother on my mother's side said when i was a little fellow that she was a cook and that she would bring stuff up to the cabin where the little niggers were locked up and feed them through the crack. she would hide it underneath her apron. she wasn't supposed to do it. all the little niggers were kept in one house when the old folks were working in the field. there were six or seven of us. sold "my daddy was a white man, my master. his wife was so mean to me that my master sold me to keep her from beating me and kicking me and knocking me 'round. she would have killed me if she could have got the chance. he [hw: my daddy] sold me to a preacher who raised me as though i were his own son. whenever he sat down to the table to eat, i sat down. he made no difference at all. he raised me in el dorado, arkansas. his name was james goodwin. he sent me to school too. visited by father "when harrison and cleveland ran for president, my [hw: white] father came to little rock. some colored people had been killed in the campaign fights, and he had been summoned to little rock to make some statements in connection with the trouble. he stopped at a prominent hotel and had me to come to see him. when i went up to the hotel to meet him, there were a dozen or more white men at that place. when i shook hands with him, he said, 'gentlemen, he's a little shady but he's my son.' his name was captain i.t. robinson. he lived in lisbon, arkansas. mother "my mother's name was frances goodwin. she belonged to captain robinson. i don't know but i think that when they came to arkansas, they came from georgia. they were refugees. when the war started, people that owned niggers ran from state to state to try to hold their niggers. house "i lived right in the yard. we had four houses in the yard and three of them was made of logs and one was made out of one-by-twelve planks. i lived in the one made out of planks. it had one big room. i reckon it was about twenty by fifteen, more than that, i reckon. it was a big room. there [hw: were] two doors and no windows. we had old candlesticks for lights. we had old homemade tables. all food was kept in the smokehouse and the pantry. the food house and the smokehouse were two of the log cabins in the yard. schooling "goodwin schooled me. [tr: first sentence lined out.] he had a teacher to come right on the place and stay there teaching. he raised me and brought me up just as though i was his own child. "i remember getting one whipping. i didn't get it from mr. goodwin though. his brother gave it to me. his brother sent me to get a horse. an old hound was laying in the way on the saddle and the bridle. he wouldn't move so i picked up the bridle and hit him with it. he hollered and master's brother heard him and gave me a whipping. that is the only whipping i ever got when i was small. ku klux "i heard of the ku klux klan but i don't know that i ever seen them. i never noticed what effect they had on the colored people. i just heard people talking about them. occupational experiences "the first work i did was farming--after the war. i farmed,--down close to el dorado, about six miles away from there. i kept that up till i was about seventeen or eighteen years old or somewheres about there. that was on james goodwin's place--my last master, the man who raised me. then i left him and came to little rock. i don't remember in what year. i went to school here in little rock. i had already had some schooling. my grandmother sent me. the school i went to was called the union school. it was down on sixth street. after i left there, i went to capitol hill school. i was going to school during the brooks-baxter war. the statehouse was on markham street and center. my grandmother's name was celie robinson. she went by the name of her owner. "after i had gone to school several years--i don't remember just how many--i worked down town about ten or eleven years. then i went to railroading. first i was with the iron mountain and southern. later, it changed its name to the missouri pacific. i worked for them from to . on august th i received my last pay check. i have tried ever since to get my railroad pension to which my years of service entitle me but have been unable to get it. the law concerning the pension seems to have passed on the same day i received my last check, and although i worked for forty-four years and gave entire satisfaction, there has been a disposition to keep me from the pension. while in service i had my jaw broken in two pieces and four front teeth knocked out by a piece of flying steel. "another man was handling the steam hammer. i was standing at my regular place doing my regular work. when that happened, i was cut down like a weed. there wasn't a man ever thought they would see me in that job again after that piece of steel cut me down. "also, i lost my right eye in the service when a hot cinder from the furnace flew in it while i was doing my regular work. then i was ruptured because of the handling of heavy pieces of iron at my work. i still wear the truss. you can see the places where my jaw was broke and you can see where my teeth were knocked out. "out of all the ups and downs, i stuck to the company just the same until they retired me in because of old age. the retirement board wanted to know when i asked for a pension, why did i think i was entitled to a pension? i told them because i had been injured through service with the company and had honorably finished so long a period of service. it is now admitted that i am eligible to a railroad pension but there seems to still be a delay in paying it for some reason or other. support now "i get a little assistance from the welfare, and i get some commodities. if it wasn't for that, i would be broke up." [hw: brooks-baxter war was about - .] interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: malindy robinson th street, west memphis, arkansas age: "i was born in wilkerson county, mississippi. my ma never was sold, she said she was eleven years old when peace was declared. master sims was grandma's owner. grandpa was never sold. he was born in mississippi. he was a mulatto man. he was a man worked about the house and grandma was a field woman. she said she never was whooped but worked mighty hard. they was good to grandma. she lived in the quarters. my parents b'long to the same owner. but far as i ever knowed they married long after freedom. they was raised close to woodville, mississippi." interviewer: mary d. hudgins person interviewed: tom robinson aged: home: lives with his son on outskirts of hot springs as i entered goldstein grade school for colored i passed an old fellow sitting on the sidewalk. there was somthing of that venerable, dignified, i've-been-a-slave look about him, so much of it that i almost stopped to question him. inside i entered a classroom, where a young woman was in conference with a couple of sheepish youngsters who had been kept in after school. did she know the whereabouts of any ex-slaves? she beamed. only the other day an old man had appeared on the school grounds. she appealed to her charges. didn't they remember that she had told them about him and about what slavery had meant. sheepish looks were gone. they were agog with interest. yes 'um, they remembered. but none of the three knew his name or where to find him. another teacher entered the room. no, she couldn't remember the name. but the old man often came up to watch the children at play. he said it made him happy to see them getting opportunities he never could have had. wait a minute--he might be outside at this very moment. a clatter of heels and calls of triumph. "yes! yes! here he is!" outside i dashed to _drop flat on the sidewalk_[hw:?] beside the aged man i had passed a few minutes before. out came my smile and a notebook. with only a few preliminaries and amenities the interview was in full swing. it neither startled nor confused him, to have an excited young woman plant herself on a public sidewalk at his side and demand his life's story. a man who had belonged to three different masters before the age of was inured to minor surprises. tom robinson long since learned to take life as it came. he is quite deaf in one ear and hears poorly with the other. nobody within a quarter of a block could have been in doubt of what was going on. a youth moved closer. the kept-after-school pair emerged from the building and stood near us, goggle-eyed thruout the interview. when we were finished, robinson turned to the children and gave them, a grandfatherly lecture about taking advantage of their opportunities, a lecture in which the white woman sitting beside him joined heartily--drawing liberally on comments of ex-slaves in recent interviews concerning the helplessness felt in not being able to write and read letters from well loved friends. "where was i born, ma'am? why it's my understanding that it was catawba county, north carolina. as far as i remember, newton was the nearest town. i was born on a place belonging to jacob sigmens. i can just barely remember my mother. i was not when they sold me away from her. i can just barely remember her. "but i do remember how she used to take us children and kneel down in front of the fireplace and pray. she'd pray that the time would come when everybody could worship the lord under their own vine and fig tree--all of them free. it's come to me lots of times since. there she was a'praying, and on other plantations women was a'praying. all over the country the same prayer was being prayed. guess the lord done heard the prayer and answered it. "old man sigmens wasn't a bad master. don't remember so much about him. i couldn't have been when he sold me to pickney setzer. he kept me for a little while and then he sold me to david robinson. all three of them lived not so far apart in north carolina. but pretty soon after he bought me old men dave robinson moved to texas. we was there when the war started. we stayed there all during the war. i was set free there. "we lived in cass county. it was pretty close to the arkansas border, and 'twasn't far from oklahoma--as is now. i remember well when they was first gathering them up for the war. we used to hear the cannon often. was i afraid? to be sure i was scared, right at first. pretty soon we got used to it. somebody even made up a song, 'listen to the home-made thunder'. they'd sing it every time the cannon started roaring. "no, ma'am, there never was any fighting right around us. i never really saw any fighting. old man dave robinson was good to me. he didn't have a big farm--just owned me. treated me almost like i was one of his own children. course, i had to work. sometimes he whipped me--but no more than he had to. i was just a child and any child has got to be made to mind. he was good to me, and old miss was good to me. all my masters was pretty good to me--lots better than the usual run. which one i like the best. well, you might know. i kept the name robinson, and i named my son dave. you might know which one i think the most of. "one day i was out milking the cows. mr. dave come down into the field, and he had a paper in his hand. 'listen to me, tom,' he said, 'listen to what i reads you.' and he read from a paper all about how i was free. you can't tell how i felt. 'you're jokin' me.' i says. 'no, i ain't,' says he. 'you're free.' 'no,' says i, 'it's a joke.' 'no,' says he, 'it's a law that i got to read this paper to you. now listen while i read it again.' "but still i wouldn't believe him. 'just go up to the house,' says he, 'and ask mrs. robinson. she'll tell you.' so i went. 'it's a joke,' i says to her. 'did you ever know your master to tell you a lie?' she says. 'no,' says i, 'i ain't.' 'well,' she says, 'the war's over and you're free.' "by that time i thought maybe she was telling me what was right. 'miss robinson,' says i, 'can i go over to see the smiths?'--they was a colored family that lived nearby. 'don't you understand,' says she, 'you're free. you don't have to ask me what you can do. run along child.' "and so i went. and do you know why i was a'going? i wanted to find out if they was free too." (a chuckle and toothy smile) "i just couldn't take it all in. i couldn't believe we was all free alike. "was i happy? law miss. you can take anything. no matter how good you treat it--it wants to be free. you can treat it good and feed it good and give it everything it seems to want--but if you open the cage--it's happy. "what did i do after the war was over? i farmed. i farmed all my life, 'til i got too old. i stopped three--four years ago. i lives with my son--dave robinson--the one i named for my master. "how did i farm? did i share crop? no, ma'am!" (sharply as tho repramanding the inquirer for an undeserved insult.) "i didn't share crop, except just at first to get a start. i rented. i paid thirds and fourths. i always rented. i wasn't a share-cropper.[a] [a: socially and economically sharp distinctions are drawn between the different classes of renters, both by owners and tenants themselves. families whom ambition and circumstances have allowed to accumulate enough surplus to buy farm implements and have food for a year ahead look with scorn on fellow farmers who thru inertia or bad luck must be furnished food and the wherewithall to farm. in turn, families that have forged ahead sufficiently to be able to pay cash rent on farms they cultivate look down on both of the other groups.] "it was awful hard going after the war. but i got me a place--had to share-crop for a year or two. but i worked hard and saved all i could. pretty soon i had me enough that i could rent. i always raised the usual things--cotton and corn and potatoes and a little truck and that sort of thing--always raised enough to eat for us and the stock--and then some cotton for a cash crop. "my first wife, well it was kind of funny; i wasn't more than . she had children. some of them was older than i was. no ma'am it wasn't so hard on me. they was all old enough to take care of themselves. i lived with that woman for years. then she died. "i been married five times. three of my children are living. one's here--that's dave. then there's one in texarkana and there's one in kansas city. two of my children's dead. the youngest died just about last year. all my wives are dead. "almost every day i comes up to sit here and watch the children. it does me good to see 'em. makes me feel good all over to think about all the fine chance they has to get a good education. sonny, you hear me? you pay attention too, sonny. i'm watching you--you and all the other little boys. you mind me. you learn all you can. you ought to be so thankful you allowed to learn that you work hard. you mind me, sonny. when you're grown up, you'll know what i'm talking about--and know i'm right. run along, sonny. no use hanging around the school yard too long." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: isom rogers, edmondson, arkansas age: "i was born in tunica county, austin, mississippi. i been in edmondson, arkansas ten years. i come to do better. said farming was good here. my folks' owners was master palmer and george rogers. my parents was never sold. they was young folks in slavery time and at time of freedom. they was farm hands. their names was pat and ely rogers. "i heard him say he made palings and went 'round mending the fences when the ground was froze. he made boards to cover the houses with too--i heard him say. he was strong and worked all the time at some jobs. never heard mother say very much. "i been farming and i have worked on quarter-boat and back farming. i been here ten years." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: oscar james rogers, wheatley, arkansas age: up in 's "i come to dis state in . i run off from my parents back in north carolina. they was working in a turpentine forest there. "when freedom was declared my folks heard 'bout a place where money was easy to make. so they walked from down close to charleston up there and carried the children. i was 'bout nine or ten years old. i liked the farm so i left the turpentine farm. i got to rambling round and finally got to arkansas. i run off from my folks cause they kept staying there. i was a child and don't recollect much 'bout slavery. i was at the quarters wid all the children. my mother b'longed to bob plat and my father to a man named rogers. my father could get a pass and come to see us every sunday providin' he didn't go nowhere else or stop long the road. he came early and stay till bedtime. we all run to meet him. he kiss us all in bed when he be leavin'. "i heard them say they 'spected a home and freedom but when the time come they master forgot 'bout home cause they just took the few clothes in bundles and left. then they had a hard time 'cause they never thought how freedom would be. they never axed for nothin' and they never got nothin'. they didn't understand how to hustle lest somebody tell them what to do next. they did have a hard time and it was cold and rocky up in north carolina to what they had been used to down close to charleston. "when i got out to arkansas i like it better than any country i seed and i say 'i'm stayin' here.' i meant to go back but i married and didn't get no money ahead for a long time. then i had a family of children. jes' 'fore i married i got to go to school four months' close to cotton plant, where i married. "when i was young i sho could knock off de work. i cummulated acres land in lee county. i paid $ for it, got in debt and had let it fur 'bout ($ . ) two hundred forty-seven and a half dollars. all i got outen it. i had a bad crop and had a little provision bill. i made on time, man agreed to run me on then took it 'bout all. "then i still was a strong man an' we bought acres miles from cotton plant and i had it years. then lost it. "my second wife owned a house and garden at wheatley half a mile or so from town. we live over there. our children all gone. she say she cooked and washed and farmed for it. it cost $ . . "i could do heap work if i could get it. old man can't get 'nuff regular work to cover my house or buy me a suit closes. the government gives me $ . a month. that's a help out but it don't go fir high as provisions is. me an' the old woman both too feeble to do much hard work. i gets all the odd jobs the white folks give me. misses, i ain't lazy, i jess gettin' old and not able to hold out to do much. whut i could do they give it to the young fellows cause they do it in a hurry. "i used to vote right smart when they needed me to help out. i voted for hoover. don't think it right the way the men settin' round and deir wives workin' fer livin' and votin'. the women can vote if they want to but i don't think it right. seems lack the cart in front ob de horse now. "it wouldn't do no more good to vote in the primary than it do in the general election. it don't do much good nohow. "fur as i ever knowed the slaves had no uprisin's. they thought well enough of their masters. everybody worked then hard as they could. the master he worked all time in the shop making things jess like he needed, boards and handles, plows and things. missus, everybody worked hard dem days, both black and white, and that is the reason folks had plenty. the old grandmas done work whut suited them and helped out. now lack me, i can't get the right work whut i able to do 'nuff to keep me livin'. it is bad. "if times was bad as they was few years ago all old folks done been rotten, starved to death. times is better but they sho ain't all right yet. "this young generation livin' so fast they stop thinkin'. they do well to keep livin' their selves. they wastes a heap they outer save fur rainy days. they ain't takin' no advice from old folks. i don't know whut goiner become of them." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: will ann rogers r.f.d., brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born three years after the surrender. i was born at fryers point, mississippi. the reason i ain't got the exact date when i was born, my ma put it down in the bible and the house burned up and everything in it burned to ashes. no mam she got somebody what could write real nice to write all the names and ages for her. "when ma was a young woman, she said they put her on a block and sold her. they auctioned her off at richmond, virginia. when they sold her, her mother fainted or drapped dead, she never knowed which. she wanted to go see her mother lying over there on the ground and the man what bought her wouldn't let her. he just took her on. drove her off like cattle, i recken. the man what bought her was ephram hester. that the last she ever knowed of any of her folks. she say he mated 'em like stock so she had one boy. he livin' down here at helena now. he is mose kent. he was born around richmond, virginia jes' lack dat she say. "when it nearly 'bout time for freedom a whole army of yankees come by and seed mose working. they told him if he come go wid them they give him that spotted horse and pair red boots. he crawled up on the horse an' was gone wid 'em for a fact she said. she started right after them, following him. she followed them night and day. she nearly starved, jess begged 'long the road all she could. i heard her say how fast she have to walk to keep on trail of 'em and how many nights. she say some nights when they camped she would beg 'round and try to fill up. but she couldn't get to mose without them seein' her. when they got to fryers point she went an' got him. they jess laughed and never give him nuthin'. they left that army fast as they could she say. "she married at fryers point. she had jes' one boy and i had four or five sisters. they all dead but me and mose. he think he 'bout ninety years old. he come here to see me last year. he sho is feeble. "how come i here? when i was fourteen years old my family heard how fine this state was and moved to helena. i lived at moro and cotton plant. then, the way i come here was funny. a man come up there and say a free train was comin' to go back to africa. all who wanted to go could go. my pa sold out 'bout all we had an' we come here lack they say. no train come yet goin' to africa as i seed. my pa give the white man $ . to pay fer the train. tom watson was one of 'em too. he was a sorter leader 'mong 'em wantin' to go back. well when the day come that the train due to start everybody come to the depot whar the train going to stop. there was a big crowd. yes mam, dressed up, and a little provisions and clothes fixed up. jes' could take along a little. they say it would be crowded so. we stayed around here a week or two waitin' to hear somethin' or be ready to go. most everybody stayed prutty close to the depot for two or three days. yes mam there sho was a crowd--a whole big train full from here 'sides the other places. i jes' stayed here an' been here ever since. the depot agent, he told 'em he didn't know 'bout no train going to africa. the tickets was no good on his trains. "how i owns this place, i'll tell you. a man here had all dis land 'round here (negro town) laid off. he couldn't sell none of his lots. they wouldn't buy his lots. so he got after me. we had made a good crop, so i got up the money and bought this place. one hundred dollars is what i give him. others then started to settlin' in and about close to my place. "i guess it was spotsells in virginia what raised her. she say her name was lizzie spotsell johnson. then when ephram hester bought her they learned her to do about in their house. she cooked and swept and knocked flies and tended to the children. she stayed with 'em a pretty long time till she run off and went to fryers point. "she may have told us about the nat turner rebellion but i don't remember it. they sung a lot in my mother's time. seemed lack they was happier than we are somehow. she sung religious songs and one or two field songs. i don't recollect 'em now. "i never did vote. i never cared nuthin' about it. some of 'em 'round here wouldn't miss votin' for nothin'. "lawd me, chile, the times is done run ahead of me now. i'm so fur behind i never expect to catch up. i don't pay no more attention to the young folks, the way they act now, 'an i do my little dog there. they don't want no advice and i would be afraid i would 'vise 'em wrong. when my children come i tell 'em you are grown and you knows right from wrong. do right. that's all i know to say. "the way i am supported is my husband gets all the jobs he able to do and can and the governmint give me an' him $ a month. we has a little garden." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: william henry rooks baptist preacher; brinkley, arkansas age: the slaves didn't spect nothing but freedom. jes freedom! in africa they was free as wild animals and then they was so restricted. jes put in bondage for no reason at all. no plantations was divided. i was born a slave and i remembers right smart how it was. my master was john freeman and his wife's name was fannie. i went to como, mississippi twice a week to get the mail all durin the war. it was eight miles. i rode a pony. if you go to church you have to have a pass from the master. the pattyrollers see you and you have to show it to them. it was just a note. if you didn't have it they take or send you home. if they catch you any more without a pass they whip you. they come to the church and in all public places like the police stands around now. they rode around mostly. sometimes they went in droves. they would let you go visiting sometimes and exchange work. some masters was good and some was mean jess like they are now and some slaves good and some bad. that is the way they are now. some of the white men had a hundred slaves and had plenty money. the war broke nearly all of them. the very worse thing i ever knowed about it was some white men raised hands to sell like they raise stock now. it was hard to have your child took off and never see or hear tell of it. mean man buy it and beat it up. some of them was drove off to be sold at auction at new orleans. that was where some took them cause they could get big money for them. i never knowed of a master to give the slaves a dime when they become free. they never promissed them nothing. the yankees might have to toll them off. the hands all stayed on john freeman's place and when it was over he give them the privilege of staying right on in their houses. some left after awhile and went somewhere they thought they could do better. they didn't have the ku klux but it was bout like it what they had. they wore caps shine de coons eye and red caps and red garments. red symbolize blood reason they wore red. they broke up our preaching. some folks got killed. some was old, some young--old devlish ones. they was like a drove of varments. i guess you be scared. they run the colored folks away from church a lot of times. that was about equalization after the freedom. that was the cause of that. there was uprisings like i'm telling you but the colored folks didn't have nothing to go in a gun if he had one. white folks make them give up a gun. the first votin i done i was workin for young henry larson back in mississippi. he give my mother $ a year to cook for his young wife and give her what she eat and i worked on his farm. he told me to go vote, it was election day. i ask him how was i going to know how to vote. i could read a little. i couldn't write. the ballot box was at pleasant mount. ozan set over the box. he was a yankee. he was the only one kept the box. it was a wooden box nailed up and a slit in the top. a.r. howe and captain howe was two more yankee white men there watching round all day. ozan was the sheriff at sardis, mississippi soon after the war. some more colored folks come up to vote. we stood around and watched. we saw d. sledge vote; he owned half of the county. we knowed he voted democrat so we voted the other ticket so it would be republican. i voted for president grant. i don't believe in women voting. they used to have the australian ballot system. it's a heap more the man that's elected than it is the party. we all voted for hoover; he was a republican and foe he got one term served out we was about on starvation. i ain't voted since. that president claim to be a democrat. he ain't no democrat. i don't know what he be. i been farming and preaching. i started preaching in mississippi. i joined the conference in arkansas in and started preaching at surrounded hill (biscoe). i come here in from pinola county. mississippi. i had some stock and they was fencing up everything over there. i had no land so i come to an open country. it wasn't long before they fenced it in. i come to brinkley and worked for gun and black sawmill and i been here forty or fifty years. i don't know jess how long. i couldn't starve to death in a whole year here. the people wouldn't let me. i got lot of friends, both black and white, here. i married december , in the baptist church. glasco wilson was the preacher married me. my wife died here in dis house nine years ago. we had ten children but jes two livin now. my girl married a preacher and live at hope. arkansas. my son preaches in parson, kansas. i supports my own self. i works and i preaches a little yet. i saved up some money but it nearly give out. the young generation, some of them, do mighty bad. some of them is all right. some of them don't do much and don't save nothing. i owns this house and did own another one what burned down. a lamp exploded and caught it while i was going off up the road but i never looked back or i would have seen it. it seem lack now it takes more money to do than it ever did in times before. seems like money is the only thing to have and get. folks gone scottch crazy over money, money! both is changing. the white folks, i'm speaking bout, the white folks has changed and course the colored folks keeping up wid them. the old white and colored neither can't keep up wid the fast times. i say it's the folks that made this depression and it's the folks keeping the depression. the little fellow is squeezed clear out. it out to be stopped. folks ain't happy like they used to be. course they sung songs all the time. religious choruses mostly. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: amanda rosa schiller street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was nine years old in the time of the surrender. i know i was here in that time. i don't know nothin' 'bout their carryin'-on. i know they whipped them with hobble rods. you don't know what hobble rods is!!! ain't you seen these here long thin hick'ry shoots? they called hobble rods. i don't know why they called 'em hobble rods. i know they made you hobble. they'd put 'em in the fire and roast 'em and twist 'em. i have seen 'em whip them till the blood run down their backs. i've seen 'em tie the women up, strip 'em naked to their waist and whip 'am till the blood run down their backs. they had a nigger whipper, too. "i was born in salem, alabama. i came up here about twenty-five years ago. "isaac adair was the name of the old man who owned me. he owned my mother and father too, hester and scip. their last name was adair, the same as their master's. "i don't remember the names of my grandfather and grandmother, 'cause we was crossed up, you see, one of my grandmothers was named crecie and the other was named lydia. i don't remember my grandfather's name. i spect i used to call 'im master. i used to remember them but i don't no more. nobody can't worry me 'bout them old folks now. they ast me all them questions at the welfare. they want to know your gran'pa and your gran'ma. who were they, what did they do, where did they live, where are they now? i don't know what they did. that's too far back for me. "my mother and father had nine children. i have only one sister living. all the others done gone to heaven but me and her. "my mother and father lived in a log cabin. they had one-legged beds nailed to the wall. they had benches and boxes and blocks and all sich as that for chairs. my daddy made the table we used. he made them one-legged beds too. they kept the food in boxes and gourds. they had these big gourds. they could cut holes in the top of them and put things in them. my mammy had a lot of 'em and they were nice and clean too. wisht i had one of them now. "some folks didn't have that good. we had trundle beds for the children that would run under the big bed when they wasn't sleeping in it. we made a straw mattress. you know the white folks weren't goin' to let 'em use cotton, and they didn't have no chickens to git feathers from; so they had to use straw. oh, they had a hard time i'm tellin' you. my mother pulled greens out of the garden and field, and cured it up for the mattress. "for rations, we'd eat onions and vegetables. we et what was raised. you know they didn't have nothin' then 'cept what they raised. all the cookin' was done at one house, but there was two cooks, one for the colored folks and one for the white folks. my grandma cooked for the white people. they cooked in those big old washpots for the colored people. we all thought we had a pretty good master. "we didn't know nothin' about a master. "i ain't positive what time the hands ate breakfast. i know they et it and i know they et at the same time and place. i think they et after sunrise. they didn't have to eat before sunrise. "when they fed the children, they cook the food and put it in a great big old tray concern and called up the children, 'piggee-e-e-e-e, piggee-e-e-e-e.' my cousin was the one had to go out and call the children; and you could see them runnin' up from every which way, little shirt tails flyin' and hair sticking out. then they would pour the food out in different vessels till the children could git around them with those muscle-shell spoons. many of them as could get 'round a vessel would eat out of it and when they finished that one, they'd go to another one, and then to another one till they all got fed. "my master worked seventy hands they said. he had two colored overseers and one white one. he didn't allow them overseers to whip and slash them niggers. they had to whip them right. didn't allow no pateroles to bother them neither. that's a lot of help too. 'cause them pateroles would eat you up. it was awful. niggers used to run away to keep from bein' beat up. "i knowed one gal that ran away in the winter time and she went up into the hollow of a tree for protection. when she came in, she was in sich a bad condition they had to cut off both her legs. they had froze out there. they taken care of her. they wanted her to work. she was jus' as nice a seamstress as you ever saw. and she could do lots of things. she could get about some. she could go on her knees. she had some pads for them and was just about as high as your waist when she was goin' along on her hands and knees, swinging her body between her arms. ate in the big house "the cooks and my mother stayed in the white folks' yard. they weren't in the quarters. my mother was seamstress and she was right in the house all the day long sewing. the children like me and my sister, they used us 'round the house and yard for whatever we could do. they didn't never whip none of my father's children. if we done something they thought we ought to been whipped for, they would tell father to whip us, and if he wanted to, he would; and if he didn't want to, he wouldn't. they made a big difference for some reason. marriage "they married in that time by standing up and letting someone read the ceremony to them. my master was a christian. there wasn't no jumpin' over a broomstick on my master's place. the white folks didn't have no nigger preacher for their churches. but the colored folks had 'em. they preached out of these little old blue back spellers--leastways they was little blue back books anyhow. freedom "my folks was on the road refugeeing from magnolia, arkansas to pittsburg, texas when the news came that the colored folks was free. and my master came 'round and told the niggers they was free as he was. i didn't hear him. i don't know where i was. i'm sure i was out playin somewheres. slave wages and experiences after the war "my father worked in a blacksmith shop right after the war. before the war, he went far and near to work for the white folks. they'd risk him with their money and everything. they would give him part of it; i don't know how much. he brought money to them, and they sure give him money. "we didn't have to wear the things the other slave children had to wear. he would order things for his family and my father would do the same for us. when old master made his order, my father would put his in with it. family "i am the mother of fifteen children--ten girls and five boys. that was enough for me. i am willing to quit off. my husband is dead. he's been dead for thirty-five years. opinions "i don't know what to say about these young people. mine are pretty good. so, i'm 'fraid to say much about the others. "lord, i don't know what we'll do if we don't get some rain. vocational experiences when i was able i washed and ironed. i didn't have to do nothin' till after my father and husband died. then i washed and ironed and cooked till the white folks set me out. they said i was too old. that is one thing i hates to think of. they had the privilege to say i couldn't work; they ought to a seen that i got somethin' to live on when i wasn't able to work no more." interviewer's comment you can't get the whole story by reading the words in this interview. you have to hear the tones and the accents, and see the facial expressions and bodily movements, and sense the sometimes almost occult influence; you have to feel the utter lack of resentment that lies behind the words that sound vehement when read. you marvel at the quick, smooth cover-up when something is to be withheld, at the unexpected vigor of the mind when the bait is attractive enough to draw it out, and at the sweetness of the disposition. some old people merely get mellowed and sweetened by the hardships through which they have passed. sometimes, you wonder if some of the old folk don't have dispositions that they can turn off or on at will. it is not hard to realize the reason why amanda was treated better than other children when you remember that she called her grandpa "master". interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: "cat" ross brassfield, ark. age: born "i was born in releford county on old major ross place. i was born durin' a battle between the north and south at murfreesboro. the house was on the battle ground. mama had five children. her name was susanna wade. papa's name was amos ross. he belong to major bill ross. major ross had ten houses houses--one at the edge of the thicket, two on stone river, and they was scattered around over his land. major ross never went to war. papa went with major billy to bury his gold. it stayed where they put it till after the war they went and dug it up. i seen that. when they brought it to the house, it was a pot--iron pot--full of gold. i didn't know where they had it buried nor how they fixed it. "my folks was all field hands. they muster been blessed cause they didn't get mixed up with the other nations. grandfather's mother--grandma venus--come from africa. she'd been in bondage about a hundred years. i recollect her well. my folks all lived to be old people, over a hundred years old. they was all pretty well, all africans. "i have seen the ku klux quarter mile long and two breasted on horses. they scared me so bad i never had no experiences with them. they run my uncle in. he was a big dancer. one time they made him dance. he cut the pigeon-wing for them. that was the name of what he danced. "i never was sold. i was give way. one of the wades married into the mitchell family. mama belong to the wades. they give me and mama and aunt sallie--she wasn't my aunt but i called her that--to wade's daughter. she was the young mistress. the wades wasn't so good to their slaves. when freedom was declared, papa come and got me and mama and took us on over to his place agin. we started sharecroppin' at major ross's place. in chick mcgregor paid my way. i come to arkansas. i farmed all my life till to i been here in brassfield sawmilling. they took the mill away from here. i cain't plough, i'm not able. i pick and hoe cotton. i work day labor. i never have got on the welfare." southfield folklore subjects name of interviewer: pernella anderson subject: centennial snow--spring in st. louis addition name: mattie ross occupation: gardening residence: south field, oil field. age: [tr: information moved from bottom of second page.] ah wuz born aftuh surrender. ah guess ah'm about years ole. mah pa wuz er slave an mah ma wuz too. dey moster wuz name green traylor an dey lived right down dar at _tula_ creek. mah mistess wuz named martha traylor an dey name me aftuh huh. mah name is martha lee traylor. aftuh she mahried huh name wiz martha tatum. we worked down dar. oh! mah lawd! how we did work--all ovah dat bottom. de puttiest fiel' ah evah did see. de traylor's owned hit den. later on de tatums bought hit fum dem and years aftuh dat de nash's bought hit fum de tatums. but new all uv dat place is growed up. nothing but er pine thicket and er black berry thicket. ye caint hardly walk through de place. later on de cobbs owned us. george cobb wuz his name. he lived down in de caledonia settlement. ah went behin' him er many er day wid de hoe or he'd crack mah haid. he use tuh be de sheriff here de years uv de boom an his nephew is de sheriff now--grady wosley. later en while ah wuz a gull ah werked fuh de swilleys an wuz partly raised on dey plantation. de ole man wuz name lawson swilley. his wife, margaret swilley, and i clare dem two people treated me white. she mammied me er many er day. ah wuz bred and born right down dar er-round caledonia. ah wuz a big gull durin de time uv de centennial snow. dis snow wuz called dat cause hit wuz de bigges snow dat evah been. hit wuz ovah yo haid. we had tuh spade our way evah whah we went. tuh de wood gitting place, tuh de sping, tuh de hoss lot, and evah whah. de anow wuz warm an soft. we piled up so much snow till hit took hit er half er year tuh melt. dat snow stayed on de groun two months. ah am de muthah uv five gulls and fo' boys. didn nairy one uv mah gulls come in de pen till dey wuz mahried. ah use tuh fish in er big ole fish pond rat down whah de wesson depot is now. years ergo people come fum camden an othuh places tuh fish in dat fish pond. mr. sam austin sole old man burgy (burgiss?) er piece uv groun' to bury folks in and he wuz de first man tuh die an be buried dar. so dey name hit de burgy cemetery. down dar in memphis addition atah the colored prof. dykes place dar use tuh be one uv de bes' springs. course at dat time hit wuz er big ole fiel' den and de watuch wuz jes lak ice watuh. dat make me think. mah pa sed he went tuh de wah tuh cook fuh his ole moster, green traylor. well pa said dar wuz er spring whar dey got watuh. said he went tuh git watuh outen de sping and had tuh pull dead men outn de spring an dat day drinked of'n dem dead men all while de wah wuz going on. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: laura rowland (bright mulatto) age: ? address: brinkley, arkansas "my parents name was mary ann and sam billingslea. mother's father lived with us when i first remember. his name was robert todd. he was a brown skin negro. they said he was a west indian. he talked of olden times but i don't remember well enough to tell you. father owned a home that we was living on when i first remember. mother was bright color, too. vaden, mississippi was our trading post. mother had twenty children. she was a worker. she would work anywhere she was put. my folks never talked much about slavery. i don't know how they got our place. "i know they was bothered by the ku klux. one night they heard or saw the ku klux coming. the log house set low on the ground but was dug out to keep potatoes and things in--a cellar like. the planks was wide, bout a foot wide, rough pine, not nailed down. they lifted the planks up and all lay down and put the planks back up. the house look like outside nothing could go under it, it was setting on the hard ground. when they got there and opened the doors they saw nobody at home and rode off. "another time, one black night, a man--he must have been a soldier--strided a block step with his horse and ordered supper. she told him she didn't have nothing cooked and very little to cook. he cursed and ordered the supper. told her to get it. she pretended to be fixing it and slipped out the back door down the furrows and squatted in the briers in a fence corner. long time after she had been out there hid, he come along, jumped the fence on his horse, jumped over her back, down into the lane and to the road he went. if the horse hadn't jumped over her and had struck her he would have killed her. now i think he was a soldier, not the ku klux. i heard my father say he was a yard boy. "i married in mississippi and came to malvern and hot springs. he was a mill hand. i raised three children of my own and was a chamber maid. i kept house and cooked for mrs. bera mccafity, a rich woman in hot springs. my husband died and was buried at malvern. i married again, in hot springs, and lived there several years. we went to the steel mill at gary, indiana. he died. i come back here and to brinkley in . one daughter lives in detroit and one in chicago. the youngest one is married, has a family and a hard time; the other makes her living. it takes it all to do her. i get $ . on the p.w.a. "they all accuse me around here of talking mighty proper. i been around fine city folks so much i notice how they speak. "i don't fool with voting. i don't care to vote unless it would be some town question to settle. i would know something about it and the people. "i don't know my age. i was grown when i married nearly sixty years ago. we have to show our license to get on the w.p.a. or our age in the bible you understand." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: landy rucker w. fourth avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in in the state of georgia, elbert county. "i member some about the war. i went to the field when i was twelve. pulled fodder, picked peas and tended to the cow pen. i had to go then. we had _a good master_. _our mistress wasn't good though_. she wouldn't give us enough to eat. old master used to ask if we had enough to eat and he'd pull out great big hams and cut em all to pieces and give em to us. old mistress would cry and say, 'you're givin' away all my good dinner.' but she repented since the war. she said she didn't do right. "we got here to pine bluff in ' . "oh yes, i remember comin' here on the train and on the boat. "old mistress whipped us when she thought we needed it. i been pretty good all my life. "my father was a blacksmith and one day when i was six or seven i was takin' his dinner when some dogs smelled the dinner and smelled me too and they got after me. i had to climb a tree and they stayed around till they heard some other dogs barkin' and ran off. i come down then and took my bucket and left. nother time some hogs chased me. they rooted all around the tree till they heard somethin' crackle in the woods and run off and then i'd come down. "after the war i went to school three days and the teacher whipped me. i went home and i didn't go back. i went home and went to the field. i had a mother and a sister and i tried to make a living for them. "i went to school a little while after that and then went to the field. most i know i learned by myself. "yes'm, i seen the yankees bout a year fore the war ceasted. they come to get somethin' to eat and anything else they could get. got the mules and things and took my two brothers and put em in the war. one come back after surrender and the other one died in the war. they said they was fightin' to free the niggers from being under bondage. "i seen the ku klux. looked like their horses could fly. made em jump a big high fence. they come and took my father and all the other men on the place and was goin' to put em in the confederate army. but papa was old and he cried and old mistress thought a lot of him so they let him stay. i just lay down and hollered cause they was takin' my brothers, but they didn't keep em long. one of my brothers, six years older than me, come up here to pine bluff to jine the yankees. "we could hear the guns at marks mill. "i been married twice. there was about eleven years betwixt the two marriages. "i worked on the farm till about ' . then i worked in the planing mill. i got hit by a car and it broke my hip so i have to walk on crutches now. then i got me a little shoe shop and i got along fine till i got so i couldn't set down long enough to fix a pair of shoes. i bought this house and i gets help from the relief so i'm gettin' along all right now." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: martha ruffin cross street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in north carolina, and i was seven years old when the surrender was. every one of my children can tell you when they was born, but i can't. my mother, quinettie farmer was her name. brother robert farmer is my cousin. he is about the same age as my husband. he got married one week and me and my husband the next. my father's name was valentine farmer. my grandmother on my mother's side was mandy harrison, and my grandfather's name on my mother's side was jordan harrison. my grandpa on my father's side was named reuben farmer, and his wife was nancy farmer. i have seed my grandpa and grandma on my father's side. but my mother didn't see them on my mother's side. "i 'members my daddy's white folks' names, moses farmer. my father never was sold. my daddy, valentine farmer, was a ditcher, shoemaker, and sometimes a tanner. my mother was a house girl. she washed and ironed. i couldn't tell exactly what my grandparents did. my grandparents, so my parents told me, were mostly farmers. i reckon moses farmer owned about three hundred slaves. "i was born on robert bynum's place. he was my mother's owner. he married one of the harrison girls and my mother fell to that girl. my mother done just about as she pleased. she didn't know nothin' about workin' in the field till after the surrender. "the way my mother and father happened to meet--my old master hired my daddy to do some work for him and he met my mama that way. "the way my folks learned they was free was, a white school-teacher who was teaching school where we stayed told my mother she was free, but not to say nothing about it. about three weeks later, the yankees come through there and told them they was free and told my old boss that if he wanted them to work he would have to hire them and pay them. the school-teacher stayed with mother's folks--mother's white folks. the school-teacher was teaching white folks, not niggers. she was a yankee, too. my mother was the house girl, and the school-teacher stayed with her folks. the war was so hot she couldn't git no chance to go back home. "my daddy farmed after the war. he farmed on shares the first year. the next year, he bought him a horse. he finally owned his own farm. he owned it when he died. he had about one hundred acres of land. "i have pretty fair health for an old woman like i am. i am bothered with the rheumatism. the lawd wouldn't let both of us git down at the same time. (here she refers to her husband who was sick in bed at the time she made the statement. you have his story already. it was difficult for her to tell her story, for he wanted it to be like his--ed.) "i belong to the primitive baptist church. i haven't changed my membership from my home. "i got married in , in february. how many years is that? i got so i can't count up nothin'. fifty-six years. yes, that's it; that's how long i been married. i had a little sister that got married with me. she didn't really git married; she just stood up with me. she was just a little baby girl. they told me i was pretty near twenty-three years old when i married. i have a daughter that's been married twenty-five years. we had older daughters, but that one was the first one married. i have got a daughter over in north little rock that is about fifty years old. her husband is dead. we had ten children. my daughter is the mother of ten children too. she got married younger than i did. this girl i am living with is my baby. i have four children living--three girls and one boy. a woman asked me how many children i had and i told her three. she was a fortuneteller and she wanted to tell me my fortune. but i didn't want her to tell me nothin'. god was gittin' ready to tell me somethin' i didn't want to hear. i've got five great-grandchildren. we don't have no great-great-grandchildren. don't want none." interviewer's comment the old lady's style was kind of cramped by the presence of her husband. every once in a while, when she would be about to paint something in lurid colors, he would drop in a word and she would roll her phrases around in her mouth, so to speak, and shift and go ahead in a different direction and on another gear. very pleasant couple though--with none of the bitterness that old age brings sometimes. the daughter's name is searles. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: thomas ruffin cross street, little rock, arkansas age: or "i was born in north carolina, franklin county, near raleigh. my father's name really i don't know. folks said my master was my daddy. that's what they told me. of course, i don't know myself. but then white folks did anything they wanted to in slavery times. "my mother's name was morina ruffin. i don't know the names of my grandparents. that is too far back in slavery for me. of course, old man ruffin my father's father, which would have been my grandfather, he died way back yonder in slave times before the war. my father gotten kilt in the war. his name was tom ruffin. i was named after him. he died trying to hold us. that man owned three hundred slaves. he never married. carried my mother round everywhere he went. out of all his niggers, he didn't have but one with him. that was in slavery time and he was a fool about her. "i couldn't tell you exactly when i was born. up until the surrender i couldn't tell how old i was. i am somewheres around eighty-two years old. the old lady is just about the same. we guesses it in part. we figure it on what we heard the old folks say and things like that. i remember plenty of things about slavery that i saw. "i never did much when i was a boy. the biggest thing i remember is a mule got to kicking and jumped around in a stall. she lost her footing and fell down and broke her neck right there in the stall. i remember her name as well as if it was yesterday. her name was bird. that was just before the war. i know i must have been at least four years old then. you can figure that up and see what it comes to. "i never did any work when i was a child. i jus went to the spring with the young mistress and danced for them sometimes. but they never did give me any work to do,--like they did the others. i lived right in the biggest house the biggest portion of my time. "that day and time, they made compost heaps. mixed dirt with manure. they hoed cotton and crops. they didn't know what school was. they helped with washing and ironing. did every kind of work they had strength enough to do till they got big enough to go to the field. that was what the children did. "when they were about seven years old, to the best of my recollection they would go to the field. seven or eight. they would pick up corn stalks and brush. and from that on when they were about eight or nine, they would pick cotton. "my mother never did have to do anything round the farm. she lived about seventy-five miles from it, there where the master had his office. he was a lawyer. after i was born, she didn't come out to see me but once a year that i recollect. when she did come, she would bring me some candy or cakes or something like that. "i didn't see the soldiers during the time of the war. but i saw plenty of them afterwards--riding round and telling the niggers they were free. they had some of the finest saddles i ever seed. you could hear them creaking a block off. no, i didn't see them while they was fighting. we were close enough to hear the guns crash, and we could see the light from them, but i didn't actually see the fightin. the yankees come through on every plantation where they were working and entered into every house and told us we was free. the yankees did it. they told you you were free as they were, that you didn't have to stay where you was, that you didn't have no more master, that you could go and come as you pleased. "i got along _hard_ after i was freed. it is a hard matter to tell you what we could find or get. we used to dig up dirt in the smokehouse and boil it and dry it and sift it to get the salt to season our food with. we used to go out and get old bones that had been throwed away and crack them open and get the marrow and use them to season the greens with. jus plenty of niggers then didn't have anything but that to eat. "even in slavery times, there was plenty of niggers out of them three hundred slaves who had to break up old lard gourds and use them for meat. they had to pick up bones off the dung hill and crack them open to cook with. and then, of course, they'd steal. had to steal. that the bes way to git what they wanted. "they had a great big kitchen for the slaves. they had what you call pot racks they could push them big pots in and out on. they cooked hog slop there. they had trays and bowls to eat out of that were made out of gum wood. it was a long house used as a kitchen for the hands to go in and eat. they et dinner there and for supper they would be there. but breakfast, they would have to eat in the field. the young niggers would bring it out to them. they would bring it about an hour after the sun rose and the slave hands would eat it right out in the field; that was the breakfast. you see the hands went to the field before sunup, and they didn't get to eat breakfast in the kitchen and it had to be et in the field. little undergrowth of children--they had plenty of them on the place--had to carry their meals to them. "they would usually give them collars [hw: collards] in green times, potatoes in potato time. bread,--they didn't know what that was. white folks hardly knew theirselves. they didn't have butter and they didn't have no sugar. didn't know much about what meat was yet. they would give the little bits of children pot liquor. that's the most i ever seed them git. of course i was treated differently. you couldn't judge them by me. i was the only half-white youngun round there, and they said i was half-brother to ol marse's chillun. and the white chillen would git me up to the house to dance for them and all like, and they would give me biscuits or anything good they had. i never seed the others eatin nothin but pot liquor. "most of the slaves lived in log cabins. you know they never had but one door. in general where they had large families, they would have two rooms with a chimney in the middle of the house. the chimney was built out of mud and straw. i can remember them sawin the timber. two pulled a big ol crosscut saw. didn't have no saw mills then. this world has come from a long ways. they used to didn't have no plows. it was without form. you made it at home. "they had ol homemade bedsteads to sleep in. they had a little rope that ran back and forth instead of slats. that was called a corded bed. cheers were all made at home and were split bottoms. "they didn't many of the slaves have food in their homes. but when they did, they would jus have a little wooden box and they would put their food in it. "it seems like the white people got to burying their money during the time of the war. that never come out till after the war. then they got to wantin that money and started looking for it. there never was any talk of buried treasure before the war. "my folks didn't give me any schoolin before the surrender. i never got any before the surrender and a mighty little afterwards. no nigger knowed anything. i started to farming when i was thirteen years old. i used to be a fertilizer, and then a cotton sower. that was the biggest i knowed about farming when i was a boy. my mother lived about fifteen years after slavery. i reckon. "in the time of slavery, you couldn't marry a woman. you just took up with her. mother married the same man she had been going with after freedom. she had four children after the surrender as fer as i can tell--three girls and two boys. "i moved from north carolina to louisiana. stayed there one year and then moved here. bought forty acres of land. bought it after i'd been here a year. it took me four years to pay for that. then next time i bought eighty acres and paid for them. paid them out in two years. then i bought eighty acres more and paid for them in two years. couldn't pay for them cash at first, but could have paid for the last eighty when i bought them if i had a wanted to. then i bought eighty more and then i bought eighty again and then forty and on till i had five hundred and three acres of farm land. i got the three over when i got the sorghum mill. "i left my farm and come to the city for doctor's treatment. my old lady and i worked out five hundred and three acres of land. i got five children living. i gave each one of them forty acres of land. most of the rest i sold. i got a fellow here that owes me for one of the places now. he lives over on third and dennison. his name is wright. my old lady an me held on to that and didn't lose it even in all these hard years. "my daughter kept after me to come here and she built this little house out here where i could holler or do anything i wanted to do and not disturb nobody. i couldn't feel at home up in a big house with other people. four or five months ago it would take two people to put me to bed. i would get off from home and have to carry me back. but i am gettin along fine now. this high blood pressure keeps me from remembering so well. ol lady where's my pipe? you didn't find it up to daughter's? ain't it in the kitchen? can't you find it nowheres? what _didju_ do with it? well, you needn't look for it no longer. it's here in my pocket. that's my high blood pressure workin. that whut it does to you. "i belong to the primitive baptist church and have been belonging to it altogether about sixty-three years. i used to be a missionary. i been a member of the church a long time. "i think times are jus fulfilling the bible. the people are wiser now than we ever known them to be and wickeder. i don't believe the times you see now will be always. people are getting so wise and so wicked that i think the end is near at hand. you notice the germans now are trying to make slaves out of the jews. there's the japans that is jus slaughtering up the chinese like they was nothin but dumb brutes. the world is wickeder than it ever has been before. "the young people today! i'd hate to tell you what i do think of them. the business is going to fall." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: casper rumple, de valls bluff, arkansas age: "i will be, providin' the good lord spare me, years old the first day of january. i was born in lawrence county, south carolina. the big road was the dividing line between that and edgefield county. my mother belonged to john griffin. his wife named rebecca. my father was a irishman. course he was a white man--irishman. show i did know him. he didn't own no slaves. i don't guess he have any land. he was a overseer in edgefield county. his name was ephraim rumple. what become of him? he went off to fight the yankees and took malaria fever and died on red river. i could show you bout where he died. "my mother had a big family. i can't tell you much bout them. i was the youngest. she cooked up at john griffins. he was a old man and the land was all his wife's. she was old too. she had some grown girls. he had no children. they called him pa and i did too. i stayed round with him nearly all the time helping him. "he had a room and she had a room. i slept on a bed--little bed--home-made bed--in the room wid him and she slept in the room with her two girls and my mother slept in the kitchen a whole heap so she be there to get breakfast early. they riz early every mornin'. john griffins wife owned four plantations more than acres in each one, but i couldn't say how much. "my mother was a field hand in busy times too. miss rebecca had all the slaves clothes made. she seed to that. she go to the city, augusta, and bring back bolts cloth. one slave sewed for miss rebecca and her family. she didn't do all the sewing but she sewed all the time. one woman done all the weavin'. at night after they work in the field miss rebecca give em tasks--so many bats to card or so much spinnin' to do. "master john didn't want em to work at night but she made em work all the same. they b'long to her. another thing the women had to do was work in the garden. it was a three acre garden. they always had plenty in thar. had it palinged so the young chickens couldn't squeeze through the cracks. "they had plenty stock and made all the fertilizer needed in the garden and patches. they had goober patch, popcorn patch, sorghum patches, several of em, pea patches but they was field cabbage patch and watermellon patch. they had chicken house, goose house, duck house and way off a turkey pen. it had a cover on it. they had to be cleaned and all that manure moved to the garden and patches. old man john griffin was a good man. things went on pretty quiet bout the place. they had to do their own cooking. they got for the grown ups pounds meat, pk.[tr:?] meal a week. they fed the young chaps plenty so they wouldn't get stunted. they keep em chunky till they get old nough to grow up tall and that make big women and big men. they stunt em then when they start runnin' up, it cause em to be low. the owners was mighty careful (not)[hw: ?] to feed the chaps nough to eat so they make strong hands. "men come long the road peddlin' from out the cities, men come long with droves of horses and mules. they was called horse traders. then once in a while they come long tradin' and selling slaves. nother way they sell em was at public auction. iffen a slave steal from another master, like go in his smoke house or crib and steal, the sheriff have to whip him. they would have public whippin'. "how'd they know was freedom? how'd they not know it was freedom? everybody went wild. they was jes' crazy cause they was free. way i knowd for certain it was freedom mr. john griffin had all the slaves that hadn't done went off come to the house and he told them they was all free. some of em just started walking the roads till they nearly starved. the government didn't start feeding the slaves till so many nearly starved. my mother cooked on nearly a year. then she went to work for vaughn in edgefield county. "they didn't give them no land. the white folks was land pore. "they didn't have no money. when the masters had money they give the slaves a little spending money. nearly all the slaves had a little money long. they get a pass to split rails for a neighbor and make money. that was befo freedom. after freedom nobody had money but the yankee soldiers. they keep it closer than the folks you been livin' with. "mr. griffin, he was called general by all the young men. he was too old to fight so he trained soldiers. he didn't wear a uniform but they did. they met certain days every week. they wore gray uniforms. "they had a battle at lawrence. it was miles. the soldiers passed long the big road. i didn't see the battles. i heard plenty talk about that conflict at lawrence though. "i heard the slaves was goin' to get acres and a mule. i tell you they didn't wait to see if they was going to get another meal. they went wild, walking and hooping up and down the road. they found out when they nearly starved they had got the bad end of the game somehow. then to keep em from starvin' they had certain days to go to lawrence and get a little rations. not much i tell you. they started stealin' and the ku klux started up bout that. "the president got killed (abraham lincoln). then they knowed the gig was up. they had to go to work hard as ever and mighty little to eat. the slaves did vote. it was the color of the paper they used way they knowed how to vote. the republican government had full sway years. all the offices at edgefield nearly was negroes cept the sheriff. the yankees tell em what to do way they knowed how. butler went to congress. he was a negro--(???). that was what the ku klux was mad bout. they run the yankees out and took holt of the offices soon as they could. "our master had no ku klux comin' on our place. he protected us, it wasn't no different than slavery till i was nearly grown and a drove was walking going west to better place. i got in with them and come on. the ku klux had killed several negroes. that scared them all up. i remember tuscaloosa, alabama when we cone through there. we was walking--a line a mile long--marching and singing. they was building back in a hurry seemed like to me. the town had been burned up. some dropped out to get work along. some fell out sick. some so weak they died long the road. had to keep up. some stopped; they never caught up no more. mostly old folks or half starved folks couldn't keep going. the ku klux whoop and shoot you down for any little thing. they started at night, fraid of the yankees but they whooped and run them out and the negroes left. the ku klux got so bold they didn't dress up nor go at night neither. at first they was careful then they got bold. the yankee soldiers bout all they was afraid of. the negroes found out who some of the ku klux was and told the yankees but it didn't do much good. after bout twelve years all the yankees gone back home. the white folks down in carolina thought bout as little of them as negroes. they wouldn't let them have no land if they did have money to pay any price for it. they didn't want them living amongst them. they say they rether have a negro family. "the biggest negro uprisin' i ever seed was at freedom. they riz up in a hurry. "i had to stop and work all along. i got to arkansas in . i never went no further. i been all my life farmin'. i cut and sell wood, clear land. the best living was when i farmed and sold wood. i bought a acre farm and cleared it up graduly, then i sold it fer $ . cause i got blind and couldn't see to farm it. i had a house on it. i own this here house (a splendid home). my daughter and her husband come to take care me. they come from cincinatti here. she made $ . a week up there three years. i get $ . a month now from the social welfare. if i could see i could make money. "i never seen times like this. sin is causin' it. unrest and selfishness. no neighborly spirit. i don't bother no young folks. i don't know how they will come out. if they caint get a big price they won't work and the white folks are doing their own work, and don't help like they did. i could get along if i could see. i had a light stroke keeps me from talkin' good, i hear that." interviewer: thomas elmore lucy person interviewed: henry russell, russellville, arkansas age: "my father's name was ed russell, and he was owned by dr. tom russell, de first pioneer settler of russellville--de' man de town got its name from. "my name is henry, and some folks call me 'bud.' i was born at old dwight de th of october, . yes suh, dat date is correct. "i was too young to remember much about happenings soon after de war, but i kin ricollect my father belongin' to de militia for awhile during de reconstruction days. both negroes and whites were members of de militia. "my folks come here from alabama, but i don't know much about them except dat my grandmother, charlotte edwards, give me an old wash pot dat has been in de family over one hundred years. yes suh, it's out here in de ya'd now. also, i owns an old ax handle dat i keep down at de store jist for a relic of old days. it's about a hundred years old, too. "my wife was sallie johnson of little rock, and she was a sister of mrs. charley mays, de barber you used to know, who was here sich a long time. "for a long time i worked at different kinds of odd jobs, sometimes in de coal mines and sometimes on de farms, but for several years i've run a little store for de colored folks here in russellville. ain't able to do very much now. "i remember very well de first train dat was ever run into russellville. must have been or years ago. a big crowd of people was here from all over de country. of course dere was only a few families living in de town, and only one or two families of colored folks. people come in from everywhere, and it was a great sign. little old train was no bigger dan de dardanelle & russellville train. (you remember de little old train dey used to call de 'dinkey' don't you?) well, it wasn't no bigger dan de dinkey, and it didn't run into de depot at all, stopped down where de dump is now. sure was a sight. lot of de folks was afraid and wouldn't go near it, started to run when two men got off. i saw only two man working in front of it, but i remember it very plain. dey was working with wheelbarrows and shovels to clear up de track ahead. "another thing i remember as a boy was de 'sassination of president gyarfield. i can't read or write but very little, but i remember about dat. it was a dull, foggy mornin', and i was crossin' de bayou with big bob smith. (you remember 'big bob' dat used to have the merry-go-'round and made all de county fairs.) well, he told me all about de killing of de president. it was about wasn't it? "i think times was better in de old days because people was better. had a heap more honor in de old days dan dey have now. not many young folks today have much character. "all right. come back again. whenever i kin help you out any way, i'll be glad to." note: henry russell is quite proud of the fact that his ancestors were the first families of russellville. he is a polite mulatto, uneducated, and just enough brogue to lend the southern flavor to his speech, but is a fluent conversationalist. interviewer: miss sallie c. miller person interviewed: katie rye, clarksville, arkansas age: "we lived in greenbrier, faulkner county, arkansas. all stayed at home and got along very well. we had enough to eat and wear. mistress was awful mean to us but we stayed with them until after the war. after the war master moved us off to another place he had and my father farmed for his self, master and his pa and ma, and mistress' pa and ma. they awful good to us, but mistress was so high tempered she would get mad and whip some of the slaves but she never whipped any of us. she worried so over the loss of her slaves after the war she went crazy. we had two white grand pas and grand mas. we colored children called them grandpa and ma and uncle and aunt like the white children did and we didn't know the difference. the slaves was only allowed biscuit on christmas and sometimes on sundays but we had beef and plenty of honey and everything after we moved from the big house. mistress used to come down to see us an' my mother would cook dinner for her and master. he was such a _good_ man and the best doctor in the state. he would come in and take the babies up (mother had nine children) and get them to sleep for my mother. his mother would come to the kitchen and ask for a good cup of coffee and mother would make it for her. the master and his family were northern people and my mother was given to the mistress by her father and mother when she married. "after my father bought his own farm about ten miles from the big house, father would put us all in an ox wagon and take us back to see our white folks. "the mistress claimed to be a christian and church member but i don't see how she could have been she was so mean. "i think the present day generation mighty wicked. seems like they get worse instead of better, even the members of the church are not as good as they used to be. they don't raise the children like they used to. they used to go to sunday school and church and take the children, now the children do as they please, roam the streets. it is sad to see how the parents are raising the children, just feed them and let them go. the children rule the parents now. "we sang the old hymns and 'dixie', 'carry me back to old virginia', 'when you and i were young, maggie'." circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--miss hazel horn address--little rock, arkansas date--last of april, subject--ex-slave [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] . name and address of informant--uncle bob samuels, washington, arkansas . date and time of interview--last of april, . place of interview--washington, arkansas . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant--j.c.w. smith. . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you--j.c.w. smith . description of room, house, surroundings, etc. personal history of informant . ancestry--grandmother, spanish; grandfather, negro; father, negro. . place and date of birth--born about . family-- . places lived in, with dates-- . education, with dates-- . occupations and accomplishments, with dates-- . special skills and interests-- . community and religious activities-- . description of informant--tall and straight. he is blind. clean in appearance, dressed in slightly faded overalls. he has short, clean, grey beard. speaks with a clear accent. . other points gained in interview--ancestors were in de soto expeditions. text of interview (unedited) "from my mother's mother i learned that on my mother's side my ancestor came with de soto from spain where she was educated at madrid. from spain she came to havana, cuba, and from there to tampa, florida. from florida she came to some point in alabama. from this place she came to the mississippi river and the east bank and crossed where it is called gaines landing. after they crossed the river they went ten kilometers from there, traveled north from there to where arkansas county is close to the mouth of the arkansas river. here they camped awhile. when they broke camp there they traveled northeast to boiling springs. making their way from here they crossed the ouachita river on the other side of arkadelphia. they traveled on, crossing little missouri river below wallaceburg. here they found some indian mounds. then they traveled on a trail from there to washington, turned into washington and took a trail toward columbus and turned off to the right (uncle bob not sure of the name of this trail) and crossed what is known as beard's lake. they crossed little river at ward's ferry and crossed the saline river. traveling northwest they reached white oak shoals where index is now and crossed over into what was mexico and traveled to a place called kawaki located where [tr: ?] now is. "after camping here for a while they came back into arkansas to some point near rando, crossed red river at dooley's ferry, went to coola fabra(?) and back to boiling springs. [here a gold mine was found and a quarrel ensued, and in a fight de soto was killed.] they carried his body overland and buried him in the mississippi river between grensville[hw:sp.] and vicksburg. [tr: moved from end of interview: de soto was buried at the junction of the mississippi and [??] rivers, about miles south of vicksburg.] the remaining forces of the expedition returned to spain. "sometime in my mother's mother was born. my mother's mother was spanish. my mother says she was well educated. mother and her mother have spanish mixed with negro blood. i had a sister named mary and a brother named john. "armarilla, my grandmother came here from cuba through to gaines landing. her son edmin and her husband were with her. they crossed the mississippi river and she said they stopped at the old de soto camp. a short distance west of this place they met two men--nick trammel and john morrow who profitted (dealt) in negro slaves. my grandfather and mother employed these men to guide them to coola fabre(?) camden?. from little river to dooley's ferry these men carried them to waco, texas. they killed my grandfather and kept my grandmother forcing her to marry either a half-breed mexican, an indian or a negro. it was near waco in hickman[hw:sp.] prairie that mother was born. the boy edmin was returned to dooley's ferry and remained in the vicinity until he was about seventeen years of age. he then lived in the vicinity of little rock about six months before returning to mexico. my grandmother said that mr. trammel and mr. morrow probably thought he might cause trouble and killed him as she never saw him after he returned from little rock. mother was held in lafayette county at a point where the river crossed and joined bowie county (texas) and where louisiana bounded the south. "de soto traveled by land, not by boat. he had a force of about persons. the women dressed as men. my grandmother was with her husband. "my mother was a slave. she was held in bowie county, hickens[hw:sp.] prairie, by bob trammel. they kept her locked up and i have heard mother say that she used whale bone, card bats and a spinning wheel. finally they got so hot behind the trammels in - , they pulled up stakes and went down on the guadalupe river and carried my mother's mother down there. before they left dave block went on trammel's bond and got my mother. he made my mother head housekeeper slave. she had been taught spanish. she was tall and fair with straight black hair. she was married to dick samuels, my father. "after the war my father was elected [hw: hempstead] county clerk in on the republican ticket. he could neither read nor write, so was clerk in name only securing one of the white men to attend to the office. by trade he was a blacksmith." interviewer's comment uncle bob samuels is the son of richard samuels and mary. he was a slave of david block. after freedom he came to little rock with a sister and a brother, john. uncle bob said he often heard his mother speak of a gold mine. she had a trunk of maps and charts which her mother had given to her. in this was supposed to be the papers regarding de soto's legendary gold mine. the trunk had been lost as uncle bob has no idea where the gold mine is. he tells the story the same way, never varying a point. he does not claim to remember indian trails or names. uncle bob is tall and straight. he is blind. was clean in appearance dressed in slightly faded overalls. he has a short, clean grey beard. he talks with a clear accent, no negro accent. during reconstruction days he served as county clerk of hempstead county under carpetbaggar rule. during those days he was a political power to be reckoned with. he was a national as well as a state figure in the "lily white republican" organization. [his wife was a negro, good looking, but showed little trace of much white blood.] interviewer: mary d. hudgins person interviewed: emma sanderson home: wade street, hot springs. aged: "emma sanderson"--"wade street". that was all the prospective interviewer could learn. "emma sanderson--ex-slave!" "wade street"--"why it's way off that way. you go sort of thatta way, and then thatta way." a city map disclosed no wade street. maps belonging to a local abstractor helped not a whit. "insurance maps are in more detail." someone advised, "wade street," mused the young woman at the desk, "i've heard of it. we have written a policy for someone there." the head of the department was new to the city, but he was eager to help. after about five minutes search--from wall maps to bound volumes of blocks and back again it appeared that "wade street" more frequently known as "washington street" meanders wanderingly from silver street, in the colored section out to the "gorge addition" inhabited by low economic level whites. down malvern avenue (hot springs' beale street) went the interviewer. on she went past the offices of a large chicago packing house. for better then a block she trudged by dilapidated shops which a few seasons back had housed one of the key transient centers of the u.s.a. down the street she walked, pausing for a moment to note that coffee colored faces decorated the placards in the beauty shop window--two well groomed mulatto girls sitting inside, evidently operators. her course took her past sandwich joints and pool halls. nails, she noted as she drifted along, had been driven into the projection beneath the plate glass window of the brick bank (closed during the depression--a building and bank built, owned and operated by negro capital) to keep loungers away. the colored theater (negroes are admitted only to the balconies of theaters in hot springs--one section of the balcony at the legitimate theater) she noticed was now serving as a religious gathering place. the well built and excellently maintained pythian bath house (where the hot waters are made available to colored folk) with the alice eve hospital ( beds, nurses, resident physicians--negro doctors thruout the town cooperating--surgical work a specialty) stood out in quiet dignity. for the rest, buildings were an indiscriminate hodge-podge of homes, apartment houses, shacks, and chain groceries. at the corner where "the street turns white" the interviewer turned east. the langston high school (for colored--with a reputation for turning out good cooks, football players and academicians) stands on silver street. a few paces from the building the interviewer met a couple of plump colored women laughing and talking loudly. "i beg your pardon," was her greeting, "can you tell me where wade street is?" they could and did. they were so frankly interested in knowing why the white women wanted emma sanderson that she told them her mission. they were not taken aback--there was no servility--no resentment they were frankly charmed with the idea. their directions for finding mrs. sanderson became even more explicit. when the proper turn off was found the question of wade versus washington street was settled. a topsy-turvy sign at the intersection announced that wade street was ahead. emma sanderson's grandson lived a couple of blocks down the road. only the fact that she could hear someone inside moving about kept the interviewer hammering on the door. finally she was rewarded by a voice. "is that somebody a' knockin'?" in a moment the door opened. the question, "were you a slave" no matter how delicately put is a difficult one to ask, but mrs. sanderson was helpful, if doubtful that her story would do much good. "i was just so little when it all happened." but the interviewer was invited in and placed in a chair near the fire. "no ma'am. he ain't my grandson--i's the third grandmother. no son, you ain't three--you's five. don't you remember what i told you? yes, he stays with me, ma'am. i take care of him while the rest of 'em works. "it's hard for me to remember. i was just so little. yes, ma'am, i was born a slave--but i was so little. seems to me like i remember a big, big house. we was sort of out in the country---out from memphis. i know there was my father and my mother and my uncles and my aunts. i know there was that many. how many more of us old man doc walker had--i just don't know. they must have took good care of us tho. my mother was a house nigrah. "when the war was ready to quit they gave us our pick. we could stay on and work for wages or we could go. the folks decided that the'd go on in to memphis. my mother and father didn't live together none after we went to town. first i lived with mother and then when she died my father took me. my mother died when i was . she worked at cooking and washing. when i was big enough i went to school. i kept on going to school after my father took me. he died when i was about . by that time i was old enough to look out after myself. "what did i do? i stayed in folkses houses. i cooked and i washed. then when i was about , i married. after that i had a man to take care of me. he was a carpenter. "we been here in hot springs a long time--you maybe heared of sanderson--he took up platering and he was good too. how long i been in hot springs--law i don't know--'cept i was a full grown women when we come. "i's had four children--all of 'em is dead. i lives with my grandson. the little fellow, he'll be old enough to go to school in a year or two. a dime for him ma'am--an' cents besides? now son you keep the dime and you can spend the pennies. i always tries to teach him to save. then when he gets big he'll know what to do." dining room and living room joined one another by means of a high and wide arch. the stove was sensibly set up in this passage. both rooms were comfortably furnished with products which had in all probability been bought new. the child stood close by thruout the entire conversation. there was no whit of timidity about him, nor was he the least impertinent. he was frankly interested and wanted to know what was being said. he received the dime and the pennies with a pleasant grin and a (grandmother prompted) "thank you". but the gift didn't startle him. dimes must have been a fairly usual part of his life. but a few minutes before the interviewer left she dropped her pencil. it was new and long and yellow. the child's eyes clung to it as he returned it. "would you like to have it." the young woman asked, "would you like a pencil of your very own, to draw with?" would he! the child's whole face beamed. dimes were as nothing compared to shiney new pencils. the third grandchild was overjoyed with his new plaything. ella sanderson was delighted with her great grandchild's pleasure. the interviewer received a warm and friendly "good-bye". interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mary scott devalls bluff or biscoe age: "i said if ever i seed you agin i'd show you dis here scar on my head. see here [a puffed-out, black, rusty, not quite round place, where no hair grew]. dat dar what my young mistress put on me when i was a chile. dock hardy hired me. he was rich and married a pore gal. it went to her head. he was good to me. she was mean. she had him whoop me a time or two for nothin'. they had two little babies, i stayed round wid. i loved em. i churned, brought in all the wood mighty near, brought bout all the water from the spring. master dock be coming horseback from franklin, tennessee. i knowed bout time i take the babies to meet him. he'd wait at a big stump we could climb on his horse, take the baby in front and us up behind him, and put us off on the back piazza at the house. i wrapped up the churn and quit. she ax me what i quit churnin' for. i say the butter come. she say it ain't had time. i say it ready to take up anyhow. she got so mad she throwed a stick of stove wood, hit me on my head. i run out crying, the blood streamin' down. i started to the spring, come back and got the water bucket. i got me some water and brought back a fresh bucket full. i washed my head in cool water where it was bleedin'. it bled all way back. she say, 'where you been?' i say i been to the spring, brought some cool water to the babies. i give em some i told her. when i got water i always give them some. she took the bucket, made me go wid her, poured the water out in the path under a shade tree, and made me take 'nother bucketful home. i thought she was so mean; i didn't know what she was doing that about. got to the house she put me on a clean chemisette. i slipped off down to the feed house, lay down, my head on the cotton seeds, and went to sleep. "when master dock come he woke me up, wanted to know why i didn't meet him. he seen that blood. went on to the house. he ask her what done my head that way. she say, 'she went to the spring, fell down, spilled the water, and hurt it on a rock.' i told him that wasn't so--not so! i told him all bout it. he told her she ought to be 'shamed treat good little nigger chap mean. he was so sorry for me. she didn't care. they had been goin' to old missis house every week. it was three weeks 'fo she would go. i got to see my mama, 'fo she died. "old mistress emily was a doctor woman. dock told her, 'mama, scrubbs jumps and screams bout a hour late every evening wid her head.' when it got late it hurt and i screamed and jump up and down. mistress emily come got me in her arms, put me to sleep. when i woke up dock and kitty gone home with the babies. i cried bout being from the babies; i loved em, never been away from em 'fo. she got three maggots and says, 'scrubbs, see what i got out your little head.' mama had died then. she say, 'your mama would want me to keep you here wid me.' she kept me till it healed up. them maggots big as a sage broom straw. we swept the floor wid sage straw tied together then. mistress emily kept me a month with her and doctored my head every day. i slept on a pallet and on a little bed she had in the room. when i went back to kitty's she wasn't as mean to me as she been--but mean nough then. "my mama named amy hardy. she had five boys, three girls. she died with a young baby. i reckon they had different papas. i was my papa's only chile. they all said that. bout a month after i went to dock and kitty's, it was surrender. he (the little negro girl's father) come, stayed all night, and took me wid him to live. dock wanted me to stay; i love dock and the children. every year till a few years ago my head get sore and run. we tried all kinds medicine on it. don't know what cured it. "the week 'fo i left there i had a task to make a cut of thread every night, a reel. when i heard papa was coming to git me, i put cotton bats under the reels and kivered em up. good thing papa got me--kitty would killed me when she went to spin next week. she been so mean why i done that way. "they never sold any of our set but some on the place was sold. the mothers grieve and grieve over their children bein' sold. some white folks let their slaves have preachin', some wouldn't. we had a bush arbor and set on big logs. children set round on the ground. 'fo freedom i never went to preachin'. i kept kitty's babies so she went. mothers didn't see their children much after they was sold. "fo freedom they would turn a wash pot upside-down at the door and have singin' and prayer meetin'. the pot would take up the noise. they done that when they danced too. i don't know how they found out the iron pot would take up the noise. they had plenty of em settin' round in them days. somebody found it out and passed it on." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mollie hardy scott, r.f.d., devalls bluff, arkansas age: "i was born at granville, georgia in franklin county. i don't know my age cept i was big enough to plow when young master lef and went to war. my mother died bout time the war started. we belonged to miss eliza and master jim hardy. he had two boys bout grown, jim and john. my father belong to the linzys. i don't know nuthin much bout them nor him neither. when the war was done he come and got me and we went to barton county, georgia. when i lef they give me my feather bed, two good coverlets and my clothes. white folks hated fo me to leave. we all cried but i never seen em no more. they said he take me off and let me suffer or die or something. i was all the child my father had but my mother had ten children i knowed of. we all lived on the place. they lived in a little log house and i stayed wid em some an up at white folks house mostly. no i never seed my folks no more. we had plenty to eat. had meat and garden stuff. we had pot full of lye hominy. it last several days. it was good. i seed em open up a pot full of boiled corn-on-the-cob. plenty milk and butter. we had wash pot full of collards or turnip salad. maybe a few turnips on top and a big piece of fresh meat. we had plenty to eat and wear long as i lived wid the white folks. we had goobers, molasses candy to pull and pop corn every now and then. they fill all the pockets, set around the fire an eat at night. sometimes we bake eggs and sweet potatoes, cracklin hoe cake covered up in the ashes. bake apples in front of the fire on de hearth. everybody did work an we sho had plenty to eat an wear. "i had plenty when i stayed at my father's an we worked together all the time. when he died i married. i've had a hard time not able to work. there ain't no hard time if yous able to get bout. i pieces quilts an sells em now. sells em if i can. for $ piece (has no idea of money value). some women promissed to come git 'em but they ain't come yet. i wanter buy me some shoes. i could do a heap if they send fo me. i can nurse. i kept a woman's children when she teached last year (negro woman's children). "i brought four or five when i come to arkansas of my own. they all dead but my one girl i lives wid. "seemed lack so many colored folks coming out west to do better. we thought we come too. we come on immigrate ticket on the train. all the people i worked for was captain williams, dr. givens. mr. richardson right where mesa is now but they called it then ( miles from memphis). mr. gates. i farmed, washed and ironed. i nursed some since i'm not able to get about in the field. i never owned nothing. they run us from one year till the next and at the end of the year they say we owe it bout all. if we did have a good crop we never could get ahead. we couldn't get ahead nuff not to have to be furnished the next year. we did work but we never could get ahead. if a darky sass a white land owner he would be whooped bout his account or bout anything else. yes siree right here in dis here county. darky have to take what the white folks leave fo em and be glad he's livin. "i say i ain't never voted. whut in de world i would want er vote for? let em vote if they think it do em good. "i seen a whole gang of ku kluxes heap of times when i was little back in georgia. i seed paddyrollers and then they quit and at night the ku kluxes rode by. they would whoop or shoot you either if you didn't tend to yo own business and stay at home at night. they kept black and white doing right i tell you. i sho was afraid of them but they didn't bother us. if you be good whose ever place you lives on would keep 'em from harmin you. they soon got all the bad yankies ran back north from georgia. they whip the black men and women too but it was mostly the men they watched and heap of it was for stealing. folks was hungry. couldn't help stealin if they seed anything. i seed heap of folks having a mighty hard time after the war in them restruction (reconstruction) days. i was lucky. "my daughter would do mo than she do fo me but she is a large woman and had both her legs broke. they hurt her so bad it is hard fo her to do much. she good as she can be to everybody. the welfare give three of us $ . a month (daughter, husband, and mollie). we mighty glad to get that. we sho is. i am willin to work if i could get work i could do. that's my worst trouble. like i tell you, i can nurse and wash dishes if i could get the jobs. "i don't see much of the real young folks. i don't know what they are doing much. if a fellow is able he ought to be able to do good now if he can get out and go hunt up work fo himself. that the way it look like. i don't know." interviewer: thomas elmore lucy person interviewed: sam scott, russellville, arkansas age: "hello dar, mistah l----! don' you dare pass by widout speakin' to dis old niggah friend of yo' chil'hood! no suh! yuh can't git too big to speak to me! "reckon you've seen about all dar is to see in de worl' since i seen you, ain't you? well, mos' all de old-time niggahs and whites is both gone now. i was born on de twentieth of july, . count up--dat makes me (born ), don't it? my daddy's name was sam, same as mine, and mammy's was mollie. dey was slaves on de plantation of capt. scott--yes suh, capt. john r. homer scott--at dover. my name is sam, same as my father's, of course. everybody in de old days knowed sam scott. my father died in slavery times, but mother lived several years after. "no, i never did dance, but i sure could play baseball and make de home runs! my main hobby, as you calls it, was de show business. you remember de niggah minstrels we used to put on. i was always stage manager and could sing baritone a little. ed williamson and tom nick was de principal dancers, and tom would make up all de plays. what? stole a unifawm coat of yours? why, i never knowed tom to do anything like that! anyway, he was a good-hearted niggah--but you dunno what he might do. yes, i still takes out a show occasionally to de towns around pope and yell and johnson counties, and folks treat us mighty fine. big crowds--played to $ . clear money at clarksville. usually take about eight and ten in our comp'ny, boys and gals--and we give em a real hot minstrel show. "de old show days? never kin forgit em! i was stage manager of de old opery house here, you remember, for ten years, and worked around de old printin' office downstairs for seven years. no, i don't mean stage manager--i mean property man--yes, had to rustle de props. and did we have road shows dem days! richards & pringle's georgia minstrels, de nashville students, lyman twins, barlow brothers minstrels, and--oh, ever so many more--yes, daisy, de missouri girl, wid fred raymond. never kin forgit old black billy kersands, wid his mouf a mile wide! "de songs we used to sing in old days when i was a kid after de war wasn't no purtier dan what we used to sing wid our own minstrel show when we was at our best twenty-five and thirty years ago; songs like 'jungletown,' 'red wing,' and 'mammy's li'l alabama coon.' our circuit used to be around holla bend, dover, danville, ola, charleston, nigger ridge, out from pottsville, and we usually starred off at the old opery house in russellville, of course. "i been married, but ain't married now. we couldn't git along somehow. yes suh, i been right here workin' stiddy for a long time. been janitor at two or three places same time; was janitor of de senior high school here for twenty-two years, and at de bank of russellville twenty-nine years. "folks always been mighty nice to me--and no slave ever had a finer master dan old captain scott. "in de old show days de manager of de opery always said. 'let de niggers see de show,' and sometimes de house was half full of colored folks--white folks on one side de house and niggahs on de other--and dere never was any disturbance of any kind. ain't no sich good times now as we had in de old road show days. no suh!" note: sam scott, who has been personally known to the interviewer for many years, is above the average of the race for integrity and truthfulness. his statement that he was born a few years after slavery and that his father died during slavery was not questioned the matter being a delicate personal affair and of no special moment. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: cora scroggins, clarendon, arkansas age: or "my mother was born in spring hill, tennessee and brought to arkansas by her master. her name was margaret. dr. and mrs. porter brought my mother to batesville, arkansas when she was eight years old and raised her. she was very light. she had long straight hair but was mixed with white. she never knew much about her parents or people. "mr. william brook (white) came to de valls bluff from tennessee and brought her sister soon after the war. she was a very black woman. "dr. porter had a family. one of their daughters was mrs. mattie long, another mrs. willie bowens. there were others. they were all fine to my mother. she married in dr. porter's home. mrs. porter had learnt her to sew. my father was a mechanic. my mother sewed for both black and white. she was a fine dressmaker. she had eight children and raised six of us up grown. "my father was a tall rawbony brown man. his mother was an indian squaw. she lived to be one hundred seven years old. she lived about with her children. the white folks all called her 'aunt matildy' tucker. she was a small woman, long hair and high cheek bones. she wore a shawl big as a sheet purty nigh all time and smoked a pipe. i was born in batesville. "my mother spoke of her one long journey on the steamboat and stagecoach. that was when she was brought to arkansas. it made a memorable picture in her mind. "dr. and mrs. porter told her she was free and she could go or stay. and she had nowheres to go and she had always lived with them white folks. she never did like black folks' ways and she raised us near like she was raised as she could. "she used to tell us how funny they dressed and how they rode at night all through the country. she seen them and she could name men acted as ku kluxes but they never bothered her and she wasn't afraid of them. "i cooked all my life till i got disabled. i never had a child. i wish i had a girl. i've been considered a fine cook all of my life." circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--bernice bowden address-- oak street, pine bluff, arkansas date--november , subject--ex-slaves [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] . name and address of informant--sarah sexton, route , box , pine bluff . date and time of interview--november , , : a.m. . place of interview--route , box , pine bluff, arkansas . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant--georgia caldwell, route , box , pine bluff, arkansas. . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you--none. . description of room, house, surroundings, etc.--frame house, front porch with two swings. fence around yard. chinaberry tree and tree of paradise, coxcomb in yard. southeast of norton-wheeler stave mill just off highway . text of interview "prewitt tiller bought my mother and i belonged to young master. in slavery i was a good-sized-young girl, mama said. big enough to put the table cloths on the best i could. after freedom i did all the cookin' and milkin' and washin'. "now listen, this young master was prewitt's son. "grandpa's name was ned peeples and grandma was sally peeples. my mother was dorcas. well, my papa, i ain't never seed him but his name was josh allen. you see, they just sold 'em around. that's what i'm talkin' about--they went by the name of their owners. "i'm seventy-eight or seventy-nine or eighty. that's what the insurance man got me up. "i been in a car wreck and i had high blood pressure and a stroke all at once. and that wreck, the doctor said it cracked my skull. till now, i ain't got no remembrance. "you know how long i went to school? three days. no ma'm i had to work, darlin'. "i was born down here on saline river at selma. i done forgot what month." "what kinda work have i done? oh, honey, i done farmed myself to death, darlin'. you know buck couch down here at noble lake? well, i hoped pick out eight bales of cotton for him. "i wish i had the dollars i had workin' for r.a. pickens down here at walnut lake. yes, honey, i farmed for him bout fifteen or twenty years steady. "and he sure was nice and he was mischievous. he called all of us his chillun. he use to say, 'now you must mind your papa!' and we'd say 'now mr. pickens, you know you ain't got no nigger chillun'. he use to say to me 'sallie, you is a good woman but you ain't got no sense'. them was fine white folks. "honey, these white folks round here what knows me, knows they ain't a lazy bone in my body. "i'se cooked and washed and ironed and i'se housecleaned. yes'm, i certainly was a good cook. "i belongs to the palestine baptist church. yes ma'm. i don't know what i'd do if twasn't for the good master. i talks to him all the time. "i goes to this here government school. a man teaches it. i don't know what his name is, we just calls him professor. "well, chile, i'll tell you the truf. these young folks is done gone. and some o' these white headed women goes up here truckin'. it's a sin and a shame. i don't know what's gwine come of 'em." interviewer's comment this woman lives with her daughter angelina moore who owns her home. mother and daughter both attend government school. both were neatly dressed. the day was warm so we sat on the front porch during the interview. personal history of informant . ancestry--grandfather, ned peeples; grandmother, sally peeples; mother, dorcas peeples; father, josh allen. . place and date of birth--on saline river, selma, arkansas. no date. . family--two daughters and granddaughter. . places lived in, with dates--desha county, walnut lake, noble lake, (arkansas) poplar bluff, missouri. no dates. . education, with dates--three days, "after freedom". attends government school now. . occupations and accomplishments, with dates--farmwork, cooking, laundry work until . . special skills and interests--cooking. . community and religious activities--member of palestine baptist church. . description of informant--medium height, plump, light complexion and gray hair. . other points gained in interview--injured in auto wreck seven years ago. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: roberta shaver, west memphis, arkansas age: "i was born close to natchez, mississippi. grandma was sold at wickerson county, mississippi. they took her in a wagon to jackson, tennessee. she was mother of two children. they took them. she was part indian. she was a farm woman. her name was dicy jackson. they sold her away from the jacksons to dobbins. she was a house woman in jackson, tennessee. she said they was good to her in tennessee. grandma never was hit a lick in slavery. grandpa was whooped a time or two. he run off to the woods for weeks and come back starved. he tended to the stock and drove master clayton around. he was carriage driver when they wanted to go places. "after freedom grandma set out to get back to grandpa. walked and rode too i reckon. she brought her children back. after a absence of five years she and grandpa went back together. they met at natchez, mississippi. mama was born after freedom. "the way grandma said she was sold was, a strange man come there one day and the master had certain ones he would sell stand in a line and this strange man picked out the ones he wanted and had them get their belongings and put them in the wagon and took them on off. she never seen grandpa for five years." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mary shaw palm street, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: laundry work "i was born in bolivar county, mississippi. my mother didn't know how old i was but after freedom i went by miss ann blanchet's--that was my mother's old missis--and she said i was born in . "but i don't know nothin' 'bout slavery or the war. i was born and bred in the desert and my mother said it was a long time after freedom 'fore she knowed anything about it. she said there was just lots of the folks said, to their knowin', they had been free three years 'fore they knowed anything about it. "my husband brought me to arkansas when i was and i been workin' in the same family, captain jeter's family, ever since-forty odd years. "i always have worked hard. i've had the flu only reason i'm sittin' here now. if i had to sit and hold my hands very long, they'd have to take me to little rock. "i been married twice. my last husband was sam shaw. he was a great whiskey man and when whiskey went out, he went to bootleggin' and they got behind him and he left. "he wrote me once and said if i'd borrow some money on my home and send it to him, he'd come back. i wrote and told him just like i'm tellin' you that after i had worked night and day to pay for this house while he was off tellin' some other woman lies just like he told me, i wasn't goin' to send him money. so i ain't seen him since. "i ain't never been to school much. when schools got numerous in mississippi they had me behind a plow handle. "mrs. jeter made me mad once and i quit. my first husband was a porter on the railroad and i got on the train and went to memphis with him. "one time he come back from a trip to pine bluff and handed me a little package. i opened it and it was a note from mrs. jeter and a piece of corn bread. she said, 'now, mary, you see what i've had to eat. i want you to come back.' so i went back and stayed 'til she died. and now i'm workin' for her daughter, mrs. mcewen. mrs. jeter used to say, 'mary, i know you're not a arkansas woman 'cause you ain't got a lazy bone in your body.'" interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: violet shaw, west memphis, arkansas age: "i heard grandma katie williams say she was put up on a high stump and auctioned off. she told how great-grandma cried and cried and never seen her no more. grandma come from oakland, tennessee to mississippi. grandma took the two young children and left the other two with great-grandma. they took her from her husband. she never seen none of them again. "after freedom she didn't know how to find them. she never could get trace of them. she tried. she never married no more. i was born at clarksdale, mississippi. i have seen tom pernell (white), the young master, come and spend the night with henry pernell. henry had once been tom's father's slave and carriage driver. i was too small to know the cause but i remember that several times mighty well. they fixed him up a clean bed by hisself. henry lived in town. but he might have been drunk. i never seen no misbehavior out of him. it was strange to me to see that. "freedom--aunt mariah jackson was freed at dublin, mississippi. she said she was out in the field working. a great big white man come, jumped up on a log and shouted, 'freedom! freedom!' they let the log they was toting down; six, three on a side, had holt of a hand stick toting a long heavy log. they was clearing up new ground. he told them they was free. they went to the house. they cooked and et and thanked god. some got down and prayed, some sung. they had a time that day. they got the banjo and fiddle and set out playing. some got in the big road just walking. she said they had a time that day." texarkana district folklore subjects name of interviewer: cecil copeland subject: ex-slave this information given by: frederick shelton place of residence: dump section, texarkana, arkansas occupation: none age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] in an humble cabin on the outskirts of the city lives a venerable old negro ex-slave. although bent with rheumatism and age, he still retains his mental faculties to a remarkable degree. an inquiry as to his health elicited the following reply: "i'se a willful mind but a weak body. just like an old tree--de limbs are withered and almost dead. i'se been here a long tins, ovah years, and am ready to go any time de good lawd says de word. dat's de trouble wid de people nowadays--dey ain't prepared. back when i wuz a young man, dey wuzn 't so much meaness, and such goings on as dey are nowadays. de young-peple know as much as de old folks. yas, suh, de worl' am goin' to de dogs." asked about life in pioneer days, the old negro replied; "we had lots ob good times in dem days. log rollings wuz lots ob fun to me as i wuz strong den, an' i could "show off" befo' de odder niggers. dey wuzn't much rollin' to it, mostly carrying. i mind de time when i lifted de end ob a log, an' four men tried at different times to lift de odder, but dey couldn't do it. three of dese men went to an early grave from trying to lift dis log--all tore up inside. maybe dat's whut ails me. "you had to be careful den, when traveling through de woods, or de varmints would git you, especially at night. i mind de time when a negro wuz comin' through de woods one nite, when he seed a panther about to spring on him. "dis nigger dropped in his tracks lack he wuz dead. de panther came up to him and smelled ob him, but de nigger held his breath, and de panther thought he wuz dead. de panther covered him wid leaves an' went about one hundred yards into de woods to call his friends to de feast. no sooner had he left when de nigger jumped up and climbed a tree, first rutting an old chunk of wood in de place where he wuz buried. de nigger could hear de panther out in de woods as he called for his friends, and pretty soon, here dey come, about five of 'em. slowly circling aroun' de place where de nigger had been, all of a sudden dey all jumped. findin' nothin' but de old chunk of wood, dem panthers got real mad. wid angry growls, dey jumped on de one whut had called dem, and ate him up." this old negro reserves all of the heroic roles for others. asked if he had had any experience with the "varmints", as he termed them he said: "yas, suh. de worst scared i ever got wuz frum a wolf. walkin' down a trail one day, i spied a wolf not more than ten feet away. man, i wuz so scared dat i seemed to freeze in my tracks, and couldn't move. i tried to holler but all i could do wuz croak. den i tried to whistle but de only sound i could make wuz a hiss. after standing for whut seemed hours, wid his ears sticking straight up, de wolf finally turned around and trotted away." the conversation drifted to other topics, and finally to ghosts and spirits. the old negro said he had never seen a ghost, and didn't believe in those things. no sooner had he said this when his wife, who had been listening in on the conversation from the inside of the door exclaimed: "i does! seein' is believin' aint it? well suh, about two years ago de negro dat lived next door died. a few weeks after he died i wuz settin' out on de porch when i see dis negro come out of de house, and walk slowly to de corner of mah yard where he vanished into de air. a few nights later de same thing happened again. no suh, dat nigger didn't go to heaven and he didn't go to hell. he's still around heah. he wuz a wicked negro and wuz scared to go." circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] . name and address of informant--laura shelton, pulaski street, little rock, arkansas. . date and time of interview interview-- . place of interview-- pulaski street, little rock, arkansas. . name and address of person, if any who put you in touch with informant-- . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you-- description of room, house, surroundings, etc.-- personal history of informant . ancestry--mother, susan barnett; father, ben bearden; grandfather, harvey barnett. . place and date of birth--arkansas, . family--three children. . education, with dates-- . places lived in with dates--jerome, arkansas and little rock. no dates. . occupations and accomplishments, with dates--farmed, wash and iron. . special skills and interests-- . community and religious activities--belongs to baptist church. . description of informant-- . other points gained in interview-- text of interview (unedited) "my mother used to sit down and talk to us and tell us about slavery. if she had died when i was young i wouldn't have known much. but by her living till i was old, i learned a lot. "my mother's old master was tom barnett, so she said. no, not 'so she said' because i have seed him. he give her her age and all at that time. i have it in my bible. he said that she was twelve years old the christmas before the surrender. the surrender was in may, wasn't it? "my mother's name was susan bearden. she married ben bearden. she worked in tom barnett's house. she milked and churned and 'tended to the children and all such as that. he never allowed her to go to the field. neither her mother, my grandmother. she was the cook. my mother's name before she married was susan barnett. "an old colored lady that they had there seed after the colored children. she looked after my mother too. she was so old she couldn't do nothin' so they had her to look after the children. my grandmother was kept busy because she had the white folks to cook for and she had all the colored folks to cook for too. "there is an old lady down on spring street that can give you a lot of information about slavery times. "a boy was telling her that somebody was going 'round asking questions about slavery and she said she wished he would come and see her. "my mother never had any chance to go to school before freedom and she never had any chance to go afterwards because she didn't have any money. when they turned them loose the white folks didn't give 'em anything, so they had to work. they didn't allow them to pick up a piece of paper in slave time for fear they would learn. "my mother remembered the pateroles. she said they used to catch and whip the colored men and women when they would get out. "my mother's old master was the one that told mama she was free. he told her she was free as he was. after they learned that they were free, they stayed on till christmas. "after christmas, they went to another plantation. my gran'pa, he come and got them all to come. my gran'pa's name was harvey barnett. his old master's son had married and he had been staying with him. that made him be on another place. there was a good many of the children in my grandmother's family. mama had a sister named lucy, one named lethe, one named caroline, one named annie, and one named jane. she had two boys--one named jack, and one named barnett. she had another sister named--i don't remember her name. "after freedom, we sharecropped for a number of years up until my father died. he died about twenty-four years ago. "after that mama washed and ironed for about ten or twelve years. then she got too old to work and we took care of her. my mother died last march on the ninth day. she always had good health for an old lady. never got so she couldn't get up and do her light work such as dress herself, cooking, sweeping, and so on. she would even do her own washing and ironing if we would let her. she would hide from us and pick cotton till we stopped her. "she was sick only one week and the doctor said she died of old age. he said it was just her time. she didn't have nothin' the matter with her but jus' old age he said so far as he could find. dr. fletcher was our doctor. she died in jerome, arkansas about sixteen miles from the louisiana line. leastwise, they tell me it's about sixteen miles from the line. she always told us that she had her business fixed with the lord and that when she taken sick, it wouldn't be long. and sure 'nough, it wasn't. "i farmed until my mother and brother died. then i came up here with my sister as i had no children living. i jus' wash and iron now whenever i can get somethin' to do. "i have been married once. i had three children. all of them are dead. my children are dead and my husband is dead. "i belong to the baptist church down on spring street. i always unite with the church whenever i go to a place. i don't care whether i stay there or not. "my mama's master was good as far as white folks generally be in slavery times. he never whipped my grandmother nor my mother. he was good to the field hands too. he never whipped them. he would feed them too. he had right smart of field hands but i don't know just how many. i don't think he ever sold any of his slaves. i think he come by them from his father because i have heard them say that his father told him before he died never to 'part with black mammy. that was what he called her. and he kept them altogether jus' like his father told him to. his father said, 'i you to keep all my negroes together and black mammy i don't want you let her be whipped because she nursed all of you.' she said she never was whipped 'cept once when she got a cockle berry up her nose and he got it out and gave her a little brushing--not as much as grandma would have given her. "he kept them all in good shoes and warm clothes and give them plenty to eat. so many of the slaves on other plantations didn't have half enough to eat and were half naked and barefooted all the time." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mahalia shores, marianna, arkansas age: "i was born in greene county, georgia. my owner was jim jackson. he bought my mother's father. she was raised on jim jackson's place. i rec'collect a right smart about slavery times. he made us dress up and let the nigger traders see what little niggers i got. we thought it was nice. what fine limbs we had. aunt judy--some called her 'big mamma'--lived down under the hill. she was old and seen after the children. the biggest children took care and nursed the little ones. on wednesday and saturday the cook made ginger cakes for the little children. the house girl called us. she was aunt teena's girl. aunt teena was a housemaid. see little niggers coming from every direction to get our cakes. "jim jackson's wife was named mariah. they lived in a big fine white house. when it was freedom a soldier come, brought a paper and massa jim was settin' on the porch. tom chapman was his overseer. they rung the big farm bell and had the oldest niggers stand in a line and us little ones in front so we could all see. tom chapman read the paper and stood by the soldier. he had two big plantations. massa jim got sick that day and vomited and vomited. he lived a week or two weeks. they sent for dr. ducham but he couldn't do him no good. he died. massa jim told them they could take the teams and go to town, all he ax of 'em was to feed and take care of 'em. every one of the grown folks went and left us at home. aunt judy seen 'bout us like she been doing all the time. they went over to greensboro to celebrate. they all come back. they was all ready fer their breakfastes. it was twelve miles from greensboro. then the next day massa jim or tom chapman, one called the grown folks to the house and told them, 'you can stay and i will pay you or you can go. i pay no more doctor bills. i don't feed you no more nor give you no more clothes.' some moved and some hired to him. some went to his father-in-law's place and some to his brothers' place and around. his wife was rich. she was dave butler's gal. no, i mean massa jim's wife--miss mariah. that big place was what her pa give her. massa jim had five hundred little niggers on that place and lots more on the big plantation. he had about two thousand little niggers. we went in droves is right. "i never went to a table in slavery time. we had our plates and cup and took it to the pot and they put some victuals in 'em, then we went and et where we pleased. we had all the meat we could eat and all the milk we could drink all the time. aunt teena sewed and grandma would weave cloth. they made white aprons. my hair was nice and old mistress would tell aunt judy to curl my hair. they rolled it up on cloth and on little light cobs. if they wet it, it would stay curled. "massa jim sold his niggers when he wanted to. he sold my grandpa and uncle steve. grandma wanted him to sell her and he wouldn't do it. i don't know what become of grandpa. after freedom uncle steve come back to us all. grandpa was crying. he come to our house and said he had to go. we never seen him no more. "some of the slaves wouldn't be whooped by tom chapman. i heard them say since i got grown he 'tacked 'em. it caused trouble. he couldn't whoop 'em then. old master whooped some of 'em. some would say, 'i take ten licks offen you and that is all.' then he would sell them the first chance. they would go to the woods if he beat them too much. he didn't abuse his niggers. he said his niggers was his property. aunt sarah tended to the cows and aunt clarisa raised geese, turkeys, chickens, ducks, and churned. "the ku klux come to our house, called uncle billy--that was my papa. they got him up out of bed. one man said, 'i ain't had no water since the battle of shiloah.' he had pa draw water till daybreaking. he had a horn he poured the water in. we was all scared half to death. next morning there was a branch from the well done run off. something took place about a well. uncle neel anderson and uncle cush dug wells for their living. they come after them. aunt mandy had a baby. they pitied her and uncle neel got so scared he run upstairs in his shirt tail and stuck his head in the cotton. they found him that way. uncle cush said, 'come on, neel, and go with me.' they whooped uncle cush in his shirt tail. if you didn't open the door they would break it in. "i worked in the field in georgia and arkansas both. i cooked since i was twelve years old. i married when i was twenty years old. i cooked here in marianna eighteen years and i have cooked three sunday dinners on saturday and sunday together. i would make three dollars when i done that. i had five children and i raised one boy. i washed and ironed. i get some help from the welfare but i saved and my good old man saved so we would have plenty when we got old. folks burnt up two of my houses. i got three more not fitten to live in till they are covered. i got good property in stuttgart but couldn't pay the tax on it and 'bout to loose it. i tried to get a loan and never could. we niggers have a hard time." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: rosa simmons west th street, pine bluff, arkansas age: ? "yes mam, i was here during that civil war. i was fifteen years old then. i was born in tennessee. "my boss man carried all the best hands to texas and carried the scrub hands across cypress creek here in arkansas, and that's where i come. i was fifteen when the yankees come in on my boss man's place, so you know now i ain't no baby. i thank god that he left me here to get old. "before the war. i nussed two babies--my mistress' baby and her sister's baby. yes'm we had a good master and mistress. we didn't suffer for nothin' and we didn't have no overseer over us. colonel maples was my master. no'm he wasn't no soldier--that was the name his mother give him. "when my folks first come to arkansas we lived in a cabin that just had a balin' sack hangin' in the door and one night a bear come in and my brother and i broke a board off the side and fell right out in the cane. we all hollered so some folks come down and shot the bear. i ain't never seed a bear before and i didn't know what it was. "i 'member when the yankees come to my boss man's place. they wanted to shake hands but he was scared to death and wouldn't do it. another time the yankees captured him and kept him three months. they took his horse and he finally come home on a mule that didn't have but three legs. i guess the yankees give him the mule. he turned the old mule loose and said he never wanted to see another yankee. if he saw any kind of a white man comin' down the road he run in the house and hid between the feather bed and the mattress. "one time the yankees come and drunk the sweet milk and took all the butter, turkeys and hogs and then broke the powder horn against the maple tree. "the cook say 'i'm gwine tell marse joe you drink all this milk.' the yankees say, 'let the damn fool alone--here we are tryin' to free her and she ain't got no sense.' they said there wouldn't be any more hard times after the war. "but i sure have seen some hard times. i have washed and cooked and done 'bout everything. "when i get up in the morning i got the limburger (lumbago) in my back so i ain't able to do much. sometimes i have something to eat and sometimes i don't." mrs. carol graham mrs. mildred thompson el dorado district fannie sims. customs. "how ole is ah? ise about . yes'm ah wuz live durin de wah. mah ole moster wuz mistuh jake dumas we lived near de ouachita rivuh bout five miles fum el dorado landin. ah membush dat we washed at de spring way, way fum de house. what dat yo say? does ah know ca'line. ca'line, lawsy, me yes. ca'line washington we use tuh call huh, she wuz one uv mr. dumas niggers. we washed fuh de soldiers. had tuh carry day clo'es tuh dem aftuh dark. me an ca'line had tuh carry dem. we had tuh hide de horse tuh keep de soldiers fum gittin him. when we would take de horse tuh de plum orchard we would stay dah all day to dark wid "blackie". dat wuz de horse's name. mah job mostly wuz tuh watch de chillun an feed mah mistress chickens. "ah kin recollect when dey took us an started tuh texas an got as fur as el dorado and found out dat us niggers wuz free. we went back an grandma's mistress's son took us home wid him fuh stretches and stretches. we lived on de ole camden road. "in mah days ah've done plenty uv work but ah don' do nothing now but piece quilts. dat's whut ah've been doing fuh mah white fokes since ah been heah. ah jes finished piecing and quiltin two uv em. de glove[tr:?] and de begger. mah husban' been dead years dis pas' august. no, ah counts is by dose twins ah raised. one uv em lives in dis heah place right heah. ah aint much count now. sometime mah laig gets so big ah jes had tuh sloop mah foot erlong." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: jerry sims (indian and negro) brinkley, arkansas age: born "i was born in close to natchez, mississippi. chief sims was my grandpa. he was indian, full blood. his wife was a choctaw indian. grandpa was a small red indian. they kept my pa hid out with stock nearly all time of the civil war. both my mas' parents was nearly all indian too but they was mixed. i'm more indian than anything else. i heard pa talk about staying in the cane brakes. mighty few cane brakes to be found now. i come with my grandpa and grandma to arkansas when i was five years old. "my ma belong to quill and sely whitaker. i et and slept with hattie and bud and rob whitaker. quill whitaker was a union surgeon in the civil war. "i don't think any of my folks was ever sold. they was of a porer class and had to have a living and sorter become slaves for a living. i never heard ma say how she got in bondage. pa stayed with john rob bout like a slave. "i am a farmer. i am not on the pwa. times for me is hard. you see some has so much and others hardly can live atall. "it is not for me to say about the young generation. i have mighty little to do with any of them. "i have voted but not lately. i never did understand voting." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: victoria sims, helena, arkansas age: "i was born in limestone county, alabama. it was on a river. where i was born they called it elks mouth. our owners was frank martin and liza martin. they raised papa. their daughter aired (heired) him. her name was miss (mrs.) betty hansey. papa's name was ed martin. i stood on a stool and churned for papa's young mistress. the churn was tall as i was. i loved milk so good and they had plenty of it--all kinds. soon as ever i get through, they take up the butter. i'd set 'round till they got it worked up so i could get a piece of bread and fresh butter and a big cup of that fresh milk. they always fixed it for me. "mama was minthy martin. she cooked on another place. she was a nurse. her papa belong to one person and her mother to somebody else. mama was minthy bridgeforth but i don't have her owner's name. i guess she was sold. i heard her say the bridgeforth's was good to her. some white man whooped on her once. i never heard her say much about it. papa's owners was good to him. they was crazy about him. i knowed papa's owners the best and i lived there heap the most. i was born a slave but i don't know who i belong to. i've studied that over myself. i used to go back to see papa's owners. they owned lots of slaves and lots of land. papa done a lot of different things. he fed and farmed and cleaned off the yards and slopped the pigs. he done what they said do, well as i can recollect. i wasn't with mama till after freedom. mama said her white folks was treated mighty mean during the war. once the soldiers come and mama was so scared she took the baby and run got in the cellar. they throwed out everything they had to eat. they took off barrels of things to eat and left them on starvation. one soldier come one time and wanted mama to go to the camps. she was scared not to go, scared he'd shoot her down. she told him she'd go the next day soon as she could get up her things and tell her folks she had gone. he agreed to that. soon as he left she and some other young women on the place put out to the cane brakes and caves. she said they nearly starved. the white folks sent them baskets of victuals several times. mama said she had some pretty beads she wore. somebody had made her a present of them. she loved 'em. i think she said they was red. mama's mistress told her to hide her beads, the soldiers would take them. she hid them up in the loft of their house on a nail. one day a gang come scouting and they rummaged the whole house and place. when the soldiers left she thought about her beads and went to see and they was gone. she cried and cried about them. that was before she went to the canebrakes. "when freedom come on, the owners told them they was free. they didn't leave and then they made a way for them to stay on. they stayed on. "i was grown when we come to this state but we lived in tennessee a few years. mama had had nine children by that time. all was dead, but us two girls and my brother. we come to arkansas with our parents. we heard the land was new and rich. i wasn't married then. "i've worked hard in the field all my life till last year or so. i still do work. "times is tough here i tell you. i get a little help, six dollars. "some of the young folks won't work, some not able to work. if anybody saving a thing i don't hear about it." interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: virginia sims n. magnolia pine bluff, ark. age: occupation: retired midwife "i was born in . i was twenty when peace was declared. i was born in virginia. yes ma'am, but i was sold, put up on a stump just like you sell hogs to the highest speculator. i was sold with my mother from a man named joe poindexter and bought by tom murphy and brought to arkansas. my god, every murphy round here knows me. yes'm, my mother and me was sold. papa wasn't sold, but he come here the second year after surrender. "i was old enough to spin twelve cuts a day--had it to do. and i could weave cloth just like they do now. "had seven brothers and i'm the onliest girl. "i can recollect when miss mary poindexter died. they said i was two. "my mistis in arkansas was mrs. susan murphy. that was out on the plantation, we didn't live in no city--my god, no! "the way my people acts now, they looks foolish. i never heard a person curse till i come up here. i was a grown young lady nineteen years old when our master lowed us to get out and cote. you better not. the first husband i married i was nineteen goin' on twenty. my husband fought on the southern side. his master sent him as a substitute. "my master put good clothes on me, i'd say. 'master. i wants a dress like so and so, and i wants a pair of shoes.' yes ma'am, and he got em for me. i was forty-three and married to a nigger fore i knowed what twas to cry for underwear. "i member they was a white man called dunk hill and he said, 'virginia, who freed the niggers?' i said, 'god freed the niggers.' he said, 'now, virginia, you goin' be just as free as i am some day!' "general shelby's troops was comin' on this side the ribber. that's one time i was scared. never seed so many men in my life. they wanted something to eat. mama cooked all night. they was nine hundred and somethin'. i toted canteens all night long. "i member when they had that marks mill battle. my husband was there and he sent word for me to come cause he had the measles and they had went in on him. i had to put on boots and wade mud. young folks now ain't got no sense. i see so many folks now with such dull understanding. marks mill was the onliest part of the war i was in. "general shelby and captain blank, they whetted their swords together when peace was declared. captain said, 'general, i'm not crazy and neither am i a coward. i looked up and seem like a man was comin' out the clouds, and so i'm goin' to surrender.' "them cavalry men--they'd say, 'ride!' and how they'd go. "i seen em when they was enlistin'. said they was goin' to whip the yankees and be back for breakfast in the morning. "marse ben was goin' and miss susan say, 'virginia, if you think he ain't goin' come back you ought to kiss him goodbye.' i said, 'i ain't goin' to kiss no white man.' "miss fanny went up the ladder and sot rite on the roof and watched the soldiers goin' by. yes'm. old master whipped me with a little peach stick cause i let frankie--we called her frankie--go up the ladder. i said i couldn't stop her cause she said if i told her papa, she and becky goin' to whip me. he whipped miss fanny. old miss come in and say, 'ain't you goin' whip this nigger?' she was mean as the devil. oh, god, yes. she so mean she didn't know what to do. but old master kep her down. you know some of these redheaded women, they just as devilish as they can be. we had some neighbors, mrs. davis and mrs. daniels and old miss would be out there on the lawn quarrelin' till it was just like a fog. us niggers would be out there listenin'. "but i was always treated good. you know if i had been beat over the head i couldn't recollect things now. my head ain't been cracked up. nother thing. i always been easy controlled. "i never went to school a day. after we was freed we stayed right on the murphy place. they paid us and we worked on the shares. that's the reason i say i done better when i was a slave." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: senya singfield w. second avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in washington, virginia right at the foot of the blue ridge mountains. my mother was sold when i was a babe in her arms. she was sold three times. i know one time when she had four children she was sold and one of my brothers was sold away unbeknownst to her. her old master sold her away from her mistress. she was a cook and never was mistreated. "i ain't never been to school. when i got big enough, my mother was a widow and i had to start out and make a living. i've always been a cook. used to keep a boarding house, up until late years. i've washed and ironed, sewed a right smart and quilted quilts. i've done anything i could to turn an honest living. oh i've been through it but i'm still here. i've been a widow over forty years. "i think the folks nowdays are about run out. they are goin' too fast. when i was comin' up, i had to have some manners. my mother didn't low me to 'spute nobody." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: peggy sloan howard street, little rock, arkansas age: about , or more occupation: farming "i was born in arkansas in tulip, in dallas county i think it is, isn't it? "charlotte evans was mother's name and my father's name was lige evans. gran'daddy david was my mother's father, and cheyney was my mother's mother. "mr. johnnie sumner was the name of my young master, and the old man was mr. judge sumner. the old people are all dead now. mr. judge sumner was johnnie sumner's father. me and mr. johnnie suckled together. mr. johnnie came to fordyce they say looking for the old slaves. i didn't know about it then. i never would know him now. that is been so long ago. i sure would like to see 'im. "my mother ain't told me much about herself in slave times. she was a nurse. she lived in a log cabin. you know they had cabins for all of them. the colored lived in log houses. the white people had good houses. them houses was warmer than these what they got now. "my grandma could cut a man's frock-tail coat. these young people don't know nothin' 'bout that. grandma was a milliner. she could make anything you used a needle to make. "lige evans was the name my father took after the surrender. he wasn't named that before the surrender--in the olden times. my mother had fifteen children. she was the largest woman you ever seen. she weighed four hundred pound. she was young master johnnie's nurse. mr. johnnie said he wanted to come and see me. i heard he lives way on the other side of argenta somewheres. "i was my mama's seventh girl, and i got a seventh girl living. i had fifteen children. my mother's children were all born before the surrender. "mr. judge sumner and his son were both good men. they never whipped their slaves. "they didn't feed like they do now. i et corn bread then, and i eat it now. some people say they don't. they would give them biscuits on sundays. they had a cook to cook for the hands. she got all their meals for them. "they had a woman to look after the little colored children, and they had one to look after the white children. my mother was a nurse for the white children. my mother didn't have nothing to do with the colored children. "i didn't never have no trouble with the pateroles. sometimes they would come down the lane running the horses. when i would hear them, i would run and git under the bed. i was the scaredest soul you ever seen. i think that's about all i can remember. "i was the mother of fifteen children. i had one set of twins, a boy and a girl. the doctor told me you never raise a boy and a girl twin. my boy is dead. all of my children are dead but two. "i was raised on the farm. i want a few acres of ground now so bad. "i never was married but once. my husband's name was david sloan. i don't know exactly how long he and me were married. it was way over twenty years. my license got burnt up. "you know i couldn't be nothin' but a christian." interviewer's comment peggy sloan's memory is going. she is not certain of the number of children her mother had although she knows there were more than seven because she was the seventh. she remembers nothing about her age, but she knows definitely that all of her mother's children were born before the war--that is before the end of the war. since the war ended seventy-three years ago and she was the seventh child with possibly seven behind her, i feel that she could not be younger than eighty. she remembers definitely running at the approach of men she calls pateroles during "slavery time." her mind may be fading, but it is a long way from gone. she questioned me closely about my reason for getting statements from her. she had to be definitely satisfied before the story could be gotten. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: arzella smallwood hazen r.f.d., green grove, arkansas age: doesn't know exact age "i was born about eight miles from williston, south carolina. after freedom my mother married lee ballinger and she had six children. he died when i was real small. my mother was named hester mccrary. old master mccrary bought grandma and my mother in virginia. one sister my mother never did run across after freedom. she was older and sold to other people. i think at freedom my mother left and i think grandma did too. my grandpa was half indian, but i never did see him to remember what he looked like. our young master is a doctor. he waited on my mother before she died. grandma was blind and she lived with us. our young master may still be living. old mistress was named sylvania and she sent for my mother to come wait on her when she got sick to die. i think they had pretty fair treatment there. my mother was to be a house girl and cook. i think grandma was a cook and field woman both. "i heard them say the white folks took them to church to learn to pray, then they didn't allow them to pray for freedom. but i don't think they wanted freedom. after they was set free they died up so scand'lous. grandma said they had to work harder. my mother brought a good price because she was real light color and sharp to learn. she had six children and we was all darker than she was a whole lots. she and grandma was both good on giving advice. seem like they could see how things would turn out every time. "i married a man with a roving nature. we come here. he left me, come back for me to look after before he died. i married again. i left him. he told me how i could do five washings a week and take care of us both. i didn't aim to do it. i mighter got some washings but i didn't aim to keep him. "i get a little commodities along to help out. i'm picking berries now twenty-five cents a gallon for the first picking. fifteen and twenty cents is the regular prices. "i haven't got children and i don't know what they ought to do. i reckon they do the best they can. "times is hard on me. it takes me all the time to make a living." pine bluff district folklore subjects name of interviewer: martin & barker subject: negro customs this information given by: sarah smiley (colored) place of residence: humphrey, arkansas age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] i was born the th of may, . my home was in charleston, s.c. i was not a slave, but my parents were. my mother was a seamstress and my father, edward barnewill, was butler for their white folks. i looks the door at sundown, and me and god are all by ourselves, and i am not afraid. i came to sherrill when i was a schoolgirl, and married when i was . lived here after i was married. taught school before i was married. had seven children by my first husband. my three husbands were ike williams, eli treadvan, and calvin smiley. when asked about her books standing on her shelves--namely golden gems, arithmetic, and the bible, also a blue back speller--said she just loved her books. young folks of today don't love like they did in the olden days. now it is hot love, minute love, free love. when my first child was born, i begged the midwife not to cut me open to get the baby out. the midwife told me the same place it went in the same place it will come out. when my breasts began to grow (adolescence) i didn't want those bumps on me, and tied them down with wide rags. cures--i uses gasoline and cedar, soak it and rub on affected places for rheumatism. i believe that you must not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing. heaven is a place of rest. if we are faithful to god, you can ride death home. hell is below--also here on earth. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: andrew smith r.f.d., forrest city, arkansas age: "i was born after the surrender at oxford, mississippi. we belong to master jim smith. mother cooked and father worked in the field. he was on a average being good. they didn't trouble my mother as i recollect hearing 'em say but they whooped them in the field. pattyrollers chased papa in sometimes. i heard him talk about it but i couldn't tell what he said now. mama had two before freedom, then she married and had three children. he died. she married the second time and had two more children. that made seben in all. "she said her first marriage was pronounced (announced). my mother said their master refugeed them to texas till the year of the surrender. they didn't know nothing 'bout freedom till a while after they got back from texas. they stayed on that year and longer too not knowing 'bout freedom. my rickerliction is short. "frank houston was a neighbor of our'n. he lived on my folks' joining plantation close to houston, mississippi during slavery. during or before the war come on he put his money in a barrel--hogshead. they said it was gold and silver. i don't know. it might some been paper. he rolled the barrel down to the river. it was the tallahassee (?) river eighteen miles northeast of oxford, mississippi. he hid his barrel of money in the river. they hunted and hunted it and never could find it. it might sunk in the mud and quick sand. somebody might er hauled it out and stole it. the whole neighborhood hope him hunt it. they never did find it. i seen the old man and jim smith heaps of times. "i voted in mississippi. i couldn't read. they had a big fight in the country at midway church where we all voted. it was out a ways from oxford, mississippi. i never voted in arkansas. i pay poll tax. never 'lowed to vote. "i never went to school a day in my life. "i come to forrest city fifty-four years ago. married here. never had a child. now my wife dead. i farmed all my life. i bought a farm but they never let me have it. i never got it all paid out. they took it. "i get welfare help. i does some work. i'm nearly past hard work now." circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--carol n. graham address--rear west main street, el dorado, arkansas date--november , subject--ex-slaves [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] . name and address of informant--caroline smith, route , el dorado. (lives with negroes by name of green about mile from smith's crossing) . date and time of interview--november , , tuesday morning, : - : . place of interview--at the home of some negroes named green. . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant--had previously talked with caroline. . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you--mrs. ethel depriest, east miles street, el dorado. . description of room, house, surroundings, etc.--a typical negro farm house. personal history of informant . ancestry-- . place and date of birth--camden, arkansas? no date. . family--one child. . places lived in, with dates--camden and el dorado. no dates. . education, with dates-- . occupations and accomplishments, with dates--none . special skills and interests-- . community and religious activities-- . description of informant-- . other points gained in interview--this slave old enough to remember civil war. text of interview (unedited) "i first remembers living on the plantation of mr. jake dumas near el dorado landing. you know it's calion now. we lived up towards camden and it was there that my ma and pa was married and buried. i was a big girl durin' the war. my job was to card and spin. and i use to carry the children to school. when i would get to the school i would put the children off, git straddle and ride that horse home. when i would get there old mos would say ca'line did you run him? i'd say naw sir. then he'd say, 'oh, carryline put the horse in the lot and come out here. i'd say, 'master i didn't run that horse' but didn't do no good. he sure would whip me. i'd get down and roll. i would stomp and he would do the same. i wondered how he could tell i'd run that horse. but course he could cause that horse had the thumps (heart beating rapidly). "i remember seeing the soldiers come through during the war. they come by droves stealing horses, setting the cotton on fire and taking sumpin to eat, too. "yes, i does still member the songs we sung durin' the war but i've got the asthmy and ain't got much wind fur singin'. "you want to know the reason, you want to know the reason, you want to know the reason, i'll tell you why, we'll whip them yankees, whole hog or die." "hooray, hooray, hooray for the southern girl. hooray for the homespun dress the southern ladies wear. my homespun dress is plain i know, i glory in its name; hooray for the homespun dress the southern ladies wear." "i've got the asthmy honey and jest caint sing no more. "you asked 'bout my husband and chillun. i been married fo' times. my first man's name was dick hagler, the next frank bibby, the next henry harris and the last one was tom smith. that's where i get my name ca'line smith. i never did have but one daughter but she had sixteen chillun. she's daid now and mah granchillun is scattered. "i got the asthmy an jes don' feel like talkin' no more. long time ago when i was sick master always had a doctor to me now i have to hire one. and they always fed me good and clothed me but after i was free i would go round and work around to git a little sumpin to eat." interviewer: thomas elmore lucy person interviewed: caroline smith, russellville, arkansas age: "ca'line smith's my name and dey calls me 'aunt ca'line.' i was born about de year as i was about dis high (measuring) when de war broke out. i remembers de boys marching away in their grey uniforms just as plain. we chillen would watch dem as dey went away; we could see em as we peeped through de winders and de cracks in de walls. "i was born in mississippi close to columbus on de plantation of my master, john duncan. and he was a purty strict old master, sure, but sometimes he was kind to us. when we was set free he let us all go wherever we wanted to, but didn't pay us nothin'. "all de slaves that i remembers stayed on around in different parts of mississippi after de war and engaged in farmin', and workin' on roads and streets, and other public work. about forty years ago i come to pope county, arkansas wid my parents and has lived here ever' since. "i don't remember nothin' about de klu klux klan or if our folks was ever bothered wid em. "yes suh, i keeps workin' every day and likes to keep up my sewin'. plenty of it to do all de time--jest like i'm doin' today. my health is purty good ceptin' i has a sort of misery in my side. "i draws a pension of $ . a month, but i dunno who sends it. "i belongs to de adventist church, and i sure believes in always tellin' de trufe and nofin' but de trufe; we better tell de trufe here, for some of dese days we all gwine where nofin' but de trufe will be accepted. "no suh, i ain't never took any interest in politics and ain't never voted. "dese young'uns today is simply too much for me; i can't understand em, and i dunno which way dey headed. some few of em seems to have sound common sense, but--well, i just refuse to talk about em." interviewer: pernella anderson person interviewed: edmond smith d avenue el dorado, ark. age: ? "i was born in arcadia, louisiana a long, long time ago. now my work when i was a child was farmin'. i did not stay a child long, i been grown ever since i was fourteen. my father lived till i was eleven, and i thought since i was the oldest boy i could take his place of bossin', but my mother would take me down a button hole lower whenever i got too high. "before my papa died we had a good livin'. we lived with his mistress's daughter, and we thought we lived in heaven. my papa made all of the shoes and raised all of the cattle from which he got the hide. we raised all the wool to make our wool clothes and made all of the clothes we wore. and food--we did not know what it was to go to a store to buy. didn't have to do that. you see, people now living out of paper sacks. every time they get ready to cook it's go to the store. we old timers lived out of our smokehouse. "in there we had dried beef, cured pork, sugar from syrup, sweet potatoes, onions, irish potatoes, plenty of dried fruit and canned fruit, peanuts, hickory nuts, walnuts; eggs in the henhouse and chickens on the yard, cows in the pen and milk and butter in the house. "my mama even made our plow lines. she had a spinning wheel and you know how to spin?--you can make ropes for plow lines too. just twist the cotton and have it about six inches long and put it in the loom and let it go around and around. you keep puttin' the twisted cotton in the loom and step on the peddle and no sooner than done, that was worked in a rope. now, if you don't know what i am talking about it is useless for me to tell you. "after papa died that left no one to work but mama and i tell you time brought about a change. a house full of little children--we lived from hand to mouth. not enough corn to feed one mule. no syrup, no hogs, no cows. oh! we had a hard time. i remember hearing my mama many a night ask god to help her through the struggle with her children. the more my mama prayed the harder times got with her. wasn't no churches around so she had to sing and pray at home. the first sunday school i remember going to was in . i went to school and got as high as fifth grade, then i ran away from my mama. "just becaise i let old bad man overpower me i got grown and mannish. couldn't nobody tell me a thing. i would steal, i would fight, i would lie. i remember in i went to church--that was about the fourth time i had been to church. the preacher began preachin' and i went outdoors and cut the harness off of his mule and broke one of his buggy wheels. i went down in the woods and cut a cow just for meanness. i stole a gun, and i would shoot anytime and anywhere, and nobody bothered me because they was scared to. i stole chickens, turkeys and anything. "i got in trouble more times than a little, so the last time i got in trouble some white people got me out and i worked for them to pay my fine out. while working for them i made shoes. they taught me to do carpenter work. they taught me to paint; to paper; to cook; work in the field and do most anything. i came to my senses while working with those people and they made a man out of me. when i left there i was a first class carpenter. those white people was the cause of me getting independent. i didn't get no book sense, but if you get with some good white people, that will be worth more than an education." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: emma hulett smith; hazen, arkansas age: "i was the first colored baby born here or very near here. there was only three houses in this town (hazen). i think they muster been log houses. "my folks belong to dr. hazen. he brought families from tennessee. when the war broke out he took em to texas. then he brought em back here. when they was freed i heard my mother say they worked on for him and his boys (alex and jim hazen) and they paid them. he was good to them. they had er plenty always. after the war they lived in good log houses and he give em land and lumber for the church. same church we got cept a storm tore it down and this one built in place of it. he let em have a school. same place it stands now. my mother (mandy hulett) got a union pension till she died. she cooked at the first hotel in hazen for john lane. she washed and ironed till she died. we girls helped and we wash and iron all we can get now. none of us not on relief (fannie nor emma). i can't wash no more. my hands and arms swell up with rheumatism. i still iron all i can get. "the present conditions seems awful unsettled; wages low, prices high and work scarce at times. men can get work in the hay two months and bout two months work in the rice or pickin cotton, either one. then the work has played clean out till hay time next year. "how do they live? some of their _wifes_ cooks for white people and they eat all they make up soon as they get paid. only way they live." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: ervin e. smith ringo street, little rock, arkansas age: "i have been in this state for forty-nine years. i will be here fifty years on the fifteenth of december. "i was born in ebenezer township, york county, south carolina, on the twenty-ninth day of april, in . that makes me eighty-four years old on friday. i was born on good friday--on good friday at six o'clock in the morning. "i am telling you what i was instructed all of my life. my father, w.d. smith, and my mother, haria, told me these things. my mother carried a nickname, salina, all her life, but her real name was haria. "i'll tell you how they happened to keep such good records. we had a little advantage over the other people of that day. my father never got any school education, but his brothers instructed him--his half-brothers. they were white. they was good, too. i mean them brothers thought just as much of me as they did of anybody else. so my father got pretty good training. he got it from his brothers and that's how he learned to keep such good records. relatives "i am told my mother cooked for one family for forty-two years. her maiden name was haria harris. she was three-fourths white. she come from the indian tribe--old catawba indians. her own daddy was a white man, but her grand daddy on her mother's side was an indian. "i am told that the old fellow bought my mother when she was fifteen years old. finally he got hold of both my father and my mother. both of them put together didn't have half colored blood. he must have loved them a lot to work so hard to get them together. my father was half white, but his mother was a mulatto woman (interpreter's comment--this should make him a quadroon)[tr: sentence lined out.]; and my mother's great-grandmother was a colored woman. "i never knew much about race troubles. the best friend i ever had was an old white grandmother. i was carefully shielded from all unpleasant things. fort sumter "i was looking at the men when they were getting ready to get on the train to go to fort sumter. mr. john white, captain john white, i knew him personally. he was one of our neighbors. that was in ebenezer that he was one of our neighbors. the soldiers going to capture fort sumter caught the columbia and augusta train going to charleston. looked like to me there was ten thousand of them. john white was the captain and beauregard [hw: here gustave toutant beauregard.] was the general. "i didn't see the fighting because it was too far away. it was about eighty miles from us where they got on the train to fort sumter. they got on the train at rock hill. rock hill was a city--small city--real close to ebenezer. we lived near rock hill. they was adjoining towns. patrollers and good masters "the only patrollers i knew of was some that come on the place once and got hurt. my mother had a brother hobb and the patroller tried to whip him. hobb knocked all his front teeth out with a stick. ches[tr:?] wood was the name of the patroller. it was like it is now. there were certain white people who didn't allow any of their niggers to be whipped. i never seen a patroller on my place. i have heard of them in other places, but the only one to come on our place was the one uncle hobb beat up. he had to take it, because you couldn't put anything over on harris' plantation. my people was rich people. they didn't allow anybody to come on their places and interfere with then--their niggers. "i have heard my mother say that no white man ever struck her in her life. i have had uncles that were struck. two of them, and both of them killed the men that struck them. uncle saul killed edmund smith and uncle george killed ed mcgehee. uncle george's full white sister (his half-sister) sent him away and saved him. they electrocuted uncle saul--they executed him. "white men struck them and they wouldn't take it. they didn't do nothin' at all to hobb baron. he got to his boss and the white folks was 'fraid to come there after him. all of this was in slavery. my people ain't never had no trouble with anybody since freedom; white people would get mad with my uncles and try to do something to them, and they wouldn't take it. "there were three races in the neighborhood where i was raised--niggers, indians, and white folks. they never sent the indians out until when i was a grown man. they sent them over there to utah when it became a state. i had a lot of indian friends that went along at that time. "bad blood was mixed up there and you couldn't do nothing to anybody and get away with it. first pair of shoes "i can remember the first pair of shoes my uncle gave me. they had a little brass on the top of the toes to keep you from kicking them out and skinning them up. that was way back yonder in the fifties. bible and church in slave time "white people taught their niggers what bible they wanted them to know. "'who made you?' "'god.' "'why did he make you?' "'for his own glory.' "'why ought you to love god?' "'because he made me and takes care of me.' "that was all the bible they wanted you to learn. that, and just a few more things. i could state them all. education "in , everybody that was less than sixteen years old in south carolina had to go to school. the little fellows that had been slaves had to go to school, and they got some education. you will hardly find an old man from south carolina around my age who can't read and write. there was one hundred sixty pupils in my school. all boys. i never went to a mixed school--a school where they had boys and girls both. "the first school i attended was in ebenezer. i went to high school in macklenburg. miss sallie good and miss mattie train, elias hill, and david g. wallace--all of these were my teachers. they were all white except elias hill. he was the only colored teacher in that section of the country--at that time. "when i finished high school, i went to biddle university. biddle was a boys' school. it was in charlotte, north carolina. they had a girls' school in concord, north carolina. biddle is still running, but it has another name. dr. mattoon was president of biddle then and dr. darling was president of the girls' school. murders "the first murder ever i saw was violet harris killed warren fewell. it come over a family quarrel some way. they fell out over something. she was not related to him. it was done right at the fence at her gate. she cut him with a butcher knife--stuck him just once right through the heart. that is the first murder i ever saw. they were both colored. the war was just winding up. it happened in ebenezer. i don't recall that they punished her. "i have seen a white man killed by a white man, and i have seen a colored man killed by a colored man; but i have never seen a colored man killed by a white man or a white man killed by a colored man. i have seen them after they were killed, but i never seen the killing. i have seen both races killing their own, but i have never seen them killing across the races. "about fifty years ago, i saw a young man come in the church and kill another one. just come in and shot him. that is been fifty years ago--back in in ebenezer. "rock hill, south carolina, from to a while later, bore the name 'bloody town.' they killed a man there every saturday night in the year--fifty-two times a year they killed a man. they had to send for the federal troops to bring them down. they didn't just kill colored people. they killed anybody--about anything." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: frances smith havis street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i specs i was born in slavery times. i remember seein' the yankees. that was in mississippi. i'm seventy-seven--that's my age. "spencer bailey was old master. just remember the name was 'bout the biggest thing i knowed about. i seen him all right but i didn't know much about him 'cept his name. "mother belonged to him, yes'm. "i tell you the truf, what little i used to remember i done forgot it. i just didn't try to keep up with it. i wasn't concerned and just didn't try to keep up with it. "i know our folks stayed there a while. first place we went to after the war was tennessee. "i don't know how long i been here--i been here a time though. "yes'm, i went to school several terms. "i was married in arkansas. my folks heard about arkansas bein' such a rich country, so they come to arkansas. "i farmed a long time and then i done housework. "deal a times i don't know what to think of this younger generation. i sits down sometimes and tries to study 'em out, but i fails. "well, what the old folks goin' to get out of this?" interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: henrietta evelina smith pine street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in louisiana in east felicie parish near baton rouge on the twenty-eighth day of december. my mother's name was delia white. her maiden name was delia early. my father's name was henry white. my mother's father was named amos early. my mother's mother's name was julia. my father's father was named tom white and his mother was named susan. "my father and mother both belonged to the eason's. i don't know how they spelled it. eason's daughter married munday and my uncle bought this white man's place years after freedom. that is not far from clinton--about four or five miles. it is three miles from ethel, louisiana. "amos, my grandfather, was the wagoneer on the old place. father, he used to drive the wagon too. he'd haul cotton to baton rouge and things like that. he would run off and stay five or six months. i have heard them talk about how he used to come back and bring hogs and one thing and another that he had found out in the woods. he would run off because the overseer would whip him. but he was such a good working man that once or twice, the boss man turned off his overseer on account of him. there wasn't nothing against his work. he just wouldn't take a blow. most of the times after he had been out a while the boss man would tell the hands to tell amos that if he would come on home they wouldn't whip him for running off. "my grandmother's mother on my father's side was named melissa. i think that was her name. my father's mother was named susan like i told you. she was part indian--better work hand never was. but she wouldn't be conquered neither. when they got ready to whip her, it would be half a day before they could take her. when they did get her, they would whip her so they would have to raise her in a sheet. the last time they whipped her, it took her nearly a year to get over it. so the white man just turned her loose and told her she was free. she went on off and we never did know what became of her. "the easons were farmers and they had a large plantation. i don't know just how many slaves they owned. "my father and mother were fed like pigs. they had an old woman that did the cooking. she was broke down from work. they would give the slaves greens and the children pot-liquor. my parents were field hands. my mother was too young to carry a row when she was freed, but she worked on an older person's row. they worked from can till can't. you know what i mean, from the time they could see till the time they couldn't. reb time was something like the penitentiary now. it never got too cold nor too hot to work. and there wasn't any pay. my parents never were given any chance to earn any money. i heard that my grandpa used to make a little something. he was a wagoneer you know. he would carry a little extra on his load and sell it. his old master never did find it out. people knew he had stole it, but they would buy it just the same. "the old boss man came down in the quarters and told them they were free when freedom came. right after freedom they stayed there on the old place for a year or more. my mother wasn't grown and she and my father married after that. afterwards they had kind of a fight to get away from the old man. he was carrying them the same way he was going before the war and they had a row (quarrel), and left him. i don't know just what terms they worked on. i don't think they did themselves. they took just what they could get and didn't know just how they was paid. "if a man made a good crop, they would run him away and make him leave his crops behind. "my folks continued to farm all their lives. they had trouble with the night riders. they had to vote like they were told. if you voted the wrong way they would get behind you and run you off. there were some folks who would take pay for voting and then vote different, and when the night riders found it out, there would be trouble. i don't believe in taking money for voting, and i don't believe in lying. "my mother and father didn't get any schooling. that was allowed after slavery, but it wasn't allowed in slavery time. they learned a little from other people. they would slip and learn to read. "my great-grandmother was considered pretty when she was young. she had glossy black hair and was a little short. she was brownskin and had big legs. her master would take her out behind the field and do what he wanted. when she got free, she gave both of her children away. she had two children by him--a boy named eli and a girl named anna. she didn't want them 'round her because they reminded her of him." interviewer's comment the subject did not wish to state her age. it is probably around sixty-five. her mother was married shortly after freedom. and eight years is probably a liberal allowance for the distance of her birth from emancipation. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: henry smith virginia, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: odd jobs "yes mam, i was here in slavery times. i was born in tennessee on a plantation near jackson. i was eight years old when peace was declared. all i member is when they beat the folks pit near to death. "my old master was tom smith. mean? cose he was mean. old mistress was sorta good to us but old master was the devil. used to make the men hold the women while they whipped em. make em wear old brogan shoes with buckles across the instep. had the men and women out fore day plowin'. i member they had my mother out many a day so dark they had to feel where the traces was to hitch up the mules. "my mother worked in the field and i stayed in front and helped her up when she got behind. "i member when the yankees had thousands and thousands of bales of cotton in the streets right here in pine bluff and take a knife and cut it open and put a match to it, and burn peoples houses and the gin houses and everything. take the hosses and mules and run em off. "old master and mistress carried us to texas till peace was declared. i member one morning the mail come and old master had a long paper and he called all us colored folks up and told us we was free. he told us we could go or stay. they all wanted to stay so he brought em all back here to arkansas. he give each one three acres of ground and all they could make on it. that's the nicest thing he ever done, but he didn't do that but one year. after that the land fell back to him. then they worked on the halves. "when the colored folks went to buy stock and rent land from the whites, it cost five and six dollars a acre. they sho could make some money that way, too. "i was big enough to do right smart behind a plow. i could do a heap. we got along pretty well. "i got married when i was bout eighteen and made a home for myself. me and my wife had twenty-two children. white folks helped us a lot. my wife's dead and all my children dead 'cept four. "i been here in pine bluff twenty-two years. i been here a good while--that ain't no joke. used to make three dollars a day mowin' grass. bought this place with the money. can't make that now. they won't give you nothin' for your work. "oh yes'm, i voted and wouldn't know what i was votin' till 'twas too late. "never went to school much. learned to read a little bit. they kep' me in the field. yes ma'm, i've worked but i've never had a doctor to me in my life. "ain't much to this younger generation. the old race can get along a lot better with the white folks than the young race can. "i'm the head deacon of the morning star church. read the bible right smart. i tell you one thing--i like all of it." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: j.l. smith pulaski street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in in the month of september on the fifteenth. i was born at a place they call indian bay on white river down here in arkansas. my mother was named emmaline smith and she was born in tennessee. i don't know really now what county or what part of the state. my father's name was john smith. he was born in north carolina. i don't know nothing about what my grandfather's name and grandmother's names were. i never saw them. none of my folks are old aged as i am. my father was sixty years old when he died and my mother was only younger than that. experience of father "i heard my father say that he helped get out juniper timber in north carolina. the white man me and my sister worked with after my father died was the man my father worked with in the juniper swamp. his name was alfred perry white. as long as he lived, we could do work for him. we didn't live on his place but we worked for him by the day. he is dead now--died way back yonder in the seventies. there was the brooks and baxter trouble in , and my father died in seventy-five. white lived a little while longer. "my father was married twice before he married my mother. he had two sets of children. i don't know how many of them there were. he had four children by my mother. he had only four children as far as i can remember. "i don't know how my father and my mother met up. they lived in the same plantation and in the same house. they were owned by the same man when freedom came. i don't know how they got together. i have often wondered about that. one from tennessee and the other from north carolina, but they got together. i guess that they must have been born in different places and brought together through being bought and sold. "my mother was a murrill. my father was a cartwright. my father's brother lewis was a man who didn't take nothing much from anybody, and he 'specially didn't like to take a whipping. when lewis' master wanted to whip him, he would call his mother--the master's mother--and have her whip him, because he figured uncle lewis wouldn't hit a woman. "i have six children altogether. two of them are dead. there are three girls and one boy living. the oldest is fifty-seven; the next, fifty; and the youngest, forty-eight. the youngest is in the hospital for nervous and mental diseases. she has been there ever since . the oldest had an arm and four ribs broken in an auto accident last january on the sixteenth of the month. she didn't get a penny to pay for her trouble. i remember the man did give her fifteen cents once. the truck struck her at the alley there and knocked her clean across the street. she is fifty-seven years old and bones don't knit fast on people that old. she ain't able to do no work yet. all of my daughters are out of work. i don't know where the boy is. he is somewheres up north. slave houses "i have seen some old log houses that they said the slaves used to live in. i was too young to notice before freedom. i have seen different specimens of houses that they lived in. one log house had a plank house builded on to the end of it. the log end was the one lived in during slavery times and the plank end was built since. that gal there of mine was born in the log end. there were round log houses and sawed log houses. the sawed log houses was built out of logs that had been squared after the tree had been cut down, and the round log houses was built out of logs left just like they was when they was trees. there's been quite an improvement in the houses since i was a kid. food "i have heard my father and mother talking among themselves and their friends, but they never did tell me nothing about slave times. they never did sit down and talk to me about it. when they'd sit down and start talkin', it would always be, 'now you children run on out and play while we old folks sit here and talk.' but from time to time, i would be sitting on the floor playing by myself and they would be talking 'mongst themselves and i would hear them say this or that. but i never heered them say what they et in slave times. work "my father worked in the juniper swamp in north carolina, like i told you. i think i heard my mother say she cooked. most i ever heard them say was when they would get with some one else and each would talk about his master. cruelties "i heard my mother say that her mistress used to take a fork and stick it in her head--jog it up and down against her head. i don't know how hard she punched her. my mother was very gray--all her hair was gray and she wasn't old enough for that. i reckon that was why. how freedom came "i don't remember how freedom came. they were refugeed--i call it that--my father and mother were. my sister was born in texas, and they were back in arkansas again when i was born. i was born and raised right here in arkansas. they were running from one place to the other to keep the yankees from freeing the slaves. i never even heard them say where they were freed. i don't know whether it was here or in texas. right after the war "i have no knowledge of what they did right after the war. the first thing i remember was that they were picking cotton in pine bluff or near there. it was a smoky log house i had to stay in while they were out in the field and the smoke used to hurt my eyes awful. ku klux and patrollers "i don't remember nothing about the ku klux. i heard old folks say they used to have passes to keep the pateroles from bothering them. i remember that they said the pateroles would whip them if they would catch them out without a pass. when i first heard of the ku klux klan, i thought that it was some kind of beast the folks was talking about. i didn't hear nothing special they did. occupational experiences "when i got old enough, i worked a farm--picked cotton, hoed, plowed, pulled corn--all such things. that is about all i ever did--farming. farming was always my regular occupation. i never did anything else--not for no regular thing. marriage "i married in . my father and mother married each other too after freedom. i remember that. it was when the government was making all those that had been slaves marry. i have been married just the one time. my wife died in april . present condition "i am not able to do anything now. i don't even tote a chair across the room, or spade up the ground for a garden, or hoe up the weeds in it. i am ruptured and the doctor says it is the funniest rupture he ever seen. he says that there's a rupture and fat hanging down in the rupture. they have to keep me packed with ice all the time. the least little thing brings it down. i can't hold myself nor nothing. have to wear something under my clothes. "i don't get a pension." interviewer's comment smith is sensitive about his first name--doesn't like to give it--and about his condition. he doesn't like to mention it or to have it referred to. he has an excellent memory for some things and a rather poor one for some others. he got angry when his granddaughter supplied data about his wife which he apparently could not recall. his physical condition is deplorable and his circumstances extremely straitened. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: john h. smith w. twelfth street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i reckon i was here, i member seein' the smoke from the guns look like a cloud. "i was born in missouri in . i member _way_ back. yes'm. i'm old--i'm _old_. "i member seein' the soldiers--yankees--eight or ten in a squad and they asked me did i want to ride with em? old mistress say, 'that's my boy!' i member way back when they used to put the folks upon a block and sell em. i member one night we was in the cabin and the ku klux come up on horses. and i member when they was hollerin' peace was declared. "mama told me i was born in . mama had all our ages in that big bible. "we stayed in st. louis six years then we went to chrystal city. missouri and i went to the glass factory and went to work. "did i vote? me? yes'm, i voted many a time--republican. i'm still a republican--always will be i reckon. i haven't voted for a long time but i think everybody ought to have the liberty to vote. "i like to live in the north better cause the white folks treats you better. they treats me all right here cause i don't do nothin'. "i member my white folks was good to me. "i went to school after the war whar i was born. c.n. douglas, the son of napoleon douglas, was my teacher. first teacher we had was miss mary strotter. i know she couldn't learn us anything so they got c.n. douglas. he brought that paddle with the little holes and he learned us something. i know my sister was next to me and she couldn't get her spelling and i'd work my mouf so she could see. c.n. douglas caught me at it and he whipped me that day. i never worked my mouf again. "i was the best speller in the school. i won a gold pen and ink stand and george washington picture. "before the war i member the overseer would say, 'if you don't have that done tonight, i'll whip you tomorrow.' they had one man was pretty bad and i know they give him a thimble and a barrel and told him he had to fill up that barrel, but he couldn't do it you know and so they whipped him. "mama used to whip me. she called me the 'devil's egg bag' for a long time. i used to take a darning needle and punch the eyes out of guineas or chickens just to see em run around. she broke me of that. i know now she never whip me enough, but she made a man of me. i got a good name now. always been a good worker. done my work good and that's what they want to know. yes ma'm, i'm _old_." interviewer: miss irene robertson persons interviewed: maggie snow and charlie snow r.f.d., brinkley, arkansas ages: and "my parents' names was mary and henderson kurkendall. they had seven children. mama died when i was three years old. papa was a yankee soldier. "they belong to the same white folks, moster jake and peggy kurkendall. they had a big farm. "my papa told me that one morning they woke up and looked out over the field. the yankees had pitched their camps far as you could see on moster jake's farm. they come up to his house. moster jake had a big house and a big family. the yankees come up there and throwed out all they had and told the slaves to take it. no, they didn't; they was scared to take it and it belong to them. they didn't want it all wasted like they was doing. papa said they rode their horses up to the house. they took all the soldiers on the place to the camp. they was scared not to go. "papa left mama at the old home place and moster jake let them work all they could. papa stayed in the war till after the battle at vicksburg. then he come home. they stayed awhile at moster jake's and worked. he got his knee hurt and his health ruined. he never was no count after he got back home. mama could pick six hundred pounds of cotton a day he said. they worked from daybreak till pitch dark in them days. "little jake kurkendall is living now enoch or harrison station, mississippi. he is older than i am. he got a family. but he is all the son old moster jake had that i know living now. "papa said the yankees made all the slaves fight they could run across. some kept hid in the woods. seem like from way he told bout it they wanted freedom but they didn't want to go to war. "when we heard bout arkansas being so rich and a new country, we wanted to come. some white and some colored come. we come to aubrey, arkansas. we got six living, five dead children. i been here fourteen years (at brinkley). i hired out to cook in mississippi but i wash and iron and work in the field till i bout wore out. my husband in a terrible condition. he picked some cotton. he got rheumatism in his legs. "we own a little home bout a mile from town and a pig. i wish i could get a cow. i ain't got the money to buy one. jess can't get one no way. we had a fine garden. two of us get $ and commodities. times so far this year been good. when it gets cold times may be hard. times better this year than last or it been for a long time. "i didn't know i could vote. guess my husband done my part of the voting." "i am seventy-three years old. there was two boys and two girls of us. my aunts and uncles raised me. my mother died when i was little and fore that my papa went to the army and never come home. they said he got killed or died--they didn't know. my parents belong to berry bruce. he had a family i heard em say. he lived at louisville, mississippi. "i recollect the ku klux. i heard em talk a whole lot about em. one time they rode round our house and through the hall of our house. yes ma'am, it scared us so bad it most paralyzed us all. they went on. we didn't know what they wanted. we never did find out. "i don't vote. i never voted in my life. i don't recken i ever will. i have been a hard worker all my life. i farmed. i loaded and unloaded on a steamboat with my family farmin' in the country. the boat i run on went from memphis to new orleans. "my family farmed at batesville in the country out from there. for a long time i made staves with the sweeds. they was good workers. we would make , , then load the barge and send or take them to vicksburg. i got my board and $ a day. "the present conditions for the cotton farmer has been better this year than last. when it gets cold and no work, makes it hard on old men. i got no job in view for the winter. "i would like to have a cow if i could raise the money to get one. i been tryin' to figure out how to get us a cow to help out. i can't make it. "i suffer all the time. i can't sit still, i can't sleep i suffer so wid rheumatism. nobody knows how i do suffer. my general health is fine. "this president has sure been merciful to the poor and aged. surely he will be greatly rewarded hereafter." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: robert solomon, des arc, arkansas age: my father was african. he was born in atlanta. my mother was a cherokee indian. her name was alice gamage. i was born in . i don't know where i was born--think it was in the territory--my father stole my mother one night. he couldn't understand them and he was afraid of her people. he went back to savannah after so long a time and they was in florida when i first seen any of her people. when i got up any size i asked my father all about him and my mother marrying. he said he knowed her 'bout two year 'fore they married. they sorter courted by signs--my mother learned me her language and it was natural fur me to speak my father's tongue. i talked for them. she was bout fifteen when she run away. i don't know if a preacher ever did marry em or not. my father said she was just so pretty he couldn't help lovin' her. he kept makin' signs and she made signs. i liked my gramma gamage. she couldn't understand much. we all went to the indian territory from florida and georgia. that's how i come out here. i don't remember the ku klux. i remember hearing ma and gramma talk 'bout the way they tried to get way from 'em. my father was a farmer till freedom. he farmed around here and at pine bluff. he died at west point. my mother and step-mother both died at pine bluff. they took my mother to her nation in oklahoma. she was sick a good while and they took her to wait on her. then come and took her after she died. there show is a fambly. my father had twenty-two in his fambly. my mother had five boys and three girls and me. my stepmother had fourteen more children. that's some fambly aint it? all my brothers and sisters died when i was little and they was little. my father's other children jess somewhar down round pine bluff. i guess i'd know em but i aint seed none of them in i don't know how long. the first work i ever done was sawmilling at pine bluff. then i went down in louziana, still sawmilling--i followed dat trade five or six years. den i got to railroading. i was puttin down cross ties and layin' steel. i got to be straw boss at dat. i worked at dat fifteen years. i worked doing that in six different states. that was show fine livin'--we carried our train right along to live in. i married and went to farming. then i come to work at this oil mill here (in des arc). the reason i quit. i didn't quit till it went down and moved off. i aint had nothin' much to do since. i been carryin' water and wood fur mrs. norfleet twenty years and they cooks fur me now. my wife died 'bout a year ago. she been dead a year last january. she was sick a long time 'fore she died. well the relief gives me a little to eat, some clothes and i gets $ . a month and i takes it and buys my groceries and i takes it up to mrs. norfleet's. they says come there and eat. they show is good to me 'cept i aint able to carry the wood up the steps much no more. it hurt me when i worked at the oil mill. i helped them 'bout the house all the time. what i do wid my money i made? i educated my girls. yes maam i show is got children. one my girls teaches school in st. louis and de other at hot springs. they both went to college at pine bluff. i sent em. no'm dey don't help me. they is by my second wife and my first wife live with my son, down close to star city. dey farm. it's down in lincoln county. they let me live in this house. it belongs to him. i went to the bank fo' it closed and got my money whut i had left. i been livin' on it but it give out. the conditions are all right. they kin make a right smart but everything is so high it don't buy much. some of 'em say they ain't goiner do the hardest work, hot or cold and liftin' for no dollar a day. don't nobody work hard as i used to. there's goiner be another war and a lot of them killed--'cause people ain't doin right. some don't treat the others right. no'm they never did. they used to threaten em and take 'em out in cars and beat 'em up, just for disputin' their word or not paying 'em and de lack. the white man has cheated a heap because we was ignorant and black. they gamble on the cotton and take might' near all of it for the cheap grub they let out to make de crop on. conditions are better but a heap of the young black and white too deblish lazy to work. some of dem get killed out goin' on at their meanness. i heard of uprisings since the war but i never was 'bout none of them. i votes the republican ticket. the last i voted was for hoover. sure they have tried to change my way of voting but i ain't goiner change. i ain't heard nothin' 'bout no restrictions 'bout votin'. if a woman wanter vote it's all right. my girs and my boy votes right along. they are all republicans. the most money i ever has at one time was $ . . i did save it. i spent it on my girls' clothes and education. they did go to college at pine bluff but they went to the catholic high school first down at pine bluff. no'm they don't help me. they say it's all dey can do to get along. they never have told me how much they make. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: james spikes bell street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "good morning. yes'm i remember the civil war. i was a soldier. i was between sixteen and seventeen when i enlisted in the war. "'why did you enlist?' "i didn't know no better. i thought i would be took care of. they told us the war was sposed to set the darkies free. my old master didn't want me to go--cose not. but they was very good to me. i regard them just the same as myself. "i enlisted in the th regiment of colored soldiers. then i went off with the yankees. i was with them when they had the battle at corinth, mississippi. "i was with them when the yankees taken corinth and whupped. the rebels tried to take it back and the yankees whupped 'em again. the regiment i was with whupped 'em away from several places and kept 'em runnin'. "when we was in fort pickens i 'member they had a poll parrot--some of the officers had trained it to say 'corporal of the guard, jim spikes, post no. ." sometimes i would draw my gun like i was going to shoot and the poll parrot would say, 'jim, don't you shoot me!' they got plenty a sense. "the war was funny and it wasn't funny. well, it was funny for the side that won when we had scrummishes (skirmish). i never was captured but i hoped capture a lot. "i stayed in the war till i was mustered out in baton rouge, louisiana. i was a good big fellow then. oh lord yes, i knowed most anything. "after that i went to memphis and then i come to arkansas and went to farming with some white fellows named french. the river overflowed and we lost 'bout all the cotton. "the government gives me a pension now cause i was a soldier. yes'm it comes in right nice--it does that." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: kittie stanford missouri street; pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm, i used to be a slave. my mother belonged to mrs. lindsey. one day when i was ten years old, my old mistress take me over to her daughter and say 'i brought you a little nigger gal to rock de cradle.' i'se one hundred and four years old now. miss etta done writ it down in the book for me. "one time a lady from up north ask me did i ever get whipped. honey, i ain't goin' tell you no lie. the overseer whipped us. old mistress used to send me to her mother to keep the judge from whippin' me. old judge say 'nigger need whippin' whether he do anything or not.' "some of the hands run away. old henry run away and hide in the swamp and say he goin' stay till he bones turn white. but he come back when he get hongry and then he run away again. "when the war come some of the slaves steal the judge's hosses and run away to pine bluff and he didn't never find 'em. the judge think the yankees goin' get everything he got so we all left arkansas and went to texas. we in texas when freedom come. we come back to arkansas and i stay with my white folks awhile but i didn't get no pay so i got a job cookin' for a colored woman. "i been married fo' times. i left my las' husband. i didn't leave him cause he beat me. i lef' him cause he want too many. "no'm i never seen no ku klux. i heard 'bout 'em but i never seen none that i knows of. when i used to get a pass to go to 'nother plantation i always come back fo' dark. "this younger generation is beyond my onderstanding. they is gettin' weaker and wiser. "i been ready to die for the last thirty years. 'mary (her granddaughter with whom she lives), show the lady my shroud.' i keeps it wropped up in blue cloth. they tells me at the store to do that to keep it from turning yellow. 'show her that las' quilt i made.' yes'm i made this all by myself. i threads my own needle, too, and cuts out the pieces. i has worked hard all my life. "now the welfare gives me my check. my granddaughter good to me. i goes to church on the first and third sundays. "lady, i glad you come to see me and god bless you. goo' bye!" interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: tom stanhouse r.f.d. brinkley, ark. age: "i was born close to greenville, south carolina. i lived down close to spartanburg. my mother was named luvenia stanhouse and henry stanhouse. they had nine children. grandma belong to hopkins but married into the stanhouse family. grandpa's name was tom. they set him free. i guess because he was old. he lived about mong his children. "when they was set free old man adam stanhouse was good to em. he treated em nice but they never got nothing but their clothes. they moved on another place and started working sharecropper. "before freedom old man adam stanhouse would give my pa a pass or his pocket knife to show to go to see my ma. she lived at dr. harrison's farm five miles apart. they all knowed adam stanhouse's knife. i don't know how they would know it. he never let his negroes be whooped unless he said so. owners didn't 'low the ku klux whoop hands on their place. "adam stanhouse brought my pa from virginia with him. some of them men thought might near much of his slaves as they did their children. or i heard em say they seem to. my pa married my ma when she was thirteen years old. they had nine children. "i heard ma say dr. harrison practiced medicine. his wife was named miss lizzie. they had two boys and three girls. "ma was a house girl. pa was a field hand. one time traders come round and ma's owner wanted to sell her and his wife objected. she wasn't sold that time. i don't know if she was sold or not. "i don't know no more about that war than i do about the german war (world war). i was a little boy when it was all over. i left south carolina in . ma was a part red indian and pa was a half black creek indian. i had two children before i left south carolina. i was married back there. i paid my own way and come to fargo. i was trying to better my condition. in i come to brinkley. before that i lived at dark corner eight years. in ma and pa come to me and died with me. i paid $ . for my second class ticket to fargo--in . "since to i farmed, sawmilled, threshed, run a grist mill, run a cotton gin and worked about em. i farmed eight or nine years across the bayou here. "i own a home. my wife is living. i get 'demodities', no money. i got two girls living. one girl is in new jersey and one in michigan. they make their living. "i think the world is going on worse than ever i seen it. folks can't live without money. they don't try to raise their living no more. i ain't no prophet. the world going to nothing way i see it." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: isom starnes, marianna, arkansas age: "i was born in marshall county, alabama near guntersville. father belong to the starnes. they bought him in alabama. my parents' name was jane and burrel starnes. they had two children i knew of. when they was set free they left and started renting. i don't remember much that happened before freedom. i picked up chips and put them in a split basket i just could chin. i'd fill all the baskets and they would haul them up to put under the iron skillet. other chaps was picking up chips too. they used some kinds to smoke the meat. i could tote water on my head and a bucket in each hand. they was small buckets. we had to come up a path up the hill. i stumped my toe on the rocks till they would bleed; sometimes it looked like the nail would come off. my mother was a good cook. i don't know what she was doing in slavery. "i been farming all my life. yes, i owned ninety-eight acres in alabama. i had a home on it. i lost it. we brought a suit for water damage. we lost it, i reckon. they fixed a dam that ruined my place. i left and went to the north--to springfield, ohio. i started public work and worked three or four months in a piano factory. i liked farming the best and come back to it. my boys hope me down hill. i got two boys. my girl left me all i got now. she is dead. i got a home and twenty-five acres of ground. she made the money washing, ironing and farming. i 'plied for the old folks' pension but didn't get it and give it up. i made four bales cotton, one hundred pounds seed cotton. my place is half mile from town. i have to get somebody to do all the work. "my father did vote. he voted a republican ticket. i have voted but i don't vote now. i voted a few days ago for a little cotton this year. it was the cotton control election. i voted a republican ticket. i found out democrat times is about the best time for us in the south. i quit voting because i'm too old to keep up with it. if a woman owns anything--land or house--she ought to be allowed to vote. "the times is mighty hard. i need a little money now and i can't get it nowhere. it looks like bad times for me. the young folks don't work hard as i did. i kept study (steady) at farming. i liked it. my race is the best fitted for farming and that is where we belong. i never been in jail. i never been arrested in my whole life." interviewer's comment i stopped this clean, feeble, old negro--humble as could be--on the edge of town. he had a basket of groceries taking to his old wife. it was a small split basket. his taxes worried him. he couldn't get a holt on any money, so i told him about the farmers' loan. he was so scared looking i felt he didn't tell me all he knew. he looked tired. i gave it up and jokingly asked him if he had ever been in jail. he said, "i never been in jail. i never been arrested in my whole life." i laughed good and thanked him. i told a young woman who had curiously been trying to catch the conversation from her yard that i feared i frightened the old man till he couldn't think to tell me all he knew. she said, "maybe so but he has a reputation of being good as gold and his word his bond." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: ky (hezekiah) steel west fifth avenue (rear), pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: yard man "what is it you want to know? well, i was born in north carolina. i know they brought me here from north carolina in slavery times. i couldn't keep no count of it, lady, 'cause i didn't know. i know i was big enough to walk behind the wagon pickin' up corn. i know that. that was in slavery times. "mr. june ingraham's father brought me here. "oh, that's a long time ago. mr. june and i was boys together. i was born in the ingraham family. "they carried me from here to texas. i stayed there till i was grown and married. then i come back to arkansas i got with mr. june's son and i been here since. "never have gone to school a day. can't read but i can spell a little. "i've done most all kinds of work--split rails, cut wood, farm work, and railroad work on the section. "ku klux come out there where i was in texas. didn't bother me--they was just around first one place, then another. "i voted once. i guess it was republican. i don't remember now who i voted for. i didn't take much interest in politics--only just what i'd hear somebody say. "yankees was camped near us in texas to keep the wild indians back. that was after the war. yes'm, sure was. "i know the very night old missis told us we was free. called all us slaves up there together. told us we was just as free as she was. i always will remember that. "i stayed there till we got through the crop. then i went to paris, texas and portered in a little hotel there. then i went wagonin'--haulin' stuff. "they used to whip me in slavery times when they got ready. need it? well, they said i did. hurt my feelin's and hurt my hide too, but they raised me to do whatever they said. "this younger generation ain't no good--they ain't raised up like i was. things is a whole lot different than they used to be. the folks ain't prayin' to god like they used to. ain't livin' right. "i had two brothers killed in time of the war. that's what the old people told me after i come back from texas. "yes'm, i've had plenty to eat all my life--up until now; i ain't got so much now. "i keep the rheumatism pretty much all the time but i ain't never been down sick so i couldn't help myself. "i'm telling you just what i know and what i don't know i couldn't tell you. good-bye." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: maggie stenhouse, (a mile down the railway track), brinkley, arkansas age: ? "mama was owned by master barton. she lived on the line of north carolina and south carolina. her husband was sold away from her and two children. she never seen him no more. rangments was made with master barton to let master liege alexander have her for a cook. then she went to old pickens, south carolina. liege alexander had a white wife and by her he had two girls and a boy. he had a black cook and by her he had two boys and a girl. one of these boys was my papa and i told you the old man bought my mama from master barton for his colored son. my papa never was sold you see cause he was the old white man's boy. after his white wife died his two girls married and the boy left old pickens, and they told his colored wife and her two boys and girl if they would stay and take care of him as long as he lived they could have the property. my papa went off five or six miles and built him a log house. "the old man--master liege alexander--was blind when his wife died and he had to be tended to like a child. he would knock his stick on the wall and some of the small children would lead him about where he wanted to go. his white children didn't like the way he had lived so they didn't want to be bothered with him. "my parents' names was cheney barton and jim alexander. papa was medium dark and so was his own brother but their sister was as white as the woman's two girls and boy. "after the railroads sprung up the town moved to new pickens. "master liege alexander had lots of slaves and land. i reckon the white wife's children fell heir to the farm land. "my aunt and grandma cooked for him till he died. they kept him clean and took care of him like as if his white wife was living. the colored wife and her girl waited on the white wife and her children like queens. that is what papa said. "durin' slavery there was stockmen. they was weighed and tested. a man would rent the stockman and put him in a room with some young women he wanted to raise children from. next morning when they come to let him out the man ask him what he done and he was so glad to get out. them women nearly kill him. if he said nothin' they wouldn't have to pay for him. them women nearly kill him. some of the slave owners rented these stockmen. they didn't let them work in the field and they kept them fed up good. "fore the civil war broke out mama said master barton hid a half bushel solid gold and silver coins over the mountains. he had it close to the spring awhile. mama had to go by it to tote water to the house. she said she never bothered it. he said he could trust her and she wouldn't tell a lie. he took another sack of money over the mountains and the silverware. his wife died during the war. a lot of people died from hearing of the war--heart failure. i don't know what become of his money. he lost it. he may forgot where he hid it. it was after his wife died that he sold mama to jim alexander's papa. "the yankees rode three years over the country in squads and colored folks didn't know they was free. i have seen them in their old uniforms riding around when i was a child. white folks started talking about freedom fore the darkies and turning them loose with the clothes they had on and what they could tote away. no land, no home, no place; they roamed around. "when it was freedom the thing papa done was go to a place and start out share croppin'. folks had no horses or mules. they had to plough new ground with oxen. i ploughed when i was a girl, ploughed oxen. if you had horses or mules and the yankees come along three or four years after the war, they would swap horses, ride a piece, and if they had a chance swap horses again. stealing went on during and long after the war. "the ku klux was awful in south carolina. the colored folks had no church to go to. they gather around at folks' houses to have preaching and prayers. one night we was having it at our house, only i was the oldest and was in another room sound asleep on the bed. there was a crowd at our house. the ku klux come, pulled off his robe and door face, hung it up on a nail in the room, and said, 'where's that jim jesus?' he pulled him out the room. the crowd run off. mama took the three little children but forgot me and run off too. they beat papa till they thought he was dead and throwed him in a fence corner. he was beat nearly to death, just cut all to pieces. he crawled to my bed and woke me up and back to the steps. i thought he was dead--bled to death--on the steps. mama come back to leave and found he was alive. she doctored him up and he lived thirty years after that. we left that morning. "the old white woman that owned the place was rich--big rich. she been complaining about the noise--singing and preaching. she called him praying jim jesus till he got to be called that around. he prayed in the field. she said he disturbed her. mama said one of the ku klux she knowed been raised up there close to master barton's but papa said he didn't know one of them that beat on him. "papa never did vote. i don't vote. i think women should vote much as men. they live under the same law. "i come to arkansas about forty-five years ago. papa brought us to a new country, thought we could do better. i been farming, cooking, washing. i can't do my own cooking and washing now. i got rheumatism in my joints, feet, knees, and hands. we don't get no help of no kind. "my daughter is in caldwell, new jersey at work. she went there to get work. she heard about it and went and haven't come home. i jes' got one child." interviewer: beulah sherwood hagg person interviewed: mrs. charlotte e. stephens west th street, little rock, arkansas age: i was born right here in little rock. my father was owned by a splendid family--the ashleys. the family of noah badgett owned my mother and the children. pardon me, madam, and i shall explain how that was. in many cases the father of children born in slavery could not be definitely determined. there was never a question about the mother. from this you will understand that the children belonged to the master who owned the mother. this was according to law. my father's family name was andrews. how did it happen that it was not ashley?... oh, my dear, you have been misinformed about all slaves taking the name of the master who owned them when peace came.... no, madam. my father was named william wallace andrews after his father, who was an english gentleman. he had come to missouri in early days and owned slaves.... yes, my grandfather was white. the ashleys brought my father to arkansas territory when they came. they always permitted him to keep his family name. many other masters did the same. from the standpoint of understanding between the white and colored races, little rock has always been a good place to live. the better class families did not speak of their retainers as slaves; they were called servants. both my parents were educated by their masters. besides being a teacher and minister my father was a carpenter and expert cabinet worker. the first school for negroes in little rock was opened in and was taught by my father. i went to school to him. a few months later there came from the north a company of missionary teachers and opened a school which i attended until . my father was a minister of the methodist episcopal church for colored people on what is now eighth and broadway. he also had a chapel on the property of mr. ashley. you probably know that during slavery days the slaves belonged to and attended the same church as their white folks. they sat in the back, or in a balcony built for them. my father was considered the founder of wesley chapel, which was methodist episcopal. from that time until this day i have been a member of that church. seventy-three years, i think it is. before the break came in the methodist church, you know, it was all the same, north and south. after the division on account of slavery the methodist church in the south had the word "south" attached. for a long time my father did not realize that. in he and his church went back into the original methodist church. in the society of friends--we called them quakers--came and erected a large two-story schoolhouse at sixth and state streets. it was called union school. when it was built it was said by the quakers that it was to be for the use of colored children forever, but within a year or two the city bought the property and took charge of the school. as far as i can now recall, white and colored children never did attend the same school in little rock. there have always been separate schools for the races. i am able to remember the names of the first teachers in the quaker school; j.h. binford was the principal and his sister taught the primary department. other teachers were miss anna wiles (or ware), miss louise coffin, miss lizzie garrison, and sarah henley. i was about years old when peace came and was living with my mother and the other children on the badgett plantation about miles east of little rock. mother did laundry and general house work. being a small child, all that was asked of me was to run errands and amuse the little white children. madam, if i could tell you the great difference between slave owners it would help you in understanding conditions of today among the colored people. both my father and my mother had peculiar privileges. the ashley family were exceptional slave owners; they permitted their servants to hire their time. there was class distinction, perhaps to greater extent than among the white people. yes, madam, the slaves who lived in the family with master and mistress were taught just about the same as their own children. at any rate, they imitated them in all matters; to speak with a low voice, use good english, the niceties of manners, good form and courtesy in receiving and attending guests. i began teaching in little rock schools when i was years old and am still teaching. in all, it is years, and my contract is still good. my first experience as a teacher, (as i told you i was fifteen) was by substituting for a teacher in that first missionary school, in . for some reason, she did not return, and the school board appointed me in her place. after one year i was given leave of absence to attend oberlin college in ohio. i spent three years there, but not in succession. when my money would give out i would come home and the school board would provide work for me until i could earn enough to carry me through another term. i finished at oberlin in . i extended my work through courses at normal schools and teacher's institutes. i have taken lecture courses in many colleges, notably the university of california in . i have taught all grades from the first to the twelfth. my principal work, for the last years, however, has been high school latin and english and science. at present i am serving as librarian at the senior high school and junior college. i have twice served as principal of city schools in little rock. first at capitol hill. the charlotte e. stephens school at th and maple was named in my honor. i have a book i have kept for years regarding those first schools, and i'm told it is the only one in existence. i also have the first monthly report card ever issued in little rock. mr. hall (superintendent of little rock city schools) has asked me to will it to the school board. i could recall many interesting events of those early schools for the colored race. old, old slaves came, desiring to learn to read and spell. they brought the only books they could find, many of which proved to be almanacs, paper bound novels discarded by their mistress and ancient dictionaries, about half of which might be missing. yes, madam, i do remember that the emancipated slaves were led to believe they would be given property and have just what their masters had been accustomed to enjoy. i remember hearing my mother tell, in later years, that she really had expected to live as her mistress had; having some one to wait upon her, plenty of money to spend, ride in a carriage with a coachman. but she always added that the emancipated ones soon found out that freedom meant more work and harder than they had ever done before. what did they work at? pardon me please for so often reminding you of conditions of that time. few of the trades workers were white. brick makers and brick layers, stone masons, lathers, plasters,--all types of builders were of the freed men. you must remember that slaves were the only ones who did this work. their masters had used their labor as their means of income. not all slaves were in the cotton fields, as some suppose. the slave owners of towns and villages had their slaves learn skilled trade occupations and made a great deal of money by their earnings. the yankee soldiers and the many northern people who lived here hired the freed men and paid them. quite soon the colored people were buying homes. many were even hired by their former masters and paid for the work they formerly did without pay under slavery. i remember bill read and dave lowe. they had been coachmen before freedom. by combining their first savings, they bought a hack, as it was called. it was more of a cab. for all those who did not have private conveyances, this was the only way of getting about town. it was little rock's first taxi-cab business, i should say. bill and dave made a fortune; they had a monopoly of business for years and eventually had enough cabs to take the entire population to big evening parties, theater, and all places where crowds would gather. no, madam, i do not recall that we had any inconvenience from the ku klux klan. if they made trouble in little rock i do not now remember it. i did hear that out in the country they drove people from their homes. yes, madam, i do remember, quite distinctly, the times when colored men were voted into public offices. john c. corbin was state superintendent of public instruction. phillips county sent two colored men to the legislature; they were w.h. gray and h.h. white, both from helena. j.e. bush of this city followed m.w. gibbs as police judge. after reconstruction when all colored people were eliminated from public life all these people returned to their trade. i was when i married. my husband was a teacher but knew the carpenter trade. during the time that negroes served in public office he served as deputy sheriff and deputy constable. he was with me for years before his death; we raised a family of six children and gave each one a college education. now, you have asked my opinion of present conditions of the younger generation. it seems to me they are living in an age of confusion; they seem to be all at sea as to what they should get for themselves. i do know this. in some respects the modern frankness is an improvement over the old suppression and repression in the presence of their elders. at the same time, i think the young people of today lack the proper reverence and respect for age and the experience it brings as a guide for them. during my long years of teaching i have had opportunity to study this question. i am still making a study of the many phases of modern life as it affects the young people. i do not like the trend of amusements of today; i would like for our young people to become interested in things more worth while; in a higher type of amusement. conditions of morality and a lack of regard for conventions is deplorable. smoking among the girls has increased the common use of liquor between the sexes. did you ask me about the voting restrictions for the colored race in this state? i will tell you frankly that i think the primary law here is unjust; most unjust. we are citizens in every other respect; the primary voting privilege should be ours also. this restriction has been explained as coming down from "the grandfather clause" inserted in early legislation. i cannot give you the exact wording of the clause but the substance was that no person whose ancestor--grandfather--was not entitled to vote _before_ should have the right to the ballot. of course it is readily seen that this clause was written purely for the purpose of denying the vote to the colored people. perhaps, madam, my talk has been too much along educational lines. you asked me about my life since freedom came and how i have lived to the present time. i have had the blessed privilege of being a teacher--of doing the work i love best of all in the world to do. i have written the story of my life work; it is all ready to be published. i have written "the story of negro schools in little rock" and "memoirs of little rock." madam, i have written, i suppose, what would amount to volumes for our church papers and local negro newspaper. my daughter was, at one time, editor of the womens' page. no, i'm indeed sorry that i have not kept a scrapbook of such writings. in these latter years my friends scold me for having destroyed all the papers as fast as they were read. the most of the news in the articles, however, i have used in the manuscripts of the books i hope to have published. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: william j. stevens, brinkley, arkansas age: up in 's "i was born in pleasant hill, alabama. my owners were haley and missouri stevens. they owned grandma mary. pa was born on the place. mother was sold from the combesses to stevens. mother's mother was a turk dark creek indian. she was a free woman. her name was judy. i called her grandma judy. she was old but not gray. she had long black hair as i remember her. mother was named millie. haley bought her for my pa. _my pa's father was haley stevens' own son_. he was his coachman. pa never worked a great deal. mother never cooked till after emancipation. she was the house girl and nurse. life moved along smoothly as much as i ever heard till freedom come on. the indians was independent folks. my mother was like that. haley stevens took his family to texas soon as freedom come on. mother went with them. they treated her so nicely. pa wouldn't follow. he said she thought more of them than she did him. he kept me with him. he married again. he was a barber at selma, alabama. he died a barber at anniston, alabama. while my mother was in texas she went to see her mother in hickory, alabama. she was talking with a tramp. he had helped my pa in the shop at selma. mother took the train and come to pa's and my stepmother's house. i was fourteen years old then and still wore a long shirt-like dress. they treated her the nicest kind. she told them she was married to a man named sims down in mississippi. she went back. i don't know where. the barber business was a colored man's trade in the early days. "soon after freedom i made two trips a day and carried my young mistress' books to school. it was a mile for us to go 'round the road to pleasant hill. she married c.c. williams. i cooked for her. i cooked her daughter's weddin' supper. she had two girls, maude and pearl. i worked there fourteen years for my clothes and something to eat. then i went to myself. when i wasn't cooking i worked in mr. c.c. williams' sash and blind factory. they was big rich folks. mrs. williams had a hundred rent houses. she went about in her carriage and collected rent. that was at meridian, mississippi. they learned me more than an education--to work. she learned me to cook. i cooked all my life. i cooked here at the rusher hotel till i got so old i was not able to do the work. "i do little odd jobs of work where i can find them. i 'plied for the old age pension but they give me commodities and that's all. i supports my own self such as it be. "i find the young generation don't stick to jobs like i had to do. seems like they want an education to keep them out of work. education does some good and some more harm than good. oh, times! times is going fast. well with some i reckon. some like me is done left. i mean i got slower. time getting faster. i'm done left outen the game. time wait for no man." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: minnie johnson stewart w. sixteenth street, little rock, arkansas age: between and ? "my mother's name was mahala mcelroy. her master's name was wiley mcelroy. she was living in howard county, arkansas near nashville. she worked in the field, and sewed in the house for her mistress. one time she said she never would forget about slavery was a time when she was thirteen years old, and the overseer beat her. "my mother was a real bright woman with great long black hair. her master was her father. she told me that the overseer grabbed her by her hair and wound it 'round his arm and then grabbed her by the roots of it and jerked her down to the ground and beat her till the blood ran out of her nose and mouth. she was 'fraid to holler. "mother married when she was fourteen. i can't remember the name of her husband. the preacher was an old man, a faith doctor, who read the ceremony. his name was lewis hill. "i heard mother say they beat my brother-in-law (his name was dave denver) till he was bloody as a hog. then they washed him down in salt and water. then they beat him again because he hollered. "she told us how the slaves used to try to pray. they were so scared that the overseer would see them that early in the morning while they were going to their work in the field at daybreak that they would fall down on one knee and pray. they were so 'fraid that the overseer would catch them that they would be watching for him with one eye and looking for god with the other. but the lord understood. "my mother was seventy years old when she died. she has been dead thirty years." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: liza stiggers, forrest city, arkansas age: plus "i was born in poplar grove, arkansas on col. bibbs' place. mama was sold twice. once she was sold in georgia, once in alabama, and brought to tennessee, later to arkansas. master ben hode brought her to arkansas. she had ten children and i'm the only one living. mama was a dancing woman. she could dance any figure. they danced in the cabins and out in the yards. "the yankees come one day to our house and i crawled under the house. i was scared to death. they called me out. i was scared not to obey and scared to come on out. i come out. they didn't hurt me. mr. ben hode hid a small trunk of money away. he got it after the war. the slaves never did know where it was hid. they said the hair was on the trunk he hid his money in. it was made out of green hide for that purpose. "mama had a slave husband. he was a field hand and all kind of a hand when he was needed. mama done the sewing for white and black on the place. she was a maid. she could cook some in case they needed her. she died first. papa's foot got hurt some way and it et off. he was so old they couldn't cure it. he was named alfred hode. mama was viney hode. she said they had good white folks. they lived on ben hode's place two or three years after freedom. "i farmed, cooked, and ironed all my life. i don't know how to do nothing else. "i live with my daughter. i got a son." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: james henry stith w. nineteenth street little rock, arkansas age: "i was born la sparta in hancock county, georgia, in january , . my father was named william henry stith, and i was a little tot less than two years old when my mother died. my father has called her name often but i forget it. i forget the names of my father's father, too, and of mother's people. that is too far back. "my father was born in . he was born in georgia. his master was named w.w. simpson. he had a master before simpson. simpson bought him from somebody else. i never can remember the man's name. houses "the first houses i saw in georgia were frame or brick houses. there weren't any log houses 'round where i was brought up. georgia wasn't a log house state--leastwise, not the part i lived in. in another part there were plenty of sawmills. that made lumber common. you could get longleaf pine eighty to ninety feet long if you wanted it. some little towns didn't have no planing mills and you would have to send to augusta or to atlanta for the planing work or else they would make planed lumber by hand. i have worked for four and five weeks at a time dressing lumber--flooring, ceiling, siding, moldings, and so on. "my father was still with simpson when i remembered anything. at that time the house we lived in was a weatherboarded house just like the ones we live in now. it was a house that had been built since freedom. old man simpson sent for my father and told him to build a house for himself on the grounds. my father had been with simpson for so long and had done so much work for him during slave time that simpson didn't want to do without him. he supplied all the lumber and materials for my father. during slave time, simpson had hired my father out to the other planters when he had nothing for him to do in the line of building on his own plantation. he had had him to superintend his grist mill. all that was in slavery time. my father was a highly skilled laborer. he could do a lot of other things besides building. so when freedom came, he wanted my father 'round him still. they both fished and hunted. he wanted my father to go fishing with him and keep him company. my father was a carpenter of the first class, you see, even in slave time. that was all he done. he was brought up to be a carpenter and did nothing but that all his time. my daddy was a mighty good mechanic. good master "my daddy's master was a very good and kind one. my father was not under any overseer. he worked directly under his master. "i remember one incident he told me. his master hired a new overseer who hung around for a bit watching my father. finally, my father asked him, 'now, what are you able to do?' the overseer answered. 'why, i can see all over and whip all over, and that's as much as any damn man can do.' "nobody was allowed to touch my father. he never had no trouble with the pateroles either. old man simpson didn't allow that. he was a free agent. when he wasn't working for simpson, he was working for the next big farmer, and then the next one, and then the next one, and old man simpson got wages for his work. sometimes he worked a contract. old man simpson couldn't afford to have him handicapped in his going and coming. he could go whenever he wanted to go, and come back whenever he got ready, with a pass or without one. his time was valuable. "the reason why so many slaves suffered as much as they did as a rule was not because of the masters but because of the poor white trash overseers. i know of several rich white women that had slaves that wouldn't allow them to be mistreated. they would fire four and five overseers to keep their slaves from being mistreated. mean masters "but there were some mean masters. i have heard that right there in georgia there was one white planter--i think it was brantley---who put one of his slaves that had been unruly in a packing screw and ran it down on him till he mashed him to death. the cotton screw was the thing they pressed cotton bales in. they run it down by steam now, but then, they used to run it down with two mules. they tell a lot of things like that on brantley. of course, i couldn't personally know it, but i know he was mighty mean and i know the way he died. bushwhacking the ku klux "he belonged to the paterole gang and they went out after the negroes one night after freedom. the negroes bushwhacked them and killed four or five of them. they give it out that the men that was killed had gone to texas. brantley was one of the killed ones. the pateroles was awful bad at that time. ku klux they called them after the war, but they was the same people. i never heard of the klan part till this thing come up that they have now. they called them ku klux back when i was a boy. my stepmother carried me over to brantley's house the night he got killed. so i know the texas he went to. that was in ' or ' . he lived about a mile from us and when he got killed, she carried me over to see him just like we would have gone to see any other neighbor. "the negroes were naturally afraid of the ku klux but they finally got to the place where they were determined to break it up. they didn't have no ropes, but they would take grapevines and tie them across the road about breast high when a man would be on horseback. the ku klux would run against these vines and be knocked off their horses into the road and then the bushwhackers would shoot them. when ku klux was killed in this manner, it was never admitted; but it was said that they had gone to texas. there was several of them went to texas one night. amusements "there weren't many amusements in slave times. they had dances with fiddle music. there was mighty few darkies could get out to go to dances because the pateroles was so bad after them. i don't know of any other amusements the slaves had. they were playing baseball when i was born. there were boys much older than i was already playing when i was old enough to notice, so i think they must have known about it in slave time. they didn't play much in that way because they didn't have time. slaves who bought themselves "i have heard tell of some negroes that was thrifty and got money enough from side work to buy themselves. they had to go north then because they couldn't live in the south free. i don't remember their names just now. church "the slaves had church. sometimes they had church at one another's house. i don't think they ever built them a church house. but they could go to the white folks' church if they wanted to. how freedom came "my daddy's master told my father he was free. he told him that in . he told him that he was free to do as he pleased, that he could come when he pleased and go when he pleased. 'course, he told him he wanted him to stay around him--not to go off. soldiers "i have heard my father speak of soldiers, but they were too busy 'round atlanta and up that way to git down where my father was. they don't seem to have bothered his town. they never made my father do any labor in the army neither. my father was mixed indian, white, and negro. marriage "slaves had to get the consent of their masters to marry. sometimes masters would want them to go and would even buy the woman they wanted to keep them contented on the plantation. sometimes the masters wouldn't do anything but let them visit. they would marry--what they called marriage in those days--and the husband would have to git permission from his master to go visit his wife and git permission from her master to come there. he would go on saturday night and get back in time for his work on monday morning. it was just like raising stock and mating it. "i have been married fifty-one years. i have been married twice though. my first wife died in . i have been married to my second wife thirty-four years last april. those were real marriages. opinions "i can't say much along these lines. the chance to make a living looks so dark i can't see much of a future. things seem to be getting worse. nearly everybody i talk with, white or colored, seems to think the same. it is like senator glass said. 'if congress would close up and go home at once, times would get better.' people don't know what kind of fool law congress is going to make and they are not going to spend much money. i don't think mr. roosevelt's pump priming will do much good because you must keep adding to it or it will go away. "i don't think much of the young people. these nineteenth or twentieth century negroes is something fierce i'm telling you. vocational experiences "i am a carpenter. i wish i wasn't. the depression has made it so that the negroes get very little to do. what they have they give to their own people. they don't have much for nobody. even if the nigger gets something, he gets very little out of it. but the main trouble is there isn't anything to do. "i have been a carpenter for fifty-four years. i have been here fifty-one years. i have never had no trouble earning a living till now. i can't do it now. the biggest obstacle of the success of the negro carpenter is that negroes don't have the money to build with. they must get the money from the white man. the white man, on the other hand, if he lets out the money for the building, has the say-so on who will do it, and he naturally picks out another white man. that keeps the majority of negroes out of work as far as carpentry is concerned. it does in a time like this. when times is better, the white man does not need to be so tight, and he can divide up." interviewer: pernella anderson, colored caroline stout ex-slaves i was born in alabama in slavery time. i was sold from my mother after i was five years old and never did see her again. was sold to a family by the name of mr. games. there were six of them in family and i was the seventh. they were very nice to me until i was about years of age. i would attend to the little kids. they were all boys. had to sleep on straw beds and been cooking for myself ever since i was years old. when about ten they started putting hard work on me and had to pick cotton and do the work around the house. was a slave for about years. after i was freed i moved to union county and been here ever since. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: felix street schiller street, little rock, arkansas age: i was born in dickson county, tennessee, fifty miles north of nashville, in . it was on december twenty-eighth. my father told me when he was living how old i was. he told me all the way along, and i remember it. "nannie, jeff, hardy, john mack, and felix (that's me) are my father's children by his first wife. lena, martha, esther are his children by his second wife. he had five children by my mother, and four of them lived to be grown, and one died in infancy. my mother was his first wife. her name was mary street. her name before she married--hold a minute, lemme see--seems like it was mary--mary--street. "my father and my mother couldn't have lived on the same plantation because she was a may and he was a street. i don't know how they met. "my father's master's name was jick street. he owned, to my knowing, my father, bill street; henry street, and ed street. he might have owned more but i heard my father say he owned those. "my father said his white people weren't very wealthy. he and his brother had to go and cut cordwood, both summer and winter. and they was allowed so much work for a task. their task was nine cords a week for each man. that was equal to a cord and a half a day for each man each day. my father would cut his wood like a man ought to cut it. but he said my uncle wouldn't git at his task. he would drink whiskey all the week. they'd get after him about bein' behind with his work, but he would say, 'never mind that; i won't be behind monday morning.' on sunday morning at nine o'clock, he would get up and begin to cut on that wood. and on monday morning at nine o'clock, he would have nine cords cut for his white folks and four or five for himself. it would all be done before nine o'clock monday morning. living brother "i recently seen my brother jeff davis street. i haven't seen him before for sixty-one years. he blew in here from texas with a man named professor smuggers. he lives in malakoff, texas. it's been sixty-one years since he was where i could see him, but he says he saw me fifty-nine years ago. he came back home and i was 'sleep, he says, and he didn't wake me up. he rambled around a little and stood and looked at me awhile, he says. he was seventeen years old and i was twelve. "my brother had a lot of children. he had four girls with him. he had a boy somewheres. he is older than i am. "i heard my father say that in time of war, they were taking up folks that wouldn't join them and putting them in prison. they picked a white fellow up and had him tied with a rope and carried him down to a creek and were tying him up by his thumbs. he saw my father coming and said: 'there's a colored man i know.' my father said he knew him. they let him go when my father said he knew him and that he didn't harbor bushwhackers. every time he saw my father after that he would say, 'bill, you sure did save my life.' "my father and mother lived in a log cabin. they had homemade furniture. they had a bunk up side the wall and a trundle bed. that was the cabin they lived in in slavery time. soldiers "my father said once that when the men were gone, the soldiers came in and asked the women to cook for them. they wouldn't do it; so the soldiers made them bring them a chunk of fire. they throwed the fire on the bed and when it got to burning good, the officer wouldn't let them put it out. but he told them that they could get some of the boys to help them carry out their things if the boys were willing to do it. it was the officers who wanted the women to cook for them. it wasn't the slaves they asked; it was the white folks. sold his master "i heard my stepmother--i call her my mother--say some thing once. she belonged to a white family named bell. they had a lot of slaves. my stepmother was the house girl; so she could get on to a lot of things the others couldn't. she stayed in the house. that was in slavery times. the speculators who were buying colored folks would put up at that place. looked like a town but it all belonged to one person. the name of the place was cloverdale, tennessee. my stepmother said that a gang of these folks put up at cloverdale once and then went on to nashville, tennessee. on the next day a nigger sold the speculator. he was educated and a mulatto, and he sold his master in with a bunch of other niggers. he was just fixin' to take the money, when his master got aware of it, and come on up just in time. i don't know what happened to the nigger. it was just an accident he got caught. my stepmother said it was true. good masters "my mother had a good master. at least, she said he was good. slaves from other plantations would run away and come to her master's place to stay. they would stay a good while. "my father said his master was good to him too. my father's young master has come to see us since the war. he got down low and used to come 'round. my father would give him turns of corn. you know when you used to go to the mill, you would carry about two bushels of corn and call it a milling or a turn. my father would let his young master shell a bushel or two of corn and carry it to the mill. he got poor and sure 'nough you see. we had moved away from them then, and he got in real hard luck. he used to come and sit a half day at a time at our house. and father would give him the corn for his family. we were living in dickson county, tennessee then. seems like we was on frank hudson's place. we hadn't bought a place for ourselves then. ku klux klan "you know they used to ku klux the niggers. they went to the house after the war of an old man named hall. they demanded for him to let them in but he wouldn't. they said that they would break open the door if he didn't let them in. he didn't let them in, and they broke it down. when they started in, his wife threw fire brands in amongst 'em and he knicked one down with an ax. them that wasn't hurt carried the wounded man away and it was reported the next day that he was sick. they never did bother the nigger no more and he never had no charges made against him. runaway negroes--after freedom "it was over forty years ago. me and my wife lived at a big sawmill near elliott, arkansas, just ten miles outside of camden. white folks used to come up there and catch niggers and carry them back to louisiana with them, claiming that they owed debts. one time two white men came to elliott looking for a nigger. they came through the negro quarters and all the men were off that day because it was a holiday. the nigger saw them first and ran to the woods. they ran after him and caught him. they came back through the quarters and tied him to one of the horses and then went on to louisiana--them ridin' and him walkin' tied up with his arms behind him and roped to the horse like he was some kind of cattle or something. the niggers followed them with guns a little distance, but one nigger telephoned to el dorado and the officers there were on the lookout for them. at night, the officers in plain clothes went over and chatted with them white men. when they saw the nigger, they asked what it was they had there. they told the one that asked that it was a damn nigger that owed money back in louisiana and got smart and run away without paying up. the officers drew their guns and put handcuffs on them and carried them and the nigger away to jail. "they put everybody in jail that night. but the next morning they brought them to trial and fined the white men a hundred and fifty dollars apiece and after the trial they turned the nigger loose. that broke up the stealing of niggers. before that they would come and take a negro whenever they wanted to. "niggers were just beginning to wake up then, and know how to slip away and run off. we had whole families there that had run off one by one. the man would run away and leave his children, and as they got old enough, they would follow him one by one. right after the war "right after the war, my people farmed on shares. we had a place we leased on the hudson place that we stayed on. we leased it for five years but we stayed there seven or maybe eleven years. when we left there we bought a place of our own. on the hudson place we cleared up about thirty acres of land and 'tended it as long as we stayed there. we put out a lot of fruit trees on it. had lots of peaches, and plums, and quinces--do you know what quinces are?--and danvils (these danvil plums you know). they are kinda purple looking fruit made in the shape of a prune. they are about two inches through--jus' about half as big as your fist. "when we moved to our own place, we stayed in the same county. it was just about three-fourths of a mile from the hudson place--west of it. moving to arkansas "i came to arkansas with the intention of going to school. but i jus' messed myself up. instead of goin' to school, i went and got married. i was out here just one year before i got married. i married the first time in --february fourteenth, i think. my first wife taken sick with rheumatism and she died in . we were married thirty-one years. i married again about . vocational experiences "when i was able to work, i worked in the railroad shops--boiler maker's helper. before that i farmed and did other things. went from trackman to machinist's helper and boilermaker's helper. opinions "young folks just need the right handlin'. "i don't mix in politics." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mary tabon, forrest city, arkansas age: "pa was sold twice to my knowing. he was sold to mccoy, then to alexander. he was virginian. then he was carried to alabama and brought to holly grove by the mayos. i have wore four names, alexander, adams, morgan, and tabon. "my mother's owners was ellis from alabama. she said she was sold from the scales to ellis. her father, sister, and two brothers was sold from ellis. she never seen them no more. they found uncle charles ellis dead in the field. they never knowed how it come. "my parents had hard times during slavery. ma had a big scar on her shoulder where the overseer struck her with a whoop. she was chopping cotton. she either wasn't doing to suit him or wasn't getting along fast enough to suit him. "ma had so many little ones to raise she give me to nancy bennett. i love her soul in her grave. i helped her to do all her work she taught me. she'd leave me with her little boy and go to church and i'd make cakes and corn bread. she brag on me. we'd have biscuits on sunday morning. they was a rarity. "one day she had company. she told me to bake some potatoes with the jackets on. i washed the potatoes and wrapped them up in rags and boiled them. it made her so mad she wet the towel and whooped me with it. i unwrapped the potatoes and we had them that way for dinner. that was the maddest she ever got at me. she learned me to cook and keep a nice house and to sew good as anybody. i rather know how to work than be educated. "mr. ash give me a lot of scraps from his garment factory. i made them up in quilts. he give me enough to make three dresses. i needed dresses so bad." (one dress has sixty-six pieces in it but it didn't look like that. they sent it to little tock and st. louis for the county fairs. her dresses looked fairly well.) "i was born at holly grove, arkansas. alexander was the name my pa went by and that was my maiden name." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: liza moore tanner, helena, arkansas age: "i was born in north georgia. it was not fer from rome. we belong to master belton moore and miss jane moore. they had a big family, some grandchildren old as their own. that was my job playing wid the children. my parents' name rob moore and pilfy calley. she lived five miles from belton moore's house. she was hired out over at moore's the way she and papa met up. i know now i was hired out too. i run after them children a long time it seemed like to me. i loved them and they cried after me. i get so tired i'd slip off and go up in the loft and soon be asleep. i learned to climb a ladder that very way. it was nailed up straight against the side of the wall. they'd ask me where i been. they never did whoop me fer that. i tell 'em i been asleep. i drapped off 'sleep. i was so tired. papa helped with the young calves and the feeding and in the field too. mama was a fast hand in the field. they called her a little guinea woman. she could outdo me when i was grown and she was getting old. she washed fer the calley's. all i remember they was a old man and woman. mama lived in the office at their house. he let her ride a horse to moore's to work. i rode home wid her many a time. she rode a side saddle. i rode sideways too. she used a battling stick long as she lived when she washed. "papa died two years after the surrender in atlanta, georgia. the moore's moved there and he went along. he left mama at master calley's and i was still kept at the old home place. aunt jilly kept me and my two oldest sisters. her name was jilly calley. i seen mama right often. they fetched papa back to see us a few times and then he died. we all went to atlanta where he was buried. mama lived to be purty nigh a hundred years old. she had fourteen children. i had two sisters and eight half-brothers and three half-sisters. some died so young they never was named. my stepfather was mean to her and beat her, caused some of their deaths. she was a midwife in her later years. she made us a living till i married. she was gone with dr. harrison a lot. he'd come take her off and bring her home in the buggy. i married and immigrated to dell, arkansas. we lived there a year and went to memphis. mama come there and died at my house. she got blind. had to lead her about. my steppapa went off and never come back. he got drunk whenever he could get to it. we hunted him and asked about him. i think he went off with other women. we heard he did. "freedom--i heard miss jane say when she was packing up to go to atlanta, 'i will get a nurse there. they will make her go to school.' i thought she was talking about me. i wanted to go. i loved the children. i got to go to school in the country a right smart. i can read and write. me and my two sisters all was in the same class. it seemed strange then. we had a colored man teacher, mr. jacobin. it was easier for me to learn than my sisters. they are both dead now. "i got three living children--one here and two in memphis. after i got my hip broke i live about with them so they can wait on me. "i don't know about this new way of living. my daughter in memphis raising her little girl by a book. she don't learn her as much manners as children used to know. she got it from the white lady she works for. it tells how to do your child. times done changed too much to suit my way of knowing. 'the old time religion' is the only good pattern fer raising a family. mighty little of that now." interviewer: pernella m. anderson person interviewed: fannie tatum, junction city, arkansas age: born "i was born on wilmington landing in on the ouachita river and was carried away when i was two years old. my mother ran away and left my sister and me when we was three and five years old. i never saw her any more till i was eight and after i was eight years old i never saw her again in forty years. after my mama left me old master neal come here to el dorado and had me bound to him until i was twenty-one. i stayed there till i was twenty-one. i slept by the jamb of the fireplace on a sack of straw and covered with saddle blankets. that was in the winter when snow was waist high. in summer i slept on naked floor and anywhere i laid down was my bed just like a dog. "i wasn't allowed to eat at the table. i et on the edge of the porch with the dogs with my fingers. i worked around the house and washed until i was nine and then i started to plowing. at ten i started splitting rails. my task was two hundred rails a day. if i didn't cut them i got a beating. i did not know what a coat was. i wore two pieces, a lowel[hw:?] underskirt and a lowel[hw:?] dress, bachelor brogans and sacks and rags wrapped around my legs for stockings. that was in winter. summer i went barefooted and wore one piece. my sun hat was a rag tied on my head. "i did not know anything about sunday school nor church. the children would try to teach me my abc's but master would not let them. never visited any colored people. if i see a colored person coming i run from them. they said they might steal me. after i got grown they let me go to a colored party and they whipped me for going. tried to make me tell whether or not a boy come home with me but i did not tell it; one come with me though. that was the first time i got out. of course they sent one of the boys along with me but he would not tell on me. "i never slept in a bed until i was twenty-two years old. never was with any colored people until i was grown. my play was with white children. my father was a white man. he was my ma's old master and they was neals. they kept my hair cut off like a boy's all the time. i never wore a stocking until i was twenty-two and my hair did not grow out and get combed until i was twenty-two. my old master and mistress would have been mean to me but i was so smart they did not get a chance. the only thing i was treated like a dog. "i live in junction city but am here visiting my daughter." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: anthony taylor w. ninth street, little rock, arkansas age: , or ? "i was born in clark county adjoining hot spring county, between malvern and arkadelphia. clark county was named after old man general clark. he was worth four or five thousand acres of land. "my father's name was anthony mcclellan. why they called me anthony taylor was my stepfather was named taylor. my mother's name was lettie sunnaville. my mother has been dead thirty or forty years and my father died six months before i was born. he died a natural death. sickness. he was exposed and died of pneumonia. "fayette sunnaville was my grandfather on my mother's side. that was my mother's father. rachel sunnaville was my mother's mother's name. i don't know the names of my father's people. they was _sole_[hw:?] in slavery. but it is been so far back; i don't remember nothing, and i don't know whether they would or not if they was living. "we stayed on the old plantation for seven or eight years before we had sense enough or knowed enough to get away from there and git something for ourselves. that is how i come to raise such big potatoes. i been raising them fifty years. these are hill potatoes. you have to know how to raise potatoes to grow 'em this big. (he showed me some potatoes, sweet, weighing about seven pounds--ed.) "i have heard my mother and my grandfather tell lots of stories about slavery. i can't remember them. "old man bullocks had about eight or ten families that i knew about. those were the families that lived right near us in the quarters. i didn't say eight or ten hands--i said eight or ten families. them was the ones that was right near us. we was awful small after freedom but them what was with him stayed with him quite a while--stayed with the old master. he would pay them so much after freedom come. "lawd. i could tell you things about slavery. but i'm forgitful and i can't do it all at once. he had the whole county from arkadelphia clean down to princeton and tulip--our old mars did. lonoke was between princeton and tulip. princeton was the county-seat. he must have had a large number of slaves. those ten families i knew was just those close 'round us. most of the farm was _fur_ pine country land. there would be thirty or forty acres over here of cultivation and then thirty or forty acres over there of woods and so on. he had more land than anybody else but it wasn't all under cultivation. "he's been dead now twenty or thirty years. i don't know that he was mean to his slaves. if he had been, they wouldn't have gone on after freedom. they would have moved out. you see, they didn't care for nothing but a little something to eat and a fine dress and they would have gone on to somebody else and got that. "wasn't no law then. he was the law. i worked all day long for ten cents a day. they would allowance you so many pounds of meat, so much meal, so much molasses. i have worked all day for ten cents and then gone out at night to get a few potatoes. i have pulled potatoes all day for a peck of meal and i was happy at that. i never did know what the price of cotton was. "where we was, the ku klux never did bother anybody. all there was, every time we went out we had to have a pass. "my grandfather and grandmother were both whipped sometimes. i don't know the man that whipped them. i don't know whether it was the agent or the owner or who, but they were whipped. lots of times they had work to do and didn't do it. naturally they whipped them for it. that was what they whipped my grandparents for. sometimes too, they would go off and wouldn't let the white folks know where they was going. sometimes they would neglect to feed the horses or to milk the cows--something like that. that was the only reason i ever heard of for punishing them. "i heard that if the boss man wanted to be with women that they had, the women would be scared not to be with him for fear he would whip them. and when they started whipping them for that they kept on till they got what they wanted. they would take them 'way off and have dealings with them. that is where so much of that yellow and half-white comes from. "there was some one going through telling the people that they was free and that they was their own boss. but yet and still, there's lots of them never did leave the man they was with and lots of them left. there was lots of white people that wouldn't let a nigger tell their niggers that they was free, because they wanted to keep them blind to that for years. kept them for three or four years anyway. them that bullocks liked was crazy about him. he would give them a show--so much a month and their keeps. i don't remember exactly how much it was but it was neighborhood price. he was a pretty good man. of course, you never seen a white man that wouldn't cheat a little. "he'd cheat you out of a little cotton. he would have the cotton carried to the gin. he would take half the corn and give us five or six shoats. after he got the cotton all picked and sold, the cotton it would all go to him for what you owed him for furnishing you. you never saw how much cotton was ginned, nor how much he got for it, nor how much it was worth nor nothing. they would just tell you you wasn't due nothing. they did that to hold you for another year. you got nothing to move on so you stay there and take what he gives you. "of all the crying you ever heard, one morning we'd got up and the pigs and hogs in the lot that we had fattened to go on that winter, he was catching them. after we'd done fattened them with the corn that was our share, he took 'em and sold 'em. we didn't even know we owed him anything. we thought the crops had done settled things. nobody told us nothin'. all we children cried. the old man and the old woman didn't say nothing, because they was scared. my mother would get up and go down and milk the cows and what she'd get for the milking would maybe be a bucket of buttermilk. "we'd have a spoonful of black molasses and corn bread and buttermilk for breakfast. we got flour bread once a week. we would work hard all the week talkin' 'bout what good biscuits we'd have sunday morning. sack of flour would last two or three months because we wouldn't cook flour bread only once a week--saturday night or sunday morning. "we had no skillet at that time. we would rake the fireplace and push the ashes back and then you would put the cake down on the hearth or on a piece of paper or a leaf and then pull the ashes over the cake to cook it. just like you roast a sweet potato. then when it got done, you would rake the ashes back and wash the cake and you would eat it. sometimes you would strike a little grit or gravel in it and break your teeth. but then i'm tellin' you the truth about it. "when our hogs was taken that time, we didn't have nothing to go on that winter. they would compel us to stay. they would allowance us some meat and make us split rails and clear up land for it. it was a cinch if he didn't give it to you you couldn't get nothin'. wasn't no way to get nothing. then when crop time rolled 'round again they would take it all out of your crops. make you split rails and wood to earn your meat and then charge it up to your crop anyhow. but you couldn't do nothin' 'bout it. "sometimes a barrel of molasses would set up in the smokehouse and turn to sugar. you goin' hungry and molasses wastin'. they was determined not to give you too much of it. "i made my way by farming. after i got to be some size, i started at it. i farmed all my life. while i could work, things was pretty good. wisht i was on a farm now. even when i'm 'round here sick, i can git these potatoes raised with a little help from the neighbors. "i don't belong to church. i oughter, but i don't. then again, i figure that a man can be just as good out of it as he can in it. i've got good desires, but i never confessed to the public. "i have had three hundred dollars worth of stuff stolen from me. everything i produced is stolen from me because i have no way to protect myself. what i raise if i don't get shet of it right away, the people get shet of it for me. i had eighty head of chickens in the barn out there runnin' 'round. when i got sick and was in the bed and couldn't help myself, the chickens went. in the daytime, they would fix traps and jerk a string and pull a board down on them and then go out in the weeds and get them. i never reported nothin' to the police. i wasn't able to report nothing. i was just batching, and now and then people would come in and report them to me. they would wait till they saw somebody come in and when they saw that i was talking and wouldn't notice them, they would steal anything they wanted. the police came by here and ran them once. but that didn't do no good. "once somebody stole an automatic shotgun. they stole a colt one time. they stole all my clothes and pawned them to a whiskey dealer. he got sent to the pen for selling whiskey, but i didn't get my clothes. they come in the yard and steal my potatoes, collards, turnips, ochre (okra?), and so on. i lay there in the bed and see them, but i can't stop them. all i can do is to holler, 'you better go on and let them things alone.' ever since the last war, i haven't been able to work. i am bare-feeted and naked now on account of not bein' able to support myself. "i just come out of the hospital. i been too sick even to work in my garden. after i come home i taken a backset[tr: ?] but i am still staying here. i am just here on the mercies of the people. i don't get nothing but what the people give me. i don't get no moddities nor nothin' from the government. "i ain't never been able to get no help from the government. long time ago, i went down to the place and asked for help and they told me that since i was alone, i oughta be able to help myself. they gimme a ticket for twenty meals and told me by the time i ate them up, they might have something else they could do for me. i told them i couldn't go back and forth to git the meals. i have the ticket now. i couldn't git to the place to use it none, so i keep it for a keepsake. it is 'round here somewheres or other. i was past the pension age. i ain't been able to do no steady work since the war. i was too old for the war--the world war." interviewer's comment [hw: omit] the spelling of the name sunnaville is phonetic. i don't recognize the name and he couldn't spell it of course. when i called, he had potatoes that weighed at least seven pounds. they were laid out on the porch for sale. he had a small patch in his yard which he cultivated, and had gotten about ten bushels from it. his account of slavery times is so vivid that you would consider his age nearer eighty than sixty-eight. a little questioning reveals that he has no idea of his age although he readily gives it as sixty-eight--a memorized figure. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lula taylor, r.f.d., east of town, brinkley, arkansas age: "my mother was sold five times. she was sold when she was too little to remember her mother. her mother was charity linnerman. they favored. she was dark and granny was light colored. my mother didn't love her mother like i loved her. "granny lived in a house behind the white church (?) in helena. after freedom we kept writing till we got in tetch with her. we finally got granny with us on the jefferies place at clarendon. "a man (negro) come by and conjured my mother. she was with miss betty reed (or reid) up north of lonoke. they was my mother's last owners. that old man made out like she stole things when he stole them his own black self. he'd make her hide out like she stole things. she had a sweetheart and him and his wife. she had to live with them. they stole her off from her last owner, miss betty reed. they didn't like her sweetheart. they was going to marry. he bought all her wedding clothes. when she didn't marry him she let him have back all the weddin' clothes and he buried his sister in them. this old man was a conjurer. he give my mother a cup of some kind of herbs and made her drink it. he tole her all her love would go to henry deal. he liked him. he was my papa. her love sure did leave her sweetheart and go to my papa. he bought her some nice clothes. she married in the clothes he got her. she was so glad to let go that old man and woman what conjured her 'way from her white folks to wait on them. "granny's head was all split open. i lived to see all that. white folks said her husband done it but she said one of her old master's struck her on the head with a shoe last. "my papa said he'd hit boards and stood on them all day one after another working cold days. "master wade deal at freedom give papa a pair of chickens, goats, sheep, turkeys, a cow; and papa cleared ten acres of ground to pay for his first mule. he bought the mule from master wade deal. "old master deal used to run us from behind him plowing. we tease him, say what he'd say to the horse or mule. he'd lock us up in the smokehouse. we'd eat dried beef and go to sleep. he was a good old man. "grandpa henry pool went to war. papa was sold from the pools to the deals. grandpa played with us. he'd put us all up on a horse we called old bill. he said he got so used to sleeping on his blanket on the ground in war times till he couldn't sleep on a bed. he couldn't get off asleep. "grandpa found a pitcher of gold money been buried in old master pool's stable. he give it to them. they knowed it was out there. "mother was with miss betty reed in most of war times. miss betty hid their jewelry and money. she spoke of the yankees coming and kill pretty chickens and drink up a churn of fresh milk turned ready for churning. it be in the chimney corner to keep warm. they'd take fat horses and turn their poor ones in the lot. they never could pass up a fat hog. they cleaned out the corn crib. "all my kin folks was field hands. i ploughed all day long. "papa said his ole mistress deal was out under an apple tree peeling apples to dry. a white crane flew over the tree and fluttered about over her. next day she died. then the old man married a younger woman. "it is so about the pigeons at pigeon roost (wattensaw, arkansas). they weighted trees down till they actually broke limbs and swayed plenty of them. that was the richest land you ever seen in your life when it was cleared off. folks couldn't rest for killing pigeons and wasted them all up. i was born at pigeon roost on jim high's place. i seen a whole washpot full of stewed pigeon. it was fine eating. it was a shame to waste up all the pigeons and clear out the place." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: millie taylor texas street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm, i was born in slavery times in calhoun county, mississippi. "bill armstrong was my owner. he's been dead a long time. "my folks stayed on there a good while. "pa said they was good to him but they wasn't good to my ma. i heered pa say they beat her till she died. i don't remember a thing 'bout my ma. "i heered 'em talk 'bout the ku klux. they kep' that in my hearin' so much that i kep' that in my remembrance. "i know when we stayed on the place pa said was old master's. yes'm, i sure 'members dat. i know we stayed there till pa married again. "bill armstrong's wife made our clothes. i know we stayed right in the yard with some more colored folks. "pa worked on the shares and rented too. "i was twenty-four when i come from mississippi here. i was married then and had three chillun. but they all dead now. i stays here with my grandson. i don't know what i'd do if it wasn't for him. i reckon i'd just be knockin' around--no tellin'. "i got another grandson lives in marvell. i went there to visit and i got so i couldn't walk, so my grandson carried me to the doctor. and he just looked at me--he had been knowin' me so long. i said, 'don't you know me?' and he said, 'if you'd take off your hat i think i'd know you.' and he said, 'well, for the lawd, if it ain't millie taylor!' "i've always done farmin'. that's the way i was raised--farmin'. i just looks at these folks in town and it seems funny to me to buy ever'thing you need. looks to me like they would rather raise it. "oh, lawd, don't talk about this young race. it looks to me like they is more heathe'nish. the bible say they would be weaker and wiser but they is just too wise for their own good. i just looks at 'em and i don't know what to think about this young race. they is a few respects you and theirselves. "i seen things here in town i didn't think i'd ever see. seems like the people in the country act like they recognize you more. "i has a good remembrance. seems like i gets to studyin' 'bout it and it just comes to me like abc. i know pa used to talk and tell us things and if i didn't believe it, i didn't give him no cross talk. but nowadays if chillun don't believe what you say, they goin' try to show you a point. "yes ma'am, folks is livin' a fast life--white and colored. "looks like the old folks has worked long enough for the white folks till they ought to have enough to live on." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: sarah taylor, r.f.d., madison, arkansas age: "i was born in releford county, tennessee, ten miles from murfreesboro. my parents belonged to dr. jimmy manson. he was off and gone from home nearly all the time. he didn't have a negro driver. because he didn't they called us all manson's free niggers. folks didn't like it because we had so much freedom. one day a terrible thing happened broke up our happy way of living on dr. manson's place. "grandpa was part indian. dr. jimmy didn't whoop. he visited and he'd get a jug of whiskey, call his niggers and give them a little, make them feel good and get them in a humor for working. dr. jimmy had a nigger overseer. they was digging a ditch and making a turnpike from dr. manson's place to murfreesboro. they told grandpa to drive down in the ditch with his load of rock and let the white folks drive up on the dump. they was hauling and placing rock on the dump to make a turnpike. in tennessee it was a law if a man owned a nigger he had to whoop him or have him whooped. if he didn't he had to sell him. they told grandpa if he didn't do as they said they would whoop him, then they said they would break his back. they took the fussing to dr. jimmy for him to whoop grandpa. he sold him to nigger traders and they drove him to mississippi. mother never seen him no more. grandma died of grief. she had nine girls and no boys. after freedom seven went north and mama, was jane, and aunt betty lived on in tennessee, and i lived some in mississippi. that's the reason i hate mississippi to this very day. "the day they fit on stone river in tennessee, brother hood was born. he was born during the battle. i guess they moved off of dr. jimmy's place at freedom, for i was born on jack little's place. "the times is passing faster than i want it to and i'm doing very well. i don't never meddle in young folks' business and i don't 'low them meddling in mine. folks is the ones making times so hard. some making times hard for all rest of us can't help ourselves. it is sin and selfishness makes times so hard. young folks no worse than some not so very old. it ain't young folks making times hard. it's older ones so greedy. they don't have no happiness and don't want to see old ones live nor the young ones neither." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: warren taylor w. seventeenth street, little rock, arkansas age: my people are all from richmond, virginia. i was just four years old when they come here. my father was in charge of all the machinery. he ran the gin. didn't do anything else. my mother was a house girl. the kids learned her everything they learned in school. she knew everything. my father died when i was young. my mother lived till she was eighty. but the time she was fifty, i bought her a home and sat her down on pulaski street in that home. and that is why i have so little trouble. "my ma belonged to hoffman. he sold her to wiley adams. he carried her to mississippi. she stayed there for a short time and then came to arkansas. he settled in a little place called tulip, arkansas. then freedom came and we came to little rock and settled at what is now seventh and ringo streets; but then it was just a stage road leading to benton, arkadelphia, and other places. stages passed twice a day with passengers and freight. no railroads at all then. the government kept the roads up. they had the arsenal hall where the city park is and had a regiment of soldiers there. the work on that road was kept up by the soldiers. that was under grant's administration. i never saw but three presidents--three democratic presidents--cleveland, wilson, and roosevelt. "my father's master was named lee. he married my mother back in virginia. my daddy's people when he was freed was named taylor. he died when i was young and he never gave me any details about them. good masters "the adamses were good to my mother. and they help her even after freedom. charlie adams and mack adams of malvern, arkansas. john was the sheriff and ran a store. mack was a drummer for the penzl grocery. when my mother was ill, he used to bring her thirty dollars at a time. every two months she had to go down to malvern when she was well and carry an empty trunk and when she would come back it would be full. my mother was wet-nurse to the adamses and they thought the world and all of her. marriage "they had a good opinion of their house servants. that is how she and my father came to belong to different families. one white man would say to the other, 'i got a good boy. i'm going to let him come over to see your girl.' he would be talking about a negro man that worked around his house and a negro girl that worked for the other man. that would be all right. so that's the way my father went to see my mother. he was married in the way they always married in those days. you know how it was. there was no marriage at all. they just went on out and got the woman and the white man said, 'there she is. you are man and wife.' right after the war "my father died before freedom. my mother lived with him until her folks moved away from his folks. then she was separated from him and left him in mississippi. she belonged to one white man and he to another, and that could happen any time. "right after freedom, she stayed with these white people, doing the house work. she had the privilege of raising things for herself. she made a garden, and raised vegetables and such like. "my brother who had run off during slavery time and who later became a preacher in the north invited us to live in the city with him. vocational experiences "i wasn't fourteen years old when i was tending to flowers for the cairo and fulton railroad. that was a railroad which later became missouri pacific. they beautified everything. there wasn't any bridge. they had a boat to take you into the town of argenta then, and when the trains came through, the same boat would carry the cars across. an engine would be on the other side to finish the journey with them. "there is one engineer living now who was active in that time, charlie seymour, retired, of little rock. he used to run the first train over the baring cross bridge, and then he ran the first engine over the new bridge here. he had already been retired when they finished the new bridge, but they had him pull the first train over the new bridge because he had pulled the first one over the old bridge. they wanted to give him that honor. "my manager in that time was superintendent a.e. buchanan. "from this work, i was advanced to the office and stayed there twenty years. i served under commissioner thomas essex and later under commissioner j.a. dean. this service included twenty years in various departments. "after that i billed freight for the missouri pacific at the baring cross storerooms under mr. h.s. turner for eight months or more. then i was transferred, because the location was not good for my health, to de soto, missouri, forty-five miles this side of st. louis. sedentary work had proved bad for me and i needed more active work. i waited on the master mechanic there. after that i came back to little rock and worked for the pacific express company under mr. g.f. johnson, superintendent. after that, i worked for the quapaw club[hw?] during its heyday when johnie boyle, hollenberg, acie bragg, will mitchell, mr. cottman, captain shaw, and oodles of others were members. mr. moorehead white was secretary. after that i went to doing my own work. "now i am past my prime and i do the best i can with what little help i get from the government. i get eight dollars a month and commodities. mr. roosevelt has got guts. mighty few men would attempt to do what he has done. he is the greatest humanitarian president the country has ever had. "but i've got a pile of recommendations. i've got recommendations from thomas essex, land commissioner, st. louis, iron mountain, and southern railway w.s. thomas, geologist, st. louis, iron mountain, southern j.h. harvey, general foreman of bridges and building g.a.a. deane, land commissioner succeeding essex, st. louis, iron mountain, and southern s.w. moore, general secretary, railway y.m.c.a. arthur b. washburn, superintendent, arkansas deaf mute institute a.c. st. clair, manager of the college of physicians and surgeons (note comment) [tr: no additional comment found.] you can read these for yourself, and you see what they say. they can't get me work now, but it's great to know you did good work and be able to prove it. "the same commodities they give now were given in . they had what they called the freedman's bureau. they used to have what they called the lick skillet on spring street from fifth to seventh. leastwise, the colored people called it that. bush and a lots of other big niggers used to go there and get free lodgings until they were able to get along alone without help. the niggers they call big niggers now stayed in wagon yards when they first come here. former morals "there was a time when a low-down person, colored or white, couldn't stay in the community. they would give him a ticket and send him to memphis or somewhere else. "reuben white built the first baptist church. in those days, people were christian. white baptized one hundred fifty people twice a month. you didn't have to put a lock on your door then. bachelor "i haven't been married; marriage holds a man back. a woman won't do as she is told. successful negroes in little rock "they had three negro aldermen in this city: one of them was green thompson; but the negroes butchered him. he was murdered as he came in from a festival. m.w. gibbs, land office man for the government, was the only nigger here who wasn't bothered by no one--by no colored person. dr. smith was the leading colored dentist once, and the leading dentist of the city in his day. almost all the white people went to him. colored people had the barber shops. mcnair had a barber shop on main between second and third. his boy killed him--no good reason. his boy went to school with us; he was always stubborn and mean. "henry powell was jailer here once. sam wilkins, a man that weighed about three hundred pounds, was the turnkey at the penitentiary. he lived in one of the finest houses in the town at that time. nigger bands had all the music then. i have seen white organizations like the odd fellows and masons follow negro bands. nigger orchestras played here all the big to-dos among white people. white people used to get nigger dancers to come here to dance and show them so that they could learn the late steps. "colored caterers had the big jobs. henry miller was one of them. he's going pretty strong still. you get some smart niggers 'round the marion hotel right now. we used to have some smart cooks. but they did too much peddling out of the back door. dishonesty put them back. white people have taken all that work now. the nigger ruined himself in this town. they are paying white men now for what they know. they used to pay niggers for what they knowed. opinions "if the government would give you a job today, niggers would be up to take you out of it tomorrow. niggers are dirty, and these 'round here are ignorant. "the parents don't teach the children, and the children can't amount too anything. if children are not taught to work, they will never have nothing. a bunch of these young people don't mean to work. they just lay 'round waiting for the old people to die so they can get what little the old folks accumulated and run through it. but a man never keeps what he himself doesn't earn. he can't. "the children are raised now without manners. when i have to go past capitol hill school, i have to get off the sidewalk. ain't nothin' but these graduates teachin' now, young graduates that don't know nothin' but runnin' about. when i come along, the carpetbaggers were teaching and they knew their business. mrs. stephens went to fisk and finished there. mrs. spight graduated from union high school. we had all white teachers at first. miss sarah henley used to teach with old ex-slaves where the bethel a.m.e. church is now. there wasn't no church there then--just a little shanty. i was just five years old. my mother used to take me there and leave me, but she taught me herself at home. she taught me just like i see you teach your kids. "boys don't do nothing but play now. they had to hustle then. they can't do nothing now. they have this departmental system now. they didn't have it then. the different temperaments ruin children. they used to review, now they don't. they change text-books so fast the old ones can't be sold." interviewer's comment warren taylor holds recommendations from a number of prominent people referring to his excellent character, high morals, unusual intelligence, wide information, industry, thrift, honesty, and trustworthiness. some of the names occur in the interview. the letters and documents proving his long service and good record were brought out during the interview and given to me to read. he has an unusual memory and penetrating insight into conditions. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: sneed teague brinkley, arkansas age: occupation: works on railroad "my owners was miss betsy and master teague. miss betsy had a sister lived with them. her name was miss polly. they was french folks from the old country. "my ma had belong to the cox before the teagues owned her. the teagues had three families of servants. "i remember them--yes mam--they was very saving people. they made everything that they used. the shettle, the carding machine, the spinning wheel and all, they made em. they had a carding machine different to anybodys in the country. it worked by a foot treadle. another thing wasn't like nobody elses in the whole country was the bed. it had four tall post. the head board a little higher than the one at the foot but instead of using slats across from the railings it was mortised together and hemp ropes wove bout a inch apart. it was strong and didn't seem to give (stretch) much. "they raised sheep and they wove and spun wool altogether. they didn't fool with cotton. never did, not even down to my time. that carding machine i'm telling bout turned out rolls of wool. it was right pretty. they made all kinds of wool things and sold them. the old man had three or four boys. mr. jim teague run a wood and blacksmith shop. he sold plows, wagons, hoes. they made spoons, knives, and forks out of sheets of some kind of metal. everything they used they made it and they sold mighty near every thing folks wanted. the servants stayed on after the war. my ma stayed till she died. my family had a little dispute when i was twelve years old and i left. ma died and i never went back. i come to forrest city and got work. i been farmin' and working on the railroad. i have done track work. i got acres land and a house. i don't need on the relief. if i need it i would want it. the reason i ain't got a garden and cow is i work out and not there to see after it. "some times i vote. you make enemies cause they all want you to vote for them and i can't do that. i don't care nothin' bout votin'. i don't enquire no more bout politics. "the fellow what raises things to sell is better off with prices high but if he is working for money, times is hard for him. cause the money is hard to get and hard to keep now. the young folks morals ain't like young folks used to have. seemed like young folks too smart to be trained in morals like they was when i was comin' up." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mary teel holly grove, ark. age: "our masters was wade and curls. miss fannie was master wade's wife. they was kin somehow. i heard ma say they wouldn't let their boys work. we girls growd up together. they called ma 'cousin'. "ma say she come from marshal county tennessee to holly springs mississippi. she never did see her pa. my papa's papa was _a white man_. my pa was lewis brittman. he was a carriage driver. he made and mended shoes. my ma was a fine cook. she had nine children but jes three living now. one of the girls--miss fannie's girls--married bout when i did. we jes growd up lack that. i left the girls at mt. pleasant, mississippi. i stayed on their place a while. i wish i had money to go back to my old home and see all 'em livin'. i never heard 'em say if they give 'em somepin. pa lernt us to do all kinds of work. he knowd how to do nearly everything cause he was brought up by white folks. measles broke out, then small pox and the white folks put us in a room all together at the white house so we could be seen after. we lay on the same beds. my brother would whistle. i was real little but i member it well as yesterday. ma say stop whistlin' in that bed and miss fannie say let him whistle i want to hear him cause i know he better. they say it bad luck to sing in bed or look in the lookin'-glass (mirror) if you in the bed. we all got over it. "pa made us go clean. he made me comb and wrop my hair every night. i had prutty hair then. i had tetter and it all come out. i has to wear this old wig now. when i was young my eye-sight got bad, they said measles settled in em and to help em ma had these holes put in em (in her ears). i been wearin' earbobs purt nigh all my life. "the ku klux never bothered us. they never come nigh our house no time. pa died and ma married a old man. they stayed in the same place a while. when pa died he had cattle and stock that why i don't know if he got somepin at freedom. he had plenty. "we lived at holly springs (miss.) when they started the first colored schools. there was three lady teachers. i think a man. one of the white teachers boarded at my ma's. on saturday the other two eat there. i recollect ma cooking and fixing a big dinner saturday. no white folks let em stay with em or speak to em. they was sent from up north to teach the darky chaps. i was one went to school. they wasn't nice like my white folks then neither. they paid high board and white folks sent em to ma so she get the money. i was years old when i married. i lived wid my husband more an years. we got long what i'ze tellin' you. this young set ain't got no raisin' reason they cain't stand one nother. i don't let em come in my yard. i cain't raise no children, i'm too old and they ain't got no manners and the big ones got no sense. jes wild. they way they do. they live together a while and quit. both them soon livin' wid somebody else. that what churches fer, to marry in. heap of em ain't doin' it. no children don't come here tearin' up what i work and have. i don't let em come in that gate, i have to work so hard in my old days. i picked cotton. i can, by pickin' hard, make a dollar a day. i cooked ten years fore i stopped, i cain't hold up at it. i washed and ironed till the washing machines ruined that work fer all of us black folks. silk finery and washin' machines ruint the black folks. "ma named elsie langston and lewis langston. they took that name somehow after the old war (civil war), i recken it was her old master's name. "after i was married and had children i was hard up. i went to a widow woman had a farm but no men folks. she say, 'if you live here and leave your little children in my yard and take my big boys and learn em to work, i will cook. on saturday you wash and iron.' she took me in that way when my color wouldn't help me. i stayed there--between memphis and holly springs. "i live hard the way i live. i pick cotton when i can't go hardly. they did give me a little commodity but i lose half day work if i go up there and wait round. don't know what they give me. i don't get a cent of the penshun." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: wade thermon, r.f.d. (pwa reservation), des arc, arkansas age: "i was born in boswell, oklahoma. my mother and father was both slaves some wha in the eastern states. soon as freedom was declared they kept going till i was born. they finally come back and farmed round pine bluff. my folks last time i heard from them was at garland city. there's wha my mother died. i had three brothers and one sister, but one brother died long time ago. oklahoma was pore farmin'. the family could do pretty good farmin' in arkansas. i come here from pine bluff. i got a wife, two girls and a little grandchild. when i first come to dis county i done public work--piece work. i handled cotton and cross ties. i used to help load and unload the boats and i worked helpin' build railroads. then i had to farm about a little fur a living. i worked on victor gates place six years. then i worked on the widow thomas place till the government bought it. then the last eighteen months i got work wid the pwa on the rezer/va/tion. they turned me off now and i ain't got no place to work. "i voted the republican ticket the last time. i don't know nothing 'bout stricted sufage. i voted in oklahoma some and here some. no i sho don't think the women needs to vote. they won't let us vote in the primary. no i wouldn't know who would suit in dem high offices. i reckon it is all right. we is in you might say a foreign country. what i blames 'em fur is not puttin' us in a country all to our selves and den let us run it all to our selves. it is gettin' us all mixed up here every year worse and worse. "i don't know nuthin' 'bout the civil war. that was before i was born. i heard my folks talk some 'bout it, been so long i forgot what they did say. my folks owned a place in oklahoma, at least i recken they did. i never did own no home nor no land. well, missus, cause i never could get but berry little ahead ever and it takes all i makes to live on and i ain't got nuthin' to go on now. "times is changin' so much i don't know whut goin' to happen to the next generation. prices is mighty high now the reason you have to spend every cent you makes fore you get paid off. dats the reason i don't like the pwa work i done. it cuts you off without a thing to go on. i likes farm work whole heap the best." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: mrs. dicey thomas center street, little rock, arkansas age: about "i was born in barbour county, alabama. when i was born, the white folks kept the children's age, not that of their parents. when the yankees came through our white folks' plantation, the white folks was hiding away things. father "my father was named ben see. see was my maiden name. thomas comes from my marriage. yankees "it was about twelve o'clock when the yankees came through, because we had just gone to bring the bowls. they used to serve us out of these gourds and wooden spoons. me and another little girl had gone to get some bowls and spoons and when we got back the yankees were swarming over the place. they said, 'you are free. go where you please.' "my mother had a little baby. the old women would tend to this baby and we would sit and rock the cradle till mother would come. i know i wasn't very old, because i didn't do anything but sit and rock the baby. i had just gotten big enough to carry the bowls. "when the yankees came through they stole ben see's horse and brought him out here in arkansas. in those days, they used to brand horses. some woman out here in arkansas recognized the horse by his brand and wrote to him about it. he came out and got the horse. we had gone by that time. visiting the graves "ben see used to take the little darkies to the cemetery and show them where their master and missis was laying. he never would sell none of his father's slaves. the slave block "he would buy other slaves and sell them though. he used to buy little kids that couldn't walk. maybe some big white man would come that would want to buy a nigger. he used to have servants in the yard and he would have the slaves he'd bought saved up. one of the yard servants would catch a little nigger with his head all knotty and filled with twigs. he would swinge the hair and the little nigger would yell, but he wouldn't be hurt. "he had a block built up high just like a meat block out in the yard. he would have the yard man bring the little niggers out and put them on this block. i don't know nothing about their parents, who they were nor where they were. all i know he would have this child there what he'd done bought. "if there would be about five or six come in, here's this nigger sitting up here. here's a lot of folks waitin' to buy him. one would say, 'i bid so much.' another would say, 'i bid so much.' that would go on till the biddin' got as high as it would go. then the little nigger would go to the highest bidder if the bid suited master. "my mother and father didn't know their age. the white folks kept the ages, and that was something they didn't allow the slaves to handle. i must have been four or five years old when my mother was in the field, because i wasn't allowed to take the baby out of the cradle but just to sit and rock it. arkansas "when i come to arkansas, stages was running from little rock down toward pine bluff. jesse james robbed the pine bluff train. that about the first train came in. they cut down the trees across the train track. they had a wooden gun and they went in there and robbed that train with it. they sent him to the pen and he learned a trade making cigars. "the union station was just like that hillside. it was just one street in the town. i don't know what year nor nothing about it because when i came here it was just like somebody didn't have any sense. plantation "the slave quarter was a row of houses. the plantation was high land. the houses were little log houses with one room. they had fire arches. they would hang pots over the fire. they would have spiders that you call ovens. you would put coals on top of the spider and you would put them under it and you could smell that stuff cooking! the door was in the top of the spider and the coals would be on top of the door. "you couldn't cook nothin' then without somebody knowin' it. couldn't cook and eat in the back while folk sit in the front without them knowin' it. they used to steal from the old master and cook it and they would be burning rags or something to keep the white folks from smelling it. the riding boss would come round about nine o'clock to see if you had gone to bed or not. if they could steal a chicken or pig and kill and cut it up, this one would take a piece and that one would take a piece and they would burn the cotton to keep down the scent. the rider would come round in june and july too when they thought the people would be hunting the watermelons. "when the soldiers came, the niggers run and hid under the beds and the soldiers came and poked their bayonets under the bed and shouted, 'come on out from under there. you're free!' destructiveness of soldiers "the soldiers would tear down the beehives and break up the smoke houses. they wasn't tryin' to git nothin' to eat. they was just destroying things for devilment. they pulled all the stoppers out of the molasses. they cut the smoked meat down and let it fall in the molasses. rations "every saturday, they would give my father and his wife half a gallon of molasses, so much side meat. and then they would give half a bushel of meal i reckon. whatever they would give they would give 'em right out of the smoke house. sweet potatoes they would give. sugar and coffee they'd make. there wasn't nothing 'bout buying no sugar then. how the day went "the riding boss would come round before the day broke and wake you up. you had to be in the field before sun-up--that is the man would. the woman who had a little child had a little more play than the man, because she had to care for the child before she left. she had to carry the child over to the old lady that took care of the babies. the cook that cooked up to the big house, she cooked bread and milk and sent it to the larger children for their dinner. they didn't feed the little children because their mothers had to nurse them. the mother went to the field as soon as she cared for her child. she would come back and nurse the child around about twice. she would come once in the morning about ten o'clock and once again at twelve o'clock before she ate her own lunch. she and her husband ate their dinner in the field. she would come back again about three p.m. then you wouldn't see her any more till dark that night. long as you could see you had to stay in the field. they didn't come home till sundown. "then the mother would go and get the children and bring them home. she would cook for supper and feed them. she'd have to go somewheres and get them. maybe the children would be asleep before she would get all that done. then she would have to wake them up and feed them. "i remember one time my sister and me were laying near the fire asleep and my sister kicked the pot over and burned me from my knee to my foot. my old master didn't have no wife, so he had me carried up to the house and treated by the old woman who kept the house for him. she was a slave. when i got so i could hobble around a little, he would sometimes let the little niggers come up to the house and i would get these big peanuts and break them up and throw them out to them so he could have fun seeing them scramble for them. "after the children had been fed, the mother would cook the next day's breakfast and she would cook the next day's dinner and put it in the pail so that everything would be ready when the riding boss would come around. cause when he came, it meant move. the old lady at the big house "the old lady at the big house took care of the gourds and bowls. the parents didn't have nothing to do with them. she fed the children that was weaned. mother and daddy didn't have nothing to do with that at noontime because they was in the field. white folks fed them corn bread and milk. up to the big house besides that, she didn't have anything to do except take care of things around the house, keep the white man's things clean and do his cooking. "she never carried the gourds and bowls herself. she just fixed them. the yard man brought them down to the quarters and we would take them back. she wash them and scrape them till they was white and thin as paper. they was always clean. "she wasn't related to me. i couldn't call her name to save my life. relatives "we come from barbour, alabama with a trainful of people that were immigrating. we just chartered a train and came, we had so many. of all the old people that came here in that time, my aunt is the oldest. you will find her out on twenty-fourth street and pulaski. she has been my aunt ever since i can remember. she must be nearly a hundred or more. patrollers "when we had the patrollers it was just like the white man would have another white man working for him. it was to see that the negroes went to bed on time and didn't steal nothing. but my master and missis never allowed anybody to whip their slaves. what the slaves expected and got "i don't know what the slaves was expecting to get, but my parents when they left ben see's place had nothing but the few clothes in the house. they didn't give em nothing. they had some clothes all right, enough to cover themselves. i don't know what kind or how much because i wasn't old enough to know all into such details. "when we left ben see's plantation and went down into alabama, we left there on a wagon. daddy was driving four big steers hitched to it. there was just three of us children. the little boy my mother was schooling then, it died. it died when we went down betwixt new falls and montgomery, alabama. i don't know when we left alabama nor how long we stayed there. after he was told he was free, i know he didn't make nare another crop on ben see's plantation. - "my father, when he left from where we was freed, he went to hauling logs for a sawmill, and then he farmed. he done that for years, driving these old oxen. he mostly did this logging and my mother did the farming. "i can't tell you what kind of time it was right after the civil war because i was too young to notice. all our lives i had plenty to eat. when we first came to arkansas we stopped at old mary jones down in riceville, and then we went down on the gates farm at biscoe. then we went from there to atkins up in pope county. no, he went up in the sand hills and bought him a home and then he went up into atkins. of course, i was a married woman by that time. "i married the second year i came to arkansas, about sixty-two or sixty-three years ago. i have lived in little rock about thirty-two or thirty-three years. when i first came here, i came right up here on seventeenth and state streets. voting "i never voted. for twenty years the old white lady i stayed with looked after my taxes. none of my friends ever voted. i ain't got nothing but some children and they ain't never been crazy enough to go to anybody's polls. family "i have two brothers dead and a sister. my mother is dead. i am not sure whether or not my father is dead. the ku klux scared him out of atkins, and he went up in tulsa, oklahoma, and i ain't never heard of him since. i don't know whether he is dead or not. "i have raised five children of my own. ku klux klan "these ku klux, they had not long ago used to go and whip folks that wasn't doing right. that was mongst the white people and the colored. comer that used to have this furniture store on main street, he used to be the head of it, they say. "i used to work for an old white man who told me how they done. they would walk along the street with their disguises hidden under their arms. then when they got to the meeting place, they would put their disguises on and go out and do their devilment. then when they were through, they would take the disguise off again and go on back about their business, old man wolf, he used to tell me about it. occupation "i nursed for every prominent doctor in little rock,--dr. judd, dr. flynch, dr. flynn, dr. fly, dr. morgan smith, and a number of others." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mandy thomas, th and pearl streets, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: laundress "i know my sister told me i was five when my mama was freed. i was born down below el dorado. andrew jaggers was my mother's old master. "i just remember the soldiers goin' past. i think they was yankees. they never stopped as i knows of. "i've seed my young missis whip my mother. "my papa belonged to the agees. after i got up good sized, they told me 'bout my papa. he went with his white folks to texas and we never did see him after we got up good size. so mama took a drove of us and went to work for some more white folks. "i was good and grown when i married and i been workin' hard ever since. i was out pickin' huckleberries tryin' to get some money to buy baby clothes when my first girl was born. yes ma'am." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: omelia thomas w. ninth street, little rock, arkansas age: about occupation: making cotton and corn "i was born in louisiana--in vidalia. my mother's name was emma grant. my father's name was george grant. my mother's name before she married was emma woodbridge. i don't know the names of my grand folks. i heard my mother say that my grandmother was named matilda woodbridge. i never got to see her. that is what i heard my mother say. "i don't know the names of my mother's master, and i don't know the names of my father's white folks. "my father was george grant. he served in the war. i think they said that he was with them when vicksburg surrendered. my father has said that he was really named george lagrande. but after he enlisted in the war, he went by the name of george grant. there was one of the officers by that name, and he took it too. he was shot in the hip during the war. when he died, he still was having trouble with that wound. he was on the union side. he was fighting for our freedom. he wasn't no reb. he'd tell us a many a day, 'i am part of the cause that you are free.' i don't know where he was when he enlisted. he said he was sold out from louisville--him and his brother. "i never did hear him say that he was whipped or treated bad when he was a slave. i've heard him tell how he had to stand up on dead people to shoot when he was in the war. "my brother started twice to get my father's pension, but he never was able to do anything about it. they made away with the papers somehow and we never did get nothin'. my father married a second time before he died. when he died, my stepmother tried to get the pension. they writ back and asked her if he had any kin, and she answered them and said no. she hid the papers and wouldn't let us have 'em--took and locked 'em up somewheres where we couldn't find 'em. she was so mean that if she couldn't get no pension, she didn't want nobody else to get none. "i don't know just when i was born, nor how old i am. when i come to remember anything, i was free. but i don't know how old i am, nor when it was. "i heard my father speak of pateroles. just said that they'd ketch you. he used to scare us by telling us that the pateroles would ketch us. we thought that was something dreadful. "i never heard nothin' about jayhawkers. i heard something about ku klux but i don't know what it was. "my father married my mother just after the war. "i been married twice. my first husband got killed on the levee. and the second is down in the country somewheres. we are separated. "i don't get no help from the welfare, wish i did. i ain't had no money to get to the doctor with my eyes." interviewer's comments the old lady sat with her eyes nearly closed while i questioned her and listened to her story. those eyes ran and looked as though they needed attention badly. the interview was conducted entirely on the porch as that of annie parks. traffic interrupted; friends interrupted; and a daughter interrupted from time to time. but this daughter, while a little suspicious, was in no degree hostile. the two of them referred me to j.t. tims, who, they said, knew a lot about slavery. his story is given along with this one. i got the impression that the old lady was born before the war, but i accepted her statement and put her down as born since the war and guessed her age as near seventy. she was evidently quite reserved about some details. her father's marriage to her mother after the war would not necessarily mean that he was not married to her slave fashion before the war. she didn't care so much about giving any story, but she was polite and obliging after she had satisfied herself as to my identity and work. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: omelia thomas w. fifth street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in marianna, lee county, in arkansas. i wasn't born right in the town but out a piece from the town in the old bouden place, in . my father kept a record of all births and deaths in his bible. he never forgot whenever a new baby would come to get down his glasses and pen and ink and bible. my daddy learned to read and write after the emancipation. "my father's name was frank johnson and my mother's name was henrietta johnson. i don't know the given names of my father's and mother's parents. i do know my mother's mother's name. lucinda, and my father's mother was named stephens. i don't know their given names. my mother's master was a trotter. "my father was a free man. he hired his own time. he told me that his father hired his own time and he would go off and work. he made washpots. he would go off and work and bring back money and things. his mother was free too. when war was declared, he volunteered to go. he was with the yankees. my father worked just like my grandfather did. whenever he had a job to do. he never had a lick from anybody, carried his gun strapped down on his side all the time and never went without it. "after the war, he worked on a steamboat. they used to kick the roustabouts about and run them around but they never laid the weight of their hands on him. "they wouldn't allow him to go to school in slavery time. after the war, he got a blue back speller and would make a bowl of fire and at night he would study--sometimes until daybreak. then he found an old man that would help him and he studied under him for a while. he never went to any regular school, but he went to night school a little. most of what he got, he got himself. "he was born in louisville, kentucky. i don't know how he happened to meet my mother. during the time after the war, he went to running on the boat from new orleans to friar point, mississippi. then he would come over to helena. in going 'round, he met my mother near marianna and married her. "mother never had much to say, and the other girls would have a big time talking. he noticed that she was sewing with ravelings and he said, 'lady, next time i come i'll bring you a spool of thread if you don't mind.' he brought the thread and she didn't mind, and from then on, they went to courting. finally they married. they married very shortly after the war. "my mother was a motherless girl. my daddy said he looked at her struggling along. all the other girls were trying to have a good time. but she would be settin' down trying to make a quilt or something else useful, and he said to a friend of his, 'that woman would make a good wife; i am going to marry her.' and he did. "she used to spin her fine and coarse sewing thread and yarn to make socks and stockings with. her stockings and socks for the babies and papa would always be yarn. she could do pretty work. she had a large family. she had seventeen children and she kept them all in things she made herself. she raised ten of them. she would make the thread and yarn and the socks and stockings for all of these. i have known the time when she used to make coats and pants for my father and brothers. she would make them by hand because they didn't have any machines then. of course, she made all the underwear. she put up preserves and jellies for us to eat in the winter. she used to put up kraut and stuff by the barrel. i have seen some happy days when i was with my daddy and mother. he raised pigs and hogs and chickens and cows. he raised all kinds of peas and vegetables. he raised those things chiefly for the home, and he made cotton for money. he would save about eight or ten bales and put them under his shed for stockings and clothes and everything. he would have another cotton selling in march. "when my father was in the army, he would sometimes be out in the weather, he told us, and he and the other soldiers would wrap up in their blankets and sleep right in the snow itself. "i farmed all my life until . i farmed all my life till then. i was at home. i married in . my first husband and i made three crops and then he stopped and went to public work. after that i never farmed any more but went to cooking and doing laundry work. i came from clarendon here in . "i never had any experiences with the yankees. my mother used to tell how they took all the old master's stuff--mules and sugar--and then throwed it out and rode their horses through it when they didn't want it for theirselves. "i married a second time. i have been single now for the last three years. my husband died on the twentieth of august three years ago. i ain't got no business here at all. i ought to be at my home living well. but i work for what i get and i'm proud of it. "a working woman has many things to contend with. that girl downstairs keeps a gang of men coming and going, and sometimes some of them sometimes try to come up here. sunday night when i come home from church, one was standing in the dark by my door waiting for me. i had this stick in my hand and i ordered him down. he saw i meant business; so he went on down. some of them are determined. "there's no hope for tomorrow so far as these young folks are concerned. and the majority of the old people are almost worse than the young ones. used to be that all the old people were mothers and fathers but now they are all going together. everything is in a critical condition. there is not much truth in the land. all human affection is gone. there is mighty little respect. the way some people carry on is pitiful." interviewer's comment the men who bother omelia thomas probably take her for a young woman. she hasn't a gray hair in her head, and her skin is smooth and must be well kept. she looks at least twenty-five years younger than she is, and but for the accident of her presence at another interview, i would never have dreamed that she had a story to tell. i went to see her in the quarters where she lives--over the garage in the back yard of the white people she works for. when i got halfway up the stairs, she shouted, "you can't come up here." i paused in perplexity for a moment, and she stuck her head out the door and looked. then she said, "oh, i beg pardon; i thought you were one of those men that visit downstairs." i had noticed the young lady below as i entered. she is evidently a hot number, and as troublesome as a sore thumb to the good old lady above her. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: tanner thomas louisiana, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born down here at rob roy on the river on the emory place. my mother's name was dinah thomas and my father's name was greene thomas. he taken sick and died in the war on the north side. that's what my mother told me. i was born under mars jordan emory's administration. "i 'member somebody brought me here to pine bluff to lawyer bell's house. i stayed two or three months, then mars jordan sent for me and carried me back out to rob roy and i stayed with my mother. she had done married again but i stayed with her all the time till i got grown and i married. "i come here in and i been here ever since--forty-six years. oh, whole lots of these white folks know me. "i worked at the standard lumber company and bluff city lumber company and dilley's foundry. then i went to the oil mill. i was the order man. i was the best lumber grader on the place. "course i knows lots of white folks and they knows me too, i done a heap of work 'round here in different places in forty-six years. "i went to school a little but i didn't learn nothin'. "my mother said they come and pressed my daddy in the war. 'course i don't know nothin' 'bout that but my mother told me. "now, what is this you're gettin' up? well, i was born in slavery times. you know i was when my daddy was in the war. "oh lord yes, i voted. i voted republican. i didn't know whether it would do any good or not but i just voted 'cause i had a chance. my name's been in washington for years 'cause i voted, you know. "my way is dark to the younger generation now. i don't have much dealin' with them. they are more wiser. education has done spread all over the country. "god intended for every man in the world to have a living and to live for each other but too many of 'em livin' for themselves. but everything goin' to work out right after awhile. god's goin' to change this thing up after awhile. you can't rush him. he can handle these people. after he gets through, with this generation, i think he's goin' to make a generation that will serve him." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: wester thomas, marianna, arkansas age: "i was born in sumpter county (mississippi?). my mother was sold to dr. and miss kate hadley. my mother's name was lettie williams and she married wesley thomas. my name is wester thomas. i'm seventy-nine years old. mistress kate raised me. dr. hadley had more than a hundred slaves. "i can tell you about freedom. two men in uniforms come and told master. he had the farm bell rung. they told them the civil war was over. they was free. the niggers went back to their quarters. some moved later. my folks never left. dr. hadley died. mistress kate took all that wanted to go to louisiana then. we cleared up land down there. later i farmed." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: annie thompson, biscoe, arkansas age: ? "i was raised by my father's sister and my grandmother. later on i come to my daddy here and my stepmother had other children. i soon married. i've had a hard time. "my grandparents was harriett edwards and william snow. grandmother said they were nice to her. she was master edwards' house girl. she cooked and was a spinner. when i was a girl she had her spinning-wheel and she taught me to spin and knit. she spun thread for caps, mittens, stockings, socks, suspenders, and coats. we knit all those things when i was a girl. grandmother said the white folks never whooped her. grandmother was her old master's own girl and she nursed with one of his white wife's children. she was real light. "my father's mother was a squaw. i don't know her name. she was sold from grandpa and he went to master snow. he never seen her any more. he took another wife and jumped over the broom on the snow place. he thought some of his owners was terrible. he had been whooped till he couldn't wear clothes. he said they stuck so bad. "my own father whipped me once till my clothes stuck to my back. i told you i had seen a pretty hard time in my own life. i was born in starkville, mississippi. "since i was a girl there has been many changes. i was married by rev. bell december , . my husband is living and still my husband. i can see big changes taking place all the time. i was married at de valls bluff." interviewer's comment this woman could give me some comparative views on the present generation but she didn't. it is one of the saturday gathering halls. she depends on it somewhat for a living and didn't say a word either pro or con for the present generation. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: ellen briggs thompson w. twelfth street, little rock, arkansas age: birth and relatives "i was born in october , in nashville, arkansas. i don't remember the exact day. i have went through thick and thin. i was a small girl when my mother died. i got the rheumatism so bad i can't hardly walk. it hurts me now. my oldest brother, henry briggs, was five years older than me, and my youngest brother, isaac briggs, was five years younger than me. i was born october, but he was born at christmas eve just after surrender. my oldest brother died last year. my youngest brother is in galveston, texas. if he is living, he is there. my name was briggs before i married. i was just studying about my sister-in-law when you come up. if i could get the money, i would go to see her. she was my oldest brother's wife. her name was frances briggs after she married. she lives in emmet, arkansas, where he married her. i just had two brothers, no sisters. "my husband's name was henry thompson. he has been dead about twelve or thirteen years. i have had so much sickness i can't remember exactly. i married him a long time ago. i got it put down in the bible. i married yonder in emmet, arkansas. i ain't got the bible nor nothing. my brother had it and he is dead. "my father's name was daniel briggs. he died in hot springs. we were small children when he and my mother was separated. he was in one place and we were in another. he tried to get us children when he died, but we was little and couldn't get to him. my mother was dead then. "my mother's name was susanna briggs. her father's name was isaac metz. the children left him in south carolina. the white folks sold them away from him. my mother just had three children: me, and my two brothers. i don't know how many my grandfather had. there were four sisters that i know besides my mother and two boys: aunt melissa, and aunt jane, and aunt annie, and aunt sarah, and uncle albert mitchell, and uncle ben. my grandmother's name was betsy. i never got to see her but they told me about her. good masters "i have heard them say that their white folks didn't whip them. my master was a good man. my young master, when it come to the surrender, slipped back home and told them they was going to be free as ever he was. his name was joe mitchell. i never seed my white folks whip anybody in my life. they just never whipped anybody. they never whipped me. i have seen the white folks next to us whip their negroes and i asked grandma about it. she said that those were their negroes and she would explain what they was being whipped for. they was on another farm. i don't remember what they was being whipped for. "my young master told the slaves when he notified them they was free that if they didn't want to stay with him, he would give them enough to go on till they could make it, you know, to keep them from starving. he was a good man. "the old man, joe's father, was named thomas mitchell. he died before i was born. i never seed him, just knowed his name. joe's mother was named isabel mitchell. i came to be named briggs because her husband's name was briggs. he belonged to a briggs. i don't know what his name was else. they didn't belong to the same master. they used to let them marry. they would fix great big tables. sometimes they would marry in the house; that was in the winter. then sometimes they would marry outdoors. then they would set a long table for all their associates to eat just like you would fix a table for your friends. looked like they would be so glad to see their boys and girls marry. they would have regular preacher and marry just like they do now. "there wasn't no breeders on our place. but i have heard of people who did keep a woman just for that purpose. they never whipped her nor nothing. they just let her have children. as soon as she had one, they would take it away from her so that she could have another one right away. jayhawkers "when my young master was gone to the war and the jayhawkers would come around, my young master's mother would take all the colored women and children and lock them up and she would take a big heavy gun and go out to meet them. the jayhawkers were white people who would steal corn and horses and even slaves if they could get them. but colored folks was sharp. they would do things to break their horses' legs and they would run and hide. my uncle was a young boy. he saw the jayhawkers coming once. and he ran and pressed himself under the crib. the space was so small he nearly broke his ribs. his mistress had to get him out and take him to the house. "my grandmother used to take me with her after dark when she'd go out to pray. she wouldn't go anywhere without me. one time when she was out praying, i touched her and said to her that i heard something in the corn crib. she cut her prayer off right now and went and told it to her old mistress, and to the young master, who was in the house just then telling the negroes they were all going to be free. the jayhawkers spied us and they got out and went on their way. my young master crawled out and went back to the confederate army. he had to crawl out because he wanted to keep anybody from seeing him and capturing him. soldiers "i never seed but one or two soldiers. that was after the surrender. i suppose they were union soldiers. they had on their blue jackets. there never was any fighting in nashville, while i was living there. "about all that i knew about the war was that the men went off to fight. none of the colored men went--just the white men. the colored men stayed back and worked in the field. isabel mitchell and her boys were bosses. what they said _goed_. slave houses "the slaves lived in old log houses. some of them were plank houses. some of the slaves chinked 'em up with dirt. they had these big wooden windows in the houses. sometimes they would be two, sometimes they would be three windows--one to each room. there would be two or three or four rooms to the house. that would be according to the family. my mother had three girls besides her own children. she had a four-room house. her house was built right in the white folks' yard. my grandmother didn't work in the field. she tended to the children. she worked in the big house. my mother was boss of the whole thing. she would go and work in the field but grandmother would see after the children. she wouldn't let me go from her to the gate without her. i just had to follow her everywhere she went. "grandmother besides taking care of us used to make clothes. she cooked for the white folks. but she sure had to see after us children. i seed after myself. i was all the girl-child there and i just did what i wanted to. "the country was kind of wild in those days. the deer used to come loping down and we would be scared and run and hide. some people would set the dogs on them and some people would kill them no matter who they belonged. you see, some people had them as pets. amusements "i never seed nothing in the way of amusements except people going to church and going to parties and all such as that. they believed in going to church. they would have parties at night. the white folks didn't care what they had. they would help prepare for it. they would let 'em have anything they wanted to have and let 'em go to church whenever they wanted to go. and if they took a notion they would have a supper. when they would have a party they would do just like they do now. they would have dancing. i never seed any playing cards. when they danced, somebody would play the fiddle for them. when they had a supper, they would usually sell the things. then the white folks would come and buy from them. there would be nice looking things on the table. church "they had meetings at center point, and at arkadelphia. and they would let us go to them or anywhere else we wanted. we had to have passes, of course. they had colored preachers. sometimes the slaves would go to the white people's church. they wouldn't go often, just every once in awhile. white ladies would get after the colored to come and go with them sometimes. sometimes, too, when they would have a dinner or something, they would take aunt sue or mother to cook for them. they wouldn't let nobody meddle with them or bother them--none of the other white folks. and they would let them fix a table for their own friends that they would want to have along. personal occupations "i used to work in the field or in the house or anything i could get to do. i would even go out and saw these big rails when my husband would have a job and couldn't get a chance to do it. it has been a good while since i have been able to do any good work. my husband has been dead fifteen years and i had to quit work long before he died. right after the war "right after the war my folks worked in the field, washed, cooked, or anything they could do. they left the old place and came down about washington, arkansas. i don't know just how long they stayed in washington. from washington, my mother went to prescott and settled there at a little place they called sweet home, just outside of prescott. that is where my daughter was born and that is where my mother died. i came here about nine years ago. present support i came here to stay with my daughter. but now she doesn't have any help herself. she has three small children and she's their only support now. she's not working either. she just come in from the urban league looking for a job. they say that they don't have a thing and that the people don't want any women now. they just want these young girls because they make them work cheaper. we have both applied for help from the welfare but neither of us has gotten anything yet." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: hattie thompson, widener, arkansas age: "i was born the second year after the surrender. i was born close to arlington, tennessee. my parents was mariah thermon and johnson mayo. they had eight children. they belong to different owners. i heard mama say in slavery time she'd clean her house good saturday and clean up her children and start cooking dinner fore pa come. they looked forward to pa coming. now that was at our own house. "mama was heired. she was the house woman and cook for her young mistress, miss sallie thermon. she married mr. john thermon. she was miss sallie royster till she married. i heard her say she raised miss sallie's children with her own. she was a wet nurse. i know miss sallie was good to her. i don't think she was sold but her mother was sold. she would spin and weave and the larger children did too. they made bed spreads in colors and solid white. they called the colored ones coverlets. they was pretty. mama helped quilt. she was a good hand at that. they made awful close stitches and backstitched every now and then to make it hold. they would wax the thread to keep it from rolling up and tangling. "thread was in balls. they rolled it from skeins to balls. they rolled it from shuck broches to the balls. put shucks around the spindle to slip it off easy. i have seen big balls this big ( ft. in diameter) down on the floor and mama, knitting off of it right on. when the feet wore out on socks and stockings, they would unravel them, save the good thread, and reknit the foot or toe or heel. "when i was a child, patching and darning was stylish. soon as the washing was brung in the clothes had to be sorted out and every snag place patched nice. folks had better made clothes and had to take care of em. clothes don't last no time now. white folks had fine clothes but they didn't have nigh as many as white folks do now. "mama was a pretty good hand at doing mighty nigh what she took a notion to do about the house. she never was no count in the field--jess couldn't hold out it seem like. she worked in the field lots. pa was a shoemaker. he made all our shoes and had his tools, lasts, etc. he learned his trade in slavery. he farmed. "it has been so long ago i tell you i don't recollect things straight. i don't know how they found out about freedom but they left i think. they got all they could take, their clothes and a little to eat. they started share cropping. they was out from holly springs when i come to knowledge. mama was a nice hand at cooking and hand sewing. she said miss sallie learnt her. she never could read. "i come to arkansas fifty year ago this spring with one little girl--all the little girl i ever had. i never had no boys. i come here to get work. i always got work. it was a new country and it was being cleared out. in the spring we could get wild polk greens to cook. you can't get none now. "times is sider'bly changed since then. hogs run wild. plenty game here then. something to eat was not hard to get then as it is now. we raise a hog in a pen nearly every year but it takes plenty to feed it that way. "my husband have rheumatism and we get $ and commodities. he works in the field and i wash and iron when i can get some to do. that is scarce. he works all he can." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mamie thompson brinkley, ark. age: "i come here with my parents in . nothing much here in brinkley then but woods and three stores. my mother was a mix-breed. she was mixed with cherokee indian and negro. my father come from virginia. he was black--so black he shined. my mother was born in cairo, illinois. my mother and father both died here in brinkley. this town started from a big saw mill." "understand, all i knows was told to me by my parents. grandma's master was master redman. he kept aunt emma and my mother. they never was sold. my mother was put on the block but her mistress come took her down. master redman had her in the field working. the overseer was a white man. he tried to take her down and carry on with her. she led him to the house. he wanted her whooped cause she had whooped him sort of. he was mad cause he couldn't overpower her. master redman got her in the kitchen to whoop her with a cow hide; she told him she would kill him; she got a stick. he let her out and they come to buy her--_a negro trader_. old mistress--his wife--went out and led her down from there in the house and told master redman if he sold mattie she would quit him--she meant leave him. mistress redman kept her with her and made a house girl out of her. she tended to the children and cleaned the house. aunt emma milked and churned. "grandma was a molly glaspy woman. she had straight wavy hair, small eyes. she was a small woman. grandpa was a tall big man. he was a full blood indian. "my mother called whiskey 'jagger'--i don't know why. "after mr. redman died, miss mary married mr. badgett. me and george and sissy all growed up together. my mother was married twice too. she had two of us by her first husband and eight children by her last husband. "i heard them say they lived in crittenden county, arkansas during the civil war. they lived in west tennessee not far from memphis when i was a child. mrs. badgett lived in memphis after she got old. mary's mother visited her long as she lived. i did too. she has been dead several years. she give me a sugar bowl when i was twelve years old--i still got it. i won't sell it. i'll give it to my girl. "i don't know about the ku klux. i never heard a great deal about them. "i don't vote--not interested. "well, i sewed till the very day i was years old. the foreman said i was too old now, but sign up for the pension. i am crippled. i did. i get commodities, but no money. "i washed, ironed, cooked. i worked at mrs. jim gunn's and i cooked nine years for mrs. dora gregg. i work whenever i can get work to be done. i like to sew but they cut me off." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mike thompson, widener, arkansas age: "i was born near honey grove, texas. i remember my grandparents on both sides--they were all thompsons. they were cotton and corn farmers. i don't know where they come from. i was so small and as soon as the war was done a whole gang of us come from texas to dardanelle, arkansas. "the bushwhackers was so bad we was guarded to the line and they went back. we come in wagons. bushwhackers was robbers. i remember that. my grandparents and parents all come in the gang. clem thompson, my owner, died. he had a family. i don't know what become of none but ed thompson. we was the same age and growed up together. i worked for him at dardanelle but i don't know how he come from texas. he butchered and peddled meat and had a shop too. i don't think ed owned land over at dardanelle but my father owned eighty acres over there when he died. my father was cubit thompson. his father was plato thompson. my mother was harriett thompson. "the thompsons was fairly good to their niggers, i recken. ed was good to me. he promised me i should never want but i don't know if he be dead or not. i wish i could hear from him. "when i was about twenty-five years old i was coming in home from town one night. i seen his house on fire. i kept going fast as i could run, woke him up. he run out but his wife didn't. he said, 'my wife! my wife! my wife!' i run in where he run out. she was standing back in a corner the flames nearly all around her. i picked her up and run out and about that time the whole house fell in. they never got through thanking me. i come off over here and never hear a word from him. he always said i saved their lives and hers mostly. "times--young men can get work if they will go to the field and work. if you can't work, times is hard two ways. if you are used to work, you hard to get contentment and loss of the money too. money don't buy much. awful sight of cotton and you don't get much out of it. young folks is got young notions. "i come to widener in . i made a good living. i own this house. now i got to quit working in bad weather. my rheumatism gets so bad. i'll be eighty years old rd of september this year ( )." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: laura thornton w. twenty-fourth street, little rock, arkansas age: ? "my native home is alabama. i was born not far from midway, alabama, about twelve miles from clayton. midway, clayton, and barber are all nearby towns. we used to go to all of them. "my master was tom eford. when he died, i fell to polly eford. polly eford was the old lady. i don't know where they is and they don't know nothing about where i is. it's been so long. because i done lef' alabama fifty years. i don't know whether any of them is living or not. it's been so long. "their baby boy was named giles eford. his mother was miami eford and my father's name was perry eford. that is the name he went in. my mother went in that name too. my father died the second year of the surrender. my mother was a widow a long time. i was a grown-up woman and had children when my father died. "i married during slavery time. i don't remember just how old i was then. my old man knows my age, but i can't remember it. but he's been dead this year makes thirteen years. i had one child before the surrender. i was just married to the one man. i was married after the surrender. i don't want to be married again. i never seed a man i would give a thought to since he died. lord knows how long we'd been married before he died. "we came here and stayed four years and we bought a home down on arch street pike about ten miles from here. i lived there sixty years. i've got the tax receipts for sixty years back. i ain't never counted the ones i paid since he's been dead. "i was the mother of three children and none of them are living. all of them dead but me. "they made like they was goin' to give old slave folks a pension. they ain't gimme none yit. i'm just livin' on the mercy of the people. i can't keep up the taxes now. i wish i could git a pension. it would help keep me up till i died. they won't even as much as give me nothin' on the relief. they say these grandchildren ought to keep me up. i have to depend on them and they can't hardly keep up theirselves. "when the civil war broke out, my baby was about seven years old. my mother was here when the stars fell. she had one child then. "i remember a war before the civil war. i heard the white folks talking about it. they wouldn't tell colored folks nothing. they'd work them to death and beat them to death. they'd sell them just like you sell hogs. my mother was sold from me when i was little. old lady eford, she was my mistress and mammy too. if she ever slapped me, i don't know nothin' 'bout it. "my daddy made his farm jus' like colored people do now. white man would give him so much ground if he'd a mind to work it. he had a horse he used. "we lived a heap better than the people live now. they fed you then. you ate three times a day. when twelve o'clock come, there dinner was, cooked and ready. nothin' to do but eat it, and then set down and res' with the other people. there was them that was good. "but them what was mean done the colored folks bad. early days "i was little when my mother was sold from me. i was runnin' about though in the yard. i couldn't do nothing. but i was a smart girl. the first work i can remember doin' was goin' to the field ploughing. that is the first thing i remember. i was little. i just could come up to the plough. i cut logs when i was a little child like them children there (children about ten years old playing in the street). i used to clean up new ground--do anything. "my mother and father both worked in the field. my father was sold away from me jus' like my mother was. old lady eford was my mother and father too. that was in clayton, alabama. old tom eford had three boys--one named tom, one named william, and there was the one named giles what i told you about. william was the oldest, tom was the second, and giles was the youngest. "i never learnt to read and write. in slave time, they didn't let you have no books. my brother though was a good reader. he could write as well as any of them because he would be with the white children and they would show him. that is the way my brother learnt. he would lay down all day sunday and study. the good blessed lord helped him. marriage "the man i married was on the plantation. they married in slave time just like they do these days. when i married, the justice of peace married me. that was after freedom, our folks would give big weddings just like they do now (just after the war). i ain't got my license now. movin' 'round, it got lost. i was married right at home where me and my old man stayed. wasn't nobody there but me and him and another man named dr. bryant. that wasn't far from midway. "i can't talk much since i had those strokes. can't talk plain, just have to push it out, but i thank god i can do that much. the lord let me stay here for some reason--i don't know what. i would rather go, but he ain't called me. how the day went "we got up after daylight. tom eford didn't make his folks git up early. but after he was dead and gone, things changed up. the res' made 'em git up before daylight. he was a good man. the lord knows. yes lord, way before day. you'd be in the field to work way before day and then work way into the night. the white folks called eford's colored people poor white folks because he was so good to them. old tom eford was the sheriff of clayton. "his folks came back to the house at noon and et their dinner at the house. he had a cook and dinner was prepared for them just like it was for the white folks. the colored woman that cooked for them had it ready when they came there for it. they had a great big kitchen and the hands ate there. they came back to the same place for supper. and they didn't have to work late either. old tom eford never worked his hands extra. that is the reason they called his niggers poor-white folks. folks lived at home them days and et in the same place. when my old man was living, i had plenty. smokehouse was full of good meat. now everything you git, you have to buy. "next morning, they all et their breakfast in the same kitchen. they et three meals a day every day. my mother never cooked except on sunday. she didn't need to. patrollers "me and old lady eford would be out in the yard and i would hear her cuss the pateroles because they didn't want folks to 'buse their niggers. they had to git a pass from their masters when they would be out. if they didn't have a pass, the pateroles would whip them. jayhawkers "the jayhawkers would catch folks and carry them out in the woods and hang them up. they'd catch you and beat you to death. runaways "colored folks what would run away, old lady eford would call them 'rottenheads' and 'bloody bones.' we would hear the hounds baying after them and old lady eford would stand out in the yard and cuss them--cuss the hounds i mean. like that would do any good. some slaves would kill theirselves before they would be caught. they would hear them dogs. i have seen old tom eford. he would have them dogs. he was sheriff and he had to do it. he carried them dogs. he would be gone two weeks before he would be back sometimes. alden or alton was the place they said they carried the runaways. slave breeding "they never kept no slaves for breeding on any plantation i heard of. they would work them to death and breed them too. there was places where old massa kept one for hisself. amusements "folks had heap more pleasure than they do now in slave time. they had parties and dances and they would bow 'round. they had fiddles and danced by them. folks danced them days. they don't dance now, just mess around. my brother could scrape the fiddle and dance on, all at the same time. folks would give big suppers and ask people out. they would feed nice times with one another. folks ain't got no love in their hearts like they used to have. "folks would give quiltings. they don't think about quilting now. they would quilt out a quilt and dance the rest of the night. they would have a big supper at the quilting. nice time too. they would kill a hog and barbecue it. they would cook chicken. have plenty of whiskey too. some folks would get drunk. that was whiskey them days. they ain't got no whiskey now--old poison stuff that will kill people. my daddy was jus' drunk all the time. he had plenty of whiskey. that was what killed old tom eford. he kept it settin' on the dresser all the time. you couldn't walk in his house but what you would see it time you got in. folks hide it now. i have drunk a many a glass of it. i would go and take a glass whenever i wanted to. how freedom came "the old white folks told me i was free. they had me hired out. i wasn't staying with my owner. there wasn't nobody there with me but the white folks where i was staying. that morning i got up to get breakfast and there wasn't no fire and there wasn't so matches. i went to some neighbors to get a chunk of fire and they told me to go back to my folks because i was free. when i got back to the house they was mad and wanted to whip me. so i just put the fire down and never cooked no breakfast but jus' went on to my brother's. the reason they wanted to whip me was because i had gone outside of the house without their knowing it. "when i went to my brother's, i had to walk twelve miles. my brother carried me to my mother and father. and then he took me back to old lady eford, and she told me to go on to my mother, that i was free now. so he took me on back to my ma and pa. he said he'd do that so that i could stay with them. slave earnings "slaves had money in slave time. my daddy bought a horse. he made a crop every year. he made his bale of cotton. he made corn to feed his horse with. he belonged to his white folks but he had his house and lot right next to theirs. they would give him time you know. he didn't have to work in the heat of the day. he made his crop and bought his whiskey. the white folks fed 'im. he had no expenses 'cept tending to his crop. he didn't have to give tom eford anything he made. he just worked his crop in his extra time. many folks too lazy to git theirselves somethin' when they have the chance to do it. but my daddy wasn't that kind. his old master gave him the ground and he made it give him the money. "my daddy left me plenty but i ain't got it now. i didn't care what happened when he died. people made out like they was goin' to put my money in the bank for me and took it and destroyed it. used it for theirselves i reckon. now i need it and ain't got it--ain't got a penny. for five or six years at my home, i made good crops. we raised everything we needed at home. didn't know what it was to come to town to buy anything. if anybody had told me twenty years ago i would be in this shape, i wouldn't have believed it because i had plenty. what slaves got when freed "they said they was gwine a give the slaves something, but they never did do it. then the master made out like he was gwine a give the slaves so much if they stayed 'round and made his crops for him, but he didn't do it. come again "if the lord lets you git back tomorrow, try and come a little sooner in the day than you did today. i gits up about six in the morning. i don't believe in layin' in bed late. i go to bed directly after dark and i wake up early. the lord never did mean for nobody to sleep all day." interviewer's comment a number of people testify to laura thornton's age. i am trying to check up on it. results later. if she isn't a hundred [hw: and] five years old, she is "mighty nigh" it. she has feeble health, but a surprisingly alert mind, and a keen sharp memory. she has a tendency to confuse reconstruction times with slavery times, but a little questioning always brings out the facts. she doesn't like to talk much about marriage in slavery. evidently she dislikes the fact that one of her children ms born before emancipation. she was evidently married only once, as questioning brought out; but she will refer to the marriage before emancipation and the one afterward as though they were to different persons. [hw: curtis, ark. emma (bama?) tidwell] old slave stories i ah'm one uv dem ole timers. ah been here since way back yonder. fust thing ah kin member is a bad storm an mah ma put us undah de baid. she wuz skeered hit would blow us away. ah use tuh play till ah got bigger nuff tuh work. ah member we use tuh play runnin. we'd play walkin tuh see which one uv us could walk de fastest tuh de field tuh carry dinner. we use tuh jump an we use tuh ride stick hosses an limbs offn trees. ole boss learnt mah pa how tuh make shoes an de way he done: dey kilt a cow an a deer an take dey hides an tanned dem. de way he tanned hit wuz tuh take red oak bark an white oak bark an put in vats. dese vats wuz somethin like troughs dat helt water an he put a layer uv oak ashes an or layer uv ashes an a layer uv leather till he got hit all in an covered wid water. aftuh dat dey let hit soak till de hair come offn de hide den dey would take de hide oft an hit wuz ready fuh tannin. den de hide wuz put tuh soak in wid de redoak bark. hit stayed in de water till de hide turnt tan den pa took de hide out uv de redoak dye an hit would be a purty tan. hit didn' have tuh soak so long. den he would git his pattern an cut an make tan shoes outn dat tanned hide. we called dem brogans. we all wore shoes cause mah pa made em. we planted indigo an hit growed jes like wheat. when hit got ripe we gathered hit an we would put hit in a barrel an let hit soak bout er week den we would take de indigo stems out an squeeze all de juice outn dem, put de juice back in de barrel an let hit stay dere bout nother week, den we jes stirred an stirred one whole day. we let hit set three or four days den drained de water offn hit an dat left de settlings an de settlings wuz blueing jes like we have dese days. we cut ours in little blocks. den we dyed clothes wid hit. we had purty blue cloth. de way we set de color we put alumn in hit. dat make de color stay right dere. ah'll tell yuh how tuh dye. er little beech bark dyes slate color set wid copper. hickory bark an bay leaves dyes yellow set wid chamber lye; bamboo dyes turkey red, set color wid copper. pine straw an sweetgum dyes purple, set color wid chamber lye. ifn yuh dont bleave hit try em all. mah ma made cloth while mah pa made shoes. ah member jes as good when dey handcuff mah ma's two brothers tuh keep um from runnin off when dey got ready tuh sell em. ah seed um handcuff as many as eight tugethuh when dey marched dem tuh de pen. yuh know dey had uh pen kinder like de pond pen fer cows an hosses. well dey would drive us niggers tuh de pond pen an dey had er big block in de pen an dey put one uv us niggers on hit at a time. bid us off tuh de highest bidder. mah ole boss wuz a gambler. people talk bout dis gamblin an drinkin bein a late thing--dem white fokes done hit way back yonder years ergo, cause mah ole boss gambled me off, ah clare he did. gambled me off one sunday mornin'. ole boss made whiskey jes like dey do tuhday. black preachers couldn' preach tuh us. ole boss would tie em tuh a tree an whoop em if dey caught us eben praying. we had er big black washpot an de way we prayed we'd go out an put our mouths to der groun an pray low an de sound wud go up under de pot an ole boss couldn' bear us. de white preacher would call us under a tree sunday evenin tuh preach tuh us. dis is whut his text would be: "mind yo mistress." den he would ceed tuh preach--"don't steal der potatoes; don't lie bout nothin an don' talk back tuh yo boss; ifn yo does yo'll be tied tuh a tree an stripped neckid. when dey tell yuh tuh do somethin run an do it." dat's de kind uv gospel we got. we cooked on fiuhplaces in er iron pot; cooked bread in a ubben. we had ash cakes. we et purty good. ah didn go tuh school. ah wuz awful sly. ah wanted tuh learn tuh read so ah hung eroun ole mistess when she wuz teachin huh chillun tuh read. ah listened an when she put de book down an went out ah got de book. ah kep' hit up till ah learnt tuh read. ah been teachin one bible class in curtis years. some uv em dare ask me how ah learnt tuh read so good an ah tole dem dat a person dat couldn' learn tuh read in a hunnert years ought tuh be daid. ah wuz twenty-two when de silver war broke. ah know when hit started but ah don' know whut hit wuz erbout. all i know jeff davis an abraham lincoln wuz de two presidents. lincoln wuz somethin like regular president an jeff davis wuz somethin like er confedric president or somethin. ah didn' know jes how hit wuz. jeff davis ah think wuz er rebel and lincoln republic. when de fight come up dey wuzn fightin tuh set de niggers free, ah don' think. at de time dey wuz fightin ovah de union but aftuh de slave owners wuz gwianter take de innocent slaves an make dem fight on dey side. den lincoln said hit wouldn' be. so dat when he sot em free. whoopee! yo ought ter seed dem yankees fightin. aftuh de battle wuz ovah we would walk ovah de battle groun' an look at de daid bones, skellums ah think dey called em. aftuh de white fokes tole us we wuz free dey didn' give us nothin. turnt us out widout a place tuh stay, no clo'es but whut we had on our back an nuthin tuh eat. we jes slept undah trees an roun bout. didn' have nuthin tuh eat cept parched corn. we stole dat. had tuh do somethin. de nex year de white fokes let us make a crop wid den fuh somethin tuh eat an clo'es an de women could work fuh a few clo'es an somethin tuh eat. so in er year er two niggers went tuh tryin tuh duh somethin fuh demselves, an been tryin tuh help dey selfs evah since. ah know all bout hit. ah wuz tall an ah is now when dey cried "free!" ain't growed nairy nother inch. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: joe tillman w. th and highway no. pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in down here at walnut lake. the man what owned us was crum holmes. "all i can remember was the patrollers and the ku klux. i reckon i ought to, i seed 'em. i got skeered and run. i heered 'em talk 'bout how they'd do the folks and we chillun thought they'd do us the same way. "i 'member hearin' 'em talk 'bout the yankees--how they'd come through there and how they used to do. "i guess we had plenty to eat. all i know was when i got ready to eat, i could eat. "my parents was brought from tennessee but all the place i know anything about is walnut lake. "i know my mother said i was the cause of her gettin' a lot of whippin's. i'd run off and the boss man whipped her cause she wasn't keepin' me at home. if he didn't whip her, he'd pull her ears. "when we was comin' up they didn't 'low the chillun to sit around where the old folks was talkin'. and at night when company come in, we chillun had to go to bed out the way. sometimes i'm glad of it. see so many chillun now gettin' into trouble. "i never been arrested in my life. been a witness once or twice--that's the only way i ever been in court. if i'd a been like a lot of 'em, i might a been dead or in the pen. "in them days, if we did something wrong, anybody could whip us and if we'd go tell our folks we get another whippin'. "after freedom my parents stayed there and worked by the day. they didn't have no privilege of sellin' the cotton though. "i didn't start to farm till i was 'bout twelve years old. they started me bustin' out the middles till i learnt how and then they put the plowin' in my hands. "white people been pretty good to me 'cause i done what they told me. "i went to school a little 'long about ' . i learnt how to read and kept on till i could write a little. "i used to vote 'til they stopped us. i used to vote right along, but i stopped foolin' with it. 'course we can vote in the president election but i got so i couldn't see what ticket i was votin', so i stopped foolin' with it. "i farmed till 'bout ' , then i worked at the compress and brick work." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: j.t. tims mosaic temple, ninth and broadway little rock, arkansas age: occupation: cook, waiter, and farmer "i was born in jefferson county, mississippi in . that would make me eighty-six years old. i was born six miles from fayette--six miles east of fayette. i was eighty-six years old the eleventh day of september. "my father's name was daniel tims, and my mother's name was ann tims. my mother was born in lexington, kentucky. ma's been dead years and years ago, and my father is gone too. my mother's name before she married was ----; she she told it to us all right but i just never can think of it. "i don't know the name of my mother's master. but my father's master was named blount steward. pa was born on blount's plantation and blount bought my ma because they brought her from kentucky for sale. they had her for sale just like you would sell hogs and mules. then my father saw her and liked her and married her. she was a slave too. master "blount steward was kinder good. he was very well till the war started--the federal war. miss ann went to whip me for nothing. whippings "i was carrying her daughter to school every day except saturdays and sundays. one day, miss ann was off and i was at the back steps playing and she decided to whip me. i told her i hadn't done nothing but she put my head between her legs and started to beatin' me. and i bit her legs. she lemme loose and hollered. then she called for william to come and beat me. william was one of the colored slaves. william come to do it. ma had been peeping out from the kitchen watchin' the whole thing. when william come up to beat me, she came out with a big carving knife and told him, 'that's my child and if you hit him, i'll kill you.' "then she sent for tully to come and whip me, i mean to whip my mother. tully was my young master. tully came and said to my mother, 'i know you ain't done nothin' nor your child neither, but i'll have to hit you a few light licks to satisfy ma.' "blount come the next day and went down to where pa was making shoes. he said, 'daniel, you're looking mighty glum.' "pa said, 'you'd be lookin' glum too if your wife and chile had done been beat up for nothin'.' "when he said that, blount got mad. he snatched up a shoe hammer and hit pa up side the head with it. "pa said, 'by god, don't you try it again.' "blount didn't hit him again. pa was ready to fight, and he wasn't sure that he could whip him. pa said, 'you won't hit me no more.' the war was goin' on then. runaways "the following sunday night, twelve head of 'em left there. my ma and pa and me and our whole family and some more besides was along. we went from the plantation to rodney, mississippi first, trying to get on a steamboat--gunboat. the gunboat wouldn't take us for fear we would get hurt. the war was goin' on then. so we just transferred down the river and went on to natchez. we went there walking and wading. we was from sunday night to sunday night gettin' there. we didn't have no trouble 'sept that the hounds ms runnin' us. but they didn't catch us--they didn't catch none of us. my ma and my pa and my brothers and sisters besides me was all in the crowd; and we all got to natchez. "they are all dead and gone to judgment now but me. i think that i got one sister in chicago, illinois. she is my baby sister. i ain't never heard nothing about her bein' dead. natchez "at natchez, ma didn't do anything. we children didn't do nothin' either there. but pa joined the army. he joined it the next day after he got there. then i went to work waiting on the sixty-fourth--lemme see--yes, it was the sixty-fourth brass epaulettes. i was waiting on one of the sergeants. he was a yankee sergeant. the sergeant's name was josephus, and the captain of the company was lieutenant knowles. i was with them two years and six months. i never did get hurt. when they went to fight at new orleans, the captain wouldn't lemme take part in it. he said that i was so brave he was a 'fraid i might get hurt. "me and my father were the only ones working in the family at that time. i stayed right in natchez but my father didn't. my father's first stop was in bullocks bar right above vidalia. that was where his company was stationed first. lemme see, he went from there to davis bend. i wasn't with them. he was in a colored regiment. i was with a white regiment. he left davis bend and want to vicksburg. his next trip was up the sunflower river. his next trip he went from there up here to de valls bluff. that is where he come free. that was the end of the fighting there--right there. "from there he come back to rodney. we all want to davis bend while pa was there. when he left and went to de valls bluff, ma went to rodney. i stayed with the soldiers two years and a half down there at natchez. that's as far as i went with them. when they left i stayed. "i went to rodney with my mother and stayed with her and the rest of the children till she died. my ma died in . my father died down here in pine bluff several years ago. after ma died, pa married another woman. he went back to pine bluff and was killed by a train when he was crossing a trestle. age and other masters "blount steward was the only master any of us ever had, outside of my ma's first master--the one in kentucky. i don't know anything about them. i was eight years old when the war began and twelve years old when it ended. i must have been older than that because i was twelve years old when i was serving them soldiers. and i had to come away from them before the war was over. slave work "the first work i ever did in slave time was dining-room service. when i left the dining-room table, i left carrying my young mistress to school six miles from fayette. they give me to lela, my young mistress. she was the young girl i was carrying to school when i got the whipping. when ol' mis' was whippin' me, i asked her what she was whipping me for, and she said, 'nothin', 'cause you're mine, and i can whip you if i want to.' she didn't think that i had done anything to the girl. she was just mad that day, and i was around; so she took it out on me. after that, i never did any more work as a slave, because the whole family ran away about that time. i don't reckon pa would ever have run off if ol' miss hadn't whipped me and if ol' massa hadn't struck him. they rats good till then; but it looked like the war made them mean. patrollers, jayhawkers, ku klux, and ku klux klan "they had pateroles going 'round watching the colored people to keep them from running off. that's all i know 'bout them. i don't remember hearin' anything about the jayhawkers. "i heard lots 'bout the ku klux. they were terrible. the white folks had one another goin' 'round watching and keeping them from runnin' off. the ku klux would whip people they caught out. they would whip them just because they could; because they called themselves bosses, because they was white and the colored people was niggers. they didn't do nothin' but just keep the slaves down. it was before the war that i knew 'bout the ku klux. there wasn't no difference between the pateroles and the ku klux that i knows of. if they'd ketch you, they all would whip you. i don't know nothin' about the ku klux klan after the war. i know they broke them up. slave houses, furniture, food, and work "before the war, we lived in a old log house. it had one window, one door, and one room. colored people didn't have no two or three-room houses before the war. i'll tell you that right now. all the furniture we had was bed stools and quilts. 'course we had them old stools that pa made. we kept food right there in the house where we was in one corner. we didn't have no drawers--nothing like that. the white folks fed us. they give us as much as they thought we ought to have. every saturday night you would go to the smokehouse and get your meat and meal and your molasses. didn't get no flour, no coffee, no sugar. pa was an ox driver and when he would go to rodney to carry cotton, he would buy sugar and coffee for himself. you see, they would slip a little something and make a little money off it. like they was goin' to rodney tomorrow, they would slip and kill a couple of hogs and carry them along with them. that was the only way they could get a little money. my pa's main work was shoemaking, but he worked in the field too. he was a driver chiefly when he was out in the field. he hoed and plowed. he was the leader of the gang. he never got a chance to make no money for hisself before the war. nope, the colored people didn't have no money 'tall lessen they slipped and got it. slave marriages "say i wanted this woman for my wife. we would just put down the broom and step over it and we would be married. that is all there was to it before emancipation. didn't have no matrimony read nor nothing. you were married when you stepped over the broom handle. that was your wife. a lincoln story "they say abe lincoln come down in this part of the country and asked for work. he had his little grip just like you got. the man said, 'wait till i go to dinner.' didn't say, 'come to dinner,' and didn't say nothin' 'bout, 'have dinner.' just said, 'wait till i go eat my dinner.' when he come back, abe lincoln was up there looking over his books. he'd done changed his clothes and everything. he had guards with him but they didn't see 'em. that is the story i heard them tell. what the slaves got "when the slaves got freed, they wasn't expecting to get nothing that i knows of 'cept what they worked for. they weren't spectin' no forty acres and a mule. who was goin' to give it to 'em? the rebs? they didn't give 'em nothin' but what they could put on their backs--i mean lashes. "blount had stocks that he used to put them in. the stocks had hinges on one side and latches on the other. the nigger would put his head in one hole and his arms through the others, and the old man would eat on the other end. your feet would be stretched out and you would be layin' on your belly. "blount whipped me once because i wouldn't go to the cow barns to get the milk to put in the coffee that morning. i didn't have time. they had given me to lela, and i had to take her to school. i was 'sponsible if she was late. he had give me to lela. next morning with her, and we didn't come back till friday evening. she went down to her aunt leona harrison's and carried me with her. she was mad because they whipped me when i belonged to her. "after slavery, we worked by the month on people's plantations. i did that kind of work till after a while the white people got so they rented the colored people land and selled them mules for their work. then some worked on shares and some rented and worked for theirselves. right after the war most of the farms were worked on shares. we were lucky to be able to get to work by the month. schooling "i went to school in natchaz, mississippi. my teacher came from the north, i suppose. but those i had in rodney, i know they come from the north. miss mary--that's all the name i knowed--and miss emma were my teachers in rodney. they come from chicago; i never went to school here. i didn't get no farther than the second grade. i stopped school to go work when the teacher went back to chicago. after that i went to work in the field and made me a living. i hadn't done but a little work in the field helping pa now and then before that. marriages "i married a long time ago in rodney. lord, it's been so long ago i couldn't tell you when. i been married four times. they all quit me for other men. i didn't quit none of them. present condition "i get along tolerably now for an old man. the welfare gives me a little help. but i have to pay five dollars for these two rooms every month. what's more, i got to eat, and i got to have somethin' to wear. washington won't allow me nothin' for my army service. they say i wasn't regular. i gets eight dollars from the welfare. opinions "the young people's terrible. they rather go to the penitentiary or the county farm or get killed than to do what is right. voting and vocational experiences "i used to vote. i never had no trouble about it. "they tried to whip me once since freedom, but not about votin'. a man tried to whip me down in stoneville because another man give me a drink. he tried to cut me with his knife. i knocked him down. i told him i could kill him, but i just didn't want to. while i was swearing out a warrant to get him arrested, he went and got a gun somewheres. he came right on in with his pistol and struck me with it. i knocked him down again, and he was dead for twenty-five minutes. they didn't have to go nowheres to serve the warrant on him. nobody did anything to me about it. "i come to little rock fifty years ago or more. i farmed as long as i was able. doctor stopped me when i began to fall out. "i cooked for dr. stone and his wife for ten years in greenville, mississippi. then i come to pine bluff on a vacation. the next time they give me a vacation, i stayed away for eleven years. i went to get some money dr. stone owed me for some work i had done for him once and he wanted me to come back and cook again. i didn't do that and he died without paying me for the work. he said it was his brother that owed me. but it was him that hired me. i 'tended to some mules for nine months at four dollars a week. i never got but one four dollars. the miles belonged to him and his brother both, but it was him that hired me. it wasn't captain stone, his brother. it was him, and i looked to the man that hired me for my money. i didn't have nothing to do with nobody but him. it was him promised to pay me." interviewer's comment throughout his story tims carefully avoided using his first name. never at any time did he let it slip. the capture of new orleans was effected in . if the troop with which he worked took part in the capture, he must have been twelve years old by , and his age must be at least eighty-eight. but this would be inconsistent with his statement that he served sergeant josephus for two years and a half. the detachment might have gone to new orleans later than ' . at any rate, tims is at least eighty-five, and possibly older. here again we have a definite conviction of the use of the word ku klux before the war. the way he talks of it, the term might have been a colloquial term applied to a jayhawker or a patroller. he doesn't mean ku klux klan when he says ku klux. the lincoln story is included on my part merely because it is at least legendary material. i don't know what basis of fact it could or might have. interviewer: s.s. taylor person interviewed: hannah travis, w. sixteenth, little rock, ark. age: occupation: housewife "the jay hawkers would travel at night. when they came to a cabin, they would go in and tell them that owned it they wanted something to eat and to get it ready quick. they stopped at one place and went in and ordered their dinner. they et the supper and went away and got sick after they left. they got up the next morning and examined the road and the horse tracks and went on. they all thought something had been given to them, but i don't guess there was. they caught my mother and brought her here and sold her. if they caught a nigger, they would carry him off and sell him. that's how my mother came to arkansas. "i don't know what year i was born in. i know the month and the day. it was february tenth. i have kinder kept up with my age. as near as i can figure, i am seventy-three years old. i was in when i married. i must have been born about , i was brought up under my step father; he was a very mean man. when he took a notion to he'd whip me and mother both. "my mother was born somewheres in missouri, but whereabouts i don't know. one of her masters was john goodet. his wife was named eva goodet. he was a very mean man and cruel, and his wife was too. my grandmother belonged to another slaveholder and they would allow her to go to see my mother. she was allowed to work and do things for which she was given old clothes and other little things. she would take em and bring em to my mother. as soon as she had gone, they would take them things away from my mother, and put em up in the attic and not allow her to wear them. they would let the clothes rot and mildew before they'd let my mother wear them. if my mother left a dish dirty--sometimes there would be butter or flour or something in the dish that would need to be soaked--they would wait till it was thoroughly soaked and then make her drink the old dirty dish water. they'd whip her if she didn't drink it. "her other master was named harrison. he was tolerable but nothing to bragg on. "after she was jayhawked and brought down south, they sold her to john kelly, a man in arkansas somewhere. she belonged to john kelly and his wife when freedom came. john kelly and his wife kept her working for them without pay for two years after she was free. they didn't pay her anything at all. they hardly gave her anything to eat and wear. they didn't tell her she was free. she saw colored people going and coming in a way they wasn't used to, and then she heard her mistress' youngest daughter tell her mother, 'you ought to pay hannah something now because you know she is free as we are. and you ought to give her something to eat and wear.' the mother said, 'you know i can't do that hard work; i'm not used to it.' after hearing this my mother talked to the colored people that would pass by and she learned for _shor_ enough she was free. "there was a colored man there that they were keeping too. one sunday, they were taking him to church and leaving my mother behind. she said to them, 'well, i will be gone when you come back, so you better leave bill here this morning.' her old mistress said to her, 'yes; and we'll come after you and whip you every step of the way back.' but she went while they were at church and they did not catch her either. "the saturday before that she made me a dress out of the tail of an old bonnet and a big red handkerchief. made waist, sleeves and all out of that old bonnet and handkerchief. she left right after they left for church, and she dressed me up in my new dress. she put the dress on me and went down the road. she didn't know which way to go. she didn't know the way nor which direction to take. she walked and she walked and she walked. then she would step aside and listen and ask the way. "it was near night when she found a place to stay. the people out in the yard saw her pass and called to her. it was the youngest daughter of mrs. kelly, the one she had overheard telling her mother she ought to set her free and pay her. she stayed with john kelly's daughter two or three days. i don't know what her name was, only she was a kelly. then she got out among the colored people and got to working and got some clothes for herself and me. from then on, she worked and taken care of me. "from there she went to pocahontas and worked and stayed there till i was about fifteen years old. meanwhile, she married in pocahontas. then she moved to newport. when i was fifteen, i married in newport. my mother supported herself by cooking and washing. then she got a chance to work on a small boat cooking and doing the boat washing, and there would be weeks that some of the deck hands would have to help her because they would have such a crowd of raftsmen. sometimes there would be twenty or thirty of them raftsmen--men who would cut the logs and raft them to go and bring them down the river. then the deck hands would have to help her. i too would have to wash the dishes and help out. "i went to school in pocahontas and met my future husband (travis). i brought many a waiter to serve when they had a crowd. i took travis to the boat and he was hired to wait on the men. when they had just the crew--captain, clerk, pilot, engineer, mate, and it seems there was another one--i waited on the table myself. i help peel the potatoes and turn the meat. when we had that big run, then mr. travis and some of the others would come down and help me. the boat carried freight, cotton, and nearly anything might neer that was shipped down to town. pocahontas was a big shipping place. "my mother said they used to jump over the broom stick and count that married. the only amusement my mother had was work. i don't know if she knowed there was such a thing as christmas. "mother's little house was a log cabin like all the other slaves had. "they didn't give her anything much to eat. they was farmers. they raised their own cattle and hogs. the niggers did the same--that is, the niggers raised everything and got a little to eat. they had one nigger man that was around the house and others for the field. they didn't allow the slaves to raise anything for themselves and they didn't give them much. "the slaves made their own clothes and their own cloth. they would not let the slaves have anything much. to keep them from being stark naked, they'd give them a piece to wear. "mama got to see her mother in . when i married she left and went to missouri and found her sister and half-sister and her mother and brother or cousin. she found her sister's oldest daughter. she was a baby laying in the cradle when mama ran through the field to get away from a young man that wanted to talk to her. "my grandmother was a full-blooded indian. her husband was a french negro. nancy cheatham was her name. "the ku klux never bothered us. they bothered some people about a mile from us. they took out the old man and whipped him. they made his wife get up and dance and she was in a delicate state. they made her get out of bed and dance, and after that they took her and whipped her and beat her, and she was in a delicate state too. "there was a man there in black rock though that stopped them from bothering anybody. he killed one of them. they went to the train. they was raging around there then. he got off the train and they tried to take him to jail. the jail was way out through the woods. he hadn't done anything at all. they just took hold of him to take him to the jail because he had just come into the town. they had tugged him down the road and when they got to the woods, he took out his gun and killed one of them, and the rest left him alone. the man who was killed had a wife and four or five children. they sent the nigger to the penitentiary. he stayed there about a year and come out. that broke up the ku klux around black rock and portia. they never seemed to get much enjoyment out of it after that. "i heard from different ones' talk that a big hogshead full of money was given to the negroes by the queen, but they never did get it. i think they said the queen sent that money. i reckon it was queen victoria, but i don't know. but the white folks got it and kept it for themselves. "didn't nobody have any rights then. they would just put em up on a block and auction them off. the one that give the most he would take em. didn't nobody have no schooling only white folks. the white children would go to school but they didn't allow her to go. "once there was a slave woman. they worked her day and night. she had a little log cabin of her own. the spirit used to come to her at night and tell her if she would follow them she wouldn't have to work all the rest of her life. at first she was scared. but finally, she got used to them and she listened to them. she got directions from them and followed them. she went up into the loft and found a whole lot of money hid there. she took it and built her a new house and used it. i heard my grandmother tell this. that was my step-grandmother named dilsey. "one of my bosses had a lot of money and he hid it in a cave. they tried to find it and to make my mother tell where it was hid, but she didn't know and couldn't tell. they came back several times and tried to find him at home but they couldn't catch him. that was in missouri before freedom came. "i hate my father. he was white. i never did have no use for him. i never seen him because mama was jayhawked from the place. i never heard my mother say much about him either, except that he was red-headed. he was my mother's master. my mother was just forced. i hate him." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mark c. trotter, edmondson, arkansas age: "my owners was miss betty and mr. luke trotter. i was born in tunica county, mississippi. i farmed all my whole life. i did like it. one thing they said about slavery, you couldn't get away. they had dogs and you get away and have no place to go, nothing to eat. travel was hard through the rough wilderness. one owner would notify another about a runaway. they would take him back or send him word to come get the runaway. some of 'em tried to stay in the woods. they said they never tried to get away. i wasn't born till after freedom. they said they felt sorry when somebody got beat but they couldn't help it. they had feeling for their color. "i come to arkansas in . i jus' can make it. i'm sickly. i made my part, three bales cotton, last year and prices was so low and provisions so high it is all gone. i don't get no help from the welfare. "i heard old folks set around the fire and spit and talk about them very things but i got here too late to know well enough to tell it. "i recollect when seed was a scarce thing. we had to save all our seed. the women would swap around. folks had to raise their own stock. "the ku klux didn't bother us. "i voted here in town. i don't bother the polls no more. i don't own nothing. "times and folks both been changing all my life. some things is better and some people as good as they always been." el dorado district folklore subjects name of interviewer: pernella anderson (colored) subject: negro folklore--uncle james tubbs story:--information "well ah wuz born second year after surrender. some say dat makes me years old. mah maw only had two boys. ah am de baby. my pa wuz name manger tubbs. i wuz a purty bad boy. when ah wuz one. ah use ter hunt. use ter catch six and eight possums in one night. ah use ter love ter fish. spunt er many a nite campin and fishin. an playin marbles wuz a wonderful game in mah days yo knows. fokes wuzen so wile den. "ah recollect one night we went coon huntin and de boys wuz wanderin roun and got lost. some of de boys wuz wanderin roun tryin to git out and couldn' so ah said: "dar de seben star yo all jes wait and let me fine de way out and dey say all right," "we gwina trus yo to fine out a way out." went on bout yards and struck our fiel'. we crawled under fence and went on, struck our coan (corn) fiel'. den dey all reconcile wha dey is and ah had a big laff. when ah wuz a boy ah use to drink a little whiskey. finally ah said that would be mah ruin. aftah ah got oldah ah jess decided ah'd quit. ah nevah did do no hahm tho. parents didn't raise me ter drink, ah jes taken up the habit mahself. ah use ter steal grandma's aigs, he! he! she use ter go ter church and tell us not to bother anything and fore she got out er sight we'd done gone in de hen house. we boys git dem eggs and git on out in our play thicket and roast em and eat em and you know grandma found out where we roast dem aigs at, and whooe if she didn' whup us. he! he! you know the wurst race ah evah had in mah life ah wuz comin on fum spearsville and two coach whipper wuz layin side de road and you know dem things run me ooo-eee till ah got tuh a stream and you know ifn hit had not bee fer dat watah dem things woulder caught me. "coase mah grandma and me had had some putty good races. she tryin' ter cotch me but ah loves her terday fer dose races we had. mah ma died when ah wuz one munt ole. mah pa married agin and mah step-ma wuz mean to me so mah grandma come an got me and raised me. ah hant nevah been in jail. haint nevah been rested er nothin. ah wish the chilluns of terday wuz like dey wuz when ah wuz a boy. we lived in er two room log house. our house had a double chimney and we cooked on dat. you know we'd put a big back stick uv wood on. mah pa loved his big back sticks of wood to hold the fire. wudden no stoves at that time. we cooked on chimney fires. we et ash cakes. hit sho wuz good too. granma say ash cake wuz healthy. ah bleve fokes ought ter eat a few of dem now. we had a putty good school house made outn logs. ah stop school when ah wuz in the third grade. ah learnt purty fair. we uster have ter take rocks an beat corn ter make meal. we wud have ter go sometime fifty mile to git ter a griss mill. an when we couldn't git coan mashed inter meal we wud make hominy and hit sho wuz good too. "ah use ter card fer granma while she wuz spinnin. we made our socks, gloves, and thread. we didn' have dat ter buy. when ah wuz a boy everybody farmed and we had a plenty. didn' have drouth in does days. "any kine of lan' would produce. ah use ter get a many lashin bout pickin cotton. ah couldn' pick until ah got dem lashins. some fokes say lashin don' help but ah clare dey do. "ah use ter pick cotton and sing. ah can recollect so well de song. hit went lak dis: me an' mah wife had a fallin out she wanted me ter work on de railroad track etc. (see enclosed song) "ah jes love ter talk bout when ah wuz a boy. we had a lop cabin fuh a church house. in dem days on meetin' sunday fokes would go ter church and carry de chillun but now not neither the chillun nor dey ma's go either. "fokes would serve the lord. dey would git happy in de fiel' and fall out choppin, choppin cotton. no sich times as hit wuz now. aftah all er mah youth and hardship and goodship the lord called me ter preach and when he called me ah answered. ah wuz comin cross de fiel about er'clock. ah tole him ah couldn' preach. den ah heard a voice above mah haid. ah stopped and wondahed and pondered wid mahself knowin' de condition uv mahself. ah said, "lord yo knows ah caint preach." den ah made a vow and ah stuck to hit but ah heard nother voice say, "go and preach" again. and ah heerd ah nother voice say "yo go in de mawnin and pray befo sunrise." ah goes thar and gits on mah knees and tried ter pray an ah heard dogs a barkin and chains rattlin an cats mewin and everthing. ah had heard ole fokes talk bout when yo go ter pray chains and things would track yer tenshun. the same happen ter me. ah want on and ended mah prayer and yo know ah wuz a glad soul. ah felt lak ah cud go an then an do whut the lawd said. ah gone on an stahted preachin. hit seemed the church wuz so crowded wid so many local preachers ah couldn' do whut de lawd wanted me ter so ah ask the pastor ifn ah could run prayer meetin and he said, "why chile yes," and ah went on wid de prayer meetin till ever'body quit his church and come to mah prayer meetin so den he called mah han', got jealous and made me move mah prayer meetin. so som good white fokes let me come ovah neah them and start a prayer meetin so de people followed me and we built a church and hit is yet dare terday." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mandy tucker e. th street, pine bluff, arkansas age: ? "i was here in slavery times but i don't know what year i was born. war? i was in it! "i member old master and old mistis too. i member i didn't know nothin' bout my mother and father cause it was night when they went to work and night when they come in and we chilluns would be under the bed asleep. "i know the white folks had a kitchen full of we chilluns. we went over to the kitchen to eat. "my mother belonged to the cockrills and my father belonged to the armstrongs. they were cousins and their plantations joined. "i was large enough to know when they took my parents to texas, but i didn't know how serious it was till they was gone. i member peepin' through the crack of the fence but i didn't know they was takin' em off. "they left me with the old doctor woman. she doctored both white and colored. i stayed there till i was fourteen years old. "i know we had our meals off a big wooden tray but we had wooden spoons to eat with. "i member when they was fightin' here at pine bluff. i was standin' at the overseer's bell house waitin' for a doll dress a girl had promised me and the guns was goin' just like pop guns. we didn't know what it was to take off our shoes and clothes for six months. we was ready to run if they broke in on us. "the yankees had their headquarters at the big house near the river. all this was in woods till i growed up. we used to have our picnic here. "i was standin' right at the post when they rung the bell in the bell house when peace declared. i heered the old folks sayin, 'we is free, we is free!' "i know before freedom they wouldn't let us burn a speck of light at night. had these little iron lamps. they'd twist wicks and put em in tallow. i don't know whether it was beef or sheep tallow but they had plenty of sheeps on the place. "colonel cockrill would have us come up to the big house every sunday mornin' and he'd give us a apple or a stick of candy. but them that was big enough to work wouldn't get any. they worked on sunday too--did the washin' every sunday evenin'. "oh lord, they had a big plantation. "after the war i went to school some. we had white teachers from the north. i didn't get to go much except on rainy days. other times i had to work. i got so i could read print but i can't read writin'. i used to could but since i been sick seems like my mind just hops off. "after freedom my parents rented land and farmed. i stayed with the old doctor woman till i was fourteen then i went to my parents. "i married when i was eighteen and had five chillun. when i worked for my father he'd let us quit when we got tired and sit under the shade bushes. but when i married i had to work harder than ever. my husband was just a run-around. he'd put in a crop and then go and leave it. sometimes he was a constable. finally he went off and took up with another woman. "i been here in arkansas all my life except eight months i lived in st. louis, but i didn't like it. when i was in st. louis i know it started to snow. i thought it was somebody pickin' geese. i said, 'what is that?' and my granddaughter said, 'gal, that's snow.' "i don't know what to think of the younger generation. i think they is just goin' out to nothin'. they say they are gettin' weaker and wiser but i think they are weaker and foolish--they are not wise in the right way. some are very good to their parents and some are not. "honey, i don't know how things is goin'--all i know is they is mighty tight right now." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: emma turner w. sixth avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes ma'am, i was born in slavery days. they never did tell me when i was born but i was ten the seventh day of august the same year we was freed. "no ma'am, i wasn't born in arkansas. i was born in georgia. i sent there and got my license to show my age. i was twenty years old when i married. "george jones was my old master. but, lawd, them folks is all dead now. old master and old missis, yes ma'am, all of 'em dead. "fight 'round us? no, they didn't fight there but they come through there. yes ma'am, they come through there. oh, chile, they got horses and mules. "used to give us the confederate money. wasn't no good though. they got the silver and gold. confederate money was white on one side and green on the other. yes'm, they was yankees. "oh, yes'am, old master was good to us. he didn't never marry. my grandmother was the cook. "my mother was born in virginia. i heerd her talk of the nat turner rebellion but i never did see him. "our folks stayed right on after freedom and hired by the month. and hired us children for our victuals and clothes. "i stayed there till i was married. then i come to vicksburg, mississippi. had nine children and all dead but two. "me? oh, i done washin' and ironin' mostly, cooked and most anything i could get to do. i'm all worked down now though. "we emigrated from georgia to mississippi. all my children born there. "i 'member the soldiers had guns and we was scared of 'em. we looked for 'em to come up the road but they come out of the woods and was around us right now. they didn't mind creeks or nothin', ridin' horseback or walkin'. i know they said, 'we ain't gwine hurt you.' "old master's mother and father was named sally and billy. 'member 'em? 'co'se i do--many times as i waited on that table. but they all dead 'fore i even thought about bein' grown. "oh, yes ma'am, we had a plenty to eat. that's the reason i misses it now. "i went to school one year but i had to work so hard i done forgot nearly everything i learned. i can read a little but my eyes ain't no good. "dem ku klux--you dassent be out after dark. you better not be out on the street after dark. but sunday night they didn't bother you when you went to church. "i was raised up with two white girls and their mother didn't 'low us to get out of the yard. "i used to pick peas and cotton. yes ma'am, that was when we was with the same old man, george jones. i used to huddle (herd) cows for miles and miles. my mother was the milk woman. i don't know how many she milked but she milked a heap of 'em. "used to climb up in trees and tear our clothes. then they'd whip us. old master say, 'don't you tell me no lie.' then old miss sally would get a stick and make out she gwine kill us, but she wouldn't touch us a lick. "younger generation? now you done asked me too soon. i set here and look at 'em. sometimes i don't know what gwine come of 'em. when we was young we didn't do nothin' like they doin' now. why we dassent raise our dresses. if we see a man comin' we pull down our skirts. yes, lawd." folklore subjects name of interviewer: watt mckinney subject: ex-slave and confederate soldiers story:--information this information given by: "uncle" henry turner (c) place of residence: turner, phillips county, arkansas occupation: plantation hand age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] i'm gettin' old and feeble now and cannot walk no more and i've laid the rusty-bladed hoe to rest. ole marster and ole missus are sleeping side by side and their spirits are a-roamin' with the blest. the above lines, had they been composed today, might well have been written with reference to "uncle" henry turner, ninety-three years of age, of turner, arkansas, in phillips county, and among the very few remaining ex-slaves, especially of those who were old enough at the time of their emancipation to have now a clear recollection of conditions, customs, events, and life during those days long past immediately proceeding and following the civil war. "uncle" henry's eyes have now grown dim and he totters slightly as, supported by his cane, he slowly shuffles along the path over a short distance between the clean, white-washed cabin where he lives with a daughter and the small, combination store and post office, on the porch of which he is accustomed to sit in an old cane-bottomed chair for a few hours each day and the white folks in passing stop to speak a few words and to buy for him candy, cold drinks, and tobacco. though "uncle" henry is approaching the century mark in age, his mind is remarkably clear and his recollection is unusually keen. he was born a slave in northern mississippi near the small towns of red banks and byhalia, was the property of his owner. edmond turner, and was brought to phillips county by "his white folks" some months before the war. turner, who owned some fifty other slaves besides henry, settled with his family on a large acreage of land that he had purchased about fifteen miles west of helena near trenton. both turner and his wife died soon after taking up residence in arkansas leaving their estate to their two sons, bart and nat, who were by that time grown young men, and being very capable and industrious soon developed their property into one of the most valuable plantations in the county. as "uncle" henry recalls, the turner place was, it might be said, a world within itself, in the confines of which was produced practically everything essential in the life of its inhabitants and the proper and successful conduct of its operations. large herds of cattle, hogs, sheep, and goats provided a bountiful supply of both fresh and salt meats and fats. cotton and wool was carded, spun and woven into cloth for clothes, fast colored dyes were made by boiling different kinds of roots and barks, various colored berries were also used for this purpose. medicine was prepared from roots, herbs, flowers, and leaves. stake and rider fences enclosed the fields and pastures and while most of the houses, barns and cribs were constructed of logs, some lumber was manufactured in crude sawmills in which was used what was known as a "slash saw". this was something like the crosscut saws of today and was operated by a crank that gave the saw an alternating up and down motion. wheat was ground into flour and corn into meal in mills with stone burrs similar to those used in the rural districts today, and power for this operation was obtained through the use of a treadmill that was given its motion by horses or mules walking on an inclined, endless belt constructed of heavy wooden slats. candles for lighting purposes were made of animal fats combined with beeswax. plows, harrows and cultivating implements were made on the plantation by those negroes who had been trained in carpentry and blacksmithing. plows for breaking the land were sometimes constructed with a metal point and a wooden moldboard and harrows made of heavy timbers with large, sharpened wooden pegs for teeth. hats of straw and corn shucks were woven by hand. small, crude cotton gins were powered by horses or mules hitched to a beam fastened to an upright shaft around which they traveled in a circle and to which was attached large cogwheels that multiplied the animal's power enormously and transmitted it by means of belt to the separating machinery where the lint was torn from the seed. no metal ties were available during this period and ropes of cotton were used to bind the bales of lint. about three bales was the daily capacity of a horse-powered plantation gin. it was often difficult to obtain the services of a competent doctor and except in cases of serious illness home remedies were administered. churches were established in different communities throughout the county and the negro slaves were allowed the privilege of attending the services, certain pews being set apart for them, and the same minister that attended the spiritual needs of the master and his family rendered like assistant to his slaves. no undertaking establishments existed here at this time and on the death of a person burial was made in crude caskets built of rough cypress planks unless the deceased was a member of a family financially able to afford the expensive metal caskets that were available no nearer than memphis. "uncle" henry turner recalls the death of dan wilborn's little six-year-old boy, abby, who was accidentally killed when crushed by a heavy gate on which he was playing, and his burial in what "uncle" henry described as a casket made of the same material as an old-fashioned door knob; and while i have no other authority than this on the subject, it is possible that in that day caskets were made of some vitrified substance, perhaps clay, and resembling the present day tile. the planters and slaveowners of this period obtained the greater share of their recreation in attendance at political rallies, horse races, and cock fights. jobe dean and gus abington who came to trenton from their home near la grange, tennessee were responsible for the popularity of these sports in phillips county and it was they who promoted the most spectacular of these sporting events and in which large sums of money were wagered on the horses and the game cocks. it is said that marve carruth once owned an irish grey cock on which he bet and won more than five thousand dollars one afternoon at trenton. no negro slave was allowed to go beyond the confines of his owner's plantation without written permission. this was described by "uncle" henry turner as a "pass"; and on this "pass" was written the name of the negro, the place he was permitted to visit, and the time beyond which he must not fail to return. it seems that numbers of men were employed by the county or perhaps by the slaveowners themselves whose duty it was to patrol the community and be on constant watch for such negroes who attempted to escape their bondage or overstayed the time limit noted on their "pass". such men were known then as "paddy rolls" by the negroes and in the southern states are still referred to by this name. punishment was often administered by them, and the very mention of the name was sufficient to cause stark terror and fear in the hearts of fugitive slaves. at some time during that period when slavery was a legal institution in this country, the following verse was composed by some unknown author and set to a tune that some of the older darkies can yet sing: run nigger run, the paddy roll will get you run nigger run, it's almost day. that nigger run, that nigger flew that nigger tore his shirt into. run nigger run, the paddy roll will get you run nigger run, it's almost day. both bart turner and his brother nat enlisted in the services of the confederacy. nat turner was a member of the first arkansas volunteers, a regiment organized at helena and of which patrick r. cleburne was colonel. dick berry and milt wiseman, friends and neighbors of the turners, also volunteered and enlisted in cleburne's command. these three stalwart young men from phillips county followed cleburne and fought under his battle flag on those bloody fields at shiloh, murfreesboro, ringgold gap, and atlanta; and they were with him that day in november in front of the old gin house at franklin as the regiment formed for another and what was to be their last charge. the dead lay in heaps in front of them and almost filled the ditch around the breastworks, but the command though terribly cut to pieces was forming as cooly as if on dress parade. above them floated a peculiar flag, a field of deep blue on which was a crescent moon and stars. it was cleburne's battle flag and well the enemy knew it; they had seen it so often before. "i tip my hat to that flag" said the federal general sherman years after the war. "whenever my men saw it they knew it meant fight." as the regiment rushed on the federal breastworks a gray clad figure on a chestnut horse rode across the front of the moving column and toward the enemy's guns. the horse went down within fifty yards of the breastworks. the rider arose, waved his sword, and led his men on foot to the very ramparts. then he staggered and fell, pierced with a dozen balls. it was cleburne, the peerless field-marshal of confederate brigade commanders. the southern cause suffered a crushing defeat at franklin and the casualty list recorded the names of nat turner, dick berry, and milt wiseman, who like their beloved commander had given their life for their country. there is an inscription on the stone base of the magnificent bronze statue of general n. b. forrest astride his war horse in forrest park in memphis that could well be placed above the graves of cleburne, turner, berry, and wiseman, those brave, heroic soldiers from phillips county. the inscription in verse is as follows: those hoof beats die not on fame's crimson sod but will live on in song and in story. he fought like a trojan and struck like a god his dust is our ashes of glory. interviewer: zillah cross peel information given by: seabe tuttle residence: washington county, seven miles east of fayetteville. seabe tuttle who was born in slavery in , belonged to james middleton tuttle of richland, which was about seven miles east of fayetteville. "i was just a baby when the war was but i do recollect a lot of things that my ma told me about the war. our folks all come from tennessee. my mother was named esther, she belonged to ole man tom smith who gived her to miss evaline, who was mister mid tuttle's wife. the tuttles and smiths lived joining farms." "you see, mister tuttle was a colonel in the confederate army and when he went off with the army he left all his slaves and stock in care of mr. lafe boone. miss mollie and miss nannie, and miss jim and another daughter i disrecolect her her name, all went in carriages and wagons down south following the confederate army. they took my pa, mark, and other servants, my mother's sister, americus and barbary. they told them they would bring them back home after the war. then my mother and me and the other darkies, men and women and children, followed them with the cattle and horses and food. but us didn't get no further than dardanelle when the federals captured us and took us back to the federal garrison at ft. smith, where they kept us six months. yes'm they were good to us there. we would get our food at the com'sary. but one day my ma and my sister, mandy, found a white man that said he would bring us back to fayetteville. no'm, i disremember his name." "we found us a cabin to live in here. didn't have to pay rent then likes they do now. we lived here but after a while my mother died. they had two battles 'round here, the battle of prairie grave and one was the battle of pea ridge, after we comed back but no soldiers bothered us. i remember that back from where the christian church is now, down to the town branch, there was a whole lot of federal soldiers staying, they called it then cato branch, cause a man by the name of cato owned all that land." "yes'm, i guess we had a purty good master and missus. we never did get treated much rough." "after the war, miss evaline brought back all the colored people that she took with her, but my father. he got married down there and didn't come back for a long time. then he did and died here. two of miss eveline's daughters married down there. they didn't have no boys 'tall, just four girls." "when peace was made the slaves all scattered. we none was givin' nothin' for as i know. i worked on a farm for $ . a month and my board, for a man down at oxford's bend, then i went down to van buren where i worked as a porter in a hotel then i went to morrilton and i married. we come back here and i worked all the time as a carpenter. i worked for mister a.m. byrnes. i helped build a lot of fine houses round here and i helped put a roof on the main building at the university." "yes'm, i own my home down by the school, i can't make much money these days. it kinda worries me. my folks all dead but three of my brothers children. one of these is blind. he lives on the old home my mother had. the county gives him a little food and a little money." "yes'm, my white folks were all good to us. purty good to us." "after peace was made though, we all jes' scattered, somehow." produced from images generously made available by the library of congress, manuscript division.) [tr: ***] = transcriber note</p> [hw: ***] = handwritten note</p> slave narratives _a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves_ typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress _illustrated with photographs_ washington volume xv tennessee narratives prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of tennessee informants batson, frances casey, julia chappel, cecelia childress, wiley falls, robert gaines, rachel goole, frankie gray, precilla greer, jenny grisham, emma hudson, measy hyde, patsy kannon, ellis ken martin, scott matthews, ann moore, rev. john moss, andrew moss, mollie odell, andy parker, laura ramsey reece, naisy simpkins, millie star, joseph leonidas thomas, dan watkins, sylvia young, narcissus interview frances batson scovel st. nashville, tennessee "i dunno jes how ole i ez. i wuz baw'n 'yer in nashville, durin' slabery. i must be way pas' fer i member de yankee soldiers well. de chilluns called dem de 'blue mans.' mah white folks wuz named crockett. dr. crockett wuz our marster but i don't member 'im mahse'f. he d'ed w'en i wuz small. mah marster wuz mean ter mah mammy w'en her oler chilluns would run 'way. mah oler br'er went ter war wid mah marster. mah younger br'er run 'way, dey caught 'im, tuk 'im home en whup'd 'im. he run 'way en wuz nebber found." "we wuzn't sold but mah mammy went 'way, en lef' me en i got up one mawnin' went ter mah mammy's room, she wuz gon'. i cried en cried fer her. mah missis wouldn't let me outa' de house, fer fear i'd try ter find her. atter freedum mah br'er en a yankee soldier kum in a waggin en git us. mah white folks sed, i don' see why you ez takin' dez chilluns. mah brudder said, 'we ez free now.' i member one whup'in mah missis gib me. me en her daughter slipped 'way ter de river ter fish. we kotch a fish en mah missis had hit cooked fer us but whup'd us fer goin' ter de river." "whar de buena vista schul ez hit useter be a yankee soldiers barrick. eber mawnin' dey hadder music. we chilluns would go on de hill, (whar the bag mill ez now) en listen ter dem. i member a black hoss de soldiers had, dat ef you called 'im jeff davis he would run you." "i member de ole well on cedar street, neah de capitol, en six mules fell in hit. dat wuz back w'en blackberries wuz growin' on de capitol hill. en morgan park wuz called de pleasure gyarden. en hit wuz full ob yankee soldiers. atter de war dere wuz so many german peeple ober 'yer, dat fum jefferson street, ter clay street, wuz called dutch town." "i wuzn't bawn w'en de sta'rs fell. we didn't git nothin' w'en we wuz freed. dunno much 'bout de klu klux klan." "mah mammy useter tell me how de white folks would hire de slaves out ter mek money fer de marster en she tole me sum ob de marsters would hide dere slaves ter keep de yankees fum gittin' dem." "i don' b'leeve in white en black ma'iages. mah sistah ma'ied a lite man. i wouldin' marry one ef hit would turn me ter gold. dunno nothin' 'bout votin', allus tho't dat wuz fer de men." "i can't think ob any tales er nuthin 'bout ghos'. 'cept one 'bout a marster tyin' a nigger ter a fence en wuz beatin' 'im. a yankee kum 'long made 'im untie de nigger en den de nigger beat de white man." "dis young peeples ez tough. i think half ob dem'll be hung, de way dey throw rocks at ole peoples. dat's why i's crippled now, a white boy hit me wid a rock. i b'long ter de methodist chuch." "since freedum i'se hired out, washed en cooked fer diff'ent peeple. de only song i member: 'hark fum de ground dis mournful sound.'" interview julia casey th avenue, so. nashville, tennessee i wuz bawn in west tennessee en wuz six y'ars ole w'en war broke out. mah missis wuz miss jennie mccullough en she ma'ried eldridge casey. mah missis's mammy wuz a widder en she gib me, mah mammy, man sistah violet, mah two br'ers andrew en alfred ter miss jennie fer a wed'un gif'. missis jennie en marster eldridge brung us ter nashville 'fore de war sta'ted. mah missis wuz good ter us. i'se bin w'll tuk keer ob, plenty ter eat en warm clothes ter w'ar. right now i'se got on long underw'ar en mah chemise. mah mammy d'ed fust y'ar ob freedum. dey tuk her 'way in a two-hoss waggin, 'bout four o'clock one evenin'. dere wuz no hurses er caskets den. w'en mah mammy d'ed, i still stayed wid missis jennie. she raised me. dat's why folks say i'se so peculiar. de yankee soldiers tuk mah sistah en two br'ers 'way durin' de war. i ez de mammy ob seven chilluns. all d'ed now but one. mah white folks didn't send me ter schul but i'se l'arned a few things ob how ter act. don't ax me 'bout der young people. dey ez pas' me. no manners 'tall. in slavery days you didn't hab ter worry 'bout yo clothes en rations but dese days you hab ter worry 'bout eve'ything. i 'longs ter de baptist chuch. useter go ter camp-meetin's en hab a big time wid good things ter eat. didn't go ter de baptizin' much. dey would leave de chuch singin' en shoutin'. dere ez three days in september dat we hab dinnah on de groun' en all baptist git tergedder. we calls hit de 'sociation. i'se neber voted cose dat ez de man's job. mah frens hab nebber had political jobs. don't b'leeve in ma'rige ob white en black en hit shouldn't be 'lowed. since freedom mah main job wuz cookin' but i'se done washin' en ironin'. atter mah health started failing, i done a lot ob nusin'. i'se aint abul ter wuk fur de las' five y'ars en de white folks hab he'ped me. de relief gibes me groc'eys, coal en pays mah rent. i hope ter git de ole age pension soon. mah ole favo'ite song ez "mazing grace, how sweet hit sounds." interview cecelia chappel allison street nashville, tenn. "i'se bawn in marshall county, tennessee. i'm de olest ob ten chilluns en i'se ya'rs ole. i feels lak i'se bin 'yer longer dan dat. mah mammy wuz brought ter nashville en sold ter sum peeple dat tuck her ter mississippi ter live." "mah marster en missus wuz named bob en nancy lord. eve'y slave had ter say missus en marster en also ter de white babies. i still says hit, en ef i kum ter yo do'r, i nebber kums in 'till you ax me. lots ob mah folks seze ter me dat i ez too ole fash'on en i seze i don' keer i wuz raised wid manners en too ole ter change." "our marster gib us good food en clothes. i wuz l'arnt how ter nit, weav, sew en spin. on rainy days we wuz gib a certain 'mount ob weavin' ter do en had ter git hit don'. i dunno how ter read er rite. de white folks didn' 'low us ter l'arn nuthin'. i declar' you bettuh not git kotch wid a papah in you han'. ef i had half a chance lak you chilluns hab, i'd go ter bed wid mah books." "our marster 'lowed us ter go ter chuch. i went bar'foot en had a rag tied 'roun mah haid en mah dress kum up ter mah 'nees. dat preacher-man would git up dere en tell us "now you min' yo marster en missis en don' steal fum dem." i stayed wid mah missis fer a long time atter i got freedum en i cried lak a fool w'en i had ter leave dem. mah missis seze "you ez jes as free as i ez," but i allus had good clothes en good food en i didn' know how i'd git dem atter i lef' her." "mah white folks wuz tight on us but, as ole as i ez, i offun think dat day nebber hit a lick dat i didn' need. ef'n dey hadn' raised me right, i might hab got in meaness en bin locked up half de time, but i ain't nebber bin 'rested, en i'se 'ferd ob de policemans. de fiel' slaves wuz whup'd in de fiel's by de oberseer en de marster en missis did hit at de house." "i tell you we had a hahd time. mah missis woulden' let dem sell me. i wuz a nuss en house gal. i wuz whup'd wid a bull whup, en got cuts on mah back menny a time. i'se not shamed ter say i got skyars on mah back now fum marster cuttin' hit wid dat bull whup. mah missis also whup'd me. w'en de missis got ready ter whup me, she would gib us sum wuk ter do, so she would kind ob git ober her mad spell 'fore she whup'd us. sum times she would lock us up in a dark closet en bring our food ter us. i hated bein' locked up. atter dey tuk me out ob de house, i wuked in de fiel' lak de urthurs. long 'fore day break, we wuz standin' in de fiel's leanin' on our hoes waitin' fer daylite en waitin' fer de horn ter blow so we would start ter wuk. ef'n we wan'ed ter go ter any place we had ter hab a pass wid our marster's name on hit en ef you didn' hab hit, you got tore ter pieces en den you marster tore you up w'en you got home." "one story mah daddy useter tell us wuz 'bout a slave named pommpy. he wuz allus prayin' fer de good lawd ter tek 'im 'way. one nite he wuz down on his 'nees prayin', "good lawd, kum en tek po pommpy out ob his misery." de marster ob pommpy 'year'd 'm en de marster made a leetle noise en pommpy seze, "who ez dat?" en his marster seze, "hits de lawd kum ter tek po pommpy out ob his misery." pommpy crawl under de bed en seze, "pommpy has bin gon' two er three days." "'nurther story: a partridge en a fox 'greed ter kil' a beef. dey kilt en skinned hit. b'fo dey divide hit de fox said, "mah wife seze sen' her sum beef fer soup," so he tuck a piece ob hit en carried hit down de hill, den kum back en said mah wife wants mo' beef fer soup. he kep dis up 'til all de beef wuz gon' 'cept de libber. de fox kum back en de partridge seze now lets cook dis libber en both ob us eat hit. de partridge cooked de libber, et hits part rite quick, en den fell ovuh lak hit wuz sick; de fox got skeered en said dat beef ez pizen en he ran down de hill en started bringin' de beef back en w'en he brought hit all back, he lef' en de partridge had all de beef." "don't member much now 'bout de klu klux klan en nothin' 'bout slave 'risings at any place. i don' member 'bout de sta'rs fallin', but i did see de comet, en hit looked lak a sta'r wid a long tail; atter freedum, i nebber year'd ob no slave gettin' land er money en i dunno nothin' 'bout de slave mart 'yer fer i didn' git ter kum ter town." "since freed, i hab nussed, cooked en don' diff'unt things. i wuk'ed fer one family fifteen y'ars en didn' miss a day. i has stayed at dis place fer de las' five y'ars. i had a stroke en wuz in de hospit'l a long time. i cain' git out; en 'roun' 'yer in de house, i has ter walk wid a stick." "i ain' nebber voted. one day sum men kum 'yer ter tek me ter vote. i tole dem w'en i got ready ter be a man, i would put on overalls." "i'se a member ob de missionary baptist chuch. i ain' bin fer a long time kaze i ain' able ter go. de ole song i members ez "dixie land," en "run nigger run, de pat-a rollers will git you." "oh lawdy! i think sum ob is young peeple ain' no count w'ile sum ob dem ez alright. i think each color should ma'rie his own color. hit makes me mad ter think 'bout hit. ef de good lawd had wanted dat, he would hab had us all one color." "fer a long time de relief gib me a quart ob milk a day, but now all i has ez w'at mah sistah harriett gibs me. she sin' got much wuk en sum days we don' hab much ter eat. ef mah missis wuz livin' i wouldin' go hongry." interview wiley childress gay st. nashville, tennessee "i'se y'ars ole en wuz bawn a slave. mah mammy b'longed ter de bosley's en mah daddy b'longed ter de scales." "w'en miss jane boxley ma'ried marster jerry scales, me en mah mammy, br'er en sistah wuz gib ter miss jane." "durin' de war mah missis tuk mah mammy en us chilluns wid her ter de mount'ins 'till de war wuz gon'. did'nt see no soldiers. don't member now nuthin' 'bout dem klu klux men en don't member de ole songs er 'bout slaves votin'." "dunno 'bout de young persons, white er black, dey ez all so wild now." "w'en we all wuz freed we had nuthin en no place ter go, so dat mah mammy lived wid our missis five y'ars longer." "de only story dat i member mah people tole me 'bout wuz on fedd, a slave on de next plantation. he wuz a big man en wuz de strongest man neah dat part ob de kuntry. he wouldin' 'low nobody ter whup 'in. de marster framed 'im by tellin' 'im ter bring his saddle hoss en w'en he kum wid de hoss several men 'peahrd en tole fedd dat dey wuz gonna whup 'im. he struck one ob de mans so hahd dey had ter hab de doctuh. de marster said let 'im 'lone he's too strong ter be whup'd. i'll hab ter shoot 'im. one time fedd run 'way en de white men whar he stopped know'd he wuz a good fighter en made a $ . bet dat nobody could lick 'im. a nigger fum de iron wuks fought fedd en fedd won. de iron wuks nigger wuz kilt right dere." "'fore freedum de slaves wuz promused forty acres ob land w'en freed but none eber got hit, en i 'year'd ob no one gittin' any money. i dunno nuthin' ob de slave 'risin's, ghostus er dreams, but i member mah folks talkin' 'bout fallin' sta'rs en a comet but i don' member now w'at dey said." "i'se wuk'd at a lot ob diff'ent jobs since mah freedum. i wuk'd at de maxwell house years as store room porter, en hit wuz de only wo'th-while hotel in nashville at dat time. i wuk'd fuh de city fuh menny y'ars en den i wuk'd fuh foster & creighton 'till dey wore me out. i off'n think ob deze diff'nt men dat i wuk'd fuh but dey ez all de'd. de las' job i had wuz buildin' fiers en odd jobs fuh a lady up de street. she would gib me food en coal. she ez de'd now." "i'se not able ter wuk now en all i has ez a small groc'ey order dat de relief gibs me. dey keep promisin' ter gib me de old age pension en i wish dey would hurry hit up." _subject_ _slave stories_ robert falls south broadway knoxville, tennessee interviewed by della yoe, foreman federal writers' project, first district, wpa room # old ymca building state and commerce streets. knoxville, tennessee robert falls was born on december , , in the rambling one-story shack that accomodated the fifteen slaves of his old marster, [hw: harry] beattie goforth, on a farm in claiborne county, north carolina. his tall frame is slightly stooped, but he is not subjected to the customary infirmities of the aged, other than poor vision and hearing. fairly comfortable, he is spending his declining years in contentment, for he is now the first consideration of his daughter, mrs. lola reed, with whom he lives at # s. broadway, knoxville, tennessee. his cushioned rocking chair is the honor seat of the household. his apology for not offering it to visitors, is that he is "not so fast on his feet as he used to be." despite uncle robert's protest that his "mind comes and goes", his memory is keen, and his sense of humor unimpaired. his reminiscences of slave days are enriched by his ability to recreate scenes and incidents in few words, and by his powers of mimicry. "if i had my life to live over," he declares, "i would die fighting rather than be a slave again. i want no man's yoke on my shoulders no more. but in them days, us niggers didn't know no better. all we knowed was work, and hard work. we was learned to say, 'yes sir!' and scrape down and bow, and to do just exactly what we was told to do, make no difference if we wanted to or not. old marster and old mistress would say, 'do this!' and we don' it. and they say, 'come here!' and if we didn't come to them, they come to us. and they brought the bunch of switches with them." "they didn't half feed us either. they fed the animals better. they gives the mules, ruffage and such, to chaw on all night. but they didn't give us nothing to chaw on. learned us to steal, that's what they done. why we would take anything we could lay our hands on, when we was hungry. then they'd whip us for lieing when we say we dont know nothing about it. but it was easier to stand, when the stomach was full." "now my father, he was a fighter. he was mean as a bear. he was so bad to fight and so troublesome he was sold four times to my knowing and maybe a heap more times. that's how come my name is falls, even if some does call me robert goforth. niggers would change to the name of their new marster, every time they was sold. and my father had a lot of names, but kep the one of his marster when he got a good home. that man was harry falls. he said he'd been trying to buy father for a long time, because he was the best waggoner in all that country abouts. and the man what sold him to falls, his name was collins, he told my father, "you so mean, i got to sell you. you all time complaining about you dont like your white folks. tell me now who you wants to live with. just pick your man and i will go see him." then my father tells collins, i want you to sell me to marster harry falls. they made the trade. i disremember what the money was, but it was big. good workers sold for $ , and $ , . after that the white folks didn't have no more trouble with my father. but he'd still fight. that man would fight a she-bear and lick her every time." "my mother was sold three times before i was born. the last time when old goforth sold her, to the slave speculators,--you know every time they needed money they would sell a slave,--and they was taking them, driving them, just like a pack of mules, to the market from north carolina into south carolina, she begun to have fits. you see they had sold her away from her baby. and just like i tell you she begun having fits. they got to the jail house where they was to stay that night, and she took on so, jim slade and press worthy--them was the slave speculators,--couldnt do nothing with her. next morning one of them took her back to marse goforth and told him, "look here. we cant do nothing with this woman. you got to take her and give us back our money. and do it now,' they says. and they mean it too. so old marse goforth took my mother and give them back their money. after that none of us was ever separated. we all lived, a brother and two sisters and my mother, with the goforths till freedom." "and do you know, she never did get over having fits. she had them every change of the moon, or leastways every other moon change. but she kept on working. she was a hard worker. she had to be. old mistress see to that. she was meaner than old marster, she was. she would sit by the spinning wheel and count the turns the slave women made. and they couldn't fool her none neither. my mother worked until ten o'clock almost every night because her part was to 'spend so many cuts' a day, and she couldnt get through no sooner. when i was a little shaver, i used to sit on the floor with the other little fellows while our mothers worked, and sometimes the white folks girls would read us a bible story. but most of the time we slept. right there on the floor. then later, when i was bigger, i had to work with the men at night shelling corn, to take to town early mornings." "marster goforth counted himself a good old baptist christian. the one good deed he did, i will never forget, he made us all go to church every sunday. that was the onliest place off the farm we ever went. every time a slave went off the place, he had to have a pass, except we didnt, for church. everybody in thet country knowed that the goforth niggers didn't have to have no pass to go to church. but that didn't make no difference to the pattyroolers. they'd hide in the bushes, or wait along side of the road, and when the niggers come from meeting, the pattyroolers's say, 'whar's your pass'? us goforth niggers used to start running soon as we was out of church. we never got caught. that is why i tell you i cant use my legs like i used to. if you was caught without no pass, the pattyroolers give you five licks. they was licks! you take a bunch of five to seven pattyroolers each giving five licks and the blood flows." "old marster was too old to go to the war. he had one son was a soldier, but he never come home again. i never seen a soldier till the war was over and they begin to come back to the farms. we half-grown niggers had to work the farm, because all the famers had to give,--i believe it was a tenth--of their crops to help feed the soldiers. so we didnt know nothing about what was going on, no more than a hog. it was a long time before we knowed we was free. then one night old marster come to our house and he say he wants to see us all before breakfast tomorrow morning and to come on over to his house. he got something to tell us." "next morning we went over there. i was the monkey, always acting smart. but i believe they liked me better than all of the others. i just spoke sassy-like and say, "old marster, what you got to tell us"? my mother said, "shut your mouth fool. he'll whip you!" and old marster say,--"no i wont whip you. never no more. sit down thar all of you and listen to what i got to tell you. i hates to do it but i must. you all aint my niggers no more. you is free. just as free as i am. here i have raised you all to work for me, and now you are going to leave me. i am an old man, and i cant get along without you. i dont know what i am going to do." well sir, it killed him. he was dead in less than ten months." "everybody left right now, but me and my brother and another fellow. old marster fooled us to believe we was duty-bound to stay with him till we was all twenty-one. but my brother, that boy was stubborn. soon he say he aint going to stay there. and he left. in about a year, maybe less, he come back and he told me i didnt have to work for old goforth, i was free, sure enough free, and i went with him and he got me a job railroading. but the work was too hard for me. i couldnt stand it. so i left there and went to my mother. i had to walk. it was forty-five miles. i made it in a day. she got me work there where she worked." "i remember so well, how the roads was full of folks walking and walking along when the niggers were freed. didnt know where they was going. just going to see about something else somewhere else. meet a body in the road and they ask, 'where you going'? 'dont know.' 'what you going to do'? 'dont know.' and then sometimes we would meet a white man and he would say, 'how you like to come work on my farm'? and we say, 'i dont know.' and then maybe he say, "if you come work for me on my farm, when the crops is in i give you five bushels of corn, five gallons of molasses, some ham-meat, and all your clothes and vittals whils you works for me." alright! that's what i do. and then something begins to work up here, (touching his forehead with his fingers) i begins to think and to know things. and i knowed then i could make a living for my own self, and i never had to be a slave no more." "now, old marster goforth, had four sisters what owned slaves, and they wasnt mean to them like our old marster and mistress. some of the old slaves and their folks are still living on their places right to this day. but they never dispute none with their brother about how mean he treat his slaves. and him claiming to be such a christian! well, i reckon he's found out something about slave driving by now. the good lord has to get his work in some time. and he'll take care of them low down pattyroolers and slave speculators and mean marsters and mistress's. he's took good care of me in the years since i was free'd, only now, we needs him again now and then. i just stand up on my two feet, raise my arms to heaven, and say, 'lord, help me!' he never fails me. i asked him this morning, didnt i lola? asked him to render help. we need it. and here you come. lola, just watch that lady write. if you and me had her education, we'd be fixed now wouldnt we? i never had no learning." "thank you lady! (tucking the coin into his pocket wallet, along with his tobacco.) and thank you for coming. it does me a heap of good to see visitors and talk about the old times. come again, wont you? and next time you come, i want to talk to you about old age pensions. i come here from marian, n.c. three years ago, and they tell me i have to live here four, before i gets a pension. and as i done left north carolina, i cant get a pension from them. but maybe you can tell me what to do. i likes this place. and i do hopes i get a pension before i gets to be a 'hundred." interview rachel gaines th ave. n. nashville, tennessee "lawdy! i'se dunno how ole i ez. b'leeves i'se 'round ter y'ars. de fust thing i members ez i wuz tuk in a waggin ter trenton, kentucky en sold ter dr. bainbridge dickerson jest lak dey sold cows en hosses. mah sistah wuz sold in de same way at bowling green, kentucky ter 'nuther marster." "i wuz sold only one time in mah life en dat wuz w'en marster dickinson bought me. atter freedum wuz 'clared de marster tole all his slaves dat dey could go wharever'y dey pleased but ef'n dey couldn't mek dere own livin' ter kum ter 'im en he would he'ps dem." "missus dickinson kep' me dere kaze i wuz nuss ter dere son howard who wuz sho a wild one. i member how he would tote out fried chicken, pig meat en uthuh good stuff ter us darkies. dey 'greed ter pay me $ . a yeah (en keep) en hit wuz gib me eve'y christmus mawning. dey treated me good, gib me all de clothes en uthuh things i needed ez ef'n i wuz one ob de fam'ly." "eve'y two weeks de marster would sen' fer jordan mcgowan who wuz de leader ob a string music ban'. dey would git dere friday nite early en de slaves would dance in de grape house dat nite en all day saturday up ter midnite. you don't hab now as good dance music en as much fun as de ole time days had. we allus had a big barbecue er watermelon feast eve'y time we had a dance. neber 'gin 'll dere be as good times as we useter hab. in mah time we neber y'ard ob wukouses er pen but now dey ez all filled." "i kin see now in mah mind de ole ice house on de plantation. in de wint'r de slaves would fill hit wid ice dey got off de crik en hit wuz not used 'til warm wedder cum. 'nother thing i members ez de "pat-a-rollers" (she refers to the police patrol of that day) who would kotch en whup runaway slaves en slaves 'way fum dere own plantations widout a pass wid dere marsters name signed on hit." "i member w'en nashville fust had street cars pulled 'long by hosses er mules en i also member de ole dummy cars, run by steam, ter glendale park also new town (now called west nashville)." "we had sum bad en good luck signs but i'se fergettin' sum, but i'se members 'bout a black cat crossin' ovuh de path in frunt ob you dat you sho would hab bad luck. w'en dat happened ter me, i would spit on de ground, turn 'round en back ober de place de cat crossed en de "bad luck" wuz gon' fum me. ef'n you found a ole hoss shoe dat had bin drapt'd by de hoss, hit meant good luck. sum peeples, white en black, w'en dey fin' a hoss shoe, dey would tack hit up on de frunt door frame wid de toe ter de groun'." "atter de marster en missus d'ed, i went ter nashville en made mah way fur menny y'ars by washin' en ironin' fer white peeple but atter i went blind i kum 'yer ter live wid mah daughter." interview frankie goole th ave. so. nashville, tenn. "i wuz bawn in smith county on uther side ob lebanon. ah'll be y'ars ole christmas day. mah ole missis wuz named sallie, en mah marster wuz george waters. mah mammy's name wuz lucindia, she wuz sold fum me w'en i wuz six weeks ole, en mah missis raised me. i allus slept wid her. mah missis wuz good ter me, but (her son) mah marster whup'd me. dunno ob any ex-slaves votin' er holdin' office ob any kin. i member de ku klux klan en pat-a-rollers. dey would kum 'roun en whup de niggers wid a bull whup. ef'n dey met a niggah on de road dey'd say, "whar ez you gwin dis time ob mawnin'?" de slaves would say, "we ez gwine ovuh 'yer ter stay aw'ile," en den dey would start beatin' dem. i'se stod in our do'er en 'yeard de hahd licks, en screams ob de ones dat wuz bein' whup'd, en i'd tell mah missis, "listen ter dat!" she would say, "see, dat ez w'at will happen ter you ef'n you try ter leave." i member one nite a ku klux klan rode up ter our do'er. i tole mah missis sum body wuz at de do'er wantin' ter know whar mah marster wuz. she tole 'im he wuz d'ed en her son had gon' 'way dat mawnin'. he hunted all thro de house, en up in de loft, en said whar ez de niggers? mah missis tole i'm [tr: 'im] dey wuz down in de lettle house. he went down dere, woke dem up, axed dem 'bout dere marster en den whup'd all ob dem. ef de had de ku klux klan now dere wouldin' be so menny peeples on de kounty road en in de pen. i useter drive up de cows en mah feet would be so cole en mah toes cracked open en bleedin', en i'd be cryin' 'til i got almos' ter de house den i'd wipe mah eyes on de bottom ob mah dress, so de marster wouldin' know dat i had bin cryin'. he'd say, "frankie ain't you cryin'?" i'd say, "no suh." "ez you cole?" "yes, sir." he would say kum on en warm. w'en de niggers wuz freed, all ob mah missis slaves slipped 'way, 'cept me. one mawnin' she tole me ter go down en wake dem up, i went down en knocked, no body said nuthin'. i pushed on de do'er--hit kum op'n--en i fell in de room en hurt mah chin. i went back ter missis--en she sezs, "w'at ez de matter wid you?" i sezs, "uncle john en all ob dem ez gon'; i pushed on de do'er en fell in." she sezs you know dey ez not gone, go back en git dem up. i had ter go back, but dey wur'ent dere. no, i don't member de sta'rs fallin'. mah missis didunt gib me nuthin, cept mah clothes, en she put dem in a carpet bag. atter freedom mah mammy kum fum lebanon en got me. ah'll neber fergit dat day--oh lawdy! i kin see her now. mah ole missis' daughter-in-law had got a bunch ob switches ter whup me, i wuz standin' in de do'er shakin' all ovuh, en de young missis wuz tellin' me ter git mah clothes off. i sezs, "i se'd a 'oman kum'g thro de gate." mah missis sezs, "dat ez lucindia" en de young missis hid de switches. mah mammy sezs i'se kum ter git mah chile. mah missis tole her ter let me spend de nite wid her, den she'd send me ter de court house at o'clock next mawnin'. so i stayed wid de missis dat nite, en she tole me ter alluz be a good girl, en don't let a man er boy trip me. i didunt know w'at she mean but i allus membered w'at she sai. i guess i wuz 'bout y'ars ole w'en i lef' mah missis en mah mammy brought me ter nashville en put me ter wuk. de mawnin' i lef' mah missis, i went ter de court house en met mah mammy; de court room wuz jammed wid peeple. de jedge tole me ter hold my right hand up, i wuz so skeered i stuck both hands up. jedge sezs, "frankie ez dat yo mammy?" i sezs, "i dunno, she sezs she ez." (w'at did i know ob a mammy dat wuz tuk fum me at six weeks ole). he sezs, "wuz yo marster good ter you?" i sezs, "mah missis wuz, but mah marster wasn't--he whup'd me." de jedge said, "whar did he whup you?" i tole him on mah back. he sezs, "frankie, ez you laughin'?" i sezs, "no, sir." he said ter mah mammy, "lucindia tek dis chile en be good ter her fer she has b'en mistreated. sum day she can mek a livin' fer you." (en thank de lawd i did keep her in her ole days en wuz able ter bury her.) at dat time money wuz called chin plaster en w'en i lef' out ob de court room diff'ent peeple gib me money en i had mah hat almos' full. dat was de only money i had gib ter me. i nussed miss sadie pope fall; she ma'ried mat gardner. i also nussed miss sue porter houston. i den wuk'd at de bline schul. de fust pa'r ob shoes i eber had wuz atter i kum ter nashville. dey had high tops en wuz called bootees. i had sum red striped socks wid dem. de ole songs i member: "de ole time 'ligion." "i'm goin' ter join de ban." w'en dey would sing deze songs hit would almos' mek you ha'r stand up on yo haid, de way dem peeples would jump en shout! i member w'en sum ob de slaves run 'way durin' slavery. i dunno any tales; mah mammy wasn't a 'oman ter talk much. maybe ef she had bin i would hab had an easier time. as far as i know de ex-slaves hab had diff'ent kinds ob wuk since dere freedum. no, i ain' nebber se'd any ghos'. i'se bin in de woods en dark places, but didn't see nothin', en i'se not goin' ter say i did kaze i might git par'lized. i went ter schul one y'ar at fisk in de y'ar . de last man i wuk'd fer wuz at de link hotel. den i started keepin' boarders. hab fed all deze nashville police. de police ez de ones dat hep'ed git deze relief orders fer me. i hab lived on dis street fer years. i lived y'ars whar de hermitage laundry ez. dat ez whar i got de name "mammie." w'iles livin' dere i raised eighteen chilluns white en black, en sum ob dem iz good ter me now. i had sum papah's 'bout mah age en diff'ent things, but w'en de back waters got up, dey got lost. i didn't hab ter move but i kep prayin' en talkin' ter de lawd en i b'leeve he 'yeard me fer de water didn't git in mah house. i member w'en de yellow fever en de cholera wuz 'yer, in en . dey didn't hab coffins nuff ter put dem in, so dey used boxes en piled de boxes in waggins lak hauling wood. i'se aint worth a dime now w'en hit kums ter wukin' fer i'se aint able ter do nuthin, thoo i can't complain ob mah livin' since de relief has bin takin' keer ob me. dis young peeples, "oh mah lawd!" dey ain' worth talkin' 'bout. i tries ter shame deze 'omen, dey drink (i call hit ole bust haid whiskey), en do such mean things. i'se disgusted at mah own color. dey try ter know ter much, en dunno muthin', en dey don' do 'nuff wuk. i nebber voted en dunno nothin' 'bout hit. hab nebber had any frens in office. cain' member nothin' 'bout re'structon. i hab bin sick en still don' feel right. sumtimes i feels krazy. hab bin tole dat black cat crossin' road in frunt ob you wuz bad luck. i nebber did b'leeve in any signs. ef i ez ter hab bad luck, ah'll hab hit. i b'long ter de baptist chuch. de culored peeples useter hab camp meetin's, en dey'd last fer two weeks. lawd hab mercy did we hab a time at dem meetin's, preachin', singin', en shoutin'. en ovuh sum whar neah dey would be cookin' mutton en diff'ent good things ter eat. sum ob dem would shout 'til dere throats would be sore en hit seemed dat sum ob dem niggahs didn't keer ef dey got home ter wuk er not. i sumtimes wish fer de good ole days. deze days folks don't hab time fer 'ligion. de dog-gone ole radio en udder things ez takin' hits place. oh lawdie how dey did baptize down at de wha'f! de baptist peeple would gather at de wha'f on de fust sunday in may. dey would kum fum all de baptist chuches. would leave de chuch singin' en shoutin' en keep dat up 'til dey got ter de river. hab seen dem wid new clothes on git down on de groun en roll en git covered wid dirt. sum ob dem would almos' luze dere clothes, en dey'd fall down lak dey wuz dying. deze last few y'ars dey hab got ter stylish ter shout. interview precilla gray ewing ave. nashville, tenn. i think i'se y'ars ole. wuz bawn in williamson county 'fore de civil wah. guess de reason i hab libed so long wuz cose i tuk good keer ob mahself en wore warm clo'es en still do, w'ar mah yarn pettycoats now. hab had good health all mah life. hab tuk very lettle medicine en de wust sickness i eber had wuz small-pox. i'se bin a widah 'bout y'ars. mah mammy d'ed w'en i wuz young but mah daddy libed ter be y'ars ole. i nebber went ter schul a day in mah life, ma'ied 'fore freedum en w'en i got free, had ter wuk all de time ter mek a libin' fer mah two chillen. one libes in california en i lives wid de uther, tergedder wid mah great, great, grandson, five y'ars ole, in nashville. mah fust marster en missis wuz amos en sophia holland en he made a will dat we slaves wuz all ter be kep' among de fam'ly en i wuz heired fum one fam'ly ter 'nother. wuz owned under de "will" by haddas holland, missis mary haddock en den missis synthia ma'ied sam pointer en i libed wid her 'til freedum wuz 'clared. mah fust mistress had three looms en we had ter mek clothes fer ev'ery one on de plan'ashun. i wuz taught ter weav', card, spin en 'nit en ter wuk in de fiel's. i wuz 'feared ob de terbacker wums at fust but aunt frankie went 'long by me en showed me how ter pull de wum's head off. hab housed terbacker till o'clock at nite. our marster whupped us w'en we needed hit. i got menny a whuppin'. marster amos wuz a great hunter en had lots ob dogs en me en mah cousin had de job ob cookin' dog food en feedin' de dogs. one day de marster went huntin' en lef three dogs in de pen fer us ter feed. one ob de dogs licked out ob de pan en we got a bunch ob switches en started wearin' de dogs out. we thought de marster wuz miles 'way w'en he walked up on us. he finished wearin' de bunch ob switches out on us. dat wuz a whuppin' i'll nebber fergit. w'en i wuz heired ter missis synthis, i wuked in de fiel's 'til she started ter raise chillens en den i wuz kep in de house ter see atter dem. missis had a lot ob cradles en dey kep two 'omen in dat room takin' keer ob de babies en lettle chillens 'longin' ter dere slaves. soon as de chillens, wuz seven y'ars ole, dey started dem ter 'nittin'. marster sam pointer, husband of missis synthis, wus a good man en he wuz good ter us en he fed en clothed us good. we wore yarn hoods, sha'ls, en pantletts which wuz 'nit things dat kum fum yo shoe tops ter 'bove yo knees. de marster wuz also a 'ligious man en he let us go ter chuch. he willed land fer a culled chuch at thompson station. i 'longs ter de foot washin' baptist, called de free will baptist. de marster bought mah husband william gray en i ma'ied 'im dere. w'en de civil wah wuz startin' dere wuz soldiers an tents eve'ywhar. i had ter 'nit socks en he'ps mek soldiers coats en durin' de wah, de marster sent ob us down in georgia ter keep de yankees fum gittin' us en we camped out durin' de whole three y'ars. i member de klu klux. one nite a bunch ob us went out, dey got atter us. we waded a big crik en hid in de bushes ter keep dem fum gittin' us. hab gon' ter lots ob camp-meetin's. dey'd hab lots ob good things ter eat en fed eberbody. dey'd hab big baptizin's down at de cumberland riber and menny things. w'en freed, our white folks didn't gib us nuthin'. we got 'way en hired out fer an'thin' we could git. nebber knowed ob any plantashuns [tr: illegible, possibly "men"] be divided. d'ant member 'bout slave 'risings en niggers voting en wuz not ole er'nuff ter member de sta'rs fallin'. songs we use'ter sing wuz, "on jordan's bank i stand en cast a wistful eye en lak drops ob sweat, lak blood run down, i shed mah tears." i try not ter think 'bout de ole times. hit's bin so long ago so i don' member any tales now. i'se had a lot ob good times in mah day. our white folks would let us hab "bran dances" an we'd hab a big time. i has nebber voted en i think dat ez a man's wuk. don't b'leeve in signs, i hab allus tho't whut ez gwine ter be will be, en de only way ter be ez de rite way. eber since slavery i'se cooked fer peeple. i cooked fer mr. lea dillon fifteen y'ars. wuked at de union depot fer y'ars. five y'ars fer dr. douglas at his infirmary en i cooked fer en raised mrs grady's baby. hab wuked fer diff'ent folks ovuh town ter mek mah livin'. i ain't bin able ter wuk fer eight y'ars. dunno how much i weigh now, i hab lost so much. (she weighs now at least pounds). all de ex-slaves i know hab wuked at diff'ent jobs lak i has. interview ex-slaves jenny greer overton, street. nashville, tennessee "am y'ars ole en wuz bawn in florence, alabama, 'bout seben miles fum town. wuz bawn on de collier plantashun en marster en missis wuz james en jeanette collier. mah daddy en mammy wuz named nelson en jane collier. i wuz named atter one ob mah missis' daughters. our family wuz neber sold er divided." "i'se bin ma'ied once. ma'ied neeley greer. thank de lawd i aint got no chilluns. chilluns ez so bad now i can't stand dem ter save mah life." "useter go ter de bap'isin's en dey would start shoutin' en singin' w'en we lef' de chuch. went ter deze bap'isin's in alabama, memphis, en 'yer in nashville. lawdy hab mercy, how we useter sing. only song i members ez 'de ole time 'ligion.' i useter go ter camp meetin's. eve'rbody had a jolly time, preachin', shoutin' en eatin' good things." "we didn't git a thing w'en we wuz freed. w'en dey said we wuz free mah people had ter look out fer demselves." "don' member now 'bout k.k.k. er 'structshun days. mah mammy useter tell us a lot ob stories but i'se fergot dem. i'se neber voted en dunno ob any frens bein' in office." "no mam, no mam, don't b'leeve in diff'ent colurs ma'rin. i member one ole sign--'bad luck ter empty ashes atter dark.'" "i'se hired out wuk'n in white folks house since freedum. i'se a widow now en live 'yer wid mah neice en mah sistah." interview emma grisham jefferson st. nashville, tennessee "i wuz bawn in nashville. i'se up in y'ars, but i tell dem i'se still young. i lived on gallatin pike long 'fore de war, an uster se'd de soldiers ride by." "mah marsters name wuz wm. penn harding. mah daddy wuz sold at sparta, tennessee 'fore i wuz bawn en marster harding bought 'im. mah mammy erready 'longed ter de hardings." "i don' member much 'bout slavery i wuz small, but i know i wore a leetle ole slip wid two er three bottons in frunt. mammy would wash me en i'd go out frunt en play wid de white chilluns." "w'en de fightin' got so heavy mah white peeple got sum irish peeple ter live on de plantation, en dey went south, leavin' us wid de irish peeple." "i wuz leetle en i guess i didn't think much 'bout freedum, i'd allus had plenty ter eat en w'ar." "dunno ob any slaves gittin' nuthin at freedum." "our white folks didn't whup mah peeple; but de oberseers whup'd de slaves on uther plantations." "de yankees had camps on de capitol hill. en dere wuz soldier camps in east nashville en you had ter hab a pass ter git thro?" "i member w'en de pen wuz on th en chuch, en de convicts wuk'd 'round de capitol." "i went ter schul at fisk a short time, w'en hit wuz neah th en cedar, en a w'ile down on chuch st. mah teacher allus bragged on me fer bein' clean en neat. i didn't git much schuling, mah daddy wuz lak mos' ole folks, he though ef'n you knowd yo a, b, c's en could read a line, dat wuz 'nuff. en he hired me out. dunno w'at dey paid me, fer hit wuz paid ter mah daddy." "i wuz hired ter a mrs. ryne fer y'ars, whar de loveman store ez now. dere wuz a theatre whar montgomery ward store ez, a lot ob de theatre peeple roomed en bo'ded wid mrs. ryne, en dey would gib me passes ter de sho' en i'd slip up in de gall'ry en watch de sho'. i couldn't read a wud but i 'joy'd goin'. mah daddy wuz a driver fer mr. ryan." "i nussed fer a mrs. mitchell en she had a boy in schul. one summer she went 'way. a mrs. smith wid boys wanted me ter stay wid her 'til mrs. mitchell got back en i staid en laked dem so well dat i wouldin go back ter mrs. mitchell's." "i went ter memphis en ma'ied george grisham in . he jinned de army, as ban' leader, went ter san antonio, texas en i kum back ter mrs. smith's en stayed 'til her mammy lost her mind. mah husband d'ed in texas, fum heart truble. all his things wuz sent back ter me, en eve'y month i got a $ . pension fer me en mah daughter. w'en she wuz dey cut hit down en i only git $ . now." "i edj'cated mah daughter at fisk; en she's bin teachin' schul since . she buy dis place en we live tergedder. we hab good health en both ez happy. i hab a 'oman kum eve'y monday en wash fer us." "de ole songs i member ez: "harp fum de tomb dis mournful sound." "am i a soldier ob de cross." "ole signs ez: dream ob snakes, sign ob de'th.--ef a hen crows a sign ob de'th.--sneeze wid food in mouth means de'th.--ef a black cat crosses de road, walk backwards 'til you git pas' whar hit crossed. mah parents useter tell lots ob tales but i can't think ob dem." "oh honey, i dunno w'at dis young peeples ez kum'n ter. dey ez so diff'ent fum de way i wuz raised. i don't think much ob dis white en black mar'ages. hit shouldn't be 'lowed." "i 'long ter de missionary baptist." interview measy hudson jefferson st. nashville, tennessee "wuz bawn' in north carolina en i'se y'ars ole in november. w'en war broke out we kum ter tennessee en hab bin 'yer eber since. wuz 'yer w'en old hood fi'rd de cannons. he said he wuz kum'n 'yer ter christmas dinnah, but he didn't do hit." "mah white folks wuz named harshaw. marster aaron harshaw d'ed en we wuz willed ter his chilluns en dat we wuz not ter be whup'd er 'bused in anyway. we wuz sold, but long 'fore de war mah daddy wuz freed en mah manny wuz not freed, but kep' a slave." "de marster's chilluns wuz small en eber new y'ar day, we wuz put on a block en hired out ter de high bidduh, en de money spent ter school de marster's chilluns." "i wuz tole dat sum ob de white peeples wuz so mean ter dere slaves dat de slaves would tek a pot en turn hit down in a hollow ter keep dere whites fum yearin' dem singin' en prayin'. de ku klux wuz bad on de ex-slaves at fust." "de white folks 'fore de war had w'at dey called "muster" en i would go down wid dem. i would dance en de folks would gib me money er gib me candy en durin' de war de soldiers wuz de prettiest things." "got nuthin' at freedum en wuz not lookin' fuh nuthin'. ef marster had lived he might hab gib us sump'in. he wuz a good man en good ter us. eber since mah freedum, i'se wuk'd as a laundress. wuk'd fer one fam'ly ober y'ars. 'bout two y'ars ago i lefted a tub, en hurt mahself. i'se not able ter wuk now. i hab bin ma'ied twice en i'se voted three times." "i went ter schul at fisk, a short time, w'en hit wuz on th avenue, but i diden' git ter go long 'nuff ter git en edj'cation." "jis 'fore de civil war i members de comet. hit wuz lak a big sta'r wid a long tail. eve'body said hit wuz a sign ob judgement day." "bad luck signs: ef'n a picture falls, hit's a sign ob de'th--bad luck ter step ovuh a broom--ef a clock stop runnin' en later hit strike, dat means de'th." "sum ob de young peeple terday ez good but sum ob dem don't wan'ter be nuthin'. de last war ruined mos' ob de white en de black." "i b'leeves in de baptist 'ligion en 'longs ter de baptist church, th avenue n. on cedar street. de white 'oman i wuk'd fuh wan'ed me ter join de christian (colored) chuch. only song i now members ez "on jordans banks i stand." "don't think dis marrin' ob whites wid blacks should be 'lowed en think eve'y culor should stay ter hits-sef." "i don't member now 'bout any stories tole back in ole times. our white folks wuz christians en tried ter teach us right en dey diden' tek up much time tellin' stories." interview patsy hyde th avenue n. nashville, tennessee "dunno how ole i ez. i wuz bawn in slavery en b'longs ter de brown family. mah missis wuz missis jean r. brown en she wuz kin ter abraham lincoln en i useter y'ar dem talkin' 'bout 'im livin' in a log cabin en w'en he d'ed she had her house draped in black. marster brown wuz also good ter his slaves. de missis promus marster brown on his de'th bed nebber ter let us be whup'd en she kep her wud. sum ob de oberseers on urthur plantations would tie de slaves ter a stake en gib dem a good whup'in fer sump'in dey ought not ter done." "all cul'ed people wore cotton goods en de younger boys run 'round in der shurt tails. mah missis nit all de white chilluns stockin' en she made me sum. i had ter hold de yarn on mah hans w'en she wuz nittin'. i members one time i wuz keepin' flies off de table usin' a bunch ob peacock feathers en i went ter sleep standin' up en she tole me ter go back ter de kitchen." "i went en finish mah nap." "one day ole uncle elick woke marster brown fum his atter-noon nap tellin' 'im dat de prettiest men dat i ever seed wuz passin' by on de road. he went ter de winder en said, "good gawd, hit's dem damn yankees." mah white folks had a pretty yard en gyarden. soldiers kum en camped dere. i'd slip ter de winder en lissen ter dem." "w'en dey wuz fightin' at fort negley de cannons would jar our house. de soldier's ban' play on capitol hill, en play "rally 'roun' de flag boys, rally 'roun de flag." "de slaves would tek dere ole iron cookin' pots en turn dem upside down on de groun' neah dere cabins ter keep dere white folks fum hearin' w'at dey wuz sayin'. "dey claimed dat hit showed dat gawd wuz wid dem." "in slavery time peeples b'leeved in dreams. i members one nite i dreamed dat a big white thing wuz on de gatepost wida haid. i tole mah mammy en she said, "gawd wuz warning us." de ma'rige cer'mony in de days ob slavery wuz by de man en 'oman jumpin' ovuh a broom handle tergedder." "i don' member much 'boud de ku klux klan, but i does member seein' dem parade one time in nashville." (she evidently refers to the klan's last parade in in nashville, immediately preceeding the disbandment of the klan at fort negley.) "i members dat de northern soldier's ban' would play union ferever, rally 'roun de flag, en down wid de traitors en up wid de sta's en stripes." "de songs i members ez: i'se a soldier ob de cross. follow de lamb. i would not live allus. i axs not ter stay." "i member w'en de stars fell. hit wuz so dark en eberbody wuz skeered, en i member a comet dat looked lak a big red ball en had sump'in lak a tail on hit. eber one wuz skeered en wuz 'feard hit would hit de groun' en burn de worl' up. i member de fust street lites in nashville. w'en de lamp mans would kum 'round en lite de lamps dey would yell out "all ez well" en i also members de southern money goin' out en yankee money kum'n in, en also w'en dere wuzn't any coal 'yer en eve'ythin' wuz wood en mos' ob dis town wuz in de woods." "de slaves wuz tole dey would git forty ak'rs ob groun' en a mule w'en dey wuz freed but dey nebber got hit. w'en we wuz free we wuz tuned out widout a thing. mah grandmammy wuz an "ole mammie" en de missis kep her. atter freedum a lot ob yankee niggah gals kum down 'yer en hire out." "w'en i wuz a young girl hund'eds ob people went ter de wharf at de foot ob broadway on de fust sunday in may ob eber'y year fer de annual baptizin' ob new members inter de baptist (culored) churches ob de city. thousands ob white people would crowd both sides ob de cumberland riber, broadway en de sparkman street bridge ter witnus de doin's. on leavin' de chuches de pastor would lead de parade ter de wharf. dey would sing en chant all de way fum de chuch ter de river en sum ob de members would be ovuhkum wid 'ligious feelin' en dey would hop up en down, singin' en shoutin' all de time, or may be dey would start ter runnin' down de street en de brethern would hab ter run dem down en bring dem back." "we useter hav' dem champ meetin's en dey wuz "honeys," en i enjoy dem too. we wore bandanna handkerchiefs on our haids en long shawls ovuh our shoulders. at deze meetin's dey had all kinds ob good things ter eat en drink." "atter mah freedum i dun washin' en ironin' fer white families. neber ma'ried but i neber worries no matter w'at happens en dat's may be cause ob mah livin' so long." "things ter day ez mighty bad. not lak de ole days. worl' ez gwin ter end soon." "atter i got ter feeble ter do washin' en ironin' fer mah livin', i went ter de relief office ter git dem ter he'ps me, but dey wouldn't do a thing. i had no place ter go er no money ter do wid. dis culid 'oman tuk me in en does all she can fer me but now she ez disable ter wuk en i dunno w'at ter do. ef'n i could git a small grocer order each week til i git de ole age pension hit would he'p lots." interview ellis ken kannon th avenue n. st. mary's church nashville, tennessee "i dunno jes how ole i ez. i wuz bawn in tennessee as a slave. mah mammy kum frum virginia. our marster wuz ken kannon." "our mistress wouldn't let us slaves be whup'd but i member mah daddy tellin' 'bout de overseer whuppin' 'im en he run 'way en hid in a log. he tho't de blood hounds, he heered 'bout a half mile 'way, on his trail could heer 'im breathe but de hounds nebber fin' 'im. atter de hounds pas' on, mah daddy lef' de log hidin' place en w'en he got ter a blacksmith shop, he se'ed a white man wid a nigger who had handcuffs on en w'en de white man tuk off de handcuffs, de nigger axed mah daddy whar he wuz gwine en he tole 'im back ter mah mistress en de nigger sezs i ez too. mah daddy slipped 'way fum 'im en went home." "w'en i wuz a young boy, i didn't wear nothin' but a shirt lak all urthur boys en hit wuz a long thing lak a slip dat kum ter our knees. our mistress had a big fier place en w'en we would kum in cole she would say ain't you all cole. (you all was always used in the plural and not singular as some writers have it). w'ile we wuz warmin' she often played de organ fer us ter heer." "i waited on mah marster 'til he d'ed. dey let me stay rite wid de body. mah mistress, mammy ob de marster, wuz in bad health at dat time, en 'fore we sta'ted ter de graveyard, i put a feather bed in de car'age en got a pitcher ob water ready en 'fore we git dere she got awful sick." "durin' slavery de slaves hadder keep quiet en dey would turn a kittle upside down ter keep de white folks 'yearin dere prayers en chants. w'en a slave wanted ter go ter 'nother plantation he had ter hab a pass. ef' dey disobeyed dey got a whuppin, en ef dey had a pass widout de marsters signature dey got a whuppin. _ef'n dey had ter hab passes now dere wouldin' be no meaness_." "i member de klu klux klan kumin ter mah daddy's home axin fer water en dey would keep us totin' water ter dem fer fifteen ter twenty minutes. dey didn't whup er hurt any ob us. i also member 'yearin mah mammy en daddy tellin' us 'bout de sta'rs fallin'. i member de comet. hit wuz a big ball en had a long tail." "i hab 'yerd dem tell 'bout mr. robertson. he wuz mean ter his slaves en dey sezs dey could see a ball ob fier rollin' on de fence en w'en dey would git ter de spring, a big white thing lak a dog would crawl under de rock. de slaves wuz natur'ally superstitious en b'leeved in dreams, ole sayings en signs. i hab mahse'f se'ed things dat i ain't onderstan'. hab almost seen de things dat (apostle) john seed." "dunno nuthin 'bout any ob de ex-slaves voting er de nat turner 'bellion." "atter freedum mos' ob de slaves wuk'd fer dere livin' jes as i ez. de men in de fiel's, de 'omen in de house. i wuk'd at a hotel in mcminnville en one day, i wuz keepin' de flies off de table wid a brush made frum fine strips ob papah en de string broke en hit fell on de table. one man jumped up grabbed a cheer sayin' ah'll knock you down wid dis cheer." "de slave 'pected ter git akers ob land en a mule but nobody eber got hit as fur as i know. we didn't git nuthin. our white peeple wuzzent able ter gib us anyting. eve'ythin' dey had wuz tuk durin' de wah. dey wuz good ter us an stuck wid us en mah peeple stayed wid mah mistress." "dis young gineratshun ob niggers, i 'clare dey ez jes 'bout gon'. dey won't wuk, all's stealin' en mabe wuk long 'nuff ter git a few clothes ter strut 'round in. i may be wrong but dat ez mah hones' pinion." "de songs--i member ez: de ole ship ob zion. do you think you'll be able ter tek me home." "i has bin 'yer fifteen y'ars en hab wuked onder two priests en now wukin under de third. dey hab all bin nice ter me. hab neber had any trubble wid white peeple en you'd be sprized how good dey ez ter me. dey don't treat me lak a nigger." "eber since i got mah freedum en 'fore i got dis chuch job, i dun all kinds ob odd jobs, waited on tables, pressin' clothes en anyting else dat kum 'long, but sum jobs wuz small pay but hit kep me 'live." "don't member any slave uprisin's. our peeple wuz good ter us." interview scott martin fifth ave., no. "i'se y'ars ole and wuz bawn in slavery in sumner county, tennessee and i b'long to marster dr. madison martin an' mah misses mary. and i wuk'd wid de stock an' wuz de houseman." "i hab neber been in any truble, neber 'rested en neber bin in jail. i knows how ter behave, but de young peeples ob terday ain' dun rite en dey don' 'mounts ter much. dar am a few dat am all rite. in de ole days dey wer' bettuh dan dey ez terday. de white and black ougher not ma'rie." "i has voted two times, but i disremembers who i voted fer. neber hadney frens in office en i nebr met any of de klu klux men. i didn' go out much en i neber wuz kotched w'en i did git out. i heered lots 'bout nigger uprisin' but dey wuz away off." "i b'long ter de missionary baptist chuch an' i useter preach in mah chuch 'ouse en udders w'en called. once a y'ar i wud be at de cumberland riber wha'f en' baptiz' culled peeples all da'. we useter hab camp meetin' in de ole days en hab good things ter eat en i would preach all day. i went ter schul two sessions en den i went to wuk." "i member de fust street kar line that run on east side of cumberland riber ter east end ob de ole wood bridge dat de 'arly settlers build. de kars wer' pulled by hosses en' mules. de whites en blacks mixed tergedder en den de law made de whites rid' in frunt en the blacks in de rearuh. i think dat wuz rite, but sum ob mah race wuz mad 'bout hit. i wuz on a kar one day and mules run'd 'way en de ole red mule got loose frum de kar en run'd ober a mile 'fore dey ketched him en dey brot 'im ba'k en de kar' pas' on. i members de ole l & n railroad on de east side. w'en my folks wud ride de train dey had 'ter hold me tite or i wuld git 'way frum dem en run en hide 'hind sum logs. i wuz scar'et ter ride on de kars." "atter freedum de slaves had'n no truble ter go whar dey wan'. menny lef' but menny stay wid der ole marsters. i stay wid my marster tell he d'ed. i den kum an' lib wid mah daddy on lebanon road. atter dat i libed on gallatin road an' den i kum ter nashville, an' wuk wid pic' and shovel on streets, sewers an' udder jobs. i heered dem sez dat de slaves wud git lan', hoss, money er sumpin' but i neber heerd ob nobody gittin nuthin'. dere wuz not slave 'raisings eroun' whar i wuz." "de fallin' st'ars wuz 'fore mah time, but i'se heer'd mah daddy tole 'bout hit. i se'd de comet wid hit shinnin' tail an' i fust b'leevd sumbody put hit up dere." "good luck sign wuz w'en a stray cat kum ter yo' house an' stay dere. bad luck sign wuz a black kat crossin' yo' path in frunt ob yer. ter ke'p frum havin' de bad luck yo' back up pas' whar hit crossed yer path en den spit an' yer hab no bad luck." "dem air ships luk nice but dey ez spoke 'boud in de holy bible, dat sum day dere wud be flyin' things in de air'h an' i think dat dese things am it. de otomobeels kiver nuder passag' in de bible which seze de peeple 'll rid' on de streets widout hosses en mules." "mah fav'rite songs am "i gwine to jine de gideon band," and "keep yo' lits bunnin'." "ter ole now ter wuk an' mah haid don' se'm ter be tergedder an' i'se gits he'ps frum de welfare." interview ann matthews th ave. south nashville, tennessee "i wuz bawn in murfreesboro on stones river. i dunno how ole i ez en hit meks me 'shamed ter tell peeple dat, but mah mammy would hit me in de mouth w'en i'd ax how ole i wuz. she say i wuz jes' tryin' ter be grown." "mah mammy's name wuz frankie en mah daddy wuz henry ken kannon. don' member much 'bout mah mammy 'cept she wuz a sho't fat indian 'oman wid a turrible tempah. she d'ed, durin' de war, wid black measles." "mah daddy wuz part indian en couldn't talk plain. w'en he go ter de store he'd hab ter put his han' on w'at he want ter buy. he d'ed eight months 'fore de centennial." "our marster en missis wuz landon en sweenie ken kannon. dey wuz good ter us, en we had'n good things ter eat." "i member de yankee en southern soldiers. one day me en mah young missis, en sum chilluns went up ter de road en we se'ed sum yankee soldiers kumin', i clum'ed on de fence, de urthurs run 'way en hid. one ob de soldiers sezs ter me, 'lettle girl who wuz dat wid you,' en i sezs, 'hit wuz miss puss en sum chilluns.' he laughed en sezs, 'you ez brave ain' you?'" "our missis let us go ter chuch. i 'long ter de chuch ob christ." "i dunno ob but one slave dat got lan' er nothin' w'en freedum wuz 'clared. we didn't git nuthin at freedum. mah daddy went back in de woods en built us a saplin house en dobbed hit wid mud. atter freedum mah daddy went 'way, en we chilluns staid in dat house in de woods by oursel's. dere wuz two weeks we didn't see a bit ob bre'd. i went up w'at ez called de nine mile cut neah tullahoma, en axed a 'oman ef she would let us hab sum bre'd. she gib me sum meat en bre'd, en tole me ter kum back. i went back home en we et sump'in, en i went back ter de 'oman's house, she gib me a sack ob flour en a big piece ob midlin' meat. we wuz skeered, bein' dere 'lone so i would set up wile mah br'ers slep', den i'd sleep in de daytime. one nite sumbody knocked at de do'er en hit wuz mah daddy en he had two sacks ob food, en de urthur chilluns got up en we et a big meal." "i useter 'yer de folks talk 'bout de sta'rs fallin', but dat happen' 'fore i wuz bawn." "i didn't go ter schul, mah daddy wouldin' let me. said he needed me in de fiel wors den i needed schul. i wuz allus sassy en stubbun. i run 'way fum mah daddy en kum ter nashville. i stayed at a schul on franklin pike, run by mrs. mcgathey. i wuz de only cul'ed person dere. dey wuz good ter me en eve'y chrismus i would git a big box ob clothes en things." "in manchester de klu klux klan wore big high hats, red handkerchiefs on dere faces en red covers on dere hosses. dey tuk two niggers out ob jail en hung dem ter a chestnut tree." "one nite w'en i wuz gwine wid mah daddy fum de fiel' home, we met sum ob de k.k.k. en dey said, 'ain't you out late henry? en who ez dat gal wid you?' mah daddy said, 'we ez gwine home fum wuk, en dis ez mah daughter.' dey said, 'whar has she bin, we ain't nebber se'ed her.' he told dem, 'i'd bin in nashville.' dey said dey'd be back dat nite but we didn't see dem." "w'en i wuz in manchester i promus de lawd i wouldin' dance. but one nite i wuz on de ball floor, dancin' fum one end ob de room ter de urthur en sump'in sezs go ter de do'er. i didn't go right den en 'gin hit sezs you ez not keepin' yo promus. i went ter de do'er en you could pick a pin off de groun' hit wuz so light. in de sky wuz de prettiest thing you ebber se'ed, so many culors, blue, white, green, red en yellow." "since freedum i'se wuked wid diff'ent peeple, cookin' en keepin' house. i'se de mammy ob three chilluns. two ob dem ez 'way fum 'yer, en i live 'yer wid mah daughter." "old songs, i member ez: dark wuz de nite. i'll live wid gawd forever, bye en bye. fum dis earth i go, oh lawd, w'at will 'kum ob me." "so yer wan't me ter tell you de truf? i think de young peeple ez nothin'. dey think dey ez smaht. most ob de ex-slaves i'se knowed has cooked en nussed, done laundry wuk; wuked in fiel's en diff'ent things." "i'se neber voted en hab neber paid any 'tention ter de niggers gittin' ter vote. don't hab any frens in political office. can't member any tales er signs." "i don't b'leeve in dese mixed white and black families en hit shouldn't be 'lowed." "durin' slavery de white folks didn't want de niggahs ter sing en pray, but dey would turn a pot down en meet at de pot in de nite en sing en pray en de white folks wouldn't 'yer dem." "ef a slave died de white folks wouldn't let nobody set up wid de body 'cept de niggers ob dat plantation, but urthur slaves would slip in atter dark, set up en den slip back ter dere plantation 'fore day." "w'en i useter go ter camp meetin' dey had big dinnahs en spread hit on de groun'. dey preached, sung, shouted en eve'ybody had a good time." "fum de camp meetin's dey would go ter de wharf en baptize. dey would tie handkerchiefs 'roun dere haids. w'en dey wuz dipped under de water sum ob dem would kum up shoutin'." a tale one time de preacher wuz in de river fixin' ter baptize a man. eve'ybody wuz singin' ole time 'ligion. a 'oman sung, "i don' lak dat thing 'hind you." bout dat time de pahson en de udder man se'd an alligator. de parson sezs, "no-by-god i don't either." he turned de man loose en dey both run 'way. interview rev. john moore th avenue so. nashville, tennessee "i wuz bawn in georgia (exact time not known) en mah mammy wuz half indian en mah daddy a slave. both ob dem owned by william moore. sum time atter dat marster moore sold mah daddy en den de moore sistuhs looked atter me en wuz allus good ter me. "lawdy, dey wuz good white folks." "durin' slavery times de slaves would hab ter git fum dere marster a pas' 'fore dey could visit dere own people on de uther plantations. ef'n you had no pass you would git in trouble ef caught wid out one which allus ment a good whuppin' w'en dey returned. at dat time menny slaves would run 'way en hide in caves en menny ob dem would go by de "ondergroun' railroad" ter canada whar slavery wuz not recognized." (the underground railroad consisted of hiding places throughout the states to canada and the slaves would make the trip under cover from station to station.) "de slaves would slip out at nite ter private meetin's en turn a pot bottom up on de groun' en leave a little hole under hit so de sound ob dere talkin' would go onder de pot en no one would 'year whut dey wuz talkin' 'bout." "de ex-slaves ob de better class did vote en de white peeple stuck wid de good cul'ed folks. i don' member now 'bout de nat turner 'bellion." "atter freedum de slaves wuz 'lowed ter stay on de plantation en 'lowed ter farm en gib half dey made. atter slavery i useter wuk fer fifty cents en git a peck ob meal, three pounds ob bacon en a quart ob syrup which would las' a week." "de ku klux klan's plan wuz ter whup all white er cul'ed people dat didn't stay at home en support dere families but would run 'roun en live a bad life. w'en de klan would be passin' through de slaves would call dem ghostus." "one nite mah br'er en me wuz sleepin' in de dining room. sumpin woke us an we seed sumpin' dat kum through de yard en got hold ob sum blocks. dat thing didn't hab no haid en didn't hab no tale en looked lak hit wuz backin' up on all four legs. nex mawnin' we could fin' no tracks ob whuteber hit wuz en de gate wuz also fasened." "dis young peoples 'cordin' ter de bible ez on de broad road ter ruin. dey think dey ez as good as de white people but dey ez classed as niggahs in mah eyes." "caint member any ob de ole songs now." subject--ex-slave stories andrew moss # auburn streets knoxville, tennessee "one ting dat's all wrong wid dis world today," according to andrew moss, aged negro, as he sits through the winter days before an open grate fire in his cabin, with his long, lean fingers clasped over his crossed knees, "is dat dey ain no 'prayer grounds'. down in georgia whar i was born,--dat was 'way back in ,--us colored folks had prayer grounds. my mammy's was a ole twisted thick-rooted muscadine bush. she'd go in dar and pray for deliverance of de slaves. some colored folks cleaned out knee-spots in de cane breaks. cane you know, grows high and thick, and colored folks could hide de'seves in dar, an nobody could see an pester em." "you see it was jes like dis. durin' de war, an befo de war too, white folks make a heap o fun of de colored folks for alltime prayin. sometime, say, you was a slave en you git down to pray in de field or by de side of de road. white marster come 'long and see a slave on his knees. he say, 'what you prayin' 'bout?' an you say, 'oh, marster i'se jes prayin' to jesus cause i wants to go to heaven when i dies.' an marster say, 'youse my negro. i git ye to heaven. git up off'n your knees.' de white folks what owned slaves thought that when dey go to heaven de collored folk's would be dar to wait on em. an ef'n it was a yank come 'long, he say too, 'what you prayin' 'bout?' you gives de same 'sponse. an he say, 'we'se gwine save you. we goin' to set you free. you wants to be free, dont you?' 'yessir, boss!' 'well den, yank say, come go 'long wid me.' ain no use keep sayin' 'please sir boss, i'll have to arsk my master.' yank say, 'what you mean, marster? you aint got no marster. we's settin' you free.'" "sometimes dey takes a' tie a rope 'round you, and they starts ridin' off but dey dont go too fas' so you walks behind. sometimes 'long comes another yank on a horse an he arsk, 'boy ain you tired?' 'yessir boss.' 'well den you git up here behind me and ride some.' den he wrop de rope all 'round de saddle horn. wrops and wrops, but leaves some slack. but he keeps you tied, so's you wont jump down and run away. an many's de time a prayin' negro got took off like dat, and want never seen no more." "'course ef'n you goes wid em, you 'member your trainin' and 'fore you leaves de field, you stacks your hoe nice, like you was quittin' de days work. dey learned the little'uns to do dat, soon's dey begins to work in de fields. dey had little hoes, handles 'bout de size of my arm, for de little fellers. i've walked many a mile, when i was a little feller, up and down de rows, followin' de grown folks, an chopping wid de hoe 'round de corners whar de earth was soft so de little uns could hoe easy. whoopee! let dat dinner horn blow, and evy body stacks dey hoes, nince, neat stacks standin up, and starts to run. some eats in dey own cabins, but dem what eats at de big house, sets down at a long table, and gets good grub too! evy night, our marster give us evy one a glass o whiskey. dat's to keep off decease. mornins' we had to all drink tar water for de same purpose. dat want so tasty." "my marster's name was george hopper. dat man paid taxes on more'n two-thousand acres of land in two counties. i lived in dem two counties. was born in wilkes and raised in lincoln county, georgia. we called it de middle-south. my marster he never did marry. lots of folks didnt, dey jes took up wid one another. marster hopper had five children by my grandmother. she was his house woman, dat's what he call 'er. an when he died he willed her and all dem chilluns a house, some land, and a little money. he'd of left em a heap more money and ud been one of the richest men in the country, ef'n de war hadn't broke out. when it was over he had a barrel full of 'federate greenbacks. but t'want no count. he done broke den. one day my uncle, he was the colored overseer, he went to danbury, six miles from whar we lived at, and he paid $ for a pound of coffee. dat was befo de north whupped de south, and dey had'n killed-down de money value for de south." "talk about hard times! we see'd em in dem days, durin' de war and most specially after de surrender. folks dese days dont know what trouble looks like. we was glad to eat ash-cakes and drink parched corn and rye 'stead o coffee. i've seed my grandmother go to de smoke house, and scrape up de dirt whar de meat had drapped, and take it to de house fer seasonin. you see, both armies fed off'n de white folks, and dey cleaned out dey barns and cellars and smoke houses when dey come. one time, when de yanks was on de way to augusta, i was picking up chips to make the supper fire, when i see'd em comin'. i hit it out from dar and hide behind two little hills down by de big spring. after awhile my brother find me and he tell me to come on back to the house and see dem white mens dance. de yanks kep' comin' and dey eat all night. by daylight they was through marchin past." "an den come de rebels. when dey come we had five-thousand bushel of corn, one-hundred head o hogs, three-hundred and fifty galons of syrup 'en sech. when dey left, they took an set fire to evything, to keep it away from the yanks, aimin to starve em out o dat country. dat's what dey done. some of dem rebs was mean as the yanks. and dat was bein' mean. some called de yanks, 'de hornets', 'cause dey fight so. take a yank an he'd fight acrost a buzz saw and it circlin' fifty mile a minute." "dat time when the yanks was goin' to augusta, an i went to black my marster's boot,--he'd give us a two-cent peice, big as a quarter--for boot blackin, i say, 'marster who is dem soldiers?' an he say to me, 'dey's de yankees, come to try to take you awy from me.' an i say, 'looks like to me marster, ef'n dey wants to take us dey'd arsk you fer us.' marster laughed and say, 'boy! dem fellers dont axes wid words. dey does all dey talkin' wid cannons.' did you know that a white woman shot de first cannon dat was ever fired in de state o georgia? she was a yankee colonel's wife, dey say, named miss anna, i dunno the rest o her name. she wants to be de first to fire a cannon she say, to set the negroes free. dat was befo' de war, begin. de roar of dat cannon was in folkes ears for more'n five days and nights." uncle andrew gave a little grunt as he lifted himself out of his chair. his little frame seemed lost in the broad-shouldered lumber jacket that he wore. he had laid aside the paper sack from which he had been eating, when the visitor came, and removed an old stocking cap from his head. when the visitor suggested that he keep it on, as he might catch cold he replied, "i dont humor myself none." the sunlight fell upon his head and shoulders as he stood, to steady himself on his feet. traces of his ancestry of indian blood,--one of his grandfathers was a cherokee indian,--were evident in his features. his skin is jet-black, but his forehead high and his nose straight, with nostrils only slightly full. there was dignity in his bearing and beauty in his face, with its halo of cotton-white hair and beard, cut short and neatly parted in the middle of his chin. walking about the room, he called the visitor's attention to family portraits on the walls. some were colored crayons, and a few were enlarged snap-shots. proudly he pointed to the photograph of a huge-sized negro man, apparently in his thirties, and said, "he was our first comins'. reckon he took after his great granddaddy, who was eight feet tall and weighed twe-hundred and fifty pounds. that man's arms was so long, when dey hung down by his side, his fingers was below his knees. dis grandfather was free-born. my father, dave moss, he was sold three times. he had twenty-five children. but he had two wives. as i aforesaid, folks didn't always marry in dem days, jes took up wid one another. my mother was his title-wife. by her, he jes had me and my two full-brothers an one sister. my mother died two years after de war. my father give my sister to my grandmother. jes give 'er to 'er." "how come i live in knoxville, i was a young man, when i started off from georgia, aimin to go over de mountains to kentucky whar i heard dey pay good wages. i stopped in campbell country, tennessee wid another feller, an' i see'd a pretty gal workin' in de field. an i say's, i'm goin' to marry dat gal. sho 'nough me an her was married in less dan six months. her marster build us a log house and we lived dar 'till we come to knoxville, tennessee. now, all o my boys is dead. evy one o em worked for mr. peters (peters and bradley flour mills, of knoxville)--and dey all died workin' fer him. so mister willie, he say he gwine let me live here, in de company house, the rest o my days." the four room frame house stands near a creek at the dead end of an alley on which both whites and negroes live. the huge double bed, neatly made, stands between two windows from which there is an unobstructed view of the highway traversing north and south through northern knoxville, several blocks away from andrew's home. "i jes lay down on dat bed nights and watch them autimobiles flyin by. dey go blip! blip! and blip! an i say to my self, 'watch them fools!' folkes ain got de sense dey's born wid. ain smart like dey used to be. an times ain good like dey was. ef'n it hadnt been for some of dem crazy fools, actin up and smarty, me an my wife'd be gittin maybe a hun'ered an' more dollars a month, 'stead o the fifteen we gits 'tween us for ole' age help. they'd ought to let rosevelt alone. an its his own folks as is fitin' 'im. he is a big man even ef he is a democrat. i'm a republican though. voted my first time for blaine." "yes i votes sometimes now, when dey come gits me. an befo i got sick, i would ride the street car to town. an i goes down to de court house, and when i see dem cannons in deyard i cain keep from cryin'. my wife arsk me what make me go look at dem cannon ef'n dey makes me cry. an i tells her i cry 'bout de good and de bad times dem cannon bringed us. but no cannons or nothin' else, seems like going to bring back de good old times. but i dont worry 'bout all dese things much. accordin' to de good book's promise, weepin' may endure for a night, den come joy in de mornin. an i knows dat de day's soon come when i goes to meet my folks and my lord an marster in his heaven, whar dey ain no more weepin.'" subject--ex-slave stories aunt mollie moss # - auburn street, knoxville, tennessee there is no street sign or a number on any of the ramshackled frame cottages that seemingly lean with the breezes, first one direction, then another, along the alley that wind's through the city's northernmost boundary and stops its meanderings at the doorstep of "uncle andrew moss" and his wife, "aunt mollie." the city directory of knoxville, tennessee officially lists the moss residence as # auburn street. it rests upon its foundations more substantially, and is in better kept condition than its neighbors. in lieu of a "reg'lar" house number, the aged negro couple have placed a rusty automobile lisence tag of ancient vintage conspicuously over their door. it is their jesture of contempt for their nearest white neighbors who "dont seem to care whedder folkses know whar dey lib an maybe don wants em to." as for aunt mollie, she holds herself superior to all of her neighbors. she "ain got no time for po white trash noway." she shoo'ed two little tow-headed white girls from her doorstep with her broom as she stood in her door and watched a visitor approach. "g'wan way frum here now, can be bodder wid you chillun messin ups my front yard. take yo tings an go on back to yo own place!" "dats way dey do," she mummled as she lead the visitor inside the cottage, through the dining-room and kitchen into the living-room and bedroom. "don know what i gwine do when come summer time. keeps me all time lookin out for dem chilluns. dey's dat troublesome. brings trash in on my flo what i jes scoured, an musses 'roun, maybe tryin to steal sumpin an me watchin em too. dey wasnt teached manners and 'havior in odder folkses houses like what i war." when aunt mollie learned that it was to hear her story of how she was trained in manners end behaviorism, that the visitor had come, and to hear something of her recollections of slave days, her belligerent mood vanished. the satisfied manner in which she drew up chairs before the fire, took a pinch of snuff and settled her skirts, indicated that was going to be quite a session. she leaned her elbows on her knees, held her head between the palms of her hands and fumbled in her cloudy memory to gather a few facts to relate. uncle andrew, the more intelligent of the two, and quick to seize upon his opportunity, began his reminiscences immediately, saying "honey, wait now," when his wife thought herself well organized to talk, and frequently broke into his narrative. "wait untell i gits through. den you can talk." aunt mollie would frown and grunt, mumble to herself as she rocked back and forth in her chair. she pulled the two long braids of brown silky hair, streaked with white, and tied at the ends with cotton strings. she spat vigorously into the fire, kept muttering and shuffling her feet, which were encased in men's shoes. at last it came aunt mollie's turn to talk war-times. uncle andrew, well pleased with his recital, retired to his corner by the hearth and listened "mannerdly"--after first warning the visitor in a gentle undertone, that "my wife she ain got much mem'ry an she don hear good." aunt mollie's rambling reminiscences backed up his statement. she began. "reckon i mus be 'bout eighty-two, three year old. i dunno exactly. ef i knowed whar to find em, deys some my white folkes lib in dis town. seem like i can 'member dey names. i b'longed to marster billy cain, and was raised on his farm in campbell county, tennessee. oh, 'bout six, seven mile from jacksboro. wish i could go back dar some time. ain been dar sence me an moss married an live eight, ten or some more years in a log cabin he built for us. we was married march , de day atter cleveland was 'lected presi-dent. in did you say? well, reckon you're right. i ain had no schoolin an i can 'member lots o tings i used to know." "billy cain worked me in de fields. an his wife miss nancy say she gwine stop it, 'cause i was so pretty she fraid somebody come steal me." aunt mollie buried her face in her apron and had a good laugh. "dey said i was de pretties' girl anywhars about. had teeth jes like pearls. whoops! look at em now. ain got 'nuff left to chaw wid. you notices how light-complected i is? my own father was a full-blooded cherokee indian. de yanks captured him an killed him." "i was hoein in de field dat time moss com 'long and see me and say he gwine marry me. an, jes like he tell you, we was married in less dan six months. we been livin togedder evy since and we gits along good. we have had blessins' and got a lot to be thankful for. could have more to eat sometimes, but we gits along someways. i am a good cook. miss nancy she teached me all kinds o cookin, puttin up berries, makin pickles and bakin bread and cake an evy'ting. her ole man cain give us good grub dem days. monday mornins' we go to de cains to git rations for de week. dey gib us three pounds wheat, a peck o meal, a galon o molasses, two pound o lard, two pound o brown sugar, rice an evy'ting. i use to have plates an china white folks gib me. white woman come one day, say she wan buy 'em. took plum nigh all i had. did'n pay me much o nothin' either." "yes, lord. i does 'member 'bout de war. i've see'd de blue an i've see'd de grey. in i see'd de soldiers formin' in line. i was a great big girl. dem swords glisen' like stars. can' member whar dey was goin dat time. but i ain forgit de times soldiers come foragin. dey got all dey wanted, too. hep' dey sef's an dont pay for it, never. soldier see a chicken go under de house, he plop down and shoot, and den call me to crawl under de house and fetch it out." aunt mollie buried her head in her apron again and laughed like a child. "lordy how scared i was of de old gander dat blowed at me, whilst i was tryin' to drag 'em out alive, when i see'd de soldiers comin'." "billy cain, he was brudder-in-law to old townslee, who lived on a plantation in alabama. how come my mother was give to cain an come to tennessee, was one mornin' old townslee rode his horse out under a tree to blow up de slaves. blow de horn you know, to call 'em to work. somebody shot 'im. right off his horse. it was so dark, 'fore daylight, an' couldnt see and dey never did find out who shot 'im. heap o white folks had enemies dem days. so de slaves he owned was divided munxt his chilluns. my mother was one of nine dat come to billy cain dat way." "talk 'bout your shootin jest for devilment. lemme tell you 'bout old men john wynn. he live down dar 'bout ten mile from whar moss lived when he was a boy. i've heard em tell it many a time. dey say john wynn had slaves. evy time it come george washington's birthday, old wynn he had a feast and invite all de slaves! he celebratin! he say. he seta a long table wid all kind good tings to eat. an he count de slaves, so's to be sure dey all come. an' den he'd take an pick out one and shoot him! den he say, "now youse all can go 'head an eat. throw dat nigger 'side an we bury im in mornin'." and he walks off to de big house. no! he wasn't drunk. jes de debil in 'im. well, he shot ten, twelve, maybe thirty dat way. an den de white folks hanged 'im to a tree. hanged im t'well he was good and dead, dey did." "now folkes can 'joy dey victuals wid sech goin's on. de slaves git so's dey scared to hear de bell ring. don' know what it mean. maybe death, maybe fire, maybe nudder sale o some body. gwine take 'em way. but when de bell ring dey had to come. let dat ole bell ring and de woods was full o negroes. maybe hundred come from all over date county." aunt mollie was beginning to ramble and babble incoherently, her memories of her own and the experiences of others all confused in her mind. when she had about finished a story about how one of the slave women, "bust de skull" of the head of her marster,'" 'cause she was nussin a sick baby an' he tell her she got to git out in dat field an hoe" and the gory details of what the shovel did to the white marster's head, it was time for the visitors to close the interview. both uncle andrew and aunt mollie followed the visitor to the front door, and wished her "all de luck in de world. an thank you for comin'. an come see us agin, nudder time." interview andy odell pearl street nashville, tennessee "i wuz bawn east ob spring hill, tennessee. i dunno in w'at y'ar, but i wuz a ful' grown man w'en i wuz freed. (this will make him about years old.). i wuz an onlies' chile en i nebber knowed mah daddy. mah mammy wuz sold 'way fum me. she ma'ied a man named brown en dey had seven chillun." "at fust i 'longed ter marster jim caruthers. w'en his daughter ma'ied fount odell, i wuz willed ter her en den mah marsters wuz fount en albert odell who wuz br'ers. mah white folks let us go ter chuch. i b'leeves in de baptist 'ligion. i nebber knowed any slave dat had ter hide ter sing er pray. i members de comet en hit wuz a sta'r wid a long tail en looked lak hit wuz burnin'. de sta'rs fell 'fore i wuz bawn." (the stars fell in ). "we had ter hab passes en if you didn't hab one, you got whupped. mah marster let me go ter chuch wid' out a pass. i members de klu klux klan but dey nebber bothered me, tho i 'yeard a lot 'bout dem. dey called demselves "white caps" en said dey wuz rite fum de grave. w'en a slave got whupped hit wuz cose dey disobey dere white folks en de overseer whupped dem. i though mah white folks wuz awful mean ter me sumtime." "i nebber b'leeved in ghos' but hab yeard lots 'bout dem. lots of peeples did b'leeve in dem back in dem times. uster sing a lot but i dunno names ob dem now. i dunno w'at ez gwine ter 'kum ob dis young crowd. i sho don't think diff'ent culers oughter ma'rie. de lawd didn't mean fer hit ter be dun. dunno ob any slave 'risin's in virginia er any uther place. don't member now de tales en sayin' ob de ole times." "member well w'en de war broke out en how dey had big dinners en marched 'round ovuh de fiel's, gittin' ready fer de war. i had a br'er kilt in de war en mah mammy got a lettle money fum 'im. also member dat w'en mah mammy got de money she bought me a hat." "i don't git nuthin at freedum en i dunno ob any slaves gittin' any land er money. i know dat w'en we wuz freed marster albert called us slaves in en said, "you all ez as free as i ez, but you can stay 'yer en wuk fer me ef'n you want ter." i staid wid 'im a good w'ile attar freedum." "since freedum i hab plowed, hoed, cut wood, en wuk'd in quarries pecking rock. hab nebber wuk'd in town fer i dunno de things 'bout town. i hab voted almost eve'y election since freedum 'til dese last few years. i hab had two frens in office but both ez de'd now. i uster think 'omen shouldn't vote, but i guess hit ez alri'te." interview laura ramsey parker gay st. nashville, tennessee "i'se y'ars ole. wuz bawn in slavery. wuz freed w'en de slavery stopped. mack ramsey wuz mah marster en he wuz sho good ter his slaves. he treated dem as human bein's. w'en he turned his slaves 'loose he gib dem no money, but gib dem lands, clothin' en food 'til dey could brang in dere fust crop. mah daddy rented a strip ob land 'til he wuz able ter buy de place. he lived on de same fer menny y'ars." "w'en i wuz ole er'nuff i wuz taught ter spin en weav. i bucum de nuss ter de marster's onlies' chile. soon atter i wuz freed, i went ter wisconsin, but only wuz dere fer a y'ar, den i kum back ter tennessee en nashville. i settled in dis house en i'se bin livin' in hit fer ovuh fifty y'ars. dere wuz no uther houses 'round 'yer at de time. i own de place. hab wuk'd all mah life seem ter me. at one time i wuz a chambermaid at de nicholson house now de tulane en later 'kum a sick nuss, a seamstress, dressmaker but now i pieces en sells bed quilts. i does mah own housekeepin' en washin'." "i don't member now, very much 'bout de ku klux klan. i do member dat one nite dey passed our home en i grab'ed a shotgun en said dat i wuz gwine ter shoot dem ef dey kum on de place. i members de battle ob murfreesboro, but i'se got no membrances ob any slave uprisin'." "i think very lettle ob de younger ginerashon. dere's many things ter day dat should be changed, but i'se 'yer en can't do nuthin' ter change hit. i's min'in mah own business. i puts mah faith en trust in gawd's han's; en treats mah nabers right; en lives honest. i 'longs ter de christian chuch, but don't wan'ter be called a "campbellite." "de songs i members ez: am i a soldier ob de cross. am i bawn ter die? 'tis 'ligion dat can gib." interview naisy reece overton st. nashville, tennessee "i wuz bawn in slavery, in williamson county, guess i'se 'bout y'ars ole. think i wuz fou' w'en de wah started." "mah mammy en daddy wuz mary en ennock brown." "mah missis en marster wuz polly en randall brown." "dunno ob any ob our fam'ly bein' sold. w'en freedum wuz declar' we wuz tu'n loose wid nothin'. mah daddy tuk us down in de kuntry, raised crops en made us wuk in de fiel'." "i'se cooked a leetle fer urther peeple, but mos' ob mah wuk has bin laundry. i didn't go ter schul much. i dunno w'at ter say 'bout de younger gineratshun; dere ez sich a diff'unce now ter w'at hit wuz w'en i wuz a girl. dunno any tales dat i useter 'year." "didn't see any klu klux klan, but i alluz got skeered en hid w'en we'd 'year dey wuz kumin'. i 'long ter de baptist church. i neber went ter menny camp-meetin's, but went ter a lot ob baptizins." "mammy tole us how de sta'rs fell en how skeered eberybody got. i saw de long tail comet." _signs_: "good luck ter git up 'fore day-lite ef'n youer gwin sum place er start sum wuk." "bad luck ter sweep flo' atter dark en sweep de dirt out." _songs_: "i couldn't hear anybody pray." "ole time 'ligion." "cross de riber jordan." "i'se neber voted, en hab neber had any frens in office. neber knowed nothin' 'bout de slave mart er de 'structshun days." interview millie simpkins "black mamie" th avenue, no. nashville, tennessee i claims i's ye'ars ole en wuz bawn neah winchester, tennessee. mah marster wuz boyd sims en mah missis wuz sarah ann ewing sims. mah mammy wus named judy ewing en mah daddy wuz moses stephens en he wus "free bawn." he wuz de marster's stable boy en followed de races. he run 'way en nebber kum back. mah fust missis wuz very rich. she had two slave 'omen ter dress her eve'y mawnin' en i brought her breakfust ter her on a silvah waitah. she wuz ma'ied three times, her second husband wuz joe carter en de third wuz judge gork. mah fust missis sold me kaze i wuz stubborn. she sent me ter de "slave yard" at nashville. de yard wuz full ob slaves. i stayed dere two weeks 'fore marster simpson bought me. i wuz sold 'way fum mah husband en i nebber se'd 'im 'gin. i had one chile which i tuk wid me. de slave yard wuz on cedar street. a mr. chandler would bid de slaves off, but 'fore dey started biddin' you had ter tek all ob yo clothes off en roll down de hill so dey could see dat you didn't hab no bones broken, er sores on yer. (i wouldin' tek mine off). ef nobody bid on you, you wuz tuk ter de slave mart en sold. i wuz sold dere. a bunch ob dem wuz sent ter mississippi en dey had dere ankles fas'end tergedder en dey had ter walk w'iles de tradahs rid. w'en i wuz sold ter marster simpkins, mah second mistress made me a house slave en i wuked only at de big house en mah wuk wus ter nuss en dress de chilluns en he'ps mah missis in her dressin'. de young slaves wuz hired out ter nuss de white chilluns. i wuz hired as nuss girl at seven y'ars ole en started cookin' at ten. i nebber had a chance ter go ter schul. i'm de mammy ob chilluns, seven boys en seven gals. i wuz next ter de olest ob four chillun. mah missis useter hire me out ter hotels en taverns. sum marsters fed dare slaves meat en sum wouldin' let dem hab a bite. one marster we useter 'yer 'bout would grease his slaves mouth on sunday mawnin', en tell dem ef any body axed ef dey had meat ter say "yes, lots ob hit". w'en dey got ready ter whup dem dey'd put dem down on a pit widout any clothes, stand back wid a bull whup en cut de blood out. i member de niggers would run 'way en hide out. de only fun de young folks had wuz w'en de ole folks had a quiltin'. w'ile de ole folks wuz wukin' on de quilt de young ones would git in 'nuther room, dance en hab a good time. dey'd hab a pot turned down at de do'er ter keep de white folks fum 'yearin' dem. de white folks didn't want us ter l'arn nothin' en ef a slave picked up a lettle piece ob papah, dey would yell "put dat down you--you wan't ter git in our business." de white folks wouldin' let de slaves pray, ef dey got ter pray hit wuz w'iles walkin' 'hind de plow. white folks would whup de slaves ef dey 'yeard dem sing er pray. i wuz a big girl w'en dey build de capitol. i played on de hill 'fore hit wuz built en i toted blocks fum dere w'en hit wuz bein' built. i wuz livin' in dickson county w'en fort donelson wuz tuk. i seed de fust gun boat dat kum up de cumberland river. i wuz standin' in de do'er w'en i se'd hit kumin', but hit didn't tek me long ter git back in de back ob de house. i wuz skeered dey would shoot. mah marster run a fer'y en atter de gun boat kum up de riber, he got skeered en gib mah ole man de fer'y, en w'en de soldiers kum ter tek fort negley he set dem 'cross de river. a man at ashland city dat made whisk'y would hab mr. simpkins bring a load ob logs up ter ashland city en den bring a load ob whiskey down en hide hit so de yankees would'nt git hit. mah marster had a fish trap at de mouth ob harper en w'en de gun boat passed dey shot thro' de trap. i wuz right 'yer w'en de civil wah wuz gwin on, en de soldiers wuz dressed up en beatin' de drums. no honey we didn't git nothin' w'en we wuz freed. jes druv 'way widout nothin' ter do wid. we got in a waggin en druv ter nuther man's plantashun. mah ole man made a crap dere. sum ob de slaves might hab got sump'in but i dunno nobody dat did. i wuz skeered ter op'n mah do'er atter dark on 'count ob ku klux klan, dey wuz red hot. i member w'en de sta'rs fell. i wuz small but de ole folks run out en looked at dem, kum back set down en cried, dey tho't hit me'nt de worl' wuz kumin' ter an end. de peeple wuz skeered w'en dey se'd de comet wid de long tail. dey tho't hit wuz a sign ob wah. i'se cooked eve'y since i wuz freed. i stayed in henry galbles kitchen five long y'ars, en since i'se had dese strokes hit's broke me up 'till i kin do nothin'. i 'long ter de methodist church. i think de young peeples ez turrible, en dis white en black mar'iags not be 'lowed. de songs i member ez: "dark wuz de night". "good ole daniel". i'se nebber voted but i'se electioneered fer dem. hab nebber had any frens in office. i wuz 'yer w'en henry clay en james k. polk wuz runnin'. i wuz hired at de ole city hotel ovuh on de river. i wuz din'in room servant dere. mah marster would hab me sing a song fer him 'bout de democrats. "hooray de kuntry ez risin'; rise up en drown ole clay en his pizen". i guess ole clay wuz a right good fellow but he played cards wid de niggers in de cellar. de only thing i member 'bout de 'structshun time wuz sum ob de whites didn't wan' de niggers ter vote. i stays 'yer wid mah daughter. dat ez de only support i hab since i had deze strokes en bin unable ter do fer mahse'f. _ex-slave stories_ subject: _joseph_ _leonidas_ _star_, # quebec place, _knoxville_, _tennessee_ if the poetic strain in the dunbar negroes of the south is an inheritance and not "just a gift from on high," knoxville, tennessee's aged negro poet,--born joseph leonidas star,--but prominently known in the community as "lee" star, poet, politician and lodge man,--thinks that georgia's poetic genius paul lawrence dunbar, "maybe took his writin' spells" from him. "my grandfather and paul lawrence dunbar's grandfather was cousins. he were a much younger man than i am, for i was eighty-one years old the twenty-sixth of december, . so i reckon i give it down to my kin-man. but it seem to me, that poets is just born thataway. po'try is nothin' but truth anyway, and it's truth was sets us free. and that makes me a free-born citizen bothways and every ways. i were born free. i were always happy-natured and i expect to die thataway. one of my poems is named, 'be satisfied!' and i say in it that if a man's got somethin' to eat, and teeth to bite, he should be satisfied. you cant take your goods with you. old man rockefeller, when he died here awhile back, went away from here 'thout his hat and shoes. that's the way its goin' to be with all us, no matter what our color is." "the people 'round here calls me "lee" star, and i want to tell you, lee star is a free-born man. but of course, things bein' as they were, both my mother and father were slaves. that is for a few years. they lived in greenville, tennessee. my mother, maria guess, was free'd before the emancipation, by the good words of her young white mistress, who told 'me [tr: 'em] all when she was about to die, she wanted 'em to set maria free, 'cause she didn't want her little playmate to be nobodys else's slave. they was playmates you see. my mother was eleven years old when she was freed." "when she was about fourteen and my father henry dunbar wanted to marry he had to first buy his freedom. in them times a slave couldn't marry a free'd person. so he bought his freedom from his marster lloyd bullen, and a good friend of andrew johnson, the presi-dent. my father an' him was friends too. so he bought his freedom, for just a little of somethin' i disremember what, 'cause they didn't aim to make him buy his freedom high. he made good money though. he was a carpenter, blacksmith, shoe maker and knowed a lot more trades. his master was broadhearted, and good to his slaves, and he let 'em work at anything they want to, when they was done their part of white folks chore-work." "both my father and mother was learned in the shoe makin' trade. when they come to knoxville to live, and where i was born, they had a great big shoe shop out there close to where governor brownlow lived. knoxville just had three streets, two runnin' east and west and one run north and south. i well remember when general burnside come to knoxville. that was endurin' the siege of knoxville. before he marched his men out to the battle of fort saunders, he stopped his solider [tr: soldier] band in front of our shoe shop and serenaded my mother and father. i was a little boy and i climed up on the porch bannisters and sat there and lissen' to that music." "i remember another big man come here once when i was a boy and i served the transient trade at a little eatin' place right where the atkin ho-tel is now. jeff davis come there to eat, when he stopped over between trains. that was in . no, i disremember what he eat or how he behave. he didnt seem no different from any other man. he was nince lookin' wore a long tail coat and his boots was plenty blacked. he favored pictures of abraham lincoln. was about middle-height and had short, dark chin-whiskers. i were very busy at the time, an' if they was any excitement i didnt know it." "yes, i've seen many a slave in my day. one of my boy playmates was a slave child. his name is sam rogan and he lives now at the county poor farm. i make it a point not to dwell too much on slave times. i was learned different. i've had considerable schoolin', went to my first school in the old first presbyterian church. my teachers was white folks from the north. they give us our education and give us clothes and things sent down here from the north. that was just after the surrender. i did see a terrible sight once. a slave with chains on him as long as from here to the street. he was in an ole' buggy, settin' between two white men and they was passin' througn knoxville. my mother and father wouldnt lissen' to me tell 'em about it when i got home. and i hope i forget everything i ever knowed or heard about salves [tr: slaves], and slave times." joseph leonidas star, no longer works at the shoemakers trade. he writes poetry and lives leisurely in a three room frame shanty, in a row of shabbier ones that face each other disconsolately on a typical negro alleyway, that has no shade trees and no paving. "lee's" house is the only one that does not wabble uneasily, flush with the muddy alley. his stands on a small brick foundation, a few feet behind a privet hedge in front, with a brick wall along the side in which he has cemented a few huge conch shells. after fifty-four years residence here, a political boss in his ward, and the only negro member of the young white men's republican league, star's influence in his community is attested by the fact that when he "destructed", the knoxville city council to "please do somethin' about it, knoxville being too big a city to keep callin' street's alleys," the city council promptly and unanimously voted to change the name of king's alley to quebec place. when the interviewer called, star's door was padlocked. but he appeared soon, having received word by the grape-vine system that some one "was to see him",--"they told me it was the sherriff" he laughed. he came down the long muddy alley at a lively clip. he claimes he is able to walk about miles each day, just to keep in condition. he wore a broad-brimmed black "derby-hat", a neatly pressed serge suit in two tones, a soiled white pleated shirt and a frazzled-edged black bow tie. his coat lapels and vest-front were adorned with badges and emblems, including his masonic pins, a friendship medal, his republican button and a silver crucifix. the catholic church, according to lee, is the only one in knoxville which permits the black man to worship under the same roof with his white brothers. many of star's poems have been published in the local and state papers. he keeps a record of deaths of all citizens, and has done so for sixty years. he calls the one, which records murders and hanging, his "doomsday book", and "encoached" in it he claims is an accurate date record of all such events of importance in his lifetime. his records are neatly inscribed in a printing form and very legible. his conversation is marked by grammatical incongruities, but he does not speak the negro dialect. interview dan thomas jefferson street nashville, tennessee "i wuz bawn in slavery in at memphis, tennessee en mah marster wuz deacon allays. mah mammy wuz de cook at de big house. mah mammy d'ed soon atter i wuz bawn, en de missis had me raised on a bottle. marster en missis treatus all dere slaves kindly en plenty ter eat en eve'y one wuz happy. i dunno nuthin 'bout mah daddy er whar he went. i hab no kin in dis worl'. all i eber yeard wuz dat all mah folks kum fum africa. mah missis would tell me dat i mus' be good en mine en eberbody will lak' you en ef she d'ed, dey would tek keer ob me. dat ez w'at dey hab don." "i wuked 'round de house 'tel i wuz 'bout ten y'ars ole en de marster put me ter wuk in his big whiskey house. w'en i got 'bout y'ars ole, i would go out ter collect bills fum marster's customers en hit tuk me 'bout a week ter git all 'round. i wuzn't 'lowed ter tek money but had ter git dere checks. i also wuked y'ars as bar tender. marster en mistress d'ed 'bout four y'ars 'fore whiskey went out ob de united states. i stay wid dem 'til dey d'ed." "atter de marster en missis d'ed de doctor sezs i would hab ter leave memphis on 'count ob my health. i kum ter nashville en got a job at de "powder plant" durin' de worl' war, en stayed dere 'til hit wuz ovuh. i den gets wuk at foster en creighton in nashville 'till dey tole me dat i wuz too ole ter wuk. i makes mah livin' now by haulin' slop en pickin' up things dat de white folks throw in dere trash pile en sum ob hit i sell ter de papah en junk dealers. de white peeple he'p me now also." "i se'd dem sell a lot ob slaves in mississippi, jes' lak hosses en hogs, one time w'en de marster en mistress made a trip down dere. lots ob times dey made trips 'round de kuntry en dey allus tuk me 'long. i se'd sum cru'l marsters dat hitched up dere slaves ter plows en made dem plow lak hosses en mules did." "atter de slaves got dere freedum, dey had ter look atter demselves, so dey would wuk on plantations till dey got so dey could rent a place, lak you rent houses en farms terday. sum got places whar dey wuk'd fer wages." "i voted three times in mah life but lawdy dat wuz a long time ago. i voted fer teddy roosevelt en woodrow wilson, en mah last vote wuz 'bout two y'ars pas'." "hab no tales handed down by mah peeple. w'en i would try ter git info'mation, atter i got o'ler, all dey would say wuz, "you wuz raised on a bottle en hab no peeple ob you own." "oh mah goodness! hit jes par'lises me ter see how dem young peeple ez doin' terday. lawdy hab mercy but dere ez as much diff'ent fum ole times as day en nite en hit looks lak things hab gone astray. wuz tole lots 'bout de ku klux klan en how dey would catch en whup de cul'ed peeple, but mah white folks made me stay in en dey neber got me." "i member seein' andrew jackson, general grant en abraham lincoln, member seein' general andrew jackson git'in ready fer war by marchin' his soldiers erroun'. i se'd 'im ride his big white hoss up en down ter see how dey marched." "one song i lack'd best ob all wuz, 'mah ole mammy ez de'd en gon',' 'let me sit b'neath de willow tree.' don't member uther songs now." interview sylvia watkins th avenue n. nashville, tennessee. i'se said ter be y'ars ole. i wuz young w'en de war wuz goin' on. i wuz bawn in bedford county. mah mammy wuz named mariah. she had six chillun by mah daddy en three by her fust husband. mah missis wuz named emily hatchet en de young missises wuz mittie en bettie, dey wuz twins. we had good clothes ter w'ar en w'en we went ter de table hit wuz loaded wid good food en we could set down en eat our stomachs full. oh lawd i wish dem days wuz now so i'd hab sum good food. ob course, we had ter wuk in de fiel's en mek w'at we et. wen we'd finish our day's wuk our missis would let us go out en play hide en seek, puss in de corner, en diff'ent games. mah mammy wuz sold in virginia w'en she wuz a gurl. she sezs 'bou ob em wuz put in de road en druv down 'yer by a slave trader, lak a bunch ob cattle. mah mammy en two ob mah sistahs wuz put on a block, sold en carried ter alabama. we neber 'yeard fum dem nomo', en dunno whar dey ez. i wuz willed ter mah young missis w'en she ma'ried. i wuz young en, ob course, she whuped me, but she wasn't mean ter me. i needed eve'y whupin' she eber gib me, cause i wuz allus fightin'. mah missis allus called me her lettle nig. mah daddy could only see mah mammy wednesday en saturday nites, en ef'n he kum wid'out a pass de pat-rollers would whup 'im er run 'im 'til his tongue hung out. on dem nites we would sit up en look fer daddy en lots ob times he wuz out ob bref cose he had run so much. mah white folks had a loom en we wove our own clothes. i wuz nuss en house girl en l'arned how ter sew en nit. mah young missis wuz blind 'fore she died. i useter visit her once a ye'r en she'd load me down wid things ter tek home, a linsey petticoat, ham bones, cracklins en diff'ent things. she died years ago almos' a ye'r ole. de white folks wouldn't let de slaves hab a book er papah fer fear dey'd l'arn sumpin', en ef dey wan'ed ter pray dey'd tu'n a kettle down at dere cabin do'er. i member yearin' mah mammy pray "oh father op'n up de do'ers en sho us lite." i'd look up ter de ceiling ter see ef he wuz gonna op'n up sumpin'; silly, silly me, thinkin' such. i's 'longs ter de missionary baptist chuch but i don't git ter go very off'n. i wuz tole 'fore freedum dat de slaves would git a mule, land en a new suit, but our missis didn't gib us a thing. she promis' me, mah br'rer, en three sistahs ef'n we would stay wid her a ye'r, en he'p her mek a crop she would gib us sump'in ter start us a crop on w'en we lef' her. mah daddy's marster wus named bob rankin, he gib mah daddy a hog, sum chickens, let him hab a cow ter milk en land ter raise a crop on. he wan'ed mah daddy ter git us tergedder ter he'p daddy raise a crop but since mah missis had promised us so much, daddy let us stay wid her a ye'r. on de nite mah daddy kum fer us, mah missis sezs i've not got nuthin ter gib you, fer i won't hab nobody ter do nuthin fer me. we went wid our daddy. we lived dere on marster rankin's farm fer ye'rs in fact so long we tho't de place 'longed ter mah daddy. we had a house wid big cracks in hit, had a big fier place, a big pot dat hong on de fier en a skillet dat we cooked corn bread in. had a hill ob taters under de house, would raise up a plank, rake down in de dirt git taters, put dem in de fier ter roast. we had meat ter eat in de middle ob de day but none at mawnin' er nite. we got one pair ob shoes a ye'r, dey had brass on de toes. i uster git out en shine de toes ob mine, we called hit gol' on our shoes. we wuked in de fiel' wid mah daddy, en i know how ter do eberting dere ez ter do in a fiel' 'cept plow, i wuz allus ter slender ter hold a plow. we had grease lamps. a thing lak a goose neck wid platted rag wick in hit. would put grease in hit. durin' slavery ef one marster had a big boy en 'nuther had a big gal da marsters made dem libe tergedder. ef'n de 'oman didn't hab any chilluns, she wuz put on de block en sold en 'nuther 'oman bought. you see dey raised de chilluns ter mek money on jes lak we raise pigs ter sell. mah mammy tole me 'bout de sta'rs fallin' en den i se'ed de second fallin' ob sta'rs. dey didn't hit de groun' lak de fust did. i member de comet hit had a long tail. i lef' mah daddy en kum ter nashville wid missis nellie rankin, (daddy's young missus) in ; hab bin 'yer eber since. i'se dun house wuk fer a lot ob peeples. kep house fer a 'oman in belle meade fer ye'rs. now i'se aint able ter do nothin. i'se bin ma'ried twice. ma'ried jimm ferguson, libed wid 'im ye'ars he d'ed. two ye'ars later i mar'ed george watkins, lived wid him ye'ars; two ye'ars ago he died. i'se neber had any chilluns. i kep wan'in ter 'dopt a lettle gal, de fust husban' wouldn't do hit. 'bout - / ye'ars ago de second husban' george kum in wid a tiny baby, sezs 'yer ez a boy baby i 'dopted. i sezs dat ez you own baby cose hits jes like yer. he denied hit, but eben now de boy ez e'zackly lak george. he's six ye'rs ole en gwine ter school. i'se got mah hands full tryin' ter raise 'im 'lone. w'en george died he had a small inshorance policy. i paid mah taxes, i owns dis home, en bought mahself three hogs. i sold two en kilt one. den i got three mor' jes' a short time ago. sum kind ob zeeze got among dem en dey all d'ed. yas i'se voted four er five times, but neber had any frens in office. i don' think dis white-black mar'iage should be 'lowed. dey should be whupped wid a bull whup. as far as i know de ex-slaves hab wuked at diff'ent kins ob jobs en now sum i know ez in de po-house, sum git' in relief order en urthers ez lak mahself, hab dere homes en gettin' 'long bes' dey kin. i needs milk en cod liver oil fer dis lettle boy but can't buy it. i dunno nothin' 'bout slave uprisin's. de songs i member ez: "all gawds chilluns up yonder." "i want ter shout salvation." "down by de river side." interview narcissus young rear st street no. nashville, tennessee "i'se y'ars ole. bawn in slavery en mah marster wuz isham lamb en mah missis wuz martha lamb. mah mammy d'ed w'en i wuz three y'ars ole en i wuz raised in de house 'til i wuz big 'nuff ter wuk out in de fiels wid de uthers. mah missis l'arn me ter sew, weav en spin. i also he'lped ter cook en wuk in de house. atter i got big'er i went ter chuch wid mah white folks en had ter set wid urther slaves in dat part ob de chuch whar nobody but slaves would be 'lowed. in slavery i'se git no money fer wuk'n but i don' steal as mah white folks sho gib me en de uther slaves plenty good things ter eat. clothes good 'nuff fer anybody, candy, en we went ter parties en urther places, en w'at else could i'se wan'?" "mah missis l'arned me ter pray, "now i lay me down ter sleep. i pray de lawd mah soul ter keep, but if i should die 'fore i wake, i pray de lawd mah soul ter tek." i jined de primitive baptist chuch w'ile young en b'en dere ebe'y since." "i member de ole song back dere, "rock a bye baby, yo daddy's gon' a huntin' ter git a rabbit skin ter put de baby in." "i wuz whup'd by mah missis fer things dat i ought'n dun, but dat wuz rite. de hahdest whup'in she eber gib me wuz 'bout two hen aigs. i had gathured de aigs in a bucket en tuk dem ter de house en i se'd de big fier in de fier-place so i tuk out two ob de aigs en put dem in de hot ashes ter bake. mah missis se'd de aigs en axed who put dem dere. i tole her i didunt do hit, but she knowed i did. so she tole me she don' keer 'bout de two aigs, but dat she wuz gwine ter whup me fer tellin' a lie. dey don't raise chilluns lak dat now." "i don't b'leeve in niggers en whites ma'rin' en i wuz raised by de "quality" en i'se b'leeves eber one should ma'rie in dere culor." "i think de young peeples ob ter day ez dogs en sluts, en yer kin guess de rest." "one day 'bout o'clock we se'd de yankee soldiers pas' our house. de missus hid her fine things, but dey don' kum on de place. all us niggers run ter de cellar en hid. we found de sugah barrels en we scracht 'round fer sum sugah ter eat." "one time de ku klux klan kum ter our house but dey harm nobody. guess day wuz lookin' fer sum slave er sum one fum 'nother plantation widout dere marster's pass." "i se'd a lot ob sta'rs fall one time but dey neber teched de groun'. en i members seein' a comet wid a long bright shinin' tail." "atter freedom all de slaves lef' de plantation but i stayed dere a long time. i kum ter nashville ovah thurty y'ars ago en i'se wuk'd as cook en house wuk'r twenty y'ars fer one party; eleben y'ars fer 'nother, en menny y'ars fer 'nother. i knows you won't b'leeve me but at one time i weigh ovuh pounds, but now i'm nothin' but skin en bon'. (she weighs at least pounds now). i bekum feeble en couldn't wuk out, en eber since den i'se bin kum' up a mountain, but now i git he'ps by de social security." * * * * * transcriber's notes corrected the typos per handwritten instructions. the inconsistencies in spelling and punctuation have been left as in the original text, except for adding the missing opening and closing quotation marks for consistency in certain interviews. one word at the bottom of page was illegible, but upon careful examination at high magnification, and considering that the other interviewers asked whether families were divided, my best guess is the word may be men: nebber knowed ob any plantashuns men be divided. none by the library of congress, manuscript division [tr: ***] = transcriber note [hw: ***] = handwritten note [illustration: old slave, peter dunn] slave narratives a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress illustrated with photographs washington volume v indiana narratives prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of indiana informants arnold, george w. [tr: with professor w.s. best and samuel bell] ash, thomas, and crane, mary barber, rosa blakeley, mittie boone, carl bowman, julia boyce, angie boysaw, edna bracey, callie [tr: daughter of louise terrell] buckner, dr. george washington burns, george taylor butler, belle [tr: daughter of chaney mayer] carter, joseph william cave, ellen cheatam, harriet childress, james colbert, sarah cooper, frank [tr: son of mandy cooper] edmunds, rev. h.h. eubanks, john [tr: and family] fields, john w. fortman, george [tr: and other interested citizens] gibson, john henry guwn, betty [tr: reported by mrs. hattie cash, daughter] hockaday, mrs. howard, robert hume, matthew jackson, henrietta johnson, lizzie jones, betty jones, nathan lennox, adeline rose lewis, thomas locke, sarah h. [tr: daughter of wm. a. and priscilla taylor] mckinley, robert miller, richard moorman, rev. henry clay morgan, america morrison, george mosely, joseph [tr: also reported as moseley in text of interview] patterson, amy elizabeth preston, mrs. quinn, william m. richardson, candus robinson, joe rogers, rosaline rollins, parthena rudd, john samuels, amanda elizabeth simms, jack slaughter, billy smith, mr. and mrs. alex stone, barney suggs, adah isabelle sutton, katie thompson, george wamble (womble), rev. watson, samuel whallen, nancy whitted, anderson woodson, alex illustrations mary crane [tr: not in original index] john w. fields anderson whitted [tr: federal writer anna pritchett annotated her interviews by marking each paragraph to indicate whether the information was obtained from the respondent (a) or was a comment by the interviewer (b). since the information was presented in sequence, it is presented here without these markings, with the interviewer's remarks set apart by the topic heading 'interviewer's comment'.] [tr: information listed separately as references, such as informant names and addresses, has been incorporated into the interview headers. in some cases, information has been rearranged for readability. names in brackets were drawn from text of interviews.] ex-slave stories district no. vanderburgh county lauana creel an unhappy experience [george w. arnold] this is written from an interview with each of the following: george w. arnold, professor w.s. best of the lincoln high school and samuel bell, all of evansville, indiana. george w. arnold was born april , , in bedford county, tennessee. he was the property of oliver p. arnold, who owned a large farm or plantation in bedford county. his mother was a native of rome, georgia, where she remained until twelve years of age, when she was sold at auction. oliver arnold bought her, and he also purchased her three brothers and one uncle. the four negroes were taken along with other slaves from georgia to tennessee where they were put to work on the arnold plantation. on this plantation george w. arnold was born and the child was allowed to live in a cabin with his relatives and declares that he never heard one of them speak an unkind word about master oliver arnold or any member of his family. "happiness and contentment and a reasonable amount of food and clothes seemed to be all we needed," said the now white-haired man. only a limited memory of civil war days is retained by the old man but the few events recalled are vividly described by him. "mother, my young brother, my sister and i were walking along one day. i don't remember where we had started but we passed under the fort at wartrace. a battle was in progress and a large cannon was fired above us and we watched the huge ball sail through the air and saw the smoke of the cannon pass over our heads. we poor children were almost scared to death but our mother held us close to her and tried to comfort us. the next morning, after, we were safely at home ... we were proud we had seen that much of the great battle and our mother told us the war was to give us freedom." "did your family rejoice when they were set free?" was the natural question to ask uncle george. "i cannot say that they were happy, as it broke up a lot of real friendships and scattered many families. mother had a great many pretty quilts and a lot of bedding. after the negroes were set free, mars. arnold told us we could all go and make ourselves homes, so we started out, each of the grown persons loaded with great bundles of bedding, clothing and personal belongings. we walked all the way to wartrace to try to find a home and some way to make a living." george w. arnold remembers seeing many soldiers going to the pike road on their way to murfreesboro. "long lines of tired men passed through guy's gap on their way to murfreesboro," said he. "older people said that they were sent out to pick up the dead from the battle fields after the bloody battle of stone's river that had lately been fought at murfreesboro. they took their comrades to bury them at the union cemetery near the town of murfreesboro." "wartrace was a very nice place to make our home. it was located on the nashville and chattanooga and st. louis railroad, just fifty-one miles from nashville not many miles from our old home. mother found work and we got along very well but as soon as we children were old enough to work, she went back to her old home in georgia where a few years later she died. i believe she lived to be seventy-five or seventy six years of age, but i never saw her after she went back to georgia." "my first work was done on a farm (there are many fine farms in tennessee) and although farm labor was not very profitable we were always fed wherever we worked and got some wages. then i got a job on the railroad. our car was side tracked at a place called silver springs," said uncle george, "and right at that place came trouble that took the happiness out of my life forever." here the story teller paused to collect his thoughts and conquer the nervous twitching of his lips. "it was like this: three of us boys worked together. we were like three brothers, always sharing our fortunes with each other. we should never have done it, but we had made a habit of sending to nashville after each payday and having a keg of holland rum sent in by freight. this liquor was handed out among our friends and sometimes we drank too much and were unfit for work for a day or two. our boss was a big strong irishman, red haired and friendly. he always got drunk with us and all would become sober enough to soon return to our tasks." "the time i'm telling you about, we had all been invited to a candy pulling in town and could hardly wait till time to go, as all the young people of the valley would be there to pull candy, talk, play games and eat the goodies served to us. the accursed keg of holland rum had been brought in that morning and my chum john sims had been drinking too much. about that time our boss came up and said, 'john, it is time for you to get the supper ready!' john was our cook and our meals were served on the caboose where we lived wherever we were side tracked." "all the time johny was preparing the food he was drinking the rum. when we went in he had many drinks inside of him and a quart bottle filled to take to the candy pull. 'hurry up boys and let's finish up and go' he said impatiently. 'don't take him' said the other boy, 'dont you see he is drunk?' so i put my arms about his shoulders and tried to tell him he had better sleep a while before we started. the poor boy was a breed. his mother was almost white and his father was a thoroughbred indian and the son had a most aggravating temper. he made me no answer but running his hand into his pocket, he drew out his knife and with one thrust, cut a deep gash in my neck. a terrible fight followed. i remember being knocked over and my head stricking something. i reached out my hand and discovered it was the ax. with this awful weapon i struck my friend, my more than brother. the thud of the ax brought me to my senses as our blood mingled. we were both almost mortally wounded. the boss came in and tried to do something for our relief but john said, 'oh, george? what an awful thing we have done? we have never said a cross word to each other and now, look at us both.'" "i watched poor john walk away, darkness was falling but early in the morning my boss and i followed a trail of blood down by the side of the tracks. from there he had turned into the woods. we could follow him no further. we went to all the nearby towns and villages but we found no person who had ever seen him. we supposed he had died in the woods and watched for the buzzards, thinking thay would lead us to his body but he was never seen again." "for two years i never sat down to look inside a book nor to eat my food that john sims was not beside me. he haunted my pillow and went beside me night and day. his blood was on my hands, his presence haunted me beyond endurance. what could i do? how could i escape this awful presence? an old friend told me to put water between myself and the place where the awful scene occurred. so, i quit working on the railroad and started working on the river. people believed at that time that the ghost of a person you had wronged would not cross water to haunt you." life on the river was diverting. things were constantly happening and george arnold put aside some of his unhappiness by engaging in river activities. "my first job on the river was as a roust-about on the bolliver h cook a stern wheel packet which carried freight and passengers from nashville, tennessee to evansville, indiana. i worked a round trip on her and then went from nashville to cairo, illinois on the b.s. rhea. i soon decided to go to cairo and take a place on the eldarado, a st. louis and cincinnati packet which crused from cairo to cincinnati. on that boat i worked as a roust-about for nearly three years." "what did the roust-about have to do?" asked a neighbor lad who had come into the room. "the roust-about is no better than the mate that rules him. if the mate is kindly disposed the roust-about has an easy enough life. the negroes had only a few years of freedom and resented cruelty. if the mate became too mean, a regular fight would follow and perhaps several roust-abouts would be hurt before it was finished." uncle george said that food was always plentiful on the boats. passengers and freight were crowded together on the decks. at night there would be singing and dancing and fiddle music. "we roust-abouts would get together and shoot craps, dance or play cards until the call came to shuffle freight, then we would all get busy and the mate's voice giving orders could be heard for a long distance." "in spite of these few pleasures, the life of a roust-about is the life of a dog. i do not recall any unkindnesses of slavery days. i was too young to realize what it was all about, but it could never have equalled the cruelty shown the laborer on the river boats by cruel mates and overseers." another superstition advanced itself in the story of a boat, told by uncle george arnold. the story follows: "when i was a roust-about on the gold dust we were sailing out from new orleans and as soon as we got well out on the broad stream the rats commenced jumping over board. 'see these rats' said an old river man, 'this boat will never make a return trip!'" "at every port some of our crew left the boat but the mate and the captain said they were all fools and begged us to stay. so a few of us stayed to do the necessary work but the rats kept leaving as fast as they could." "when the boat was nearing hickman, kentucky, we smelled fire, and by the time we were in the harbor passengers were being held to keep them from jumping overboard. then the captain told us boys to jump into the water and save ourselves. two of us launched a bale of cotton overboard and jumped onto it. as we paddled away we had to often go under to put out the fires as our clothing would blaze up under the flying brands that fell upon our bodies." "the burning boat was docked at hickman. the passengers were put ashore but none of the freight was saved, and from a nearby willow thicket my matey and i watched the gold dust burn to the water's edge." "always heed the warnings of nature," said uncle george, "if you see rats leaving a ship or a house prepare for a fire." george w. arnold said that evansville was quite a nice place and a steamboat port even in the early days of his boating experiences and he decided to make his home here. he located in the town in . "the court house was located at third and main streets. street cars were mule drawn and people thought it great fun to ride them." he recalls the first shovel full of dirt being lifted when the new courthouse was being erected, and when it was finished two white men finishing the slate roof, fell to their death in the court house yard. george w. arnold procured a job as porter in a wholesale feed store on may , . john hubbard and company did business at the place, at this place he worked thirty seven years. f.w. griese, former mayor of evansville has often befriended the negro man and is ready to speak a kindly word in his praise. but the face of john sims still presents itself when george arnold is alone. "never do anything to hurt any other person," says he, "the hurt always comes back to you." george arnold was married to an evansville woman, but two years ago he became a widower when death claimed his mate. he is now lonely, but were it not for a keg of holland gin his old age would be spent in peace and happiness. "beware of strong drink," said uncle george, "it causes trouble." emery turner district # lawrence county bedford, indiana reminiscences of two ex-slaves thomas ash, mitchell, ind. mrs. mary crane, warren st., mitchell, ind. [thomas ash] i have no way of knowing exactly how old i am, as the old bible containing a record of my birth was destroyed by fire, many years ago, but i believe i am about eighty-one years old. if so, i must have been born sometime during the year, , four years before the outbreak of the war between the states. my mother was a slave on the plantation, or farm of charles ash, in anderson county, kentucky, and it was there that i grew up. i remember playing with ol' massa's (as he was called) boys, charley, jim and bill. i also have an unpleasant memory of having seen other slaves on the place, tied up to the whipping post and flogged for disobeying some order although i have no recollection of ever having been whipped myself as i was only a boy. i can also remember how the grown-up negroes on the place left to join the union army as soon as they learned of lincoln's proclamation making them free men. ed. note--mr. ash was sick when interviewed and was not able to do much talking. he had no picture of himself but agreed to pose for one later on. [tr: no photograph found.] [mrs. mary crane] [illustration: mrs. mary crane] i was born on the farm of wattie williams, in and am eighty-two years old. i came to mitchell, indiana, about fifty years ago with my husband, who is now dead and four children and have lived here ever since. i was only a girl, about five or six years old when the civil war broke out but i can remember very well, happenings of that time. my mother was owned by wattie williams, who had a large farm, located in larue county, kentucky. my father was a slave on the farm of a mr. duret, nearby. in those days, slave owners, whenever one of their daughters would get married, would give her and her husband a slave as a wedding present, usually allowing the girl to pick the one she wished to accompany her to her new home. when mr. duret's eldest daughter married zeke samples, she choose my father to accompany them to their home. zeke samples proved to be a man who loved his toddies far better than his bride and before long he was "broke". everything he had or owned, including my father, was to be sold at auction to pay off his debts. in those days, there were men who made a business of buying up negroes at auction sales and shipping them down to new orleans to be sold to owners of cotton and sugar cane plantations, just as men today, buy and ship cattle. these men were called "nigger-traders" and they would ship whole boat loads at a time, buying them up, two or three here, two or three there, and holding them in a jail until they had a boat load. this practice gave rise to the expression, "sold down the river." my father was to be sold at auction, along with all of the rest of zeke samples' property. bob cowherd, a neighbor of matt duret's owned my grandfather, and the old man, my grandfather, begged col. bob to buy my father from zeke samples to keep him from being "sold down the river." col. bob offered what he thought was a fair price for my father and a "nigger-trader" raised his bid " [tr: $ ?]. col. said he couldn't afford to pay that much and father was about to be sold to the "nigger-trader" when his father told col. bob that he had $ saved up and that if he would buy my father from samples and keep the "nigger-trader" from getting him he would give him the money. col. bob cowherd took my grandfather's $ and offered to meet the traders offer and so my father was sold to him. the negroes in and around where i was raised were not treated badly, as a rule, by their masters. there was one slave owner, a mr. heady, who lived nearby, who treated his slave worse than any of the other owners but i never heard of anything so awfully bad, happening to his "niggers". he had one boy who used to come over to our place and i can remember hearing massa williams call to my grandmother, to cook "christine, give heady's doc something to eat. he looks hungry." massa williams always said "heady's doc" when speaking of him or any other slave, saying to call him, for instance, doc heady would sound as if he were mr. heady's own son and he said that wouldn't sound right. when president lincoln issued his proclamation, freeing the negroes, i remember that my father and most all of the other younger slave men left the farms to join the union army. we had hard times then for awhile and had lots of work to do. i don't remember just when i first regarded myself as "free" as many of the negroes didn't understand just what it was all about. ed. note: mrs. crane will also pose for a picture. submitted by: william webb tuttle district no. muncie, indiana slaves in delaware county rosa barber south jefferson muncie, indiana rosa barber was born in slavery on the fox ellison plantation at north carden[tr:?], in north carolina, in the year . she was four [hw: ?] years old when freed, but had not reached the age to be of value as a slave. her memory is confined to that short childhood there and her experiences of those days and immediately after the civil war must be taken from stories related to her by her parents in after years, and these are dimly retained. her maiden name was rosa fox ellison, taken as was the custom, from the slave-holder who held her as a chattel. her parents took her away from the plantation when they were freed and lived in different localities, supported by the father who was now paid american wages. her parents died while she was quite young and she married fox ellison, an ex-slave of the fox ellison plantation. his name was taken from the same master as was hers. she and her husband lived together forty-three years, until his death. nine children were born to them of which only one survives. after this ex-slave husband died rosa ellison married a second time, but this second husband died some years ago and she now remains a widow at the age of seventy-six years. she recalls that the master of the fox ellison plantation was spoken of as practicing no extreme discipline on his slaves. slaves, as a prevailing business policy of the holder, were not allowed to look into a book, or any printed matter, and rosa had no pictures or printed charts given her. she had to play with her rag dolls, or a ball of yarn, if there happened to be enough of old string to make one. any toy or plaything was allowed that did not point toward book-knowledge. nursery rhymes and folk-lore stories were censured severely and had to be confined to events that conveyed no uplift, culture or propaganda, or that conveyed no knowledge, directly or indirectly. especially did they bar the mental polishing of the three r's. they could not prevent the vocalizing of music in the fields and the slaves found consolation there in pouring out their souls in unison with the songs of the birds. federal writers' project of the w.p.a. district # marion county anna pritchett kentucky avenue, indianapolis, indiana folklore mrs. mittie blakeley--ex-slave columbia avenue, indianapolis, indiana mrs. blakeley was born, in oxford, missouri, in . her mother died when mittie was a baby, and she was taken into the "big house" and brought up with the white children. she was always treated very kindly. her duties were the light chores, which had to be well done, or she was chided, the same as the white children would have been. every evening the children had to collect the eggs. the child, who brought in the most eggs, would get a ginger cake. mittie most always got the cake. her older brothers and sisters were treated very rough, whipped often and hard. she said she hated to think, much less talk about their awful treatment. when she was old enough, she would have to spin the wool for her mistress, who wove the cloth to make the family clothes. she also learned to knit, and after supper would knit until bedtime. she remembers once an old woman slave had displeased her master about something. he had a pit dug, and boards placed over the hole. the woman was made to lie on the boards, face down, and she was beaten until the blood gushed from her body; she was left there and bled to death. she also remembers how the slaves would go to some cabin at night for their dances; if one went without a pass, which often they did, they would be beaten severely. the slaves could hear the overseers, riding toward the cabin. those, who had come without a pass, would take the boards up from the floor, get under the cabin floor, and stay there until the overseers had gone. interviewer's comment mrs. blakeley is very serious and said she felt so sorry for those, who were treated so such worse than any human would treat a beast. she lives in a very comfortable clean house, and said she was doing "very well." submitted january , indianapolis, indiana submitted by: robert c. irvin district no. noblesville, ind. slaves in madison county carl boone anderson, indiana this is a story of slavery, told by carl boone about his father, his mother and himself. carl is the last of eighteen children born to mrs. stephen boone, in marion county, kentucky, sept. , . he now resides with his children at west th street, anderson, madison county, indiana. at the ripe old age of eighty-seven, he still has a keen memory and is able to do a hard day's work. carl boone was born a free man, fifteen years before the close of the civil war, his father having gained his freedom from slavery in . he is a religious man, having missed church service only twice in twenty years. he was treated well during the time of slavery in the southland, but remembers well, the wrongs done to slaves on neighboring plantations, and in this story he relates some of the horrors which happened at that time. like his father, he is also the father of eighteen children, sixteen of whom are still living. he is grandfather of thirty-seven and great grandfather of one child. his father was born in the slave state of maryland, in , and died in . his mother was born in marion county, kentucky, in , and died in , at the age of one hundred and fifteen years. this story, word by word, is related by carl boone as follows: "my name is carl boone, son of stephen and rachel boone, born in marion county, kentucky, in . i am father of eighteen children sixteen are still living and i am grandfather of thirty-seven and great grandfather of one child. i came with my wife, now deceased, to indiana, in , and now reside at west th street in anderson, indiana. i was born a free man, fifteen years before the close of the civil war. all the colored folk on plantations and farms around our plantation were slaves and most of them were terribly mistreated by their masters. after coming to indiana, i farmed for a few years, then moved to anderson. i became connected with the colored catholic church and have tried to live a christian life. i have only missed church service twice in twenty years. i lost my dear wife thirteen years ago and i now live with my son. my father, stephen boone, was born in maryland, in . he was bought by a nigger buyer while a boy and was sold to miley boone in marion county, kentucky. father was what they used to call "a picked slave," was a good worker and was never mistreated by his master. he married my mother in , and they had eighteen children. master miley boone gave father and mother their freedom in , and gave them forty acres of land to tend as their own. he paid father for all the work he did for him after that, and was always very kind to them. my mother was born in slavery, in marion county, kentucky, in . she was treated very mean until she married my father in . with him she gained her freedom in . i was the last born of her eighteen children. she was a good woman and joined church after coming to indiana and died in , living to be one hundred and fifteen years old. i have heard my mother tell of a girl slave who worked in the kitchen of my mother's master. the girl was told to cook twelve eggs for breakfast. when the eggs were served, it was discovered there were eleven eggs on the table and after being questioned, she admitted that she had eaten one. for this, she was beaten mercilessly, which was a common sight on that plantation. the most terrible treatment of any slave, is told by my father in a story of a slave on a neighboring plantation, owned by daniel thompson. "after committing a small wrong, master thompson became angry, tied his slave to a whipping post and beat him terribly. mrs. thompson begged him to quit whipping, saying, 'you might kill him,' and the master replied that he aimed to kill him. he then tied the slave behind a horse and dragged him over a fifty acre field until the slave was dead. as a punishment for this terrible deed, master thompson was compelled to witness the execution of his own son, one year later. the story is as follows: a neighbor to mr. thompson, a slave owner by name of kay van cleve, had been having some trouble with one of his young male slaves, and had promised the slave a whipping. the slave was a powerful man and mr. van cleve was afraid to undertake the job of whipping him alone. he called for help from his neighbors, daniel thompson and his son donald. the slave, while the thompsons were coming, concealed himself in a horse-stall in the barn and hid a large knife in the manger. after the arrival of the thompsons, they and mr. van cleve entered the stall in the barn. together, the three white men made a grab for the slave, when the slave suddenly made a lunge at the elder mr. thompson with the knife, but missed him and stabbed donald thompson. the slave was overpowered and tied, but too late, young donald was dead. the slave was tried for murder and sentenced to be hanged. at the time of the hanging, the first and second ropes used broke when the trap was sprung. for a while the executioner considered freeing the slave because of his second failure to hang him, but the law said, "he shall hang by the neck until dead," and the third attempt was successful." federal writers' project of the w.p.a. district # marion county anna pritchett kentucky avenue, indianapolis, indiana folklore mrs. julia bowman--ex-slave north west street, indianapolis, indiana mrs. bowman was born in woodford county, kentucky in . her master, joel w. twyman was kind and generous to all of his slaves, and he had many of them. the twyman slaves were always spoken of, as the twyman "kinfolks." all slaves worked hard on the large farm, as every kind of vegetation was raised. they were given some of everything that grew on the farm, therefore there was no stealing to get food. the master had his own slaves, and the mistress had her own slaves, and all were treated very kindly. mrs. bowman was taken into the twyman "big house," at the age of six, to help the mistress in any way she could. she stayed in the house until slavery was abolished. after freedom, the old master was taken very sick and some of the former slaves were sent for, as he wanted some of his "kinfolks" around him when he died. interviewer's comment mrs. bowman was given the twyman family bible where her birth is recorded with the rest of the twyman family. she shows it with pride. mrs. bowman said she never knew want in slave times, as she has known it in these times of depression. submitted january , indianapolis, indiana wm. r. mays dist johnson co. angie boyce born in slavery, mar. , on the breeding plantation, adair co. ky. mrs. angie boyce here makes mention of facts as outlined to her by her mother, mrs. margaret king, deceased. mrs. angie boyce was born in slavery, mar. , , on the breeding plantation, adair county, kentucky. her parents were henry and margaret king who belonged to james breeding, a methodist minister who was kind to all his slaves and no remembrance of his having ever struck one of them. it is said that the slaves were in constant dread of the rebel soldiers and when they would hear of their coming they would hide the baby "angie" and cover her over with leaves. the mother of angie was married twice; the name of her first husband was stines and that of her second husband was henry king. it was henry king who bought his and his wife's freedom. he sent his wife and baby angie to indiana, but upon their arrival they were arrested and returned to kentucky. they were placed in the louisville jail and lodged in the same cell with large brutal and drunken irish woman. the jail was so infested with bugs and fleas that the baby angie cryed all night. the white woman crazed with drink became enraged at the cries of the child and threatened to "bash its brains out against the wall if it did not stop crying". the mother, mrs. king was forced to stay awake all night to keep the white woman from carrying out her threat. the next morning the negro mother was tried in court and when she produced her free papers she was asked why she did not show these papers to the arresting officers. she replied that she was afraid that they would steal them from her. she was exonerated from all charges and sent back to indiana with her baby. mrs. angie boyce now resides at w. madison st., franklin, ind. special assignment walter r. harris district # clay county life story of ex-slave mrs. edna boysaw mrs. boysaw has been a citizen of this community about sixty-five years. she resides on a small farm, two miles east of brazil on what is known as the pinkley street road. this has been her home for the past forty years. her youngest son and the son of one of her daughters lives with her. she is still very active, doing her housework and other chores about the farm. she is very intelligent and according to statements made by other citizens has always been a respected citizen in the community, as also has her entire family. she is the mother of twelve children. mrs. boysaw has always been an active church worker, spending much time in missionary work for the colored people. her work was so outstanding that she has been often called upon to speak, not only in the colored churches, but also in white churches, where she was always well received. many of the most prominent people of the community number mrs. boysaw as one of their friends and her home is visited almost daily by citizens in all walks of life. her many acts of kindness towards her neighbors and friends have endeared her to the people of brazil, and because of her long residence in the community, she is looked upon as one of the pioneers. mrs. boysaw's husband has been dead for thirty-five years. her children are located in various cities throughout the country. she has a daughter who is a talented singer, and has appeared on programs with her daughter in many churches. she is not certain about her age, but according to her memory of events, she is about eighty-seven. her story as told to the writer follows: "when the civil war ended, i was living near richmond, virginia. i am not sure just how old i was, but i was a big, flat-footed woman, and had worked as a slave on a plantation. my master was a good one, but many of them were not. in a way, we were happy and contented, working from sun up to sun down. but when lincoln freed us, we rejoiced, yet we knew we had to seek employment now and make our own way. wages were low. you worked from morning until night for a dollar, but we did not complain. about a mr. masten, who was a coal operator, came to richmond seeking laborers for his mines in clay county. he told us that men could make four to five dollars a day working in the mines, going to work at seven and quitting at : each day. that sounded like a paradise to our men folks. big money and you could get rich in little time. but he did not tell all, because he wanted the men folk to come with him to indiana. three or four hundred came with mr. masten. they were brought in box cars. mr. masten paid their transportation, but was to keep it out of their wages. my husband was in that bunch, and the women folk stayed behind until their men could earn enough for their transportation to indiana." "when they arrived about four miles east of brazil, or what was known as harmony, the train was stopped and a crowd of white miners ordered them not to come any nearer brazil. then the trouble began. our men did not know of the labor trouble, as they were not told of that part. here they were fifteen hundred miles from home, no money. it was terrible. many walked back to virginia. some went on foot to illinois. mr. masten took some of them south of brazil about three miles, where he had a number of company houses, and they tried to work in his mine there. but many were shot at from the bushes and killed. guards were placed about the mine by the owner, but still there was trouble all the time. the men did not make what mr. masten told them they could make, yet they had to stay for they had no place to go. after about six months, my husband who had been working in that mine, fell into the shaft and was injured. he was unable to work for over a year. i came with my two children to take care of him. we had only a little furniture, slept in what was called box beds. i walked to brazil each morning and worked at whatever i could get to do. often did three washings a day and then walked home each evening, a distance of two miles, and got a dollar a day. "many of the white folks i worked for were well to do and often i would ask the mistress for small amounts of food which they would throw out if left over from a meal. they did not know what a hard time we were having, but they told me to take home any of such food that i cared to. i was sure glad to get it, for it helped to feed our family. often the white folks would give me other articles which i appreciated. i managed in this way to get the children enough to eat and later when my husband was able to work, we got along very well, and were thankful. after the strike was settled, things were better. my husband was not afraid to go out after dark. but the coal operators did not treat the colored folks very good. we had to trade at the company store and often pay a big price for it. but i worked hard and am still alive today, while all the others are gone, who lived around here about that time. there has sure been a change in the country. the country was almost a wilderness, and where my home is today, there were very few roads, just what we called a pig path through the woods. we used lots of corn meal, cooked beans and raised all the food we could during them days. but we had many white friends and sure was thankful for them. here i am, and still thankful for the many friends i have." federal writers' project of the w.p.a. district # marion county anna pritchett kentucky avenue, indianapolis, indiana folklore mrs. callie bracey--daughter [of louise terrell] blake street mrs. callie bracey's mother, louise terrell, was bought, when a child, by andy ramblet, a farmer, near jackson, miss. she had to work very hard in the fields from early morning until as late in the evening, as they could possibly see. no matter how hard she had worked all day after coming in from the field, she would have to cook for the next day, packing the lunch buckets for the field hands. it made no difference how tired she was, when the horn was blown at a.m., she had to go into the field for another day of hard work. the women had to split rails all day long, just like the men. once she got so cold, her feet seemed to be frozen; when they warmed a little, they had swollen so, she could not wear her shoes. she had to wrap her foot in burlap, so she would be able to go into the field the next day. the ramblets were known for their good butter. they always had more than they could use. the master wanted the slaves to have some, but the mistress wanted to sell it, she did not believe in giving good butter to slaves and always let it get strong before she would let them have any. no slaves from neighboring farms were allowed on the ramblet farm, they would get whipped off as mr. ramblet did not want anyone to put ideas in his slave's heads. on special occasions, the older slaves were allowed to go to the church of their master, they had to sit in the back of the church, and take no part in the service. louise was given two dresses a year; her old dress from last year, she wore as an underskirt. she never had a hat, always wore a rag tied over her head. interviewer's comment mrs. bracey is a widow and has a grandchild living with her. she feels she is doing very well, her parents had so little, and she does own her own home. submitted december , indianapolis, indiana ex-slave stories district # vanderburgh county lauana creel a slave, ambassador and city doctor [dr. george washington buckner] this paper was prepared after several interviews had been obtained with the subject of this sketch. dr. george washingtin [tr: washington] buckner, tall, lean, whitehaired, genial and alert, answered the call of his door bell. although anxious to oblige the writer and willing to grant an interview, the life of a city doctor is filled with anxious solicitation for others and he is always expecting a summons to the bedside of a patient or a professional interview has been slated. dr. buckner is no exception and our interviews were often disturbed by the jingle of the door bell or a telephone call. dr. buckner's conversation lead in ever widening circles, away from the topic under discussion when the events of his own life were discussed, but he is a fluent speaker and a student of psychology. psychology as that philosophy relates to the mental and bodily tendencies of the african race has long since become one of the major subjects with which this unusual man struggles. "why is the negro?" is one of his deepest concerns. dr. buckner's first recollections center within a slave cabin in kentucky. the cabin was the home of his step-father, his invalid mother and several children. the cabin was of the crudest construction, its only windows being merely holes in the cabin wall with crude bark shutters arranged to keep out snow and rain. the furnishings of this home consisted of a wood bedstead upon which a rough straw bed and patchwork quilts provided meager comforts for the invalid mother. a straw bed that could be pushed under the bed-stead through the day was pulled into the middle of the cabin at night and the wearied children were put to bed by the impatient step-father. the parents were slaves and served a master not wealthy enough to provide adaquately for their comforts. the mother had become invalidate through the task of bearing children each year and being deprived of medical and surgical attention. the master, mr. buckner, along with several of his relatives had purchased a large tract of land in green county, kentucky and by a custom or tradition as dr. buckner remembers; land owners that owned no slaves were considered "po' white trash" and were scarcely recognized as citizens within the state of kentucky. another tradition prevailed, that slave children should be presented to the master's young sons and daughters and become their special property even in childhood. adherring to that tradition the child, george washington buckner became the slave of young "mars" dickie buckner, and although the two children were nearly the same age the little mulatto boy was obedient to the wishes of the little master. indeed, the slave child cared for the caucasian boy's clothing, polished his boots, put away his toys and was his playmate and companion as well as his slave. sickness and suffering and even death visits alike the just and the unjust, and the loving sympathetic slave boy witnessed the suffering and death of his little white friend. then grief took possession of the little slave, he could not bear the sight of little dick's toys nor books not [tr: nor?] clothing. he recalls one harrowing experience after the death of little dick buckner. george's grandmother was a housekeeper and kitchen maid for the white family. she was in the kitchen one late afternoon preparing the evening meal. the master had taken his family for a visit in the neighborhood and the mulatto child sat on the veranda and recalled pleasanter days. a sudden desire seized him to look into the bed room where little mars dickie had lain in the bed. the evening shadows had fallen, exagerated by the influence of trees, and vines, and when he placed his pale face near the window pane he thought it was the face of little dickie looking out at him. his nerves gave away and he ran around the house screaming to his grandmother that he had seen dickie's ghost. the old colored woman was sympathetic, dried his tears, then with tears coursing down her own cheeks she went about her duties. george firmly believed he had seen a ghost and never really convinced himself against the idea until he had reached the years of manhood. he remembers how the story reached the ears of the other slaves and they were terrorized at the suggestion of a ghost being in the master's home. "that is the way superstitions always started" said the doctor, "some nervous persons received a wrong impression and there were always others ready to embrace the error." dr. buckner remembers that when a young daughter of his master married, his sister was given to her for a bridal gift and went away from her own mother to live in the young mistress' new home. "it always filled us with sorrow when we were separated either by circumstances of marriage or death. although we were not properly housed, properly nourished nor properly clothed we loved each other and loved our cabin homes and were unhappy when compelled to part." "there are many beautiful spots near the green river and our home was situated near greensburgh, the county seat of dreen [tr: green?] county." the area occupied by mr. buckner and his relatives is located near the river and the meanderings of the stream almost formed a peninsula covered with rich soil. buckner's hill relieved the landscape and clear springs bubled through crevices affording much water for household use and near those springs white and negro children met to enjoy themselves. "forty years after i left greensburg i went back to visit the springs and try to meet my old friends. the friends had passed away, only a few merchants and salespeople remembered my ancestors." a story told by dr. buckner relates an evening at the beginning of the civil war. "i had heard my parents talk of the war but it did not seem real to me until one night when mother came to the pallet where we slept and called to us to 'get up and tell our uncles good-bye.' then four startled little children arose. mother was standing in the room with a candle or a sort of torch made from grease drippings and old pieces of cloth, (these rude candles were in common use and afforded but poor light) and there stood her four brothers, jacob, john, bill, and isaac all with the light of adventure shining upon their mulatto countenances. they were starting away to fight for their liberties and we were greatly impressed." dr. buckner stated that officials thought jacob entirely too aged to enter the service as he had a few scattered white hairs but he remembers he was brawny and unafraid. isaac was too young but the other two uncles were accepted. one never returned because he was killed in battle but one fought throughout the war and was never wounded. he remembers how the white men were indignant because the negroes were allowed to enlist and how mars stanton buckner was forced to hide out in the woods for many months because he had met slave frank buckner and had tried to kill him. frank returned to greensburg, forgave his master and procurred a paper stating that he was at fault, after which stanton returned to active service. "yes, the road has been long. memory brings back those days and the love of my mother is still real to me, god bless her!" relating to the value of an education dr. buckner hopes every caucassian and afro-american youth and maiden will strive to attain great heights. his first efforts to procure knowledge consisted of reciting a.b.s.s [tr: a.b.c.s?] from the mcguffy's [hw: ?] blue backed speller with his unlettered sister for a teacher. in later years he attended a school conducted by the freemen's association. he bought a grammar from a white school boy and studied it at home. when sixteen years of age he was employed to teach negro children and grieves to recall how limited his ability was bound to have been. "when a father considers sending his son or daughter to school, today, he orders catalogues, consults his friends and considers the location and surroundings and the advice of those who have patronized the different schools. he finally decides upon the school that promises the boy or girl the most attractive and comfortable surroundings. when i taught the african children i boarded with an old man whose cabin was filled with his own family. i climbed a ladder leading from the cabin into a dark uncomfortable loft where a comfort and a straw bed were my only conveniences." leaving greensburg the young mulatto made his way to indianapolis where he became acquainted with the first educated negro he had ever met. the negro was robert bruce bagby, then principal of the only school for negroes in indianapolis. "the same old building is standing there today that housed bagby's institution then," he declares. dr. buckner recalls that when he left bagby's school he was so low financially he had to procure a position in a private residence as house boy. this position was followed by many jobs of serving tables at hotels and eating houses, of any and all kinds. while engaged in that work he met colonel albert johnson and his lovely wife, both natives of arkansas and he remembers their congratulations when they learned that he was striving for an education. they advised his entering an educational institution at terre haute. his desire had been to enter that institution of normal training but felt doubtful of succeeding in the advanced courses taught because his advantages had been so limited, but mrs. johnson told him that "god gives his talents to the different species and he would love and protect the negro boy." after studying several years at the terre haute state normal george w. buckner felt assured that he was reasonably prepared to teach the negro youths and accepted the professorship of schools at vincennes, washington and other indiana villages. "i was interested in the young people and anxious for their advancement but the suffering endured by my invalid mother, who had passed into the great beyond, and the memory of little master dickie's lingering illness and untimely death would not desert my consciousness. i determined to take up the study of medical practice and surgery which i did." dr. buckner graduated from the indiana electic medical college in . his services were needed at indianapolis so he practiced medicine in that city for a year, then located at evansville where he has enjoyed an ever increasing popularity on account of his sympathetic attitude among his people. "when i came to evansville," says dr. buckner, "there were seventy white physicians practicing in the area, they are now among the departed. their task was streneous, roads were almost impossible to travel and those brave men soon sacrificed their lives for the good of suffering humanity." dr. buckner described several of the old doctors as "striding [tr: illegible handwritten word above 'striding'] a horse and setting out through all kinds of weather." dr. buckner is a veritable encyclopedia of negro lore. he stops at many points during an interview to relate stories he has gleaned here and there. he has forgotten where he first heard this one or that one but it helps to illustrate a point. one he heard near the end of the war follows, and although it has recently been retold it holds the interest of the listener. "andrew jackson owned an old negro slave, who stayed on at the old home when his beloved master went into politics, became an american soldier and statesman and finally the th president of the united states. the good slave still remained through the several years of the quiet uneventful last years of his master and witnessed his death, which occurred at his home near nashville, tennessee. after the master had been placed under the sod, uncle sammy was seen each day visiting jackson's grave. "do you think president jackson is in heaven?" an acquaintance asked uncle sammy. "if-n he wanted to go dar, he dar now," said the old man. "if-n mars andy wanted to do any thing all hell couldn't keep him from doin' it." dr. buckner believes each negro is confident that he will take himself with all his peculiarities to the land of promise. each physical feature and habitual idiosyncrasy will abide in his redeemed personality. old joe will be there in person with the wrinkle crossing the bridge of his nose and little stephen will wear his wool pulled back from his eyes and each will recognize his fellow man. "what fools we all are," declared dr. buckner. asked his views concerning the different books embraced in the holy bible, dr. buckner, who is a student of the bible said, "i believe almost every story in the bible is an allegory, composed to illustrate some fundemental truth that could otherwise never have been clearly presented only through the medium of an allegory." "the most treacherous impulse of the human nature and the one to be most dreaded is jealousy." with these words the aged negro doctor launched into the expression of his political views. "i'm a democrat." he then explained how he voted for the man but had confidence that his chosen party possesses ability in choosing proper candidates. he is an ardent follower of franklin d. roosevelt and speaks of woodrow wilson with bated breath. through the influence of john w. boehne, sr., and the friendly advice of other influential citizens of evansville dr. buckner was appointed minister to liberia, on woodrow wilson's cabinet, in the year . dr. buckner appreciated the confidence of his friends in appointing him and cherishes the experineces gained while abroad. he noted the expressions of gratitude toward cabinet members by the citizens of that african coast. one albino youth brought an offering of luscious mangoes and desired to see the minister from the united states of america. some natives presented palm oils. "the natives have been made to understand that the united states has given aid to liberia in a financial way and the customs-service of the republic is temporarily administered headed by an american." "a thoroughly civilized negro state does not exist in liberia nor do i believe in any part of west africa. superstition is the interpretation of their religion, their political views are a hodgepodge of unconnected ideas. strength over rules knowledge and jealousy crowds out almost all hope of sympathetic achievement and adjustment." dr. buckner recounted incidents where jealousy was apparent in the behavior of men and women of higher civilizations than the african natives. while voyaging to spain on board a spanish vessel, he witnessed a very refined, polite jewish woman being reduced to tears by the taunts of a spanish officer, on account of her nationality. "jealousy," he said, "protrudes itself into politics, religion and prevents educational achievement." during a political campaign i was compelled to pay a robust negro man to follow me about my professional visits and my social evenings with my friends and family, to prevent meeting physical violence to myself or family when political factions were virtually at war within the area of evansville. the influence of political captains had brought about the dreadful condition and ignorant negroes responded to their political graft, without realizing who had befriended them in need." "the negro youths are especially subject to propoganda of the four-flusher for their home influence is, to say the least, negative. their opportunities limited, their education neglected and they are easily aroused by the meddling influence of the vote-getter and the traitor. i would to god that their eyes might be opened to the light." dr. buckner's influence is mostly exhibited in the sick room, where his presence is introduced in the effort to relieve pain. the gradual rise from slavery to prominence, the many trials encountered along the road has ripened the always sympathetic nature of dr. buckner into a responsive suffer among a suffering people. he has hope that proper influences and sympathetic advice will mould the plastic character of the afro-american youths of the united states into proper citizens and that their immortal souls inherit the promised reward of the redeemed through grace. "receivers of emancipation from slavery and enjoyers of emancipation from sin through the sacrifice of abraham lincoln and jesus christ; why should not the negroes be exalted and happy?" are the words of dr. buckner. note: g.w. buckner was born december st, . the negroes in kentucky expressed it, "in fox huntin' time" one brother was born in "simmon time", one in "sweet tater time," and another in "plantin' time." --negro lore. ex-slave stories district # vanderburgh county lauana creel the life story of george taylor burns [hw: personal interview] ox-carts and flat boats, and pioneer surroundings; crowds of men and women crowding to the rails of river steamboats; gay ladies in holiday attire and gentleman in tall hats, low cut vests and silk mufflers; for the excursion boats carried the gentry of every area. a little negro boy clung to the ragged skirts of a slave mother, both were engrossed in watching the great wheels that ploughed the mississippi river into foaming billows. many boats stopped at gregery's landing, missouri to stow away wood, for many engines were fired with wood in the early days. the burns brothers operated a wood yard at the landing and the work of cutting, hewing and piling wood for the commerce was performed by slaves of the burns plantation. george taylor burns was five years of age and helped his mother all day as she toiled in the wood yards. "the colder the weather, the more hard work we had to do," declares uncle george. george taylor burns, the child of missouri slave parents, recalls the scenes enacted at the burns' wood yards so long ago. he is a resident of evansville, indiana and his snow white hair and beard bear testimony that his days have been already long upon the earth. uncle george remembers the time when his infant hands reached in vain for his mother, the kind and gentle lucy burns: remembers a long cold winter of snow and ice when boats were tied up to their moorings. old master died that winter and many slaves were sold by the heirs, among them was lucy burns. little george clung to his mother but strong hands tore away his clasp. then he watched her cross a distant hill, chained to a long line of departing slaves. george never saw his parents again and although the memory of his mother is vivid he scarcely remembers his father's face. he said, "father was black but my mother was a bright mulatto." nothing impressed the little boy with such unforgettable imagery as the cold which descended upon greogery's landing one winter. motherless, hungry, desolate and unloved, he often cried himself to sleep at night while each day he was compelled to carry wood. one morning he failed to come when the horn was sounded to call the slaves to breakfast. "old missus went to the negro quarters to see what was wrong" and "she was horrified when she found i was frozen to the bed." she carried the small bundle of suffering humanity to the kitchen of her home and placed him near the big oven. when the warmth thawed the frozen child the toes fell from his feet. "old missus told me i would never be strong enough to do hard work, and she had the neighborhood shoemaker fashion shoes too short for any body's feet but mine," said uncle george. uncle george doesn't remember why he left missouri but the sister of greene taylor brought him to troy, indiana. here she learned that she could not own a slave within the state of indiana so she indentured the child to a flat boat captain to wash dishes and wait on the crew of workers. george was so small of stature that the captain had a low table and stool made that he might work in comfort. george's mistress received $ , [tr: $ . ?] per month for the service of the boy for several years. from working on the flat boats george became accustomed to the river and soon received employment as a cabin boy on a steam boat and from that time through out the most active days of his life george taylor burns was a steam-boat man. in fact he declares, "i know steamboats from wood box to stern wheel." "the life of a riverman is a good life and interesting things happen on the river," says uncle george. uncle george has been imprisoned in the big jail at new orleans. he has seen his fellow slaves beaten into insensibility while chained to the whipping post in congo square at new orleans. he was badly treated while a slave but he has witnessed even more cruel treatment administered to his fellow slaves. among other exciting occurrences remembered by the old negro man when he recalls early river adventures is one in which a flat boat sunk near new orleans. after clinging for many hours to the drifting wreckage he was rescued, half dead from exhaustion. in memory, george taylor burns stands in the slave mart at new orleans and hears the auctioneers' hammer, for he was sold like a beast of burden by greene taylor, brother of his mistress. greene taylor, however, had to refund the money and return the slave to his mistress when his crippled feet were discovered. "greene taylor was like many other people i have known. he was always ready to make life unhappy for a negro." uncle george, although possessing an unusual amount of intelligence and ability to learn, has a very limited education. "the negroes were not allowed an education," he relates. "it was dangerous for any person to be caught teaching a negro and several negroes were put to death because they could read." uncle george recalls a few superstitions entertained by the rivermen. "it was bad luck for a white cat to come aboard the boat." "horse shoes were carried for good luck." "if rats left the boat the crew was uneasy, for fear of a wreck." uncle george has very little faith in any superstition but remembers some of the crews had. among other boats on which this old river man was employed are "the atlantic" on which he was cabin boy. the "big gray eagle" on which he assisted in many ways. he worked where boats were being constructed while he lived at new albany. many soldiers were returned to their homes by means of flat boats and steam boats when the civil war had ended and many recruits were sent by water during the war. just after peace was declared george met elizabeth slye, a young slave girl who had just been set free. "liza would come to see her mother who was working on a boat." "people used to come down to the landings to see boats come in," said uncle george. george and liza were free, they married and made new albany their home, until when they came to evansville. uncle george said the eclipse was a beautiful boat, he remembers the lettering in gold and the bright lights and polished rails of the longest steam boat ever built in the west. measuring feet in length and uncle george declares, "for speed she just up and hustled." "louisville was one of the busiest towns in the ohio valley," says uncle george, but he remembers new orleans as the market place where almost all the surplus products were marketed. uncle george has many friends along the water-front towns. he admires the felker family of tell city, indiana. he is proud of his own race and rejoices in their opportunities. he remembers his fear of the ku klux, his horror of the patrol and other clans united to make life dangerous for newly emancipated negroes. george taylor burns draws no old age pension. he owns a building located at canal and evans streets that houses a number of negro families. he is glad to say his credit is good in every market in the city. although lamed by rheumatic pains and hobbling on feet toeless from his young childhood he has led a useful life. "don't forget i knew pilot tom ballard, and aaron ballard on the big eagle in ," warns uncle george. "we negroes carried passes so we could save our skins if we were caught off the boats but we had plenty of good food on the boats." uncle george said the roustabouts sang gay songs while loading boats with heavy freight and provisions but on account of his crippled feet he could not be a roustabout. federal writers' project of the w.p.a. district # marion county anna pritchett kentucky avenue folklore mrs. belle butler--daughter [of chaney mayer] north capitol avenue interviewer's comment belle butler, the daughter of chaney mayer, tells of the hardships her mother endured during her days of slavery. interview chaney was owned by jesse coffer, "a mean old devil." he would whip his slaves for the slightest misdemeanor, and many times for nothing at all--just enjoyed seeing them suffer. many a time jesse would whip a slave, throw him down, and gouge his eyes out. such a cruel act! chaney's sister was also a slave on the coffer plantation. one day their master decided to whip them both. after whipping them very hard, he started to throw them down, to go after their eyes. chaney grabbed one of his hands, her sister grabbed his other hand, each girl bit a finger entirely off of each hand of their master. this, of course, hurt him so very bad he had to stop their punishment and never attempted to whip them again. he told them he would surely put them in his pocket (sell them) if they ever dared to try *anthing like that again in life. not so long after their fight, chaney was given to a daughter of their master, and her sister was given to another daughter and taken to passaic county, n.c. on the next farm to the coffer farm, the overseers would tie the slaves to the joists by their thumbs, whip them unmercifully, then salt their backs to make them very sore. when a slave slowed down on his corn hoeing, no matter if he were sick, or just very tired, he would get many lashes and a salted back. one woman left the plantation without a pass. the overseer caught her and whipped her to death. no slave was ever allowed to look at a book, for fear he might learn to read. one day the old mistress caught a slave boy with a book, she cursed him and asked him what he meant, and what he thought he could do with a book. she said he looked like a black dog with a breast pin on, and forbade him to ever look into a book again. all slaves on the coffer plantation were treated in a most inhuman manner, scarcely having enough to eat, unless they would steal it, running the risk of being caught and receiving a severe beating for the theft. interviewer's comment mrs. butler lives with her daughters, has worked very hard in "her days." she has had to give up almost everything in the last few years, because her eyesight has failed. however, she is very cheerful and enjoys telling the "tales" her mother would tell her. submitted december , indianapolis, indiana ex-slave stories th district vandenburgh county lauana creel slave story joseph william carter this information was gained through an interview with joseph william carter and several of his daughters. the data was cheerfully given to the writer. joseph william carter has lived a long and, he declares, a happy life, although he was born and reared in bondage. his pleasing personality has always made his lot an easy one and his yoke seemed easy to wear. joseph william carter was born prior to the year . his mother, malvina gardner was a slave in the home of mr. gardner until a man named d.b. smith saw her and noticing the physical perfection of the child at once purchased her from her master. malvina was agrieved at being compelled to leave her old home, and her lovely young mistress. puss gardner was fond of the little mullato girl and had taught her to be a useful member of the gardner family; however, she was sold to mr. smith and was compelled to accompany him to his home. both the gardner and smith families lived near gallatin, tennessee, in sumner county. the smith plantation was situated on the cumberland river and commanded a beautiful view of river and valley acres but malvina was very unhappy. she did not enjoy the smith family and longed for her old friends back in the gardner home. one night the little girl gathered together her few personal belongings and started back to her old home. afraid to travel the highway the child followed a path she knew through the forest; but alas, she found the way long and beset with perils. a number of uncivil indians were encamped on the side of the cumberland mountains and a number of the young braves were out hunting that night. their stealthy approach was heard by the little fugitive girl but too late for her to make an escape. an indian called "buck" captured her and by all the laws of the tribe was his own property. she lived for almost a year in the teepe with buck and during that time learned much about indian habits. when malvina was missed from her new home, mr. smith went to the gardner plantation to report his loss, not finding her there a wide search was made for her but the indians kept her thoroughly concealed. miss puss, however, kept up the search. she knew the indians were encamped on the mountain and believed she would find the girl with them. the indians finally broke camp and the members of the gardner home watched them start on their journey and miss puss soon discovered malvina among the other maidens in the procession. the men of the gardner plantation, white and black, overtook the indians and demanded the girl be given up to them. the indians reluctantly gave her to them. miss puss gardner took her back and mr. gardner paid mr. smith the original purchase price and malvina was once more installed in her old home. malvina gardner was not yet twelve years of age when she was captured by the indians and was scarcely thirteen years of age when she became the mother of joseph william, son of the uncivil indian, "buck". the child was born in the gardner home and mother and child remained there. the mother was a good slave and loved the members of the gardner family and her son and she were loved by them in return. puss gardner married a mr. mooney and mr. gardner allowed her to take joseph william to her home. the mooney estate was situated up on the carthridge road and some of joseph william's most vivid memories of slavery and the curse of bondage embrace his life's span with the mooneys. one story that the aged man relates is of an encounter with an eagle and follows: "george irish, a white boy near my own age, was the son of the miller. his father operated a sawmill on bledsoe creek near where it empties into the coumberland river. george and i often went fishing together and had a good dog called hector. hector was as good a coon dog as there was to be found in that part of the country. that day we boys climbed up on the mill shed to watch the swans in bledsoe creek and we soon noticed a great big fish hawk catching the goslings. it made us mad and we decided to kill the hawk. i went back to the house and got an old flint lock rifle mars. mooney had let me carry when we went hunting. when i got back where george was, the big bird was still busy catching goslings. the first shot i fired broke its wing and i decided i would catch it and take it home with me. the bird put up a terrible fight, cutting me with its bill and talons. hector came running and tried to help me but the bird cut him until his howls brought help from the field. mr. jacob greene was passing along and came to us. he tore me away from the bird but i could not walk and the blood was running from my body in dozens of places. poor old hector, was crippled and bleeding for the bird was a big eagle and would have killed both of us if help had not come." the old negro man still shows signs of his encounter with the eagle. he said it was captured and lived about four months in captivity but its wing never healed. the body of the eagle was stuffed with wheat bran, by greene harris, and placed in the court yard in sumner county. "the civil war changed things at the mooney plantation," said the old man. "before the war mr. mooney never had been cruel to me. i was mistress puss's property and she would never have allowed me to be abused, but some of the other slaves endured the most cruel treatment and were worked nearly to death." uncle joe's memory of slavery embraces the whole story of bondage and the helpless position held by strong bodied men and women of a hardy race, overpowered by the narrow ideals of slave owners and cruel overseerers. "when i was a little bitsy child and still lived with mr. gardner," said the old man, "i saw many of the slaves beaten to death. master gardner didn't do any of the whippin' but every few months he sent to mississippi for negro rulers to come to the plantation and whip all the negroes that had not obeyed the overseers. a big barrel lay near the barn and that was always the whippin place." uncle joe remembers two or three professional slave whippers and recalls the death of two of the mississippi whippers. he relates the story as follows: "mars gardner had one of the finest black smiths that i ever saw. his arms were strong, his muscles stood out on his breast and shoulders and his legs were never tired. he stood there and shoed horses and repaired tools day after day and there was no work ever made him tired." the old negro man so vividly described the noble blacksmith that he almost appeared in person, as the story advanced. "i don't know what he had done to rile up mars gardner, but all of us knew that the blacksmith was going to be flogged. when the whippers from mississippi got to the plantation. the blacksmith worked on day and night. all day he was shoein horses and all the spare time he had he was makin a knife. when the whippers got there all of us were brought out to watch the whippin but the blacksmith, jim gardner did not wait to feel the lash, he jumped right into the bunch of overseers and negro whippers and knifed two whippers and one overseer to death; then stuck the sharp knife into his arm and bled to death." suicide seemed the only hope for this man of strength. he could not humble himself to the brutal ordeal of being beaten by the slave whippers. "when the war started, we kept hearing about the soldiers and finally they set up their camp in the forest near us. the corn was ready to bring into the barn and the soldiers told mr. mooney to let the slaves gather it and put it into the barns. some of the soldiers helped gather and crib the corn. i wanted to help but miss puss was afraid they would press me into service and made me hide in the cellar. there was a big keg of apple cider in the cellar and every day miss puss handed down a big plate of fresh ginger snaps right out of the oven, so i was well fixed." the old man remembers that after the corn was in the crib the soldiers turned in their horses to eat what had fallen to the ground. before the soldiers became encamped at the mooney plantation they had camped upon a hill and some skirmishing had occurred. uncle joe remembers the skirmish and seeing cannon balls come over the fields. the cannon balls were chained together and the slave children would run after the missils. sometimes the chains would cut down trees as the balls rolled through the forest. "do you believe in witchcraft?" was asked while interviewing the aged negro. "no" was the answer. "i had a cousin that was a full blooded indian and a voodoo doctor. he got me to help him with his voodoo work. a lot of people both white and black sent for the indian when they were sick. i told him i would do the best i could, if it would help sick people to get well. a woman was sick with rhumatism and he was going to see her. he sent me into the woods to dig up poke roots to boil. he then took the brew to the house where the sick woman lived. had her to put both feet in a tub filled with warm water, into which he had placed the poke root brew. he told the woman she had lizards in her body and he was going to bring them out of her. he covered the woman with a heavy blanket and made her sit for a long time, possibly an hour, with her feet in the tub of poke root brew and water. he had me slip a good many lizards into the tub and when the woman removed her feet, there were the lizards. she was soon well and believed the lizards had come out of her legs. i was disgusted and would not practice with my cousin again." "so you didn't fight in the civil war," was asked uncle joe. "of course i did, when i got old enough i entered the service and barbacued meat until the war closed." barbacueing had been uncle joe's specialty during slavery days and he followed the same profession during his service with the federal army. he was freed by the emancuapation proclamation, and soon met and married sadie scott, former slave of mr. scott, a tennessee planter. sadie only lived a short time after her marriage. he later married amy doolins. her father was named carmuel. he was a blacksmith and after he was free, the countrymen were after him to take his life. he was shot nine times and finally killed himself to prevent meeting death at the hands of the clansmen. joseph william carter is a cripple. in he fell and broke his right thigh-bone and since that time he has walked with a crutch. he stays up quite a lot and is always glad to welcome visitors. he possesses a noble character and is admired by his friends and neighbors. tall, straight, lean of body, his nose is aquiline; these physical characteristics he inherited from his indian ancesters. his gentle nature, wit, and good humor are characteristics handed to him by his mother and fostered by the gentle rearing of his southern mistress. when uncle joe carter celebrated the dth aniversary of his birth a large cake was presented to him, decorated with candles. the party was attended by children and grandchildren, friends and neighbors. "what is your political viewpoint?" was asked the old man. "my politics is my love for my country". "i vote for the man, not the party." uncle joe's religion is the religion of decency and virtue. "i don't want to be hard in my judgement," said he, "but i wish the whole world would be decent. when i was a young man, women wore more clothes in bed than they now wear on the street." "papa has always been a lover of horses but he does not care for automobiles nor aeroplanes," said a daughter of uncle joe. uncle joe has seven daughters, he says they have always been obedient and attentive to their parents. their mother passed away seven years ago. the sons and daughters of uncle joe remember their grand-mother and recall stories recounted by her of her captivity among the indians. "papa had no gray hairs until after mama died. his hair turned gray from grief at her loss," said mrs. della smith, one of his daughters. uncle joe's smile reveals a set of unusually sound teeth from which only one tooth is missing. like all fathers and grandfathers, uncle joe recounts the cute deeds and funny sayings of the little children he has been associated with: how his own children with feather bedecked crowns enacted the capture of their grandmother and often played "voo-doo doctor." uncle joe stresses the value of work, not the enforced labor of the slave but the cheerful toil of free people. he is glad that his sons and daughters are industrious citizens and is proud they maintain clean homes for their families. he is happy because his children have never known bondage, and he respects the laws of his country and appreciates the interest that the citizens of evansville have always showed in the negro race. after uncle joe became a young man he met many indians from the tribe that had held his mother captive. through them he learned much about his father which his mother had never told him. though he was a gardner slave and would have been joseph gardner, he took the name of carter from a step father and is known as joseph carter. grace monroe dist. jefferson county slave story ohio county ex-slave, mrs. ellen cave, relates her experiences assistant editor of "the rising sun recorder" furnished the following story which had appeared in the paper, march , . mrs. cave was in slavery for twelve years before she was freed by the emancipation proclamation. when she gave her story to aubrey robinson she was living in a temporary garage home back of the rising sun courthouse having lost everything in the flood. mrs. cave was born on a plantation in taylor county kentucky. she was the property of a man who did not live up to the popular idea of a southern gentleman, whose slaves refused to leave them, even after their freedom was declared. when she was a year old her mother was sold to someone in louisana and she did not see her again until , when they were re-united in carrolton, kentucky. her father died when she was a baby. mrs. cave told of seeing wagon loads of slaves sold down the river. she, herself was put on the block several times but never actually sold, although she would have preferred being sold rather than the continuation of the ordeal of the block. her master was a "mean man" who drank heavily, he had twenty slaves that he fed now and then, and gave her her freedom after the war only when she would remain silent about it no longer. he was a southern sympathiser but joined the union army where he became a captain and was in charge of a union commissary. finally he was suspected and charged with mustering supplies to the rebels. he was imprisoned for some time, then courtmartialed and sentenced to die. he escaped by bribing his negro guard. mrs. cave said that her master's father had many young women slaves and sold his own half-breed children down the river to louisiana plantations where the work was so severe that the slaves soon died. while in slavery, mrs. cave worked as a maid in the house until she grew older when she was forced to do all kinds of outdoor labor. she remembered sawing logs in the snow all day. in the summer she pitched hay or any other man's work in the field. she was trained to carry three buckets of water at the same time, two in her hands and one on her head and said she could still do it. on this plantation the chief article of food for the slaves was bran-bread, although the master's children were kind and often slipped them out meat or other food. mrs. cave remembered seeing general woolford and general morgan of the southern forces when they made friendly visits to the plantation. she saw general grant twice during the war. she saw soldiers drilling near the plantation. later she was caught and whipped by night riders, or "pat-a-rollers", as she tried to slip out to negro religious meetings. mrs. cave was driven from her plantation two years after the war and came to carrollton [tr: earlier, carrolton] kentucky, where she found her mother and soon married james cave, a former slave on a plantation near hers in taylor county. mrs. cave had thirteen children. for many years mrs. cave has lived on a farm about two and one half mi. south of rising sun. everything she had was washed away in the flood and she lived in the court house garage until her home could be rebuilt. federal writers' project of the w.p.a. district # marion county anna pritchett kentucky avenue folklore mrs. harriet cheatam--ex-slave darnell street interviewer's comment incidents in the life of mrs. cheatam as she told them to me. interview "i was born, in , in gallatin, tennessee, years ago this coming ( ) christmas day." "our master, martin henley, a farmer, was hard on us slaves, but we were happy in spite of our lack." "when i was a child, i didn't have it as hard as some of the children in the quarters. i always stayed in the "big house," slept on the floor, right near the fireplace, with one quilt for my bed and one quilt to cover me. then when i growed up, i was in the quarters." "after the civil war, i went to ohio to cook for general payne. we had a nice life in the general's house." "i remember one night, way back before the civil war, we wanted a goose. i went out to steal one as that was the only way we slaves would have one. i crept very quiet-like, put my hand in where they was and grabbed, and what do you suppose i had? a great big pole cat. well, i dropped him quick, went back, took off all my clothes, dug a hole, and buried them. the next night i went to the right place, grabbed me a nice big goose, held his neck and feet so he couldn't holler, put him under my arm, and ran with him, and did we eat?" "we often had prayer meeting out in the quarters, and to keep the folks in the "big house" from hearing us, we would take pots, turn them down, put something under them, that let the sound go in the pots, put them in a row by the door, then our voices would not go out, and we could sing and pray to our heart's content." "at thanksgiving time we would have pound cake. that was fine. we would take our hands and beat and beat our cake dough, put the dough in a skillet, cover it with the lid and put it in the fireplace. (the covered skillet would act our ovens of today.) it would take all day to bake, but it sure would be good; not like the cakes you have today." "when we cooked our regular meals, we would put our food in pots, slide them on an iron rod that hooked into the fireplace. (they were called pot hooks.) the pots hung right over the open fire and would boil until the food was done." "we often made ash cake. (that is made of biscuit dough.) when the dough was ready, we swept a clean place on the floor of the fireplace, smoothed the dough out with our hands, took some ashes, put them on top of the dough, then put some hot coals on top of the ashes, and just left it. when it was done, we brushed off the coals, took out the bread, brushed off the ashes, child, that was bread." "when we roasted a chicken, we got it all nice and clean, stuffed him with dressing, greased him all over good, put a cabbage leaf on the floor of the fireplace, put the chicken on the cabbage leaf, then covered him good with another cabbage leaf, and put hot coals all over and around him, and left him to roast. that is the best way to cook chicken." mrs. cheatam lives with a daughter, mrs. jones. she is a very small old lady, pleasant to talk with, has a very happy disposition. her eyes, as she said, "have gotten very dim," and she can't piece her quilts anymore. that was the way she spent her spare time. interviewer's comment she has beautiful white hair and is very proud of it. submitted december , indianapolis, indiana ex-slave stories district # vanderburgh county lauana creel james childress' story s.e. fifth street, evansville, indiana from an interview with james childress and from john bell both living at s.e. fifth street, evansville, indiana. known as uncle jimmy by the many children that cluster about the aged man never tiring of his stories of "when i was chile." "when i was a chile my daddy and mamma was slaves and i was a slave," so begins many recounted tales of the long ago. born at nashville, tennessee in the year , uncle jimmie remembers the civil war with the exciting events as related to his own family and the family of james childress, his master. he remembers sorrow expressed in parting tears when "uncle johnie and uncle bob started to war." he recalls happy days when the beautiful valley of the cumberland was abloom with wild flowers and fertile acres were carpeted with blue grass. "a beautiful view could always be enjoyed from the hillsides and there were many pretty homes belonging to the rich citizens. slaves kept the lawns smooth and tended the flowers for miles around nashville, when i was a child," said uncle jimmie. uncle jimmie childress has no knowledge of his master's having practiced cruelty towards any slave. "we was all well fed, well clothed and lived in good cabins. i never got a cross word from mars john in my life," he declared. "when the slaves got their freedom they rejoiced staying up many nights to sing, dance and enjoy themselves, although they still depended on old mars john for food and bed, they felt too excited to work in the fields or care for the stock. they hated to leave their homes but mr. childress told them to go out and make homes for themselves." "mother got work as a housekeeper and kept us all together. uncle bob got home from the war and we lived well enough. i have lived at evansville since , have worked for a good many men and john bell will tell you i have had only friends in the city of evansville." uncle jimmie recalls how the slaves always prayed to god for freedom and the negro preachers always preached about the day when the slaves would be no longer slaves but free and happy. "my people loved god, they sang sacred songs, 'swing low sweet charriot' was one of the best songs they knew". here uncle jimmie sang a stanza of the song and said it related to god's setting the negroes free. "the negroes at mr. childress' place were allowed to learn as much as they could. several of the young men could read and write. our master was a good man and did no harm to anybody." james childress is a black man, small of stature, with crisp wooly dark hair. he is glad he is not mulatto but a thorough blooded negro. federal writers' project of the w.p.a. district # marion county anna pritchett kentucky avenue folklore mrs. sarah colbert--ex-slave north capitol avenue, indianapolis, indiana mrs. sarah carpenter colbert was born in allen county, kentucky in . she was owned by leige carpenter, a farmer. her father, isaac carpenter was the grandson of his master, leige carpenter, who was very kind to him. isaac worked on the farm until the old master's death. he was then sold to jim mcfarland in frankfort kentucky. jim's wife was very mean to the slaves, whipped them regularly every morning to start the day right. one morning after a severe beating, isaac met an old slave, who asked him why he let his mistress beat him so much. isaac laughed and asked him what he could do about it. the old man told him if he would bite her foot, the next time she knocked him down, she would stop beating him and perhaps sell him. the next morning he was getting his regular beating, he willingly fell to the floor, grabbed his mistress' foot, bit her very hard. she tried very hard to pull away from him, he held on still biting, she ran around in the room, isaac still holding on. finally, she stopped beating him and never attempted to strike him again. the next week he was put on the block, being a very good worker and a very strong man, the bids were high. his young master, leige jr., outbid everyone and bought him for $ . . his young mistress was very mean to him. he went again to his old friend for advice. this time he told him to get some yellow dust, sprinkle it around in his mistress' room and if possible, got some in her shoes. this he did and in a short time he was sold again to johnson carpenter in the same county. he was not really treated any better there. by this time he was very tired of being mistreated. he remembered his old master telling him to never let anyone be mean to him. he ran away to his old mistress, told her of his many hardships, and told her what the old master had told him, so she sent him back. at the next sale she bought him, and he lived there until slavery was abolished. her grandfather, bat carpenter, was an ambitious slave; he dug ore and bought his freedom, then bought his wife by paying $ . a year to her master for her. she continued to work on the farm of her own master for a very small wage. bat's wife, matilda, lived on the farm not far from him, he was allowed to visit her every sunday. one sunday, it looked like rain, his master told him to gather in the oats, he refused to do this and was beaten with a raw hide. he was so angry, he went to one of the witch-crafters for a charm so he could fix his old master. the witch doctor told him to get five new nails, as there were five members in his master's family, walk to the barn, then walk backwards a few steps, pound one nail in the ground, giving each nail the name of each member of the family, starting with the master, then the mistress, and so on through the family. each time one nail was pounded down in the ground, walk backwards and nail the next one in until all were pounded deep in the ground. he did as instructed and was never beaten again. jane garmen was the village witch. she disturbed the slaves with her cat. always at milking time the cat would appear, and at night would go from one cabin to another, putting out the grease lamps with his paw. no matter how they tried to kill the cat, it just could not be done. an old witch doctor told them to melt a dime, form a bullet with the silver, and shoot the cat. he said a lead bullet would never kill a bewitched animal. the silver bullet fixed the cat. jane also bewitched the chickens. they were dying so fast anything they did seemed useless. finally a big fire was built and the dead chickens thrown into the fire, that burned the charm, and no more chickens died. interviewer's comment mrs. colbert lives with her daughter in a very comfortable home. she seems very happy and was glad to talk of her early days. how she would laugh when telling of the experiences of her family. she has reared a large family of her own, and feels very proud of them. submitted december , indianapolis, indiana wm. r. mays dist. johnson county, ind. july , slavery days of mandy cooper of lincoln county, kentucky frank cooper ott st., franklin, ind. frank cooper, an aged colored man of franklin, relates some very interesting conditions that existed in slavery days as handed down to him by his mother. mandy cooper, the mother of frank cooper, was years old when she died; she was owned by three different families: the good's, the burton's, and the cooper's, all of lincoln co. kentucky. "well, ah reckon ah am one of the oldest colored men hereabouts," confessed aged frank cooper. "what did you all want to see me about?" my mission being stated, he related one of the strangest categories alluding to his mother's slave life that i have ever heard. "one day while mah mammy was washing her back my sistah noticed ugly disfiguring scars on it. inquiring about them, we found, much to our amazement, that they were mammy's relics of the now gone, if not forgotten, slave days. "this was her first reference to her "misery days" that she had evah made in my presence. of course we all thought she was tellin' us a big story and we made fun of her. with eyes flashin', she stopped bathing, dried her back and reached for the smelly ole black whip that hung behind the kitchen door. biddin' us to strip down to our waists, my little mammy with the boney bent-ovah back, struck each of us as hard as evah she could with that black-snake whip, each stroke of the whip drew blood from our backs. "now", she said to us, "you have a taste of slavery days." with three of her children now having tasted of some of her "misery days" she was in the mood to tell us more of her sufferings; still indelibly impressed in my mind. [tr: illegible handwritten note here.] 'my ole back is bent ovah from the quick-tempered blows feld by the red-headed miss burton. 'at dinner time one day when the churnin' wasn't finished for the noonday meal', she said with an angry look that must have been reborn in mah mammy's eyes--eyes that were dimmed by years and hard livin', 'three white women beat me from anger because they had no butter for their biscuits and cornbread. miss burton used a heavy board while the missus used a whip. while i was on my knees beggin' them to quit, miss burton hit the small of mah back with the heavy board. ah knew no more until kind mr. hamilton, who was staying with the white folks, brought me inside the cabin and brought me around with the camphor bottle. ah'll always thank him--god bless him--he picked me up where they had left me like a dog to die in the blazin' noonday sun. 'after mah back was broken it was doubted whether ah would evah be able to work again or not. ah was placed on the auction block to be bidded for so mah owner could see if ah was worth anything or not. one man bid $ after puttin' two dirty fingahs in my mouth to see my teeth. ah bit him and his face showed angah. he then wanted to own me so he could punish me. 'thinkin' his bid of $ was official he unstrapped his buggy whip to beat me, but my mastah saved me. my master declared the bid unofficial. 'at this auction my sister was sold for $ and was never seen by us again.' "my mother related some experiences she had with the paddy-rollers, later called the "kuklux", these paddy-rollers were a constant dread to the negroes. they would whip the poor darkeys unmercifully without any cause. one night while the negroes were gathering for a big party and dance they got wind of the approaching paddy-rollers in large numbers on horseback. the negro men did not know what to do for protection, they became desperate and decided to gather a quantity of grapevines and tied them fast at a dark place in the road. when the paddy-rollers came thundering down the road bent on deviltry and unaware of the trap set for them, plunged head-on into these strong grapevines and three of their number were killed and a score was badly injured. several horses had to be shot following injuries. "when the news of this happening spread it was many months before the paddy-rollers were again heard of." albert strope, field worker federal writers' project st. joseph county--district # mishawaka, indiana ex-slave rev. h.h. edmunds west hickory street elkhart, indiana rev. h.h. edmunds has resided at west hickory street in elkhart for the past ten years. born in lynchburg, virginia, in , he lived there for several years. later he was taken to mississippi by his master, and finally to nashville, tennessee, where he lived until his removal to elkhart. mr. edmunds is very religious, and for many years has served his people as a minister of the gospel. he feels deeply that the religion of today has greatly changed from the "old time religion." in slavery days, the colored people were so subjugated and uneducated that he claims they were especially susceptible to religion, and poured out their religious feelings in the so-called negro spirituals. mr. edmunds is convinced that the superstitions of the colored people and their belief in ghosts and gobblins is due to the fact that their emotions were worked upon by slave drivers to keep them in subjugation. oftentimes white people dressed as ghosts, frightened the colored people into doing many things under protest. the "ghosts" were feared far more than the slave-drivers. the war of the rebellion is not remembered by mr. edmunds, but he clearly remembers the period following the war known as the reconstruction period. the negroes were very happy when they learned they were free as a result of the war. a few took advantage of their freedom immediately, but many, not knowing what else to do, remained with their former masters. some remained on the plantations five years after they were free. gradually they learned to care for themselves, often through instructions received from their former masters, and then they were glad to start out in the world for themselves. of course, there were exceptions, for the slaves who had been abused by cruel masters were only too glad to leave their former homes. the following reminiscense is told by mr. edmunds: "as a boy, i worked in virginia for my master, a mr. farmer[tr:?]. he had two sons who served as bosses on the farm. an elder sister was the head boss. after the war was over, the sister called the colored people together and told them that they were no longer slaves, that they might leave if they wished. "the slaves had been watering cucumbers which had been planted around barrels filled with soil. holes had been bored in the barrels, and when water was poured in the barrels, it gradually seeped out through the holes thus watering the cucumbers. "after the speech, one son told the slaves to resume their work. since i was free, i refused to do so, and as a result, i received a terrible kicking. i mentally resolved to get even some day. years afterward, i went to the home of this man for the express purpose of seeking revenge. however, i was received so kindly, and treated so well, that all thoughts of vengeance vanished. for years after, my former boss and i visited each other in our own homes." mr. edmunds states that the negro people prefer to be referred to as colored people, and deeply resent the name "nigger." archie koritz, field worker federal writers' project lake county--district # gary, indiana ex-slaves john eubanks & family gary, indiana gary's only surviving civil war veteran was born a slave in barren county, kentucky, june , . his father was a mulatto and a free negro. his mother was a slave on the everrett plantation and his grandparents ware full-blooded african negroes. as a child he began work as soon as possible and was put to work hoeing and picking cotton and any other odd jobs that would keep him busy. he was one of a family of several children, and is the sole survivor, a brother living in indianapolis, having died there in . following the custom of the south, when the children of the everrett family grew up, they married and slaves were given them for wedding presents. john was given to a daughter who married a man of the name of eubanks, hence his name, john eubanks. john was one of the more fortunate slaves in that his mistress and master were kind and they were in a state divided on the question of slavery. they favored the north. the rest of the children were given to other members of the everrett family upon their marriage or sold down the river and never saw one another until after the close of the civil war. shortly after the beginning of the civil war, when the north seemed to be losing, someone conceived the idea of forming negro regiments and as an inducement to the slaves, they offered them freedom if they would join the union forces. john's mistress and master told him that if he wished to join the union forces, he had their consent and would not have to run away like other slaves were doing. at the beginning of the war, john was twenty-one years of age. when lincoln freed the slaves by his emancipation proclamation, john was promptly given his freedom by his master and mistress. john decided to join the northern army which was located at bowling green, kentucky, a distance of thirty-five miles from glasgow where john was living. he had to walk the entire thirty-five miles. although he fails to remember all the units that he was attached to, he does remember that it was part of general sherman's army. his regiment started with sherman on his famous march through georgia, but for some reason unknown to john, shortly after the campaign was on its way, his regiment was recalled and sent elsewhere. his regiment was near vicksburg, mississippi, at the time lee surrendered. since lee was a proud southerner and did not want the negroes present when he surrendered, grant probably for this reason as much as any other refused to accept lee's sword. when lee surrendered there was much shouting among the troops and john was one of many put to work loading cannons on boats to be shipped up the river. his company returned on the steamboat "indiana." upon his return to glasgow, [hw: ky.] he saw for the first time in six years, his mother and other members of his family who had returned free. shortly after he returned to glasgow at the close of the civil war, he saw several colored people walking down the highway and was attracted to a young colored girl in the group who was wearing a yellow dress. immediately he said to himself, "if she ain't married there goes my wife." sometime later they met and were married christmas day in . to this union twelve children were born four of whom are living today, two in gary and the others in the south. after his marriage he lived on a farm near glasgow for several years, later moving to louisville, where he worked in a lumber yeard. he came to gary in , two years after the death of his wife. president grant was the first president for whom he cast his vote and he continued to vote until old age prevented him from walking to the polls. although lincoln is one of his favorite heroes, teddy roosevelt tops his list of great men and he never failed to vote for him. in , he was the only one of three surviving memebers of the grand army of the republic in gary and mighty proud of the fact that he was the only one in the parade. in he is the sole survivor. he served in the army as a member of company k of the th, kentucky infantry (negro volunteers). when general morgan, the famous southern raider, crossed the ohio on his raid across southern indiana, john was one of the negro fighters who after heavy fighting, forced morgan to recross the river and retreat back to the south. he also participated in several skirmishes with the cavalry troops commanded by the famous nathan bedfored forrest, and was a member of the negro garrison at fort pillow, on the mississippi which was assaulted and captured. this resulted in a massacre of the negro soldiers. john was in several other fights, but as he says, "never onct got a skinhurt." at the present time, mr. eubanks is residing with his daughter, mrs. bertha sloss and several grandchildren, in gary, indiana. he is badly crippled with rheumatism, has poor eyesight and his memory is failing. otherwise his health is good. most of his teeth are good and they are a source of wonder to his dentist. he is ninety-eight years of age and his wish in life now, is to live to be a hundred. since his brother and mother both died at ninety-eight and his paternal grandfather at one hundred-ten years of age, he has a good chance to realize this ambition. because of his condition most of this interview was had from his grandchildren, who have taken notes in recent years of any incidents that he relates. he is proud that most of his fifty grandchildren are high school graduates and that two are attending the university of chicago. in , he enjoyed a motor trip, when his family took him back to glasgow for a visit. he suffered no ill effects from the trip. archie koritz, field worker mound street, valparaiso, indiana federal writers' project lake county, district # gary, indiana ex-slaves interview with john eubanks, ex-slave john eubanks, gary's only negro civil war survivor has lived to see the ninety-eighth anniversary of his birth and despite his advanced age, recalls with surprising clarity many interesting and sad events of his boyhood days when a slave on the everett plantation. he was born in glasgow, barron county, kentucky, june , , one of seven children of a chattel of the everett family. the old man retains most of his faculties, but bears the mark of his extreme age in an obvious feebleness and failing sight and memory. he is physically large, says he once was a husky, weighing over two hundred pounds, bears no scars or deformities and despite the hardships and deprivations of his youth, presents a kindly and tolerant attitude. "i remembah well, us young uns on the everett plantation," he relates, "i worked since i can remembah, hoein', pickin' cotton and othah chohs 'round the fahm. we didden have much clothes, nevah no undahweah, no shoes, old ovahalls and a tattahed shirt, wintah and summah. come de wintah, it be so cold mah feet weah plumb numb mos' o' de time and manya time--when we git a chanct--we druve the hogs from outin the bogs an' put ouah feet in the wahmed wet mud. they was cracked and the skin on the bottoms and in de toes weah cracked and bleedin' mos' o' time, wit bloody scabs but de summah healed them agin." "does yohall remembah, granpap," his daughter prompted, "yoh mahstah--did he treat you mean?" "no," his tolerant acceptance apparent in his answer, "it weah done thataway. slaves weah whipt and punished and the younguns belonged to the mahstah to work foah him oh to sell. when i weah 'bout six yeahs old, mahstah everett give me to tony eubanks as a weddin' present when he married mahstah's daughtah becky. becky would'n let tony whip her slaves who came from her fathah's plantation. 'they ah my prophty,' she say, 'an' you caint whip dem.' tony whipt his othah slaves but not becky's." "i remembah" he continued, "how they tied de slave 'round a post, wit hands tied togedder 'round the post, then a husky lash his back wid a snakeskin lash 'til hisn back were cut and bloodened, the blood spattered" gesticulating with his unusually large hands, "an' hisn back all cut up. den they'd pouh salt watah on hem. dat dry and hahden and stick to hem. he nevah take it off 'till it heal. sometimes i see marhstah everett hang a slave tip-toe. he tie him up so he stan' tip-toe an' leave him thataway. "i be twenty-one wehn wah broke out. mahstah eubanks say to me, 'yohall don' need to run 'way ifn yohall want to jine up wid de ahmy.' he say, 'deh would be a fine effin slaves run off. yohall don' haf to run off, go right on and i do not pay dat fine.' he say, ''nlist in de ahmy but don' run off.' now i walk thirty-five mile from glasgow to bowling green to dis place--to da 'nlistin' place--from home fouh mile--to glasgow--to bowling green, thirty-five mile. on de road i meet up with two boys, so we go on. dey run 'way from kentucky, and we go together. then some bushwackers come down de road. we's scared and run to the woods and hid. as we run tru de woods, pretty soon we heerd chickens crowing. we fill ouah pockets wit stones. we goin' to kill chickens to eat. pretty soon we heerd a man holler, 'you come 'round outta der'--and i see a white man and come out. he say, 'what yoh all doin' heah?' i turn 'round and say, 'well boys, come on boys,' an' the boys come out. the man say, 'i'm union soldier. what yoh all doin' heah?' i say, 'we goin' to 'nlist in de ahmy.' he say, 'dat's fine' and he say, 'come 'long' he say, 'git right on white man's side'--we go to station. den he say, 'you go right down to de station and give yoh inforhmation. we keep on walkin'. den we come to a white house wit stone steps in front so we go in. an' we got to 'nlistin' place and jine up wit de ahmy. "den we go trainin' in d' camp and we move on. come to a little town ... a little town. we come to bolling green ... den to louiville. we come to a rivah ... a rivah (painfully recalling) d' mississippi. "we weah 'nfantry and petty soon we gits in plenty fights, but not a scratch hit me. we chase dem cavalry. we run dem all night and next mohnin' d' captain he say, 'dey done broke down.' when we rest, he say 'see dey don' trick you.' i say, 'we got all d' ahmy men togedder. we hold dem back 'til help come.' "we don' have no tents. sleep on naked groun' in wet and cold and rain. mos' d' time we's hungry but we win d' war and mahstah eubanks tell us we no moah hisn property, we's free now." the old man can talk only in short sentences and his voice dies to a whisper and soon the strain became evident. he was tired. what he does remember is with surprising clearness especially small details, but with a helpless gesture, he dismisses names and locations. he remembers the exact date of his discharge, march , , which his daughter verified by producing his discharge papers. he remembers the place, vicksburg, the company--k, and the regiment, th. dropping back once more to his childhood he spoke of an incident which his daughter says makes them all cry when he relates it, although they have heard it many times. "mahstah everett whipt me onct and mothah she cried. then mahstah everett say, 'why yoh all cry?--yoh cry i whip anothah of these young uns. she try to stop. he whipt 'nother. he say, 'ifn yoh all don' stop, yoh be whipt too!' and mothah she trien to stop but teahs roll out, so mahstah everett whip her too. "i wanted to visit mothah when i belong to mahst' eubanks, but becky say, 'yoh all best not see youh mothah, or yoh wan' to go all de time' then explaining, 'she wan' me to fohgit mothah, but i nevah could. when i cm back from d' ahmy, i go home to mothah and say 'don' y'know me?' she say, 'no, i don' know you.' i say, 'yoh don' know me?' she say, 'no, ah don' know yoh.' i say, 'i'se john.' den she cry and say how ahd growd and she thought i'se daid dis long time. i done 'splain how the many fights i'se in wit no scratch and she bein' happy." speaking of abraham lincoln's death, he remarked, "sho now, ah remembah dat well. we all feelin' sad and all d'soldiers had wreaths on der guns." upon his return from the army he married a young negress he had seen some time previous at which time he had vowed some day to make her his wife. he was married christmas day, . for a number of years he lived on a farm of his own near glasgow. later he moved with his family to louisville where he worked in a lumber yard. in , two years after the death of his wife, he came to gary, when he retired. he is now living with his daughter, mrs. sloss, harrison boulevard, gary. cecil c. miller dist. # tippecanoe co. interview with mr. john w. fields, ex-slave of civil war period september , [illustration: john w. fields] john w. fields, north twentieth street, lafayette, indiana, now employed as a domestic by judge burnett is a typical example of a fine colored gentleman, who, despite his lowly birth and adverse circumstances, has labored and economized until he has acquired a respected place in his home community. he is the owner of three properties; un-mortgaged, and is a member of the colored baptist church of lafayette. as will later be seen his life has been one of constant effort to better himself spiritually and physically. he is a fine example of a man who has lived a morally and physically clean life. but, as for his life, i will let mr. fields speak for himself: "my name is john w. fields and i'm eighty-nine ( ) years old. i was born march , in owensburg, ky. that's miles below louisville, ky. there was other children besides myself in my family. when i was six years old, all of us children were taken from my parents, because my master died and his estate had to be settled. we slaves were divided by this method. three disinterested persons were chosen to come to the plantation and together they wrote the names of the different heirs on a few slips of paper. these slips were put in a hat and passed among us slaves. each one took a slip and the name on the slip was the new owner. i happened to draw the name of a relative of my master who was a widow. i can't describe the heartbreak and horror of that separation. i was only six years old and it was the last time i ever saw my mother for longer than one night. twelve children taken from my mother in one day. five sisters and two brothers went to charleston, virginia, one brother and one sister went to lexington ky., one sister went to hartford, ky., and one brother and myself stayed in owensburg, ky. my mother was later allowed to visit among us children for one week of each year, so she could only remain a short time at each place. "my life prior to that time was filled with heart-aches and despair. we arose from four to five o'clock in the morning and parents and children were given hard work, lasting until nightfall gaves us our respite. after a meager supper, we generally talked until we grew sleepy, we had to go to bed. some of us would read, if we were lucky enough to know how. "in most of us colored folks was the great desire to able to read and write. we took advantage of every opportunity to educate ourselves. the greater part of the plantation owners were very harsh if we were caught trying to learn or write. it was the law that if a white man was caught trying to educate a negro slave, he was liable to prosecution entailing a fine of fifty dollars and a jail sentence. we were never allowed to go to town and it was not until after i ran away that i knew that they sold anything but slaves, tobacco and wiskey. our ignorance was the greatest hold the south had on us. we knew we could run away, but what then? an offender guilty of this crime was subjected to very harsh punishment. "when my masters estate had been settled, i was to go with the widowed relative to her place, she swung me up on her horse behind her and promised me all manner of sweet things if i would come peacefully. i didn't fully realise what was happening, and before i knew it, i was on my way to my new home. upon arrival her manner changed very much, and she took me down to where there was a bunch of men burning brush. she said, "see those men" i said: yes. well, go help them, she replied. so at the age of six i started my life as an independent slave. from then on my life as a slave was a repetition of hard work, poor quarters and board. we had no beds at that time, we just "bunked" on the floor. i had one blanket and manys the night i sat by the fireplace during the long cold nights in the winter. "my mistress had separated me from all my family but one brother with sweet words, but that pose was dropped after she reached her place. shortly after i had been there, she married a northern man by the name of david hill. at first he was very nice to us, but he gradually acquired a mean and overbearing manner toward us, i remember one incident that i don't like to remember. one of the women slaves had been very sick and she was unable to work just as fast as he thought she ought to. he had driven her all day with no results. that night after completeing our work he called us all together. he made me hold a light, while he whipped her and then made one of the slaves pour salt water on her bleeding back. my innerds turn yet at that sight. "at the beginning of the civil war i was still at this place as a slave. it looked at the first of the war as if the south would win, as most of the big battles were won by the south. this was because we slaves stayed at home and tended the farms and kept their families. "to eliminate this solid support of the south, the emancipation act was passed, freeing all slaves. most of the slaves were so ignorant they did not realize they were free. the planters knew this and as kentucky never seceeded from the union, they would send slaves into kentucky from other states in the south and hire them out to plantations. for these reasons i did not realize that i was free untill . i immediately resolved to run away and join the union army and so my brother and i went to owensburg, ky. and tried to join. my brother was taken, but i was refused as being too young. i [hw: tried] at evansville, terre haute and indianapolis but was unable to get in. i then tried to find work and was finally hired by a man at $ . a month. that was my first independent job. from then on i went from one job to another working as general laborer. "i married at years of age and had four children. my wife has been dead for years and months. mr. miller, always remember that: "the brightest man, the prettiest flower may be cut down, and withered in an hour." "today, i am the only surviving member who helped organize the second baptist church here in lafayette, years ago. i've tried to live according to the way the lord would wish, god bless you." "the clock of life is wound but once. today is yours, tomorrow is not. no one knows when the hands will stop." cecil miller dist. # tipp. co. [tr: tippecanoe co.] negro folklore mr. john fields, ex-slave n. th st. lafayette, indiana [illustration: john w. fields] mr. fields says that all negro slaves were ardent believers in ghosts, supernatual powers, tokens and "signs." the following story illustrates the point. "a turkey gobbler had mysteriously disappeared from one of the neighboring plantations and the local slaves were accused of commeting the fowl to a boiling pot. a slave convicted of theft was punished severly. as all of the slaves denied any knowledge of the turkey's whereabouts, they were instructed to make a search of the entire plantation." "on one part of the place there was a large peach orchard. at the time the trees were full of the green fruit. under one of the trees there was a large cabinet or "safe" as they were called. one of the slaves accidently opened the safe and, behold, there was mr. gobbler peacefully seated on a number of green peaches. "the negro immediately ran back and notified his master of the discovery. the master returned to the orchard with the slave to find that the negro's wild tale was true. a turkey gobbler sitting on a nest of green peaches. a bad omen. "the master had a son who had been seriously injured some time before by a runaway team, and a few days after this unusual occurence with the turkey, the son died. after his death, the word of the turkey's nesting venture and the death of the master's son spread to this four winds, and for some time after this story was related wherever there was a public gathering with the white people or the slave population." all through the south a horseshoe was considered an omen of good luck. rare indeed was the southern home that did not have one nailed over the door. this insured the household and all who entered of plesant prospects while within the home. if while in the home you should perhaps get into a violent argument, never hit the other party with a broom as it was a sure indication of bad luck. if grandad had the rheumatics, he would be sure of relief if he carried a buckeye in his pocket. of all the ten commandments, the one broken most by the negro was: thou shalt not steal this was due mostly to the insufficent food the slaves obtained. most of the planters expected a chicken to suddenly get heavenly aspirations once in a while, but as mr. fields says, "when a beautiful pound hog suddenly tries to kidnap himself, the planter decided to investigate." it occured like this: a pound hog had been fruitless. the planter was certain that the culprit was among his group of slaves, so he decided to personally conduct a quiet investigation. one night shortly after the moon had risen in the sky, two of the negroes were seated at a table in one of the cabins talking of the experiences of the day. a knock sounded on the door. both slaves jumped up and cautiously peeked out of the window. lo there was the master patiently waiting for an answer. the visiting negro decided that the master must not see both of them and he asked the other to conceal him while the master was there. the other slave told him to climb into the attic and be perfectly quiet. when this was done, the tenant of the cabin answered the door. the master strode in and gazed about the cabin. he then turned abruptly to the slave and growled, 'alright, where is that hog you stoled.' 'massa, replied the negro, 'i know nothing about no hog. the master was certain that the slave was lying and told him so in no uncertain terms. the terrified slave said, 'massa, i know nothing of any hog. i never seed him. the good man up above knows i never seed him. he knows every thing and he knows i didn't steal him; the man in the attic by this time was aroused at the misunderstood conversation taking place below him. disregarding all, he raised his voice and yelled, 'he's a liar, massa, he knows just as much about it as i do.' most of the strictly negro folklore has faded into the past. the younger negro generations who have been reared and educated in the north have lost this bearing and assumed the lore of the local white population through their daily contact with the whites. the older negro natives of this section are for the most part employed as domestics and through this channel rapidly assimilated the employers viewpoint in most of his beliefs and conversations. ex-slave stories district vanderburgh county lauana creel indians made slaves among the negroes. interviews with george fortman cor. bellemeade ave. and garvin st. evansville, indiana, and other interested citizens "the story of my life, i will tell to you with sincerest respect to all and love to many, although reviewing the dark trail of my childhood and early youth causes me great pain." so spoke george fortman, an aged man and former slave, although the history of his life reveals that no negro blood runs through his veins. "my story necessarily begins by relating events which occurred in , when hundreds of indians were rounded up like cattle and driven away from the valley of the wabash. it is a well known fact recorded in the histories of indiana that the long journey from the beautiful wabash valley was a horrible experience for the fleeing indians, but i have the tradition as relating to my own family, and from this enforced flight ensued the tragedy of my birth." the aged ex-slave reviews tradition. "my two ancestors, john hawk, a blackhawk indian brave, and racheal, a chackatau maiden had made themselves a home such as only indians know, understand and enjoy. he was a hunter and a fighter but had professed faith in christ through the influence of the missionaries. my greatgrandmother passed the facts on to her children and they have been handed down for four generations. i, in turn, have given the traditions to my children and grandchildren. "no more peaceful home had ever offered itself to the red man than the beautiful valley of the wabash river. giant elms, sycamores and maple trees bordered the stream while the fertile valley was traversed with creeks and rills, furnishing water in abundance for use of the indian campers. "the indians and the white settlers in the valley transacted business with each other and were friendly towards each other, as i have been told by my mother, eliza, and my grandmother, courtney hawk. "the missionaries often called the indian families together for the purpose of teaching them and the indians had been invited, prior to being driven from the valley, to a sort of festival in the woods. they had prepared much food for the occasion. the braves had gone on a long hunt to provide meat and the squaws had prepared much corn and other grain to be used at the feast. all the tribes had been invited to a council and the poor people were happy, not knowing they were being deceived. "the decoy worked, for while the indians were worshiping god the meeting was rudely interrupted by orders of the governor of the state. the governor, whose duty it was to give protection to the poor souls, caused them to be taken captives and driven away at the point of swords and guns. "in vain, my grandmother said, the indians prayed to be let return to their homes. instead of being given their liberty, some several hundred horses and ponies were captured to be used in transporting the indians away from the valley. many of the aged indians and many innocent children died on the long journey and traditional stories speak of that journey as the 'trail of death.'" "after long weeks of flight, when the homes of the indians had been reduced to ashes, the long trail still carried them away from their beautiful valley. my greatgrandfather and his squaw became acquainted with a party of indians that were going to the canebrakes of alabama. the pilgrims were not well fed or well clothed and they were glad to travel towards the south, believing the climate would be favorable to their health. "after a long and dreary journey, the indians reached alabama. rachael had her youngest papoose strapped on to her back while john had cared for the larger child, lucy. sometimes she had walked beside her father but often she had become weary or sleepy and he had carried her many miles of the journey, besides the weight of blankets and food. an older daughter, courtney, also accompanied her parents. "when they neared the cane lands they heard the songs of negro slaves as they toiled in the cane. soon they were in sight of the slave quarters of patent george's plantation. the negroes made the indians welcome and the slave dealer allowed them to occupy the cane house; thus the indians became slaves of patent george. "worn out from his long journey john hawk became too ill to work in the sugar cane. the kindly-disposed negroes helped care for the sick man but he lived only a few months. rachel and her two children remained on the plantation, working with the other slaves. she had nowhere to go. no home to call her own. she had automatically become a slave. her children had become chattel. "so passed a year away, then unhappiness came to the indian mother, for her daughter, courtney, became the mother of young master ford george's child. the parents called the little half-breed "eliza" and were very fond of her. the widow of john hawk became the mother of patent george's son, patent junior. "the tradition of the family states that in spite of these irregular occurrences the people at the george's southern plantation were prosperous, happy, and lived in peace each with the others. patent george wearied of the southern climate and brought his slaves into kentucky where their ability and strength would amass a fortune for the master in the iron ore regions of kentucky. "with the wagon trains of patent and ford george came rachel hawk and her daughters, courtney, lucy and rachel. rachel died on the journey from alabama but the remaining full blooded indians entered kentucky as slaves. "the slave men soon became skilled workers in the hillman rolling mills. mr. trigg was owner of the vast iron works called the "chimneys" in the region, but listed as the hillman, dixon, boyer, kelley and lyons furnaces. for more than a half century these chimneys smoked as the most valuable development in the western area of kentucky. operated in , these furnaces had refined iron ore to supply the united states navy with cannon balls and grape shot, and the iron smelting industry continued until after the close of the civil war. "no slaves were beaten at the george's plantation and old mistress hester lam allowed no slave to be sold. she was a devoted friend to all. "as eliza george, daughter of ford george and courtney hawk, grew into young womanhood the young master ford george went oftener and oftener to social functions. he was admired for his skill with firearms and for his horsemanship. while courtney and his child remained at the plantation ford enjoyed the companship of the beautiful women of the vicinity. at last he brought home the beautiful loraine, his young bride. courtney was stoical as only an indian can be. she showed no hurt but helped mistress hester and mistress loraine with the house work." here george fortman paused to let his blinded eyes look back into the long ago. then he again continued with his story of the dark trail. "mistress loraine became mother of two sons and a daughter and the big white two-story house facing the cumberland river at smith landing, kentucky, became a place of laughter and happy occasions, so my mother told me many times. "suddenly sorrow settled down over the home and the laughter turned into wailing, for ford george's body was found pierced through the heart and the half-breed, eliza, was nowhere to be found. "the young master's body lay in state many days. friends and neighbors came bringing flowers. his mother, bowed with grief, looked on the still face of her son and understood--understood why death had come and why eliza had gone away. "the beautiful home on the cumberland river with its more than acres of productive land was put into the hands of an administrator of estates to be readjusted in the interest of the george heirs. it was only then mistress hester went to aunt lucy and demanded of her to tell where eliza could be found. 'she has gone to alabama, ole mistus', said aunt lucy, 'eliza was scared to stay here.' a party of searchers were sent out to look for eliza. they found her secreted in a cane brake in the low lands of alabama nursing her baby boy at her breast. they took eliza and the baby back to kentucky. i am that baby, that child of unsatisfactory birth." the face of george fortman registered sorrow and pain, it had been hard for him to retell the story of the dark road to strange ears. "my white uncles had told mistress hester that if eliza brought me back they were going to build a fire and put me in it, my birth was so unsatisfactory to all of them, but mistress hester always did what she believed was right and i was brought up by my own mother. "we lived in a cabin at the slave quarters and mother worked in the broom cane. mistress hester named me ford george, in derision, but remained my friend. she was never angry with my mother. she knew a slave had to submit to her master and besides eliza did not know she was master ford george's daughter." the truth had been told at last. the master was both the father of eliza and the father of eliza's son. "mistress hester believed i would be feeble either in mind or body because of my unsatisfactory birth, but i developed as other children did and was well treated by mistress hester, mistress lorainne and her children. "master patent george died and mistress hester married mr. lam, while slaves kept working at the rolling mills and amassing greater wealth for the george families. "five years before the outbreak of the civil war mistress hester called all the slaves together and gave us our freedom. courtney, my grandmother, kept house for mistress lorainne and wanted to stay on, so i too was kept at the george home. there was a sincere friendship as great as the tie of blood between the white family and the slaves. my mother married a negro ex-slave of ford george and bore children for him. her health failed and when mistress puss, the only daughter of mistress lorainne, learned she was ill she persuaded the negro man to sell his property and bring eliza back to live with her." [tr: in following section the name george 'fordman' is used twice.] "why are you called george fordman when your name is ford george?" was the question asked the old man. "then the freedsmen started teaching school in kentucky the census taker called to enlist me as a pupil. 'what do you call this child?' he asked mistress lorainne. 'we call him the little captain because he carried himself like a soldier,' said mistress lorainne. 'he is the son of my husband and a slave woman but we are rearing him.' mistress lorainne told the stranger that i had been named ford george in derision and he suggested she list me in the census as george fordsman, which she did, but she never allowed me to attend the freedmen's school, desiring to keep me with her own children and let me be taught at home. my mother's half brother, patent george allowed his name to be reversed to george patent when he enlisted in the union service at the outbreak of the civil war." some customs prevalent in the earlier days were described by george fordman. "it was customary to conduct a funeral differently than it is conducted now," he said. "i remember i was only six years old when old mistress hester lam passed on to her eternal rest. she was kept out of her grave several days in order to allow time for the relatives, friends and ex-slaves to be notified of her death. "the house and yard were full of grieving friends. finally the lengthy procession started to the graveyard. within the george's parlors there had been bible passages read, prayers offered up and hymns sung, now the casket was placed in a wagon drawn by two horses. the casket was covered with flowers while the family and friends rode in ox carts, horse-drawn wagons, horseback, and with still many on foot they made their way towards the river. "when we reached the river there were many canoes busy putting the people across, besides the ferry boat was in use to ferry vehicles over the stream. the ex-slaves were crying and praying and telling how good granny had been to all of them and explaining how they knew she had gone straight to heaven, because she was so kind--and a christian. there were not nearly enough boats to take the crowd across if they crossed back and forth all day, so my mother, eliza, improvised a boat or 'gunnel', as the craft was called, by placing a wooden soap box on top of a long pole, then she pulled off her shoes and, taking two of us small children in her arms, she paddled with her feet and put us safely across the stream. we crossed directly above iaka, livingston county, three miles below grand river. "at the burying ground a great crowd had assembled from the neighborhood across the river and there were more songs and prayers and much weeping. the casket was let down into the grave without the lid being put on and everybody walked up and looked into the grave at the face of the dead woman. they called it the 'last look' and everybody dropped flowers on mistress hester as they passed by. a man then went down and nailed on the lid and the earth was thrown in with shovels. the ex-slaves filled in the grave, taking turns with the shovel. some of the men had worked at the smelting furnaces so long that their hands were twisted and hardened from contact with the heat. their shoulders were warped and their bodies twisted but they were strong as iron men from their years of toil. when the funeral was over mother put us across the river on the gunnel and we went home, all missing mistress hester. "my cousin worked at princeton, kentucky, making shoes. he had never been notified that he was free by the kind emancipation mrs. hester had given to her slaves, and he came loaded with money to give to his white folks. mistress lorainne told him it was his own money to keep or to use, as he had been a free man several months. "as our people, white and black and indians, sat talking they related how they had been warned of approaching trouble. jack said the dogs had been howling around the place for many nights and that always presaged a death in the family. jack had been compelled to take off his shoes and turn them soles up near the hearth to prevent the howling of the dogs. uncle robert told how he believed some of mistress hester's enemies had planted a shrub near her door and planted it with a curse so that when the shrub bloomed the old woman passed away. then another man told how a friend had been seen carrying a spade into his cousin's cabin and the cousin had said, 'daniel, what foh you brung that weapon into by [tr: my?] cabin? that very spade will dig my grave,' and sure enough the cousin had died and the same spade had been used in digging his grave. "how my childish nature quailed at hearing the superstitions discussed, i cannot explain. i have never believed in witchcraft nor spells, but i remember my indian grandmother predicted a long, cold winter when she noticed the pelts of the coons and other furred creatures were exceedingly heavy. when the breastbones of the fowls were strong and hard to sever with the knife it was a sign of a hard, cold and snowy winter. another superstition was this: 'a green winter, a new graveyard--a white winter, a green graveyard.'" george fortman relates how, when he accompanied two of his cousins into the lowlands--there were very many katy-dids in the trees--their voices formed a nerve-racking orchestra and his cousin told him to tiptoe to the trees and touch each tree with the tips of his fingers. this he did, and for the rest of the day there was quiet in the forest. "more than any other superstition entertained by the slave negroes, the most harmful was the belief on conjurors. one old negro woman boiled a bunch of leaves in an iron pot, boiled it with a curse and scattered the tea therein brewed, and firmly believed she was bringing destruction to her enemies. 'wherever that tea is poured there will be toil and troubles,' said the old woman. "the religion of many slaves was mostly superstition. they feared to break the sabbath, feared to violate any of the commandments, believing that the wrath of god would follow immediately, blasting their lives. "things changed at the george homestead as they change everywhere," said george fortman. "when the civil war broke out many slaves enlisted in hopes of receiving freedom. the george negroes were already free but many thought it their duty to enlist and fight for the emancipation of their fellow slaves. my mother took her family and moved away from the plantation and worked in the broom cane. soon she discovered she could not make enough to rear her children and we were turned over to the court to be bound out. "i was bound out to david varnell in livingston county by order of judge busch and i stayed there until i was fifteen years of age. my sister learned that i was unhappy there and wanted to see my mother, so she influenced james wilson to take me into his home. soon goodhearted jimmy wilson took me to see mother and i went often to see her." sometimes george would become stubborn and hard to control and then mr. wilson administered chastisement. his wife could not bear to have the boy punished. 'don't hit him, jimmie, don't kick him,' would say the good scotch woman, who was childless. 'if he does not obey me i will whip him,' james wilson would answer. so the boy learned the lesson of obedience from the old couple and learned many lessons in thrift through their examples. "in i left the wilson home and began working and trying to save some money. river trade was prosperous and i became a 'roustabout'. the life of the roustabout varied some with the habits of the roustabout and the disposition of the mate. we played cards, shot dice and talked to the girls who always met the boats. the 'whistling coon' was a popular song with the boatmen and one version of 'dixie land'. one song we often sang when near a port was worded 'hear the trumpet sound'-- hear the trumpet sound, stand up and don't sit down, keep steppin' 'round and 'round, come jine this elegant band. if you don't step up and jine the bout, old missus sure will fine it out, she'll chop you in the head wid a golen ax, you never will have to pay da tax, come jine the roust-a-bout band." from roust-a-bout george became a cabin boy, cook, pilot, and held a number of positions on boats, plowing different streams. there was much wild game to be had and the hunting season was always open. he also remembers many wolves, wild turkeys, catamounts and deer in abundance near the grand river. "pet deer loafed around the milking pens and ate the feed from the mangers" said he. george fortman is a professor of faith in christ. he was baptized in concord lake, seven miles from clarksville, tennessee, became a member of the pleasant greene church at callwell, kentucky and later a member of the liberty baptist church at evansville. "i have always kept in touch with my white folks, the george family," said the man, now feeble and blind. "four years ago mistress puss died and i was sent for but was not well enough to make the trip home." too young to fight in the civil war, george was among those who watched the work go on. "i lived at smiths landing and remember the battle at fort donnelson. it was twelve miles away and a long cinder walk reached from the fort for nearly thirty miles. the cinders were brought from the iron ore mills and my mother and i have walked the length of it many times." still reviewing the long, dark trail he continued. "boatloads of soldiers passed smith's landing by day and night and the reports of cannon could be heard when battles were fought. we children collected munnie balls near the fort for a long time after the war." although the george family never sold slaves or separated negro families, george fortman has seen many boats loaded with slaves on the way to slave marts. some of the george negroes were employed as pilots on the boats. he also remembers slave sales where negroes were auctioned by auctioneers, the negroes stripped of clothes to exhibit their physique. "i have always been befriended by three races of people, the caucassian, the african, and the negro," declares george fortman. "i have worked as a farmer, a river man, and been employed by the illinois central railroad company and in every position i have held i have made loyal friends of my fellow workmen." one friend, treasured in the memory of the aged ex-slave is ollie james, who once defended george in court. george fortman has friends at dauson springs, grayson springs, and other kentucky resorts. he has been a citizen of evansville for thirty-five years and has had business connections here for sixty-two years. he janitored for eleven years for the lockyear business college, but his days of usefulness are over. he now occupies a room at bellemeade ave. and garvin st. and his only exercise consists of a stroll over to the lincoln high school. there he enjoys listening to the voices of the pupils as they play about the campus. "they are free", he rejoices. "they can build their own destinies, they did not arrive in this life by births of unsatisfactory circumstances. they have the world before them and my grandsons and granddaughters are among them." federal writers' project of the w.p.a. district # marion county anna pritchett kentucky avenue folklore john henry gibson--ex-slave colton street john henry gibson was born a slave, many years ago, in scott county, n.c. his old master, john henry bidding, was a wealthy farmer; he also owned the hotel, or rooming house. when court was in session the "higher ups" would come to this house, and stay until the court affairs were settled. mr. bidding, who was very kind to his slaves, died when john gibson was very young. all slaves and other property passed on to the son, joseph bidding, who in turn was as kind as his father had been. gibson's father belonged to general lee gibson, who was a neighboring farmer. he saw and met miss elizabeth bidding's maid; they liked each other so very much, miss elizabeth bought him from general gibson, and let him have her maid as his wife. the wife lived only a short time, leaving a little boy. after the civil war, a white man, by the name of luster, was comming to ohio, brought john gibson with him. they came to indianapolis, and gibson liked it so well, he decided to remain; mr. luster told him if he ever became dissatisfied to come on to ohio to him, but he remained in indianapolis until , then went back south, married, came back, and made indianapolis his home. interviewer's comment mr. gibson is very old, but does not know his exact age. he fought in the civil war, and said he could not be very young to have done that. his sight is very nearly gone, can only distinguish light and dark. he is very proud of his name, having been named for his old master. submitted january , indianapolis, indiana submitted by: william webb tuttle district no. muncie, indiana negro slaves in delaware county mrs. betty guwn mrs. hattie cash, daughter, residing at east second street muncie, indiana mrs. betty guwn was born march , , as a slave on a tobacco plantation, near canton, kentucky. it was a large plantation whose second largest product was corn. she was married while quite young by the slave method which was a form of union customary between the white masters. if the contracting parties were of different plantations the masters of the two estates bargained and the one sold his rights to the one on whose plantation they would live. her master bought her husband, brought him and set them up a shack. betty was the personal attendant of the mistress. the home was a large colonial mansion and her duties were many and responsible. however, when her house duties were caught up her mistress sent her immediately to the fields. discipline was quite stern there and she was "lined up" with the others on several occasions. her cabin home began to fill up with children, fifteen in all. the ventilation was ample and the husband would shoot a prowling dog from any of the four sides of the room without opening the door. the cracks between the logs would be used by cats who could step in anywhere. the slaves had "meetin'" some nights and her mistress would call her and have her turn a tub against her mansion door to keep out the sound. her master was very wealthy. he owned and managed a cotton farm of two thousand acres down in mississippi, not far from new orleans. once a year he spent three months there gathering and marketing his cotton. when he got ready to go there he would call all his slaves about him and give them a chance to volunteer. they had heard awful tales of the slave auction block at new orleans, and the master would solemnly promise them that they should not be sold if they went down of their own accord. "my mistress called me to her and privately told me that when i was asked that question i should say to him: "i will go". the master had to take much money with him and was afraid of robbers. the day they were to start my mistress took me into a private room and had me remove most of my clothing; she then opened a strong box and took out a great roll of money in bills; these she strapped to me in tight bundles, arranging them around my waist in the circle of my body. she put plenty of dresses over this belt and when she was through i wore a bustle of money clear around my belt. i made a funny "figger" but no one noticed my odd shape because i was a slave and no one expected a slave to "know better". we always got through safely and i went down with my mistress every year. of course my husband stayed at home to see after the family, and took them to the fields when too young to work under the task master, or over-seer. three months was a long time to be separated." "when the civil war came on there was great excitement among we slaves. we were watched sharply, especially soldier timber for either army. my husband ran away early and helped grant to take fort donaldson. he said he would free himself, which he did; but when we were finally set free all our family prepared to leave. the master begged us to stay and offered us five pounds of meal and two pounds of pork jowl each week if we would stay and work. we all went to burgard, kentucky, to live. at that time i was about years old. my husband has been dead a long time and i live with my children. if the "good lord" spares me until next march the th, i will be years old. i walk all about lively without crutches and eye-glasses and i have never been sick until this year when a tooth gave me trouble; but i had it pulled." archie koritz, field worker federal writers' project porter county--district # valparaiso, indiana ex-slaves mrs. hockaday madison street gary, indiana mrs. hockaday is the daughter of an ex-slave and like so many others does not care to discuss the dark side of slavery and the cruel treatment that some of them received. after the civil war the slaves who for the most part were unskilled and ignorant, found it very difficult to adjust themselves to their new life as free persons. formerly, they lived on the land of their masters and although compelled to work long hours, their food and lodging were provided for them. after their emancipation, this life was changed. they were free and had to think for themselves and make a living. times for the negro then was much the same as during the depression. several of the slaves started out to secure jobs, but all found it difficult to adjust themselves to the new life and difficult to secure employment. many came back to their old owners and many were afraid to leave and continued on much as before. the north set up stores or relief stations where the negro who was unable to secure employment could obtain food and shelter. mrs. hockaday says it was the same as conditions have been the last few years. about all the negro was skilled at was servant work and when they came north, they encountered the same difficulties as several of the colored folks who, driven by the terrible living conditions in the south four years ago, came to gary. arriving here they believed they were capable of servant work. however they were not accustomed to modern appliances and found it very difficult to adjust themselves. it was the same after the emancipation. many owners were kind and religious and had schools for their slaves, where they could learn to read and write. these slaves were more successful in securing employment. although the negro loved the bible most of all books, and were mostly methodists and baptists, their different religious beliefs is caused by the slave owners having churches for the slaves. whatever church the master belonged to, the slaves belonged to, and continued in the same church after the war. since slaves took the name of their owners, children in the same family would have different names. mr. hockaday's father and his brothers and sisters all had different names. on the plantation they were called "jones' jim," "brown's jones," etc. many on being freed left their old homes and adopted any name that they took a fancy to. one slave that mrs. hockaday remembers took the name of green johnson and says he often remarked that he surely was green to adopt such a name. his grandson in gary is an exact double for clark gable, except he is brown, and gable is white. many slave owners gave their slaves small tracts of land which they could tend after working hours. anything raised belonged to them and they could even sell the products and the money was theirs. many slaves were able to save enough from these tracts to purchase their freedom long before the emancipation. another condition that confronted the negro in the north was that they were not understood like they were by the southern people. in the south they were trusted and considered trustworthy by their owners. even during the civil war, they were trusted with the family jewels, silver, etc., when the northern army came marching by, whereas in the north, even though they freed the slaves, they would not trust them. for that reason, many of the slaves did not like the northern people and remained or returned to the southern plantations. the slave owners thought that slavery was right and nothing was wrong about selling and buying human beings if they were colored, much as a person would purchase a horse or automobile today. the owners who whipped their slaves usually stripped them to the waist and lashed them with a long leather whip, commonly called a blacksnake. mrs. hockaday is a large, pleasant, middle-aged woman and does not like to discuss the cruel side of slavery and only recalls in a general way what she had heard old slaves discuss. federal writers' project of the w.p.a. district # marion county anna pritchett kentucky avenue folklore robert howard--ex-slave boulevard place robert howard, an ex-slave, was born in , in clara county, kentucky. his master, chelton howard, was very kind to him. the mother, with her five children, lived on the howard farm in peace and harmony. his father, beverly howard, was owned by bill anderson, who kept a saloon on the river front. beverly was "hired out" in the house of bill anderson. he was allowed to go to the howard farm every saturday night to visit with his wife and children. this visit was always looked forward to with great joy, as they were devoted to the father. the howard family was sold only once, being owned first by dr. page in henry county, kentucky. the family was not separated; the entire family was bought and kept together until slavery was abolished. interviewer's comment mr. howard seems to be a very kind old man, lives in the house for aged colored people (the alpha home). he has no relatives, except a brother. he seems well satisfied living in the home. submitted january , indianapolis, indiana grace monroe dist. jefferson county slave story mr. matthew hume, a former slave mr. hume had many interesting experiences to tell concerning the part slavery had played in his family. on the whole they were fortunate in having a good master who would not keep an overseer who whipped his "blacks". his father, luke hume, lived in trimble county kentucky and was allowed to raise for himself one acre of tobacco, one acre of corn, garden stuff, chickens and have the milk and butter from one cow. he was advised to save his money by the overseer, but always drank it up. on this plantation all the slaves were free from saturday noon until monday morning and on christmas and the fourth of july. a majority of them would go to bedford or milton and drink, gamble and fight. on the neighboring farm the slaves were treated cruelly. mr. hume had a brother-in-law, steve lewis, who carried marks on his back. for years he had a sore that would not heal where his master had struck him with a blacksnake whip. three good overseers were jake mack and mr. crafton, mr. daniel payne was the owner who asked his people to report any mistreatment to him. he expected obedience however. when mr. hume was a small boy he was placed in the fields to hoe. he also wanted a new implement. he was so small he was unable to keep near enough to the men and boys to hear what they were talking about, he remembered bringing up the rear one day, when he saw a large rock he carefully covered it with dirt, then came down hard on it breaking his hoe. he missed a whipping and received a new tool to replace the old one, after this he could keep near enough to hear what the other workers were talking about. another of his duties was to go for the cattle, he had to walk around the road about a mile, but was permitted to come back through the fields about a quarter of a mile. one afternoon his mistress told him to bring a load of wood when he came in. in the summer it was the custom to have the children carry the wood from the fields. when he came up he saw his mistress was angry this peeved him, so that he stalked into the hall and slammed his wood into the box. about this time his mistress shoved him into a small closet and locked the door. he made such a howl that he brought his mother and father to the rescue and was soon released from his prison. as soon as the children were old enough they were placed in the fields to prepare the ground for setting tobacco plants. this was a very complicated procedure. the ground was made into hills, each requiring about four feet of soil. the child had to get all the clods broken fine. then place his foot in the center and leave his track. the plants were to be set out in the center and woe to the youngster who had failed to pulverize his hill. after one plowing the tobacco was hand tended. it was long green and divided into two grades. it was pressed by being placed in large hogsheads and weighted down. on one occasion they were told their tobacco was so eaten up that the worms were sitting on the fence waiting for the leaves to grow but nevertheless in some manner his master hid the defects and received the best price paid in the community. the mistress on a neighboring plantation was a devout catholic, and had all the children come each sunday after-noon to study the catechism and repeat the lord's prayer. she was not very successful in training them in the catholic faith as when they grew up most of them were either baptists or methodists. mr. hume said she did a lot of good in leading them to christ but he did not learn much of the catechism as he only attended for the treat. after the service they always had candy or a cup of sugar. on the preston place there was a big strapping negro of eighteen whom the overseer attempted to whip receiving the worst of it. he then went to mr. hume's owner and asked for help but was told he would have to seek elsewhere for help. finally some one was found to assist. smith was tied to a tree and severely beaten, then they were afraid to untie him, when the overseer finally ventured up and loosened the ropes, smith kicked him as hard as he could and ran to the payne estate refusing to return. he was a good helper here where he received kind treatment. a bad overseer was discharged once by mr. payne because of his cruelty to mr. luke hume. the corncrib was a tiny affair where a man had to climb out one leg at a time, one morning just as mr. hume's father was climbing out with his feed, he was struck over the head with a large club, the next morning he broke the scoop off an iron shovel and fastened the iron handle to his body. this time he swung himself from the door of the crib and seeing the overseer hiding to strik him he threw his bar, which made a wound on the man's head which did not knock him out. as soon as mr. payne heard of the disturbance the overseer was discharged and mr. mack placed in charge of the slaves. one way of exacting obedience was to threaten to send offenders south to work in the fields. the slaves around lexington, kentucky, came out ahead on one occasion. the collector was shrader. he had the slaves handcuffed to a large leg chain and forced on a flat boat. there were so many that the boat was grounded, so some of the slaves were released to push the boat off. among the "blacks" was one who could read and write. before shrader could chain them up again, he was seized and chained, taken to below memphis tennessee and forced to work in the cotton fields until he was able to get word from richmond identifying him. in the meantime the educated negro issued freedom papers to his companions. many of them came back to lexington, kentucky where they were employed. mr. hume thought the emancipation proclamation was the greatest work that abraham lincoln ever did. the colored people on his plantation did not learn of it until the following august. then mr. payne and his sons offered to let them live on their ground with conditions similar to our renting system, giving a share of the crop. they remained here until jan. , when they crossed the ohio at madison. they had a cow which had been given them before the emancipation proclamation was issued but this was taken away from them. so they came to ind. homeless, friendless and penniless. mr. hume and his aged wife have been married years and resided in the same community for years where they are highly respected by all their neighbors. he could not understand the attitude of his race who preferred to remain in slavery receiving only food and shelter, rather than to be free citizens where they could have the right to develop their individualism. virginia tulley district # fort wayne, indiana ex-slave of allen county [mrs. henrietta jackson] references: a. ft. wayne news sentinel november , b. personal interview [tr: there are no 'a' and 'b' annotations in the interview.] mrs. henrietta jackson, fort wayne resident, is distinguished for two reasons; she is a centennarian and an ex-slave. residing with her daughter, mrs. jackson is very active and helps her daughter, who operates a restaurant, do some of the lighter work. at the time i called, an august afternoon of over degrees temperature, mrs. jackson was busy sweeping the floor. a little, rather stooped, shrunken body, mrs. jackson gets around slowly but without the aid of a cane or support of any kind. she wears a long dark cotton dress with a bandana on her head with is now quite gray. her skin is walnut brown her eyes peering brightly through the wrinkles. she is intelligent, alert, cordial, very much interested in all that goes on about her. just how old mrs. jackson is, she herself doesn't know, but she thinks she is about years old. she looks much younger. her youngest child is and she had nine, two of whom were twins. born a slave in virginia, record of her birth was kept by the master. she cannot remember her father as he was soon sold after mrs. jackson's death [tr: birth?]. when still a child she was taken from her mother and sold. she remembers the auction block and that she brought a good price as she was strong and healthy. her new master, tom robinson, treated her well and never beat her. at first she was a plough hand, working in the cotton fields, but then she was taken into the house to be a maid. while there the civil war broke out. mrs. jackson remembers the excitement and the coming and going. gradually the family lost its wealth, the home was broken up. everything was destroyed by the armies. then came freedom for the slaves. but mrs. jackson stayed on with the master for awhile. after leaving she went to alabama where she obtained work in a laundry "ironing white folks' collars and cuffs." then she got married and in she came to live with her daughter in fort wayne. her husband, levy jackson, has been dead years. of her children, only two are left. mrs. jackson is sometimes very lonesome for her old home in "alabamy", where her friends lived, but for the most part, she is happy and contented. federal writers' project of the w.p.a. district # marion county anna pritchett kentucky avenue folklore mrs. lizzie johnson north senate avenue, apt. mrs. johnson's father, arthur locklear, was born in wilmington, n.c. in . he lived in the south and endured many hardships until . he was very fortunate in having a white man befriend him in many ways. this man taught him to read and write. many nights after a hard days work, he would lie on the floor in front of the fireplace, trying to study by the light from the blazing wood, so he might improve his reading and writing. he married very young, and as his family increased, he became ambitious for them. knowing their future would be very dark if they remained south. he then started a movement to come north. there were about twenty-six or twenty-eight men and women, who had the same thoughts about their children, banded together, and in they started for somewhere, north. the people selected, had to be loyal to the cause of their children's future lives, morally clean, truthful, and hard-working. some had oxen, some had carts. they pooled all of their scant belongings, and started on their long hard journey. the women and children rode in the ox-carts, the men walked. they would travel a few days, then stop on the roadside to rest. the women would wash their few clothes, cook enough food to last a few days more, then they would start out again. they were six weeks making the trip. some settled in madison, indiana. two brothers and their families went on to ohio, and the rest came to indianapolis. john scott, one of their number was a hod carrier. he earned $ . a day, knowing that would not accumulate fast enough, he was strong and thrifty. after he had worked hard all day, he would spend his evenings putting new bottoms in chairs, and knitting gloves for anyone who wanted that kind of work. in the summer he made a garden, sold his vegetables. he worked very hard, day and night, and was able to save some money. he could not read or write, but he taught his children the value of truthfulness, cleanliness of mind and body, loyalty, and thrift. the father and his sons all worked together and bought some ground, built a little house where the family lived many years. before old mr. scott died, he had saved enough money to give each son $ . . his bank was tin cans hidden around in his house. will scott, the artist, is a grandson of this john scott. the thing these early settlers wanted most, was for their children to learn to read and write. so many of them had been caught trying to learn to write, and had had their thumbs mashed, so they would not be able to hold a pencil. interviewer's comment mrs. johnson is a very interesting old woman and remembers so well the things her parents told her. she deplores the "loose living," as she calls it of this generation. she is very deliberate, but seems very sure of the story of her early life. submitted december , indianapolis, indiana ex-slave stories district no. . vanderburgh county lauana creel the story of betty jones oak street, evansville, ind. from an interview with elizabeth jones at oak street, evansville, ind. "yes honey, i was a slave, i was born at henderson, kentucky and my mother was born there. we belonged to old mars john alvis. our home was on alvis's hill and a long plank walk had been built from the bank of the ohio river to the alvis home. we all liked the long plank walk and the big house on top of the hill was a pretty place." betty jones said her master was a rich man and had made his money by raising and selling slaves. she only recalls two house servants were mulatoes. all the other slaves were black as they could be. betty alvis lived with her parents in a cabin near her master's home on the hill. she recalls no unkind treatment. "our only sorrow was when a crowd of our slave friends would be sold off, then the mothers, brothers, sisters, and friends always cried a lot and we children would grieve to see the grief of our parents." the mother of betty was a slave of john alvis and married a slave of her master. the family lived at the slave quarters and were never parted. "mother kept us all together until we got set free after the war," declares betty. many of the alvis negroes decided to make their homes at henderson, kentucky. "it was a nice town and work was plentiful." betty alvis was brought to evansville by her parents. the climate did not agree with the mother so she went to princeton, kentucky to live with her married daughter and died there. betty alvis married john r. jones, a native of tennessee, a former slave of john jones, a tennessee planter. he died twelve years ago. betty jones recalls when evansville was a small town. she remembers when the street cars were mule drawn and people rode on them for pleasure. "when boats came in at evansville, all the girls used to go down to the bank, wearing pretty ruffled dresses and every body would wave to the boat men and stay down at the river's edge until the boat was out of sight." betty jones remembers when the new court house was started and how glad the men of the city were to erect the nice building. she recalls when the old frame buildings used for church services were razed and new structures were erected in which to worship god. she does not believe in evil spirits, ghosts nor charms as do many former slaves, but she remembers hearing her friends express superstitions concerning black cats. it was also a belief that to build a new kitchen onto your old home was always followed by the death of a member of the immediate family and if a bird flew into a window it had come to bring a call to the far away land and some member of the family would die. betty jones was not scared when the recent flood came to within a block of her door. she had lived through a flood while living at lawrence station at marion county, indiana. "we was all marooned in our homes for two weeks and all the food we had was brought to our door by boats. white river was flooded then and our home was in the white river flats." "what god wills must happen to us, and we do not save ourselves by trying to run away. just as well stay and face it as to try to get away." the old negro woman is cared for by her unmarried daughter since her husband's death. the old woman is lonely and was happy to recieve a caller. she is alone much of the time as her daughter is compelled to do house work to provide for her mother and herself. "of course i'm a christian," said the aged negress. "i'm a religious woman and hope to meet my friends in heaven." "i would like to go back to henderson, kentucky once more, for i have not been there for more than twenty years. i'd live to walk the old plank walk again up to mr. alvis' home but i'm afraid i'll never get to go. it costs too much." so desire remains with the aged and memories remain to comfort the feeble. federal writers' project of the w.p.a. district # marion county anna pritchett kentucky avenue folklore nathan jones--ex-slave blake street nathan jones was born in gibson county, tennessee in , the son of caroline powell, one of parker crimm's slaves. master crimm was very abusive and cruel to his slaves. he would beat them for any little offense. he took pleasure in taking little children from their mothers and selling them, sending them as far away as possible. nathan's stepfather, willis jones, was a very strong man, a very good worker, and knew just enough to be resentful of his master's cruel treatment, decided to run away, living in the woods for days. his master sent out searchers for him, who always came in without him. the day of the sale, willis made his appearance and was the first slave to be put on the block. his new master, a mr. jones of tipton, tennessee, was very kind to him. he said it was a real pleasure to work for mr. jones as he had such a kind heart and respected his slaves. nathan remembers seeing slaves, both men and women, with their hands and feet staked to the ground, their faces down, giving them no chance to resist the overseers, whipped with cow hides until the blood gushed from their backs. "a very cruel way to treat human beings." nathan married very young, worked very hard, started buying a small orchard, but was "figgered" out of it, and lost all he had put into it. he then went to missouri, stayed there until the death of his wife. he then came to indiana, bringing his six children with him. forty-five years ago he married the second time; to that union were four children. he is very proud of his ten children and one stepchild. his children have all been very helpful to him until times "got bad" with them, and could barely exist themselves. interviewer's comment mr. and mrs. jones room with a family by the name of james; they have a comfortable, clean room and are content. they are both members of the free will baptist church; get the old age pension, and "do very well." submitted december , indianapolis, indiana albert strope, field worker federal writers' project st. joseph county--district # mishawaka, indiana adeline rose lennox--ex-slave south sixth street, elkhart, indiana adeline rose lennox was born of slave parents at middle--sometimes known as paris--tennessee, october , . she lived with her parents in slave quarters on the plantation of a mr. rose for whom her parents worked. these quarters were log houses, a distance from the master's mansion. at the age of seven years, adeline was taken from her parents to work at the home of a son of mr. rose who had recently been married. she remembers well being taken away, for she said she cried, but her new mistress said she was going to have a new home so she had to go with her. at the age of fourteen years she did the work of a man in the field, driving a team, plowing, harrowing and seeding. "we all thought a great deal of mr. rose," said mrs. lennox, "for he was good to us." she said that they were well fed, having plenty of corn, peas, beans, and pork to eat, more pork then than now. as adeline rose, the subject of this sketch was married to mr. steward, after she was given her freedom at the close of the civil war. at this time she was living with her parents who stayed with mr. rose for about five years after the war. to the steward family was born one son, johnny. mr. steward died early in life, and his widow married a second time, this time [hw: to] one george lennox whose name she now bears. johnny married young and died young, leaving her alone in the world with the exception of her daughter-in-law. after her second husband's death, she remained near middle, tennessee, until , when she removed to elkhart to spend the remainder of her life living with her daughter-in-law, who had remarried and is now living at south sixth street, elkhart, indiana. in the neighborhood she is known only as "granny." while i was having this interview, a colored lady passed and this conversation followed: "good morning granny, how are you this morning?" "only tolerable, thank you," replied granny. the health of mrs. lennox has been failing for the past three years but she gets around quite well for a lady who will be eight-eight years old the twenty-fifth day of this october. she gets an old age pension of about thirteen dollars per month. a peculiar thing about mrs. lennox's life is that she says that she never knew that she was a slave until she was set free. her mistress then told her that she was free and could go back to her father's home which she did rather reluctantly. mrs. lennox smokes, enjoys corn bread and boiled potatoes as food, but does not enjoy automobiles as "they are too bumpy and they gather too much air," she says. "i do not eat sweets," she remarks "my one ambition in life is to live so that i may claim heaven as my home when i die." there is a newspaper picture in the office along with an article published by the elkhart truth. this is being sent to indianapolis today. submitted by: estella r. dodson district # monroe county bloomington, ind. october , interview with thomas lewis, colored north summit street, bloomington, ind. i was born in spencer county, kentucky, in . i was born a slave. there was slavery all around on all the adjoining places. i was seven years old when i was set free. my father was killed in the northern army. my mother, step-father and my mother's four living children came to indiana when i was twelve years old. my grandfather was set free and given a little place of about sixteen acres. a gang of white men went to my grandmother's place and ordered the colored people out to work. the colored people had worked before for white men, on shares. when the wheat was all in and the corn laid by, the white farmers would tell the colored people to get out, and would give them nothing. the colored people did not want to work that way, and refused. this was the cause of the raids by white farmers. my mother recognized one of the men in the gang and reported him to the standing soldiers in louisville. he was caught and made to tell who the others were until they had men. all were fined and none allowed to leave until all the fines were paid. so the rich ones had to pay for the poor ones. many of them left because all were made responsible if such an event ever occurred again. our family left because we did not want to work that way. i was hired out to a family for $ a year. i was sent for. my mother put herself under the protection of the police until we could get away. we came in a wagon from our home to louisville. i was anxious to see louisville, and thought it was very wonderful. i wanted to stay there, but we came on across the ohio river on a ferry boat and stayed all night in new albany. next morning the wagon returned home and we came to bloomington on the train. it took us from o'clock until three in the evening to get here. there were big slabs of wood on the sides of the track to hold the rails together. strips of iron were bolted to the rails on the inside to brace them apart. there were no wires at the joints of the rails to carry electricity, as we have now, for there was no electricity in those days. i have lived in bloomington ever since i came here. i met a family named dorsett after i came here. they came from jefferson county, kentucky. two of their daughters had been sold before the war. after the war, when the black people were free, the daughters heard some way that their people were in bloomington. it was a happy time when they met their parents. once when i was a little boy, i was sitting on the fence while my mother plowed to get the field ready to put in wheat. the white man who owned her was plowing too. some yankee soldiers on horses came along. one rode up to the fence and when my mother came to the end of the furrow, he said to her, "lady, could you tell me where jim downs' still house is?" my mother started to answer, but the man who owned her told her to move on. the soldiers told him to keep quiet, or they would make him sorry. after he went away, my mother told the soldiers where the house was. the reason her master did not want her to tell where the house was, was that some of his rebel friends were hiding there. spies had reported them to the yankee soldiers. they went to the house and captured the rebels. next soldiers came walking. i had no cap. one soldier asked me why i did not wear a cap. i said i had no cap. the soldier said, "you tell your mistress i said to buy you a cap or i'll come back and kill the whole family." they bought me a cap, the first one i ever had. the soldiers passed for three days and a half. they were getting ready for a battle. the battle was close. we could hear the cannon. after it was over, a white man went to the battle field. he said that for a mile and a half one could walk on dead men and dead horses. my mother wanted to go and see it, but they wouldn't let her, for it was too awful. i don't know what town we were near. the only town i know about had only about four or five houses and a mill. i think the name was fairfield. that may not be the name, and the town may not be there any more. once they sent my mother there in the forenoon. she saw a flash, and something hit a big barn. the timbers flew every way, and i suppose killed men and horses that were in the barn. there were rebels hidden in the barn and in the houses, and a yankee spy had found out where they were. they bombed the barn and surrounded the town. no one was able to leave. the yankees came and captured the rebels. i had a cousin named jerry. just a little while before the barn was struck a white man asked jerry how he would like to be free. jerry said that he would like it all right. the white men took him into the barn and were going to put him over a barrel and beat him half to death. just as they were about ready to beat him, the bomb struck the barn and jerry escaped. the man who owned us said for us to say that we were well enough off, and did not care to be free, just to avoid beatings. there was no such thing as being good to slaves. many people were better than others, but a slave belonged to his master and there was no way to get out of it. a strong man was hard to make work. he would fight so that the white men trying to hold him would be breathless. then there was nothing to do but kill him. if a slave resisted, and his master killed him, it was the same as self-defense today. if a cruel master whipped a slave to death, it put the fear into the other slaves. the brother of the man who owned my mother had many black people. he was too mean to live, but he made it. once he was threshing wheat with a 'ground-hog' threshing machine, run by horse power. he called to a woman slave. she did not hear him because of the noise of the machine, and did not answer. he leaped off the machine to whip her. he caught his foot in some cogs and injured it so that it had to be taken off. they tell me that today there is a place where there is a high fence. if someone gets near, he can hear the cries of the spirits of black people who were beaten to death. it is kept secret so that people won't find it out. such places are always fenced to keep them secret. once a man was out with a friend, hunting. the dog chased something back of a high fence. one man started to go in. the other said, "what are you going to do?" the other one said, "i want to see what the dog chased back in there." his friend told him, "you'd better stay out of there. that place is haunted by spirits of black people who were beaten to death." federal writers' project of the w.p.a. district # marion county anna pritchett kentucky avenue folklore mrs. sarah h. locke--daughter [of wm. a. and priscilla taylor] mrs. locke, the daughter of wm. a. and priscilla taylor, was born in woodford county, kentucky in . she went over her early days with great interest. jacob keephart, her master, was very kind to his slaves, would never sell them to "nigger traders." his family was very large, so they bought and sold their slaves within the families and neighbors. mrs. locke's father, brothers, and grandmother belonged to the same master in henry county, kentucky. her mother and the two sisters belonged to another branch of the keephart family, about seven miles away. her father came to see her mother on wednesday and saturday nights. they would have big dinners on these nights in their cabin. her father cradled all the grain for the neighborhood. he was a very high tempered man and would do no work when angry; therefore, every effort was made to keep him in a good humor when the work was heavy. her mother died when the children were very young. sarah was given to the keephart daughter as a wedding present and taken to her new home. she was always treated like the others in the family. after the abolition of slavery, mr keephart gave wm. a horse and rations to last for six months, so the children would not starve. charles and lydia french, fellow workers with the taylors, went to cincinnatti and in sent for the mrs. locke and her sister, so they could go to school, as there were no schools in kentucky then. the girls stayed one year with the french family; that is the longest time they ever went to school. after that, they would go to school for three months at different times. mrs. locke reads and writes very well. the master worked right along with the slaves, shearing the sheep. the women milk ten or twelve cows and knit a whole sock in one day. they also wove the material for their dresses; it was called "linsey." she remembers one night the slaves were having a dance in one of the cabins, a band of ku kluxers came, took all firearms they could find, but no one was hurt, all wondered why, however, it did not take long for them to find out why. another night when the kluxers were riding, the slaves recognised the voice of their young master. that was the reason why the keephart slaves were never molested. christmas was a jolly time for the keephart slaves. they would have a whole week to celebrate, eating, dancing, and making merry. "free born niggers" were not allowed to associate with the slaves, as they were supposed to have no sense, and would contaminate the slaves. interviewer's comment mrs. locke is an intelligent old lady, has been a good dressmaker, and served for a great number of the "first families" of indianapolis. she has been married twice; her first husband died shortly after their marriage, and she was a widow for twenty-five years before she took her second "venture." she gets the old age pension and is very happy. submitted december , indianapolis, indiana federal writers' project of the w.p.a. district # marion county anna pritchett kentucky avenue, indianapolis, indiana folklore robert mckinley--ex-slave columbia avenue, indianapolis, indiana robert mckinley was born in stanley county, n.c., in , a slave of arnold parker. his master was a very cruel man, but was always kind to him, because he had given him (bob) as a present to his favorite daughter, jane alice, and she would never permit anyone to mistreat bob. miss jane alice was very fond of little bob, and taught him to read and write. his master owned a large farm, but jane alice would not let little bob work on the farm. instead, he helped his master in the blacksmith shop. his master always prepared himself to whip his slaves by drinking a large glass of whiskey to give him strength to beat his slaves. robert remembers seeing his master beat his mother until she would fall to the ground, and he was helpless to protect her. he would just have to stand and watch. he has seen slaves tied to trees and beaten until the master could beat no longer; then he would salt and pepper their backs. once when the confederate soldiers came to their farm, robert told them where the liquor was kept and where the stock had been hidden. for this the soldiers gave him a handful of money, but it did him no good for his master took it away from him. the mckinley family, of course, were parkers and after the civil war, they took the name of their father who was a slave of john mckinley. a neighbor farmer, jesse hayden, was very kind to his slaves, gave them anything they wanted to eat, because he said they had worked hard, and made it possible for him to have all he had, and it was part theirs. the parker slaves were not allowed to associate with the hayden slaves. they were known as the "rich niggers, who could eat meat without stealing it." when the "nigger traders" came to the parker farm, the old mistress would take meat skins and grease the mouths of the slave children to make it appear she had given them meat to eat. interviewer's comment mr. mckinley is an "herb doctor" and lives very poorly in a dirty little house; he was very glad to tell of his early life. he thinks people live too fast these days, and don't remember there is a stopping place. submitted january , indianapolis, indiana federal writers' project of the w.p.a. district # marion county anna pritchett kentucky avenue folklore richard miller--an old soldier north west street richard miller was born january , in danville, kentucky. his mother was an english subject, born in bombay, india and was brought into america by a group of people who did not want to be under the english government. they landed in canada, came on to detroit, stayed there a short time, then went to danville, kentucky. there she married a slave named miller. they were the parents of five children. after slavery was abolished, they bought a little farm a few miles from danville, kentucky. the mother was very ambitious for her children, and sent them to the country school. one day, when the children came home from school, their mother was gone; they knew not where. it was learned, she was sending her children to school, and that was not wanted. she was taken to texas, and nothing, was heard from her until . she wrote her brother she was comming to see them, and try to find her children, if any of them were left. the boy, richard, was in the army. he was so anxious to see his mother, to see what she would look like. the last time he saw her, she was washing clothes at the branch, and was wearing a blue cotton dress. all he could remember about her was her beautiful black hair, and the cotton dress. when he saw her, he didnot recognize her, but she told him of things he could remember that had happened, and that made him think she was his mother. richard was told who had taken the mother from the children, went to the man, shot and killed him; nothing was done to him for his deed. he remembers a slave by the name of brown, in texas, who was chained hand and feet to a woodpile, oil thrown over him, and the wood, then fire set to the wood, and he was burned to death. after the fire smoldered down, the white women and children took his ashes for souvenirs. when slavery was abolished, a group of them started down to the far south, to buy farms, to try for themselves, got as far as madison county, kentucky and were told if they went any farther south, they would be made slaves again, not knowing if that was the truth or not, they stayed there, and worked on the madison county farms for a very small wage. this separated families, and they never heard from each other ever again. these separations are the cause of so many of the slave race not being able to trace families back for generations, as do the white families. george band was a very powerful slave, always ready to fight, never losing a fight, always able to defend himself until one night a band of ku kluxers came to his house, took his wife, hung her to a tree, hacked her to death with knives. then went to the house, got george, took him to see what they had done to his wife. he asked them to let him go back to the house to get something to wrap his wife in, thinking he was sincere in his request, they allowed him to go. instead of getting a wrapping for his wife, he got his winchester rifle, shot and killed fourteen of the kluxers. the county was never bothered with the klan again. however, george left immediately for the north. the first monday of the month was sale day. the slaves were chained together and sent down in miss., often separating mothers from children, husbands from wives, never to hear of each other again. interviewer's comment mr. miller lives with his family in a very comfortable home. he has only one eye, wears a patch over the bad one. he does not like to talk of his early life as he said it was such a "nightmare" to him; however he answered all questions very pleasantly. submitted december , indianapolis, indiana william r. mays district johnson county henry clay moorman born in slavery in kentucky w. king st., franklin, ind. henry clay moorman has resided in franklin years, he was born oct. , in slavery on the moorman plantation in breckenridge county, kentucky. mr. moorman relates his own personal experiences as well as those handed down from his mother. he was a boy about years old when freedom was declared. his father's name was dorah moorman who was a cooper by trade, and had a wife and seven children. they belonged to james moorman, who owned about slaves, he was kind to his slaves and never whipped any of them. these slaves loved their master and was as loyal to him as his own family. mr. moorman says that when a boy he did small jobs around the plantation such as tobacco planting and going to the mill. one day he was placed upon a horse with a sack of grain containing about two bushels, after the sack of grain was balanced upon the back of the horse he was started to the mill which was a distance of about five miles, when about half the distance of the journey the sack of grain became unbalanced and fell from the horse being too small to lift the sack of grain he could only cry over the misfortune. there he was, powerless to do any thing about it. after about two hours there was a white man riding by and seeing the predicament he was in kindly lifted the sack up on the horse and after ascertaining his master's name bade him to continue to the mill. it was the custom at the mill that each await their turn, and do their own grinding. after the miller had taken his toll, he returned to his master and told of his experience. thereafter precautions were taken so he would not again have the same experience. the slave owners had so poisoned the minds of the slaves, they were in constant fear of the soldiers. one day when the slaves were alone at the plantation they sighted the union soldiers approaching, they all went to the woods and hid in the bushes. the smaller children were covered with leaves. there they remained all night, as the soldiers (about in number) camped all night in the horse lot. these soldiers were very orderly; however, they appropriated for their own use all the food they could find. the slave owners would hide all their silverware and other articles of worth under the mattresses that were in the negro cabins for safe keeping. there were three white children in the master's family. wickliff, the oldest boy and bob was the second child in age. the younger child, a girl, was named sally and was about the same age as the subject of this article. both children, being babies about the same age, the black mother served as a wet nurse for the white child, sometimes both the black child and the white child were upon the black mammies lap which frequently was the cause of battles between the two babies. some of the white mistresses acted as midwife for the black mothers. there were two graveyards on the plantation, one for the white folks and one for the blacks. there is no knowledge of any deaths among the white folks during the time he lived on the plantation. one of this black boys' sisters married just before slavery was abolished. he remembers this wedding. in connection with the marriages of the slaves in slavery days, it is recalled that slaves seldom married among themselves on the same plantation but instead the unions were made by some negro boy from some other plantation courting a negro girl on a distant plantation. as was the custom in slavery days the black boy would have to get the consent of three people before he was allowed to enter upon wedlock; first, he would get the consent of the negro girls' mother, then he would get the consent of his own master as well as the black girl's master. this required time and diplomacy. when all had given their consent the marriage would take place usually on saturday night, when a great time was had with slaves coming from other plantations with a generous supply of fried chicken, hams, cakes and pies a great feast and a good time generally with music and dancing. the new husband had to return to his own master after the wedding but it was understood by all that the new husband could visit his wife every saturday night and stay until monday morning. he would return every monday to his master and work as usual indefinitely unless by chance one or the other of the two masters would buy the husband or wife, in such event they would live together as man and wife. unless this purchase did occur it was the rule in slavery days that any children born to the slave wife would be the property of the girl's master. when the required consent could not be had from all parties concerned it sometimes caused friction and instances have occured when attempts at elopement was made causing no end of trouble. this condition was very rare, as in most all cases of this kind the masters were quite willing for this marriage and would encourage the young couple. it is remembered that there were no illegitimate children born on the moorman plantation. the slaves would have their parties and dances. slaves would gather from various plantations and these parties would sometimes last all night. it was customary for the slaves to get passes from their masters permitting them to attend, but sometimes passes were not given for reasons. in line with these parties it is remembered that there existed at that time what was known as the paddle-rollers, these so called paddy-rollers was made up of a bunch of white boys who would sneak up on these defenseless negroes unawares late in the night and demand that all show their passes. those that could not show passes were whipped, both the negro boys and girls alike. the loyalty of these poor black boys was shown when they would volunteer to take an extra flogging to protect their girl friends. the paddy-rollers were a mean bunch of white boys who reviled in this shameful practice. after slavery was abolished, this colored slave family remained on the same plantation for one year. they left the plantation via cloverport by boat for evansville, ind., where they remained until the subject of this sketch removed to franklin, ind. in where he took pastorate with the african methodist episcopal church where he served for years. he is now a retired minister residing at w. king st. federal writers' project of the w.p.a. district # marion county anna pritchett kentucky avenue folklore mrs. america morgan--ex-slave camp street america morgan was born in a log house, daubed with dirt, in ballard county, kentucky, in , the daughter of manda and jordon rudd. she remembers very clearly the happenings of her early life. her mother, manda rudd, was owned by clark rudd, and the "devil has sure got him." her father was owned by mr. willingham, who was very kind to his slaves. jordon became a rudd, because he was married to manda on the rudd plantation. there were six children in the family, and all went well until the death of the mother; clark rudd whipped her to death when america was five years old. six little children were left motherless to face a "frowning world." america was given to her master's daughter, miss meda, to wait on her, as her personal property. she lived with her for one year, then was sold for $ . to mr. and mrs. utterback stayed with them until the end of the civil war. the new mistress was not so kind. miss meda, who knew her reputation, told her if she abused america, she would come for her, and she would loose the $ . she had paid for her. therefore, america was treated very kindly. aunt catherine, who looked after all the children on the plantation, was very unruly, no one could whip her. once america was sent for two men to come and tie aunt catherine. she fought so hard, it was as much as the men could do to tie her. they tied her hands, then hung her to the joist and lashed her with a cow hide. it "was awful to hear her screams." in her father came and took her into paduca, kentucky, "a land of freedom." when thirteen years old, america did not know a from b, then "glory to god," a mr. greeleaf, a white man, from the north, came down to kentucky and opened a school for negro children. that was america's first chance to learn. he was very kind and very sympathetic. she went to school for a very short while. her father was very poor, had nothing at all to give his children. america's mistress would not give her any of her clothes. "all she had in this world, was what she had on her back." then she was "hired out" for $ . a week. the white people for whom she worked were very kind to her and would try to teach her when her work was done. she was given an old fashioned spelling book and a first reader. she was then "taught much and began to know life." she was sent regularly to church and sunday school. that was when she began to "wake up" to her duty as a free girl. the rev. d.w. dupee was her sunday school teacher, from him she learned much she had never known before. at seventeen years of age, she married and "faced a frowning world right." she had a good husband and ten children, three of whom are living today, one son and two daughters. she remembers one slave, who had been given five hundred lashes on his back, thrown in his cabin to die. he laid on the floor all night, at dawn he came to himself, and there were blood hounds licking his back. when the overseers lashed a slave to death, they would turn the bloodhounds out to smell the blood, so they would know "nigger blood," that would help trace runaway slaves. aunt jane stringer was given five hundred lashes and thrown in her cabin. the next morning when the overseer came, he kicked her and told her to get up, and wanted to know if she was going to sleep there all day. when she did not answer him, he rolled her over and the poor woman was dead, leaving several motherless children. when the slaves were preparing to run away, they would put hot pepper on their feet; this would cause the hounds to be thrown off their trail. aunt margaret ran off, but the hounds traced her to a tree; she stayed up in the tree for two days and would not come down until they promised not to whip her any more, and they kept their promise. old mistress' mother was sick a long time, and little america had to keep the flies off of her by waving a paper fly brush over her bed. she was so mean, america was afraid to go too near the bed for fear she might try to grab her and shake her. after she died, she haunted america. anytime she would go into the room, she could hear her knocking on the wall with her cane. some nights they would hear her walking up and down the stairs for long periods at a time. aunt catherine ran off, because "ole missie" haunted her so bad. the old master came back after his death and would ride his favorite horse, old pomp, all night long, once every week. when the boy would go in to feed the horses, old pomp would have his ears hanging down, and he would be "just worn out," after his night ride. interviewer's comment america believes firmly in haunts, and said she had lived in several haunted houses since coming up north. mrs. morgan lives with her baby boy and his wife. she is rather inteligent, reads and writes, and tries to do all she can to help those who are less fortunate than she. submitted december , indianapolis, indiana iris cook district floyd county story of george morrison east th st., new albany, ind. observation of the writer (this old negro, known as "uncle george" by the neighbors, is very particular about propriety. he allows no woman in his house unless accompanied by a man. he says "it jest a'nt the proper thing to do", but he came to a neighbors for a little talk.) "i was bawn in union county, kentucky, near morganfield. my master was mr. ray, he made me call him mr. ray, wouldent let me call him master. he said i was his little free negro." when asked if there were many slaves on mr. ray's farm, he said, "yes'm, they was seven cabin of us. i was the oldes' child in our family. mr. ray said "he didn't want me in the tobacco", so i stayed at the house and waited on the women folk and went after the cows when i was big enough. i carried my stick over my shoulder for i wus afraid of snakes." "mr. ray was always very good to me, he liked to play with me, cause i was so full of tricks an' so mischuvus. he give me a pair of boots with brass toes. i shined them up ever day, til you could see your face in 'em." "there wuz two ladies at the house, the missus and her daughter, who was old enough to keep company when i was a little boy. they used to have me to drive 'em to church. i'd drive the horses. they'd say, 'george, you come in here to church.' but i always slipped off with the other boys who was standing around outside waitin' for they folks, and played marbles." "yes, ma'am, the war sho did affect my fambly. my father, he fought for the north. he got shot in his side, but it finally got all right. he saved his money and came north after the war and got a good job. but, i saw them fellows from the south take my uncle. they put his clothes on him right in the yard and took him with them to fight. and even the white folks, they all cried. but he came back, he wasnt hurt but he wasent happy in his mind like my pappy was." "yes ma'am, i would rather live in the north. the south's all right but someways i just don't feel down there like i does up here." "no ma'am, i was never married. i don't believe in getting married unless you got plenty of money. so many married folks dont do nuthin but fuss and fight. even my father and mother always spatted and i never liked that and so i says to myself what do i want to get married for. i'm happier just living by myself." "yes ma'am. i remember when people used to take wagon loads of corn to the market in louisville, and they would bring back home lots of groceries and things. a colored man told me he had come north to the market in louisville with his master, and was working hard unloading the corn when a white man walks up to him, shows him some money and asks him if he wanted to be free? he said he stopped right then and went with the man, who hid him in his wagon under the provisions and they crossed the ohio river right on the ferry. that's the way lots of 'em got across here." "did i ever hear of any ghosts. yes ma'am i have. i hear noises and i seed something once that i never could figger out. i was goin't thru the woods one day, and come up sudden in a clear patch of ground. there sat a little boy on a stump, all by his-self, there in the woods. i asks him who he wuz & wuz he lost, and he never answered me. jest sat there, lookin at me. all of a sudden he ups and runs, and i took out after him. he run behind a big tree, and when i got up to where i last seed him, he wuz gone. and there sits a great big brown man twice as big as me, on another stump. he never seys a word, jest looks at me. and then i got away from there, yes ma'am i really did." "a man i knew saw a ghost once and he hit at it. he always said he wasn't afraid of no ghost, but that ghost hit him, and hit him so hard it knocked his face to one side and the last time i saw him it was still that way. no ma'am, i don't really believe in ghosts, but you know how it is, i lives by myself and i don't like to talk about them for you never can tell what they might do. "lady you ought to hear me rattle bones, when i was young. i caint do it much now for my wrists are too stiff. when they played turkey in the straw how we all used to dance and cut up. we'ed cut the pigeon wing, and buck the wind [hw: wing?], and all. but i got rewmaytism in my feet now and ant much good any more, but i sure has done lots of things and had lots of fun in my time." federal writers' project of the w.p.a. district # marion county anna pritchett kentucky avenue, indianapolis, indiana folklore joseph mosley, ex-slave boulevard place [tr: also reported as moseley in text of interview.] joseph mosley, one of twelve children, was born march , , fourteen miles from hopkinsville, kentucky. his master, tim mosley, was a slave trader. he was supposed to have bought and sold , slaves. he would go from one state to another buying slaves, bringing in as many as or slaves at one time. the slaves would be handcuffed to a chain, each chain would link slaves. the slaves would walk from virginia to kentucky, and some from mississippi to virginia. in front of the chained slaves would be an overseer on horseback with a gun and dogs. in back of the chained slaves would be another overseer on horseback with a gun and dogs. they would see that no slave escaped. joseph's father was the shoemaker for all the farm hands and all adult workers. he would start in september making shoes for the year. first the shoes for the folks in the house, then the workers. no slave child ever wore shoes, summer or winter. the father, mother, and all the children were slaves in the same family, but not in the same house. some with the daughters, some with the sons, and so on. no one brother or sister would be allowed to visit with the others. after the death of tim moseley, little joseph was given to a daughter. he was seven years old; he had to pick up chips, tend the cows, and do small jobs around the house; he wore no clothing except a shirt. little joseph did not see his mother after he was taken to the home of the daughter until he was set free at the age of . the master was very unkind to the slaves; they sometimes would have nothing to eat, and would eat from the garbage. on christmas morning joseph was told he could go see his mother; he did not know he was free, and couldn't understand why he was given the first suit of clothes he had ever owned, and a pair of shoes. he dressed in his new finery and was started out on his six mile journey to his mother. he was so proud of his new shoes; after he had gotten out of sight, he stopped and took his shoes off as he did not want them dirty before his mother had seen them, and walked the rest of the way in his bare feet. after their freedom, the family came to indiana. the mother died here, in indianapolis, at the age of . interviewer's comment mr. moseley, who has been in indianapolis for years, has been paralyzed for the last four years. he and a daughter room with a mrs. turner. he has a very nice clean room; a very pleasant old man was very glad to talk of his past life. he gets a pension of $ . a month, and said it was not easy to get along on that little amount, and wondered if the government was ever going to increase his pension. submitted december , indianapolis, indiana ex-slave stories district # vanderburgh county lauana creel memories of slavery and the life story of amy elizabeth patterson the slave mart, separation from a dearly beloved mother and little sisters are among the earliest memories recalled by amy elizabeth patterson, a resident of evansville, indiana. amy elizabeth, now known as "grandmother patterson" resides with her daughter lula b. morton at linwood avenue near cherry street. her birth occurred july , at cadiz, trigg county, kentucky. her mother was louisa street, slave of john street, a merchant of cadez. [tr: likely cadiz] "john street was never unkind to his slaves" is the testimony of grandmother patterson, as she recalls and relates stories of the long ago. "our sorrow began when slave traders, came to cadiz and bought such slaves as he took a fancy to and separated us from our families!" john street ran a sort of agency where he collected slaves and yearly sold them to dealers in human flesh. those he did not sell he hired out to other families. some were hired or indentured to farmers, some to stock raisers, some to merchants and some to captains of boats and the hire of all these slaves went into the coffers of john street, yearly increasing his wealth. louisa street, mother of amy elizabeth patterson, was house maid at the street home and her first born daughter was fair with gold brown hair and amber eyes. mr. and mrs. street always promised louisa they would never sell her as they did not want to part with the child, so louisa was given a small cabin near the master's house. the mistress had a child near the age of the little mulatto and louisa was wet nurse for both children as well as maid to mrs. street. two years after the birth of amy elizabeth, louisa became mother of twin daughters, fannie and martha street, then john street decided to sell all his slaves as he contemplated moving into another territory. the slaves were auctioned to the highest bidder and louisa and the twins were bought by a man living near cadiz but mr. street refused to sell amy elizabeth. she showed promise of growing into an excellent house-maid and seamstress and was already a splendid playmate and nurse to the little street boy and girl. so louisa lost her child but such grief was shown by both mother and child that the mother was unable to perform her tasks and the child cried continually. then mr. street consented to sell the little girl to the mother's new master. louisa street became mother of seventeen children. three were almost white. amy elizabeth was the daughter of john street and half sister of his children by his lawful wife. mrs. street knew the facts and respected louisa and her child and, says grandmother patterson, "that was the greatest crime ever visited on the united states. it was worse than the cruelty of the overseers, worse than hunger, for many slaves were well fed and well cared for; but when a father can sell his own child, humiliate his own daughter by auctioning her on the slave block, what good could be expected where such practices were allowed?" grandmother patterson remembers superstitions of slavery days and how many slaves were afraid of ghosts and evil spirits but she never believed in supernatural appearances until three years ago when she received a message, through a medium, from the spirit land; now she is a firm believer, not in ghosts and evil visitations, but in true communication with the departed ones who still love and long to protect those who remain on earth. several years ago a young grandson of the old woman was drowned. the little boy was stokes morton, a very popular child rating high averages in school studies and beloved by his teachers and friends. the mother, lulu b. morton and the grandmother both gave up to grief, in fact they both have declined in health and were unable to carry on their regular duties. grandmother patterson began suffering from a dental ailment and was compelled to visit a dental surgeon. the dental surgeon suggested that she visit a medium and seek some comforting message from the child. she at once visited a medium and received a message. "stokes answered me. in fact he was waiting to communicate with us. he said 'grandmother! you and mother must stop staying at the cemetary and grieving for me. send the flowers to your sick friends and put in more time with the other children. i am happy here, i am in a beautiful field, the sky is blue and the field is full of beautiful white lambs that play with me.'" the message comforted the aged woman. she began occupying her time with other members of the family and again began to visit with her neighbors. she felt a call two years later and again consulted the medium. that time she received a message from the child, his father and a little girl that had died in infancy. grandmother patterson said she would not recall the ones who had gone on to the land of promise. she is a christian and a believer in the word of god. grandmother patterson, in spite of her years of life (fifteen of which were passed in slavery) is useful in her daughter's home. her children and grand children are fond of her as indeed they well may be. she is a refined woman, gracious to every person she encounters. she is hoping for better opportunities for her race. she admonishes the younger relatives to live in the fear and love of the lord that no evil days overtake them. "yes, slavery was a curse to this nation" she declares, "a curse which still shows itself in hundreds of homes where mulatto faces are evidence of a heinous sin and proof that there has been a time when american fathers sold their children at the slave marts of america." she is glad the curse has been erased even if by the bloodshed of heroes. g. monroe dist. jefferson county slave story mrs. preston's story mrs. preston is an old lady, years old, very charming and hospitable she lives on north elm street, madison, indiana. her first recollections of slavery were of sleeping on the foot of her mistress' bed, where she could get up during the night to "feed" the fire with chips she had gathered before dark or to get a drink or anything else her mistress might want in the night. her 'marse brown', resided in frankfort having taken his best horses and hogs, and leaving his family in the care of an overseer on a farm. he was afraid the union soldiers would kill him, but thought his wife would be safe. this opinion proved to be true. the overseer called the slaves to work at four o'clock, and they worked until six in the evening. when mrs. preston was a little older part of her work was to drive about a dozen cows to and from the stable. many a time she warmed her bare feet in the cattle bedding. she said they did not always go barefooted but their shoes were old or their feet wrapped in rags. her next promotion was to work in the fields hauling shocks of corn on a balky mule which was subject to bucking and throwing its rider over its head. she was aided by a little boy on another mule. there were men to tie the shocks and place them on the mule. she remembered seeing union and confederate soldiers shooting across a river near her home. her uncle fought two years, and returned safely at the end of the war. she did not feel that her master and mistress had mistreated their slaves. at the close of the war, her father was given a house, land, team and enough to start farming for himself. several years later the ku klux klan gave them a ten days notice to leave, one of the masked band interceded for them by pointing out that they were quiet and peacable, and a man with a crop and ten children couldn't possibly leave on so short a notice so the time was extended another ten days, when they took what the klan paid them and came north. they remained in the north until they had to buy their groceries "a little piece of this and a little piece of that, like they do now", when her father returned to kentucky. mrs. preston remained in indiana. her father was burned out, the family escaping to the woods in their night clothes, later befriended by a white neighbor. now they appealed to their former owner who built them a new house, provided necessities and guards for a few weeks until they were safe from the ku klux klan. mrs. preston said she was the mother of ten children, but now lives alone since the death of her husband three years ago. her white neighbors say her house is so clean, one could almost eat off the floor. federal writers' project of the w.p.a. district # marion county harry jackson william m. quinn (ex-slave) bright street, indianapolis, ind. william m. quinn, bright street, was a slave up to ten years of age--"when the soldiers come back home, and the war was over, and we wasn't slaves anymore". mr. quinn was born in hardin county, kentucky, on a farm belonging to steve stone. he and a brother and his mother were slaves of "old master stone", but his father was owned by another man, mr. quinn, who had an adjoining farm. when they were all freed, they took the surname of quinn. mr. quinn said that they were what was called "gift slaves". they were never to be sold from the stone farm and were given to stone's daughter as a gift with that understanding. he said that his "old master paid him and his brother ten cents a day for cutting down corn and shucking it." it was very unusual for a slave to receive any money whatsoever for working. he said that his master had a son about his age, and the son and he and his brother worked around the farm together, and "master stone" gave all three of them ten cents a day when they worked. sometimes they wouldn't, they would play instead. and whenever "master stone" would catch them playing when they ought to have been at work, he would whip them--"and that meant his own boy would get a licking too." "old master stone was a good man to all us colored folks, we loved him. he wasn't one of those mean devils that was always beating up his slaves like some of the rest of them." he had a colored overseer and one day this overseer ran off and hid for two days "cause he whipped one of old mas' stone's slaves and he heard that mas' stone was mad and he didn't like it." "we didn't know that we were slaves, hardly. well, my brother and i didn't know anyhow 'cause we were too young to know, but we knew that we had been when we got older." "after emancipation we stayed at the stone family for some time, 'cause they were good to us and we had no place to go." mr. quinn meant by emancipation that his master freed his slaves, and, as he said, "emancipated them a year before lincoln did." mr. quinn said that his father was not freed when his mother and he and his brother were freed, because his father's master "didn't think the north would win the war." stone's slaves fared well and ate good food and "his own children didn't treat us like we were slaves." he said some of the slaves on surrounding plantations and farms had it "awful hard and bad." some times slaves would run away during the night, and he said that "we would give them something to eat." he said his mother did the cooking for the stone family and that she was good to runaway slaves. submitted september , indianapolis, indiana federal writers' project of the w.p.a. district # marion county harry jackson ex slave story mrs. candus richardson [hw: personal interview] mrs. candus richardson, of boulevard place, was years of age when the civil war was over. she was borned a slave on jim scott's plantation on the "homer chitter river" in franklin county, mississippi. scott was the heir of "old jake scott". "old jim scott" had about fifty slaves, who raised crops, cotton, tobacco, and hogs. candus cooked for scott and his wife, miss elizabeth. they were both cruel, according to mrs. richardson. she said that at one time her master struck her over the head with the butt end of a cowhide, that made a hole in her head, the scar of which she still carries. he struck her down because he caught her giving a hungry slave something to eat at the back door of the "big house". the "big house" was scott's house. scott beat her husband a lot of times because he caught him praying. but "beatings didn't stop my husband from praying. he just kept on praying. he'd steal off to the woods and pray, but he prayed so loud that anybody close around could hear, 'cause he had such a loud voice. i prayed too, but i always prayed to myself." one time, jim scott beat her husband so unmerciful for praying that his shirt was as red from blood stain "as if you'd paint it with, a brush". her husband was very religious, and she claimed that it was his prayers and "a whole lot of other slaves' that cause you young folks to be free today". they didn't have any bible on the scott plantation she said, for it meant a beating or "a killing if you'd be caught with one". but there were a lot of good slaves and they knew how to pray and some of the white folks loved to hear than pray too, "'cause there was no put-on about it. that's why we folks know how to sing and pray, 'cause we have gone through so much, but the lord is with us, the lord's with us, he is". mrs. richardson said that the slaves, that worked in the master's house, ate the same food that the master and his family ate, but those out on the plantation didn't fare so well; they ate fat meats and parts of the hog that the folks at the "big house" didn't eat. all the slaves had to call scott and his wife "master and miss elizabeth", or they would get punished if they didn't. whenever the slaves would leave the plantation, they ware supposed to have a permit from scott, and if they were caught out by the "padyrollers", they would whip them if they did not have a note from their master. when the slaves went to church, they went to a baptist church that the scotts belonged to and sat in the rear of the church. the sermon was never preached to the slaves. "they never preached the lord to us," mrs. richardson said, "they would just tell us to not steal, don't steal from your master". a week's ration of food was given each slave, but if he ate it up before the week, he had to eat salt pork until the next rations. he couldn't eat much of it, because it was too salty to eat any quanity of it. "we had to make our own clothes out of a cloth like you use, called canvass". "we walked to church with our shoes on our arms to keep from wearing them out". they walked six miles to reach the church, and had to wade across a stream of water. the women were carried across on the men's backs. they did all of this to hear the minister tell them "don't steal from your master". they didn't have an overseer to whip the slaves on the scott plantation, scott did the whipping himself. mrs. richardson said he knocked her down once just before she gave birth to a daughter, all because she didn't pick cotton as fast as he thought she should have. her husband went to the war to be "what you call a valet for master jim's son, sam". after the war, he "came to me and my daughter". "then in july, we could tell by the crops and other things grown, old master jim told us everyone we was free, and that was almost a year after the other slaves on the other plantations around were freed". she said scott, in freeing (?) then said that "he didn't have to give us any thing to eat and that he didn't have to give us a place to stay, but we could stay and work for him and he would pay us. but we left that night and walked for miles through the rain to my husban's brother and then told them that they all were free. then we all came up to kentucky in a wagon and lived there. then i came up north when my husband died". mrs. richardson says that she is "so happy to know that i have lived to see the day when you young people can serve god without slipping around to serve him like we old folks had to do". "you see that pencil that you have in your hand there, why, that would cost me my life 'if old mas' jim would see me with a pencil in my hand. but i lived to see both him and miss elizabeth die a hard death. they both hated to die, although they belonged to church. thank god for his mercy! thank god!" "my mother prayed for me and i am praying for you young folks". mrs. richardson, despite her years of age, can walk a distance of a mile and a half to her church. submitted august , indianapolis, indiana federal writers' project of the w.p.a. district # marion county anna pritchett kentucky avenue folklore joe robinson--ex-slave cornell avenue joe robinson was born in mason county, kentucky in . his master, gus hargill, was very kind to him and all his slaves. he owned a large farm and raised every kind of vegetation. he always gave his slaves plenty to eat. they never had to steal food. he said his slaves had worked hard to permit him to have plenty, therefore they should have their share. joe, his mother, a brother, and a sister were all on the same plantation. they were never sold, lived with the same master until they were set free. joe's father was owned by rube black, who was very cruel to his slaves, beat them severely for the least offense. one day he tried to beat joe's father, who was a large strong man; he resisted his master and tried to kill him. after that he never tried to whip him again. however, at the first opportunity, rube sold him. the robinson family learned the father had been sold to someone down in louisiana. they never heard from, or of him, again. interviewer's comment mr. robinson lives with his wife; he receives a pension, which he said was barely enough for them to live on, and hoped it would be increased. he attends one of the w.p.a. classes, trying to learn to read and write. they have two children who live in chicago. submitted january , indianapolis, indiana federal writers' project of the w.p.a. district # marion county anna pritchett, kentucky avenue, indianapolis, indiana folklore mrs. rosaline rogers--ex-slave-- years old north capitol avenue, indianapolis, indiana mrs. rogers was born in south carolina, in , a slave of dr. rice rogers, "mas. rogers," we called him, was the youngest son of a family of eleven children. he was so very mean. mrs. rogers was sold and taken to tennessee at the age of eleven for $ . to a man by the name of carter. soon after her arrival at the carter plantation, she was resold to a man by the name of belby moore with whom she lived until the beginning of the civil war. men and women were herded into a single cabin, no matter how many there were. she remembers a time when there were twenty slaves in a small cabin. there were holes between the logs of the cabin, large enough for dogs and cats to crawl through. the only means of heat, being a wood fireplace, which, of course, was used for cooking their food. the slaves' food was corn cakes, side pork, and beans; seldom any sweets except molasses. the slaves were given a pair of shoes at christmas time and if they were worn out before summer, they were forced to go barefoot. her second master would not buy shoes for his slaves. when they had to plow, their feet would crack and bleed from walking on the hard clods, and if one complained, they would be whipped; therefore, very few complaints were made. the slaves were allowed to go to their master's church, and allowed to sit in the seven back benches; should those benches be filled, they were not allowed to sit in any other benches. the wealthy slave owner never allowed his slaves to pay any attention to the poor "white folks," as he knew they had been free all their lives and should be slave owners themselves. the poor whites were hired by those who didnot believe in slavery, or could not afford slaves. at the beginning of the civil war, i had a family of fourteen children. at the close of the war, i was given my choice of staying on the same plantation, working on shares, or taking my family away, letting them out for their food and clothes. i decided to stay on that way; i could have my children with me. they were not allowed to go to school, they were taught only to work. slave mothers were allowed to stay in bed only two or three days after childbirth; then were forced to go into the fields to work, as if nothing had happened. the saddest moment of my life was when i was sold away from my family. i often wonder what happened to them, i haven't seen or heard from them since. i only hope god was as good to them as he has been to me. "i am years old; my birth is recorded in the slave book. i have good health, fairly good eyesight, and a good memory, all of which i say is because of my love for god." interviewer's comment mrs. rogers is certainly a very old woman, very pleasant, and seems very fond of her granddaughters, with whom she lives. submitted december , indianapolis, indiana federal writers' project of the w.p.a. district # marion county anna pritchett kentucky avenue folklore mrs. parthena rollins camp street (rear) mrs. parthena rollins was born in scott county, kentucky, in , a slave of ed duvalle, who was always very kind to all of his slaves, never whipping any of the adults, but often whipped the children to correct them, never beating them. they all had to work, but never overwork, and always had plenty to eat. she remembers so many slaves, who were not as fortunate as they were. once when the "nigger traders" came through, there was a girl, the mother of a young baby; the traders wanted the girl, but would not buy her because she had the child. her owner took her away, took the baby from her, and beat it to death right before the mother's eyes, then brought the girl back to the sale without the baby, and she was bought immediately. her new master was so pleased to get such a strong girl who could work so well and so fast. the thoughts of the cruel way of putting her baby to death preyed on her mind to such an extent, she developed epilepsy. this angered her new master, and he sent her back to her old master, and forced him to refund the money he had paid for her. another slave had displeased his master for some reason, he was taken to the barn and killed, and was buried right in the barn. no one knew of this until they were set free, as the slaves who knew about it were afraid to tell for fear of the same fate befalling on them. parthena also remembers slaves being beaten until their backs were blistered. the overseers would then open the blisters and sprinkle salt and pepper in the open blisters, so their backs would smart and hurt all the more. many times, slaves would be beaten to death, thrown into sink holes, and left for the buzzards to swarm and feast on their bodies. so many of the slaves she knew were half fed and half clothed, and treated so cruelly, that it "would make your hair stand on ends." interviewer's comment mrs. rollins is in poor health all broken up with "rheumatiz." she lives with a daughter and grandson, and said she could hardly talk of the happenings of the early days, because of the awful things her folks had to go through submitted december , anatolia, indiana ex-slave stories district # vanderburgh county lauana creel told by john rudd, an ex-slave "yes, i was a slave," said john rudd, "and i'll say this to the whole world, slavery was the worst curse ever visited on the people of the united states." john rudd is a negro, dark and swarthy as to complexion but his nose is straight and aqualine, for his mother-was half indian. the memory of his mother, liza rudd, is sacred to john rudd today and her many disadvantages are still a source of grief to the old man of years. john rudd was born on christmas day in the home of benjamin simms, at springfield, kentucky. the mother of the young child was house maid for mistress simms and uncle john remembers that mother and child received only the kindliest consideration from all members of the simms family. while john was yet a small boy benjamin simms died and the simms slaves were auctioned to the highest bidders. "if'n you wants to know what unhappiness means," said uncle john rudd, "jess'n you stand on the slave block and hear the auctioneer's voice selling you away from the folks you love." uncle john explained how mothers and fathers were often separated from their dearly loved children, at the auction block, but john and his younger brother thomas were fortunate and were bought by the same master along with liza rudd, their mother. an elder brother, henry, was separated from his mother and brothers and became the property of george snyder and was thereafter known as henry snyder. when liza rudd and her two little sons left the slave block they were the property of henry moore who lived a few miles away from springfield. uncle john declares that unhappiness met them at the threshold of the moore's estate. liza was given the position of cook, housemaid and plough-hand while her little boys were made to hoe, carry wood and care for the small children of the moore family. john had only been at the moore home a few months when he witnessed several slaves being badly beaten. henry moore kept a white overseer and several white men were employed to whip slaves. a large barrel stood near the slave quarters and the little boy discovered that the barrel was a whipping post. the slaves would be strapped across the side of the barrel and two strong men would wield the "cat of nine tails" until blood flowed from gashed flesh, and the cries and prayers of the unfortunate culprits availed them nothing until the strength of the floggers became exhausted. one day, when several negroes had just recovered from an unusual amount of chastisement, the little negro, john rudd, was playing in the front yard of the moore's house when he heard a soft voice calling him. he knew the voice belonged to shell moore, one of his best friends at the moore estate. shell had been among those severely beaten and little john had been grieving over his misfortunes. "shell had been in the habbit of whittling out whistles for me and pettin' of me," said the now aged negro. "i went to see what he wanted wif me and he said 'goodby johnnie, you'll never see shellie alive after today.'" shell made his way toward the cornfield but the little negro boy, watching him go, did not realize what situation confronted him. that night the master announced that shell had run away again and the slaves were started searching fields and woods but shell's body was found three days later by rhoder mcquirk, dangling from a rafter of moore's corn crib where the unhappy negro had hanged himself with a leather halter. shell was a splendid worker and was well worth a thousand dollars. if he had been fairly treated he would have been happy and glad to repay kindness by toil. "mars henry would have been better to all of us, only mistress jane was always rilin' him up," declared john rudd as he sat in his rocking chair under a shade tree. "jane moore, was the daughter of old thomas rakin, one of the meanest men, where slaves were concerned, and she had learnt the slave drivin' business from her daddy." uncle john related a story concerning his mother as follows: "mama had been workin' in the cornfield all day 'till time to cook supper. she was jes' standin' in the smoke house that was built back of the big kitchen when mistress walks in. she had a long whip hid under her apron and began whippin mama across the shoulders, 'thout tellin' her why. mama wheeled around from whar she was slicin' ham and started runnin' after old missus jane. ole missus run so fas' mama couldn't catch up wif her so she throwed the butcher knife and stuck it in the wall up to the hilt." "i was scared. i was fraid when marse henry come in i believed he would have mama whipped to death." "whar jane?" said mars henry. "she up stairs with the door locked," said mama. then she tole old mars henry the truth about how mistress jane whip her and show him the marks of the whip. she showed him the butcher knife stickin' in the wall. "get yer clothes together," said marse henry. john then had to be parted from his mother. henry rudd [tr: 'moore' written above in brackets.] believed that the negroes were going to be set free. war had been declared and his desire was to send liza far into the southern states where the price of a good negro was higher than in kentucky. when he reached louisville he was offered a good price for her service and hired her out to cook at a hotel. john grieved over the loss of his mother but afterwards learned she had been well treated at louisville. john rudd continued to work for henry moore until the civil war ended. then henry snyder came to the moore home and demanded his brothers to be given into his charge. henry snyder had enlisted in the federal army and had fought throughout the war. he had entered or leased seven acres of good land seven miles below owensboro, kentucky, and on those good acres of davies county farm land the mother and her three sons were reunited. john rudd had never seen a river until he made the trip to owensboro with his brother henry. the trip was made on the big gray eagle and uncle john declares "i was sure thrilled to get that boat ride." he relates many incidents of run-away negroes. remembers his fear of the ku klucks, and remembers seeing seven ex-slaves hanging from one tree near the top of grimes-hill, just after the close of the war. when john grew to young manhood he worked on farms in davis county near owensboro for several years, then procured the job of portering for john sporree, a hotel keeper at owensboro, and in this position john worked for fifteen years. while at owensboro he met the trains and boats. he recalls the boats; morning star, and guiding star; both excursion boats that carried gay men and women on pleasure trips up and down the ohio river. uncle john married teena queen his beloved first wife, at owensboro. to this union was born one son but he has not been to see his father nor has he heard from him for thirty years, and his father believes him to have died. the second wife was minnie dixon who still lives with uncle john at evansville. when asked what his political ideas were, uncle john said his politics is his love for his government. he draws an old age compensation of dollars a month. uncle john had some trouble proving his age but met the situation by having a friend write to the catholic church authorities at springfield. mrs. simms had taken the position of god mother to the baby and his birth and christening had been recorded in the church records. he is a devout catholic and believes that religion and freedom are the two richest blessings ever given to mankind. uncle john worked as janitor at the boehne tuberculosis hospital for eight years. while working there he received a fall which crippled him. he walks by the aid of a cane but is able to visit with his friends and do a small amount of work in his home. federal writers' project of the w.p.a. district # marion county anna pritchett kentucky avenue, indianapolis, indiana folklore amanda elizabeth samuels park avenue lizzie was a child in the home of grandma and grandpa mcmurry. they were farmers in robinson county, tennessee. her mother, a slave hand, worked on the farm until her young master, robert mcmurry was married. she was then sold to rev. carter plaster and taken to logan county, kentucky. the child, lizzie was given to young robert. she lived in the house to help the young mistress who was not so kind to her. lizzie was forced to eat chicken heads, fish heads, pig tails, and parsnips. the child disliked this very much, and was very unhappy with her young mistress, because in robert's father's home all slave children were treated just like his own children. they had plenty of good substantial food, and were protected in every way. the old master felt they were the hands of the next generation and if they were strong and healthy, they would bring in a larger amount of money when sold. lizzie's hardships did not last long as they were set free soon after young robert's marriage. he took her in a wagon to keysburg, kentucky to be with her mother. lizzie learned this song from the soldiers. old saul crawford is dead, and the last word is said. they were fond of looking back till they heard the bushes crack and sent them to their happy home in cannan. some wears worsted some wears lawn what they gonna do when that's all gone. interviewer's comment mrs. samuels is an amusing little woman, she must be about years old, but holds to the age of . had she given her right age, the people for whom she works would have helped her to get her pension. they are amused, yet provoked because lizzie wants to be younger than she really is. submitted december , indianapolis, indiana g. monroe dist. jefferson county slave story mr. jack simms' story personal interview mr. simms was born and raised on mill creek kentucky, and now lives in madison indiana on poplar street diagonally north west of the hospital. he was so young he did no remember very much about how the slaves were treated, but seemed to regret very much that he had been denied the privilege of an education. mr. simms remembers seeing the lines of soldiers on the campbellsburg road, but referred to the war as the "revolution war". this was a very interesting old man, when we first called, his daughter invited us into the house, but her father wanted to talk outside where he "spit better". when his daughter conveyed this information mr. simms' immediately decided that we could come in as we "wouldn't be there long anyhow". after we gained entrance, the daughter remarked that her father was very young at the time of the war, whereupon he answered very testily "if you are going to tell it, go ahead. or am i going to tell it?" beulah van meter district clark county billy slaughter watt st. jeffersonville billy slaughter was born sept. , , on the lincoln farm near hodgenville, ky. the slaughters who now live between the dixie highway and hodgenville on the right of the road driving toward hodgenville about four miles off the state highway are the descendants of the old slave's master. this old slave was sold once and was given away once before he was given his freedom. the spring on the lincoln farm that falls from a cliff was a place associated with indian cruelty. it was here in the pool of water below the cliff that the indians would throw babies of the settlers. if the little children could swim or the settlers could rescue them they escaped, otherwise they were drowned. the indians would gather around the scene of the tragedy and rejoice in their fashion. the old slave when he was a baby was thrown in this pool but was rescued by white people. he remembers having seen several indians but not many. the most interesting subject that billy slaughter discussed was the civil war. this was ordinarily believed to be fought over slavery, but it really was not, according to his interpretation, which is unusual for an old slave to state. the real reason was that the south withdrew from the union and elected jefferson davis president of the confederacy. in his own dialect he narrated these events accurately. the southerners or democrats were called "rebels" and "secess" and the republicans were called "abolitionists." another point of interest was john brown and harpers ferry. when harper's ferry was fired upon, that was firing upon the united states. it was here and through john brown's raid that war was virtually declared. the old negro explained that brown was an abolitionist, and was captured here and later killed. while the old slave had the utmost respect for the federal government he regarded john brown as a martyr for the cause of freedom and included him among the heroes he worshipped. among his prized possessions is an old book written about john brown's raid. the old slave's real hero was abraham lincoln. he plans another pilgrimage to the lincoln farm to look again at the cabin in which his emancipator was born. he asked me if i read history very much. i assured him that i read it to some extent. after that he asked me if i recalled reading about lincoln during the civil war walking the white house floor one night and a negro named douglas remained in his presence. in the beginning of the war the negroes who enlisted in the union army were given freedom, also the wives, and the children who were not married. another problem that was facing the north at this time was that the men who were taken from the farm and factory to the army could not be replaced by the slaves and production continued in the north as was being done in the south. not all negroes who wanted to join the union forces were able to do so because of the strict watchfulness of their masters. the slaves were made to fight in the southern army whether they wanted to or not. this lessened the number of free negroes in the northern army. as a result lincoln decided to free all negroes. that was the decision he made the night he walked the white house floor. this was the old darkey's story of the conditions that brought about the emancipation proclamation. freeing the negroes was brought about during the civil war but it was not the reason that the war was fought, was the unusual opinion of this negro. "uncle billy's" father joined the union army at the taylor barracks, near louisville, ky., which was the camp taylor during the world war. uncle billy's father and mother and their children who were not married were given freedom. the old slave has kept the papers that were drawn up for this act. the old darkey explained that the negro soldiers never fought in any decisive battles. there must always be someone to clean and polish the harness, care for the horses, dig ditches, and construct parapets. this slave's father was at memphis during the battle there. the slaughter family migrated to jeffersonville in ' . billy was then seven years old. at that time there was only one depot here--a freight and passenger depot at court and wall streets. what is now known as eleventh st. was then a hickory grove--a paradise for squirrel hunters. on the ridge beginning at th and mechanic sts. were persimmon trees. this was a splendid hunting haven for the negroes for their favorite wild animal--the o'possum. the ridge is known today as 'possum ridge. the section east of st. anthony's cemetery was covered in woods. since there were a number of beechnuts, pigeons frequented this place and were sought here. one could catch them faster than he could shoot them. at this time there were two shipyards in jeffersonville--barmore's and howard's. barmore's shipyard location was first the location of a big meat-packing company. the old darkey called it a "pork house". the old slave had seen several boats launched from these yards. great crowds would gather for this event. after the hull was completed in the docks the boat was ready to launch. the blocks that served as props were knocked down one at a time. one man would knock down each prop. there were several men employed in this work on the appointed day of the launching of the boat. the boat would be christened with a bottle of champagne on its way to the river. "uncle billy" worked on a steamboat in his earlier days. this boat traveled from louisville to new orleans. people traveled on the river for there were few railroads. the first work the old darkey did was to clean the decks. later he cleaned up inside the boat, mopped up the floors and made the berths. the next job he held was ladies' cabin man. later he took care of the quarters where the officials of the boat slept. the darkey also worked as a second pantry man. this work consisted of waiting on the tables in the dining room. the men's clothes had to be spotless. sometimes it would become necessary for him to change his shirt three times a day. the meats on the menu would include pigeon, duck, turkey, chicken, quail, beef, pork, and mutton. vegetables of the season were served, as well as desserts. it was nothing unusual for a half dollar to be left under a plate as a tip for the waiter. those who worked in the cabins never set a price for a shoe shine. fifteen cents was the lowest they ever received. during a yellow fever epidemic before a quarantine could be declared a boatload of three hundred people left louisville at night to go to memphis, tenn. during the same time this boat went to new orleans where yellow fever was raging. the captain warned them of it. in two narrow streets the old darkey recalled how he had seen the people fall over dead. these streets were crowded and there were no sidewalks, only room for a wagon. here the victims would be sitting in the doorways, apparently asleep, only to fall over dead. when the boat returned, one of the crew was stricken with this disease. uncle billy nursed him until they reached his home at cairo, ill. no one else took the yellow fever and this man recovered. another job "uncle billy" held was helping to make the brick used in the u.s. quarter master depot. colonel james keigwin operated a brick kiln in what is now a colored settlement between th and th and watt and spring sts. the clay was obtained from this field. it was his task to off-bare the brick after they were taken from the molds, and to place them in the eyes to be burned. wood was used as fuel. "uncle billy" reads his bible quite often. he sometimes wonders why he is still left here--all of his friends are gone; all his brothers and sisters are gone. but this he believes is the solution--that there must be someone left to tell about old times. "the bible," he quotes, "says that two shall be working in the field together and one shall be taken and the other left. i am the one who is left," he concludes. henrietta karwowski, field worker federal writers' project st. joseph county--district # south bend, indiana ex-slaves mr. and mrs. alex smith north lake street south bend, indiana mr. and mrs. alex smith, an eighty-three year old negro couple were slaves in kentucky near paris, tennessee, as children. they now reside at north lake street, on the western limits of south bend. this couple lives in a little shack patched up with tar paper, tin, and wood. mrs. elizabeth smith, the talkative member or the family is a small woman, very wrinkled, with a stocking cap pulled over her gray hair. she wore a dress made of three different print materials; sleeves of one kind, collar of another and body of a third. her front teeth were discolored, brown stubs, which suggested that she chews tobacco. mr. alex smith, the husband is tall, though probably he was a well built man at one time. he gets around by means of a cane. mrs. smith said that he is not at all well, and he was in the hospital for six weeks last winter. the wife, elizabeth or betty, as her husband calls her, was a slave on the peter stubblefield plantation in kentucky, the nearest town being paris, tennessee, while mr. smith was a slave on the robert stubblefield plantation nearby. although only a child of five, mr. smith remembers the civil war, especially the marching of thousands of soldiers, and the horse-drawn artillery wagons. the stubblefields freed their slaves the first winter after the war. on the peter stubblefield plantation the slaves were treated very well and had plenty to eat, while on the robert stubblefield plantation mr smith went hungry many times, and said, "often, i would see a dog with a bit of bread, and i would have been willing to take it from him if i had not been afraid the dog would bite me." mrs. smith was named after elizabeth stubblefield, a relative of peter stubblefield. as a child of five years or less, elizabeth had to spin "long reels five cuts a day," pick seed from cotton, and cockle burrs from wool, and perform the duties of a house girl. unlike the chores of elizabeth, mr. smith had to chop wood, carry water, chop weeds, care for cows, pick bugs from tobacco plants. this little boy had to go barefoot both summer and winter, and remembers the cracking of ice under his bare feet. the day the mistress and master came and told the slaves they were free to go any place they desired, mrs. smith's mother told her later that she was glad to be free but she had no place to go or any money to go with. many of the slaves would not leave and she never witnessed such crying as went on. later mrs. smith was paid for working. she worked in the fields for "wittels" and clothes. a few years later she nursed children for twenty-five cents a week and "wittels," but after a time she received fifty cents a week, board and two dresses. she married mr. smith at the age of twenty. mr smith's father rented a farm and mr. smith has been a farmer all his life. the smith couple have been married sixty-four years. mrs. smith says, "and never a cross word exchanged. mr. smith and i had no children." the room the writer was invited into was a combination bed-room and living room with a large heating stove in the centre of the small room. a bed on one side, a few chairs about the room. the floor was covered with an old patched rug. the only other room beside this room was a very small kitchen. the whole home was shabby and poor. the only means of support the family has is a government old age pension which amounts to about fourteen dollars a month. their little shack is situated in the center of a large lot around which a very nice vegetable garden is planted. the property belongs to mr. harry brazy, and the old couple does not pay rent or taxes and they may stay there as long as they live, "which is good enough for us," says mrs. smith. as the writer was leaving mrs. smith said, "i like to talk and meet people. come again." robert c. irvin noblesville, ind. district # ex-slave, life story of barney stone, former slave, hamilton co. this is the life story of barney stone, a highly respected colored gentleman of noblesville, hamilton county seat. mr. stone is near nintey-one years old, is in sound physical condition and still has a remarkable memory. he was a slave in the state of kentucky for more than sixteen years and a soldier in the union army for nearly two years. he educated himself and taught school to colored children four years following the civil war. he studied in , and has been a preacher in the colored baptist faith for sixty nine years, having been instrumental in the building of seven churches in that time. mr. stone joined the k. of p. lodge, the i.o.o.f. and masonic lodge and is still a member of the latter. this fine old colored man has always worked hard for the uplift and advancement of the colored race and has accomplished much in this effort in the states of tennessee, kentucky and indiana. he, together with his preaching of the gospel, and his lecturing, has followed farming. he now has a field of sweet corn and a fine, large garden, which he plowed, planted and tended himself and not a weed can be found in either. he is the only ex-slave now living in hamilton county, the others all deceased, and is one of three living members of hamilton county g.a.r. the other two members being white. mr. stone has given to the writer "my life's story", which he desires to call it, and in this story he pictures to the reader, "sixteen years of hell as a slave on a plantation," a story which will convince the reader that, even though much blood was shed in our civil war, the war was a godsend to the american nation. this story is told just as given by mr. stone. my life's story "my name is barney stone, i was born in slavery, may , , in spencer county, kentucky. i was a slave on the plantation of lemuel stone (all slaves bore the last name of their master) for nearly seventeen years and was considered a leader among the young slaves on our plantation. my mammy was mother to ten children, all slaves, and my pappy, buck grant, was a buck slave on the plantation of john grant, his mastah; my pappy was used much as a male cow is used on the stock farm and was hired out to other plantation owners for that purpose and was regarded as a valuable slave. his mastah permitted him to visit my mother each week-end on our plantation. my mastah was a hard man when he was angry, drinking or not feeling well, then at times he was kind to us. i was compelled to pick cotton and do other work when i was a very small boy. mastah would never sell me because i was regarded as the best young slave on the plantation. different from many other slaves, i was kept on the plantation from the day i was born until the day i ran away. slaves were sold in two ways, sometimes at private sale to a man who went about the southland buying slaves until he has many in his possession, then he would have a big auction sale and would re-sell them to the highest bidder, much in the same manner as our live-stock are sold now in auction sales. professional slave buyers in those days were called "nigger buyers". he came to the plantation with a doctor. he would point out two or three slaves which looked good to him and which could be spared by the owner, and would have the doctor examine the slave's heart. if the doctor pronounced the slave as sound, then the nigger buyer would make an offer to the owner and if the amount was satisfactory, the slave was sold. some large plantation owners, having a large number of slaves, would hold a public auction and dispose of some of them, then he would attend another sale and buy new slaves, this was done sometimes to get better slaves and sometimes to make money on the sale of them. many times, as i have said before, our treatment on our plantation was horrible. when i was just a small boy, i witnessed my sister sold and taken away. one day one of horses came into the barn and mastah noticed that she was caripped. he flew into a rage and thought i had hurt the horse, either that, or that i knew who did it. i told him that i did not do it and he demanded that i tell him who did it, if i didn't. i did not know and when i told him so, he secured a whip tied me to a post and whipped me until i was covered with blood. i begged him, "mastah, mastah, please don't whip me, i do not know who did it." he then took out his pocket knife and i would have been killed if missus (his dear wife) had not make him quit. she untied me and cared for me. many has been the time, i have seen my mammy beaten mercilessly and for no good reason. one day, not long before the out-break of the civil war, a nigger buyer came and i witnessed my dear mammy and my one year old baby brother, sold. i seen er taken away, never to see her again until i found her twenty-seven years later at clarksburg, tennessee. my baby brother was with her, but i did not know him until mammy told me who he was, he had grown into a large man. that was a happy meeting. after those experiences of "sixteen long years in hell, as a slave", i was very bitter against the white man, until after i ran away and joined the union army. at the out-break of the civil war and when the northern army was marching into the southland, hundreds of male slaves were shot down by the rebels, rather than see them join with the yankees. one day when i learned that the northern troops were very close to our plantation, i ran away and hid in a culvert, but was found and i would have been shot had the yankee troops not scattered them and that saved me. i joined that union army and served one year, eight months and twenty-two days, and fought with them in the battle of fort wagnor, and also in the battle of milikin's bend. when i went into the army, i could not read or write. the white soldiers took an interest in me and taught me to write and read, and when the war was over i could write a very good letter. i taught what little i knew to colored children after the war. i studied day and night for the next three years at the home of a lawyer, educating myself and in , i started preaching the gospel of jesus christ and have continued to do so for sixty-nine years. in that time i have been instrumental in the building of seven churches in kentucky, tennessee and indiana. i did this good work through gratefulness to god for my deliverance and my salvation. during my life, i have joined the k. of p. lodge, and i.o.o.f and masonic lodge. i have preached for the up-life and advancement of the colored races. i have accomplished much good in this life and have raised a family of eight children. i love and am loyal to my country and have received great compensation from my government for my services. i am in good health and still able to work, and i am thankful to my god and my country." stories from ex-slaves th district vanderburgh county lauana creel s. barker avenue, evansville, indiana escape from bondage of adah isabelle suggs among the interesting stories connected with former slaves one of the most outstanding ones is the life story of adah isabelle suggs, indeed her escape from slavery planned and executed by her anxious mother, harriott mcclain, bears the earmarks of fiction, but the truth of all related occurences has been established by the aged negro woman and her daughter mrs. harriott holloway, both citizens of evansville, indiana. born in slavery before january the twenty-second, the child adah mcclain was the property of colonel jackson mcclain and louisa, his wife. according to the customary practice of raising slave children, adah was left at the negro quarters of the mcclain plantation, a large estate located in henderson county, three and one half miles from the village of henderson, kentucky. there she was cared for by her mother. she retains many impressions gained in early childhood of the slave quarters; she remembers the slaves singing and dancing together after the day of toil. their voices were strong and their songs were sweet. "master was good to his slaves and never beat them" were her words concerning her master. when adah was not yet five years of age the mistress, louisa mcclain, made a trip to the slave quarters to review conditions of the negroes. it was there she discovered that one little girl there had been developing ideas and ideals; the mother had taught the little one to knit tiny stockings, using wheat straws for knitting needles. mrs. mcclain at once took charge of the child taking her from her mother's care and establishing her room at the residence of the mcclain family. today the aged negro woman recalls the words of praise and encouragement accorded her accomplishments, for the child was apt, active, responsive to influence and soon learned to fetch any needed volume from the library shelves of the mcclain home. she was contented and happy but the mother knew that much unhappiness was in store for her young daughter if she remained as she was situated. a custom prevailed throughout the southern states that the first born of each slave maiden should be the son or daughter of her master and the girls were forced into maternity at puberty. the mothers naturally resisted this terrible practice and harriott was determined to prevent her child being victimized. one planned escape was thwarted; when the girl was about twelve years of age the mother tried to take her to a place of safety but they were overtaken on the road to the ferry where they hoped to be put across the ohio river. they were carried back to the plantation and the mother was mildly punished and imprisoned in an upstair room. the little girl knew her mother was imprisoned and often climbed up to a window where the two could talk together. one night the mother received directions through a dream in which her escape was planned. she told the child about the dream and instructed her to carry out orders that they might escape together. the girl brought a large knife from mrs. mcclain's pantry and by the aid of that tool the lock was pried from the prison door and the mother made her way into the open world about midnight. a large tobacco barn became her refuge where she waited for her child. the girl had some trouble making her escape; she had become a useful and necessary member of her mistress' household and her services were hourly in demand. the daughter "young missus" annie mcclain was afflicted from birth having a cleft palate and later developing heart dropsy which made regular surgery imperative. the negro girl had learned to care for the young white woman and could draw the bandages for the surgeon whey "young missus" underwent surgical treatment. the memory of one trip to louisville is vivid in the mind of the old negress today for she was taken to the city and the party stopped at the gault house and [tr: line not completed] "it was a grand place," she declares, as she describes the surroundings; the handsome draperies and the winding stairway and other artistic objects seen at the grand hotel. the child loved her young mistress and the young mistress desired the good slave should be always near her; so, patient waiting was required by the negro mother before her daughter finally reached their rendezvous. under cover of night the two fugitives traveled the three miles to henderson, there they secreted themselves under the house of mrs. margaret bentley until darkness fell over the world to cover their retreat. imagine the frightened negroes stealthily creeping through the woods in constant fear of being recaptured. federal soldiers put them across the river at henderson and from that point they cautiously advanced toward evansville. the husband of harriott, milton mcclain and her son jerome were volunteers in a negro regiment. the operation of the federal statute providing for the enlistment of slaves made enlisted negroes free as well as their wives and children, so, by that statute harriott mcclain and her daughter should have been given their freedom. when the refugees arrived in evansville they were befriended by free negroes of the area. harriott obtained a position as maid with the parvine family, "miss hallie and miss genevieve parvine were real good folks," declares the aged negro adah when repeating her story. after working for the misses parvine for about two years, the negro mother had saved enough money to place her child in "pay school" there she learned rapidly. adah mcclain was married to thomas suggs january , . thomas was a slave of bill mcclain and it is believed he adopted the name suggs because a mr. suggs had befriended him in time of trouble. of this fact neither the wife nor daughter have positive proof. the father has departed this life but adah suggs lives on with her memories. varied experiences have attended her way. wifehood and devotion; motherhood and care she has known for she has given fifteen children to the world. among them were one set of twins, daughters and triplets, two sons and a daughter. she is a beloved mother to those of her children who remain near her and says she is happy in her belief in god and christ and hopes for a glorious hereafter where she can serve the lord jesus christ and praise him eternally. what greater hope can be given to the mortal than the hope cherished by adah isabelle suggs? folklore district # vanderburgh county lauana creel "a tradition from pre-civil war days" katie sutton, aged ex-slave oak street, evansville, ind. "white folks 'jes naturally different from darkies," said aunt katie sutton, ex-slave, as she tightened her bonnet strings under her wrinkled chin. "we's different in color, in talk and in ligion and beliefs. we's different in every way and can never be spected to think oe [tr: or?] to live alike." "when i was a little gal i lived with my mother in an old log cabin. my mammy was good to me but she had to spend so much of her time at humoring the white babies and taking care of them that she hardly ever got to even sing her own babies to sleep." "ole missus and young missus told the little slave children that the stork brought the white babies to their mothers but that the slave children were all hatched out from buzzards eggs and we believed it was true." "yes, maam, i believes in evil spirits and that there are many folks that can put spells on you, and if'n you dont believe it you had better be careful for there are folks right here in this town that have the power to bewitch you and then you will never be happy again." aunt katie declared that the seventh son of a seventh son, or the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter possesses the power to heal diseases and that a child born after the death of its father possesses a strange and unknown power. while aunt katie was talking, a neighbor came in to borrow a shovel from her. "no, no, indeed i never lends anything to nobody," she declared. after the new neighbor left, aunt katie said, "she jes erbout wanted dat shovel so she could 'hax' me. a woman borrowed a poker from my mammy and hexed mammy by bending the poker and mammy got all twisted up wid rhumatis 'twill her uncle straightened de poker and den mammy got as straight as anybody." "no, maam, nobody wginter take anything of mine out'n this house." aunt katie sutton's voice was thin and her tune uncertain but she remembered some of the songs she heard in slavery days. one was a lullaby sung by her mother and the song is given on separate pages of this artical. three years ago aunt katie was called away on her last journey although she had always emmerced the back and front steps of her cottage with chamber lye daily to keep away evil spirits death crept in and demanded the price each of us must pay and katie answered the call. aunt katie sprinkled salt in the foot prints of departing guests "dat's so dey kain leave no illwill behind em and can never come agin 'thout an invitation," she explained. she said she one time planted a tree with a curse and that her worst enemy died that same year. "evil spirits creeps around all night long and evil people's always able to hex you, so, you had best be careful how you talks to strangers. always spit on a coin before you gives it to a begger and dont pass too close to a hunchbacked person unless you can rub the hump or you will have bad luck as sure as anything." aunt katie declared a rabbit's foot only brought good luck if the rabbit had been killed by a cross eyed negro in a country grave yard in the dark of the moon and she said that she believed one of that description could be found only once in a lifetime or possibly a hundred years. "a slave mammy's lullaby." sung by katie sutton, ex-slave of evansville, indiana. "a snow white stork flew down from the sky. rock a bye, my baby bye, to take a baby gal so fair, to young missus, waitin there; when all was quiet as a mouse, in ole massa's big fine house. refrain: dat little gal was borned rich and free, she's de sap from out a sugah tree; but you are jes as sweet to me; my little colored chile, jes lay yo head upon my bres; an res, and res, and res, an res, my little colored chile. to a cabin in a woodland drear, you've come by a mammy's heart to cheer; in this ole slave's cabin, your hands my heart strings grabbin; jes lay your head upon my bres, jes snuggle close an res an res; my little colored chile. repeat refrain. yo daddy ploughs ole massa's corn, yo mammy does the cooking; she'll give dinner to her hungry chile, when nobody is a lookin; don't be ashamed, my chile, i beg, case you was hatched from a buzzard's egg; my little colored chile." repeat refrain. dist. no. johnson co. william r. mays aug. , slavery days of george thompson my name is george thompson, i was born in monroe county, kentucky near the cumberland river oct. , , on the manfred furgeson plantation, who owned about slaves. mister furgerson [tr: before, furgeson] was a preacher and had three daughters and was kind to his slaves. i was quite a small boy when our family, which included an older sister, was sold to ed. thompson in medcalf co. kentucky, who owned about other slaves, and as was the custom then we was given the name of our new master, "thompson". i was hardly twelve years old when slavery was abolished, yet i can remember at this late date most of the happenings as they existed at that time. i was so young and unexperienced when freed i remained on the thompson plantation for four years after the war and worked for my board and clothes as coach boy and any other odd jobs around the plantation. i have no education, i can neither read nor write, as a slave i was not allowed to have books. on sundays i would go into the woods and gather ginseng which i would sell to the doctors for from ¢ to ¢ a pound and with this money i would buy a book that was called the blue back speller. our master would not allow us to have any books and when we were lucky enough to own a book we would have to keep it hid, for if our master would find us with a book he would whip us and take the book from us. after receiving three severe whippings i gave up and never again tried for any learning, and to this day i can neither read nor write. slaves were never allowed off of their plantation without a written pass, and if caught away from their plantation without a pass by the pady-rollers or gorillars (who were a band of ruffians) they wore whipped. as there were no oil lamps or candles, another black boy and myself were stationed at the dining table to hold grease lamps for the white folks to see to eat. and we would use brushes to shoo away the flies. in i left the plantation to go on my own. i landed in heart county, ky. and went to work for mr. george parish in the tobacco fields at $ . per year and two suits of clothes; after working two years for mr. parish i left. i drifted from place to place in alabama and mississippi, working first at one place and then another, and finally drifted into franklin in and went to work on the fred murry farm on hurricane road for years. i afterwards worked for ashy furgerson, a house mover. i have lived at my present address, north young st. since coming to franklin. (can furnish photograph if wanted) [tr: no photograph found.] archie koritz, field worker federal writers' project porter county--district # valparaiso, indiana ex-slaves rev. wamble [tr: above in handwriting is 'womble'] madison street gary, indiana rev. wamble was born a slave in monroe county, mississippi, in . the westbrook family owned many slaves in charge of over-seers who managed the farm, on which there were usually two hundred or more slaves. one of the westbrook daughters married a mr. wamble, a wagon-maker. the westbrook family gave the newly-weds two slaves, as did the wamble family. one of the two slaves coming from the westbrook family was rev. wamble's grandfather. it seems that the slaves took the name of their master, hence rev. wamble's grandfather was named wamble. families owning only a few slaves and in moderate circumstances usually treated their slaves kindly since like a farmer with only a few horses, it was to their best interest to see that their slaves were well provided for. the slaves were valuable, and there was no funds to buy others, whereas the large slave owners were wealthy and one slave more or less made little difference. the reverend's father and his brothers were children of original african slaves and were of the same age as the wamble boys and grew up together. the reverend's grandfather was manager of the farm and the three wamble boys worked under him the same as the slaves. mr. wamble never permitted any of his slaves to be whipped, nor were they mistreated. mr. westbrook was a deacon in the methodist church and had two slave over-seers to manage the farm and the slaves. he was very severe with his slaves and none were ever permitted to leave the farm. if they did leave the farm and were found outside, they were arrested and whipped. then westbrook was notified and one of the over-seers would come and take the slave home where he would again be whipped. the slave was tied to a cedar tree or post and lashed with a snake whip. rev. wamble's mother was a deerbrook [hw: westbrook] slave and when the reverend was two years of age, his mother died from a miscarriage caused by a whipping. when the women slaves were in an advanced stage of pregnancy they were made to lie face down in a specially dug depression in the ground and were whipped. otherwise they were treated like the men. their arms were tied around a cedar tree or post, and they were lashed. since the reverend appeared to be a promising slave, both the westbrooks and the wambles wanted him, much like one would want a valuable colt today. since the reverend's grandmother was a westbrook and the wambles treated the slaves much better, she wanted him to become a wamble. she hid the child in a shed, what would probably be a poor dog-house today, and fed the child during the night time. during this period of his life the reverend remembers what happened to one of the westbrook slaves who had run away. one evening he came to the wamble home and asked for some supper. wamble took the slave into his home and after feeding him, placed a log chain which was hanging above the fire-place, around the slave's waist, left him to sleep on a bench in front of the fire-place. the next morning after the slave was given breakfast by the wambles, westbrook, his son and over-seer appeared. rev. wamble in his hide-out remembers being awakened by the sound of the slave being whipped and the moaning of the slave. after the whipping, the slave was turned loose. after he had gone about a mile through the bottom-land toward the river, westbrook turned his hounds loose on the slave's tracks. the hounds treed the slave before he had gone another mile, much like a dog would tree a cat. the westbrooks pulled the slave down from the tree and the dogs slashed his foot. the slave was then whipped and long ropes placed around him. he was driven back to the wamble place with whips where he was once again whipped. they [tr: then?] they drove him two miles to the westbrook place where he was whipped once more. whatever became of the slave, whether he died or recovered, is unknown. one unusual feature of this story is that westbrook who permitted his slaves to be whipped, was a church deacon, whereas wamble, who never attended church, never whipped or mistreated his slaves. the reverend states that in the community where he resided the slaves were well treated except for the whippings they received. they were well-fed, and if injured or sick, were attended by a doctor on the same principal that a person would care for an injured horse or sick cow. the slaves were valuable, and it was to the best interest of the owner to see that they were able to work. in case of slaves having children, the children became the property of the mother's owner. if the south had won the war, wamble would have been a westbrook since his mother was a westbrook slave, and if it lost, he would go to live with his father and take the name of his father, a wamble slave. so until the war was over he was hid out much like a small child would bring a stray dog home and hide it somewhere for fear that if his parents discovered it, it would be taken away. the living quarters of the slaves were made of logs covered with mud, and the roof was covered with coarse boards upon which dirt about a foot in depth was placed. there were no floors except dirt or the bare ground. the furniture consisted of a small stove and the beds were two boards extending from two walls, the extending ends resting on a peg driven into the ground. this would make a one-legged bed. the two boards were covered across ways with more boards and the slaves slept on these boards or upon the dirt floor. there were no blankets provided for them. for food the slaves received plenty of meat, potatoes, and whatever could be raised. if the master had plenty to eat, so did the slaves, but if food was not plentiful for the master, the slaves had less to eat. only one of the three wamble boys joined the southern army. until the war was over, the other two boys who refused to go to war hid out in the surrounding woods and hills. the only time the reverend's father left the farm was to attend his master billy, when he was in a hospital recovering from wounds received in battle. wamble was a wagon-maker, and he made two or three wagons which usually took about six months. then he hitched teams to them and went north to missouri, kansas and arkansas and kept going until he had sold the wagons and teams, keeping one wagon and team, with which to return home. some times the master would be gone for a period of nine to twelve months. during his absence the reverend's grandfather was in charge of the farm. the grandmother of rev. wamble was a full-blooded african negro, brought to this country as a slave at seventeen years of age. she was a very large and strong woman and was often hired out to do a man's work. slaves were forbidden to have papers in their possession and since they were forbidden to read papers, hardly any slaves could read or write. there never was any occasion or need to do these things. it was not known that the reverend's grandmother could read and write until after the civil war. the reverend remembers his grandmother bringing an old newspaper to his hide-out during the civil war, late at night, after the wamble family had retired, and making a candle from fried meat grease and a cord string, which made a very tiny light. she placed some old blankets over the walls so that no light could be seen through the cracks in the hut. she would then place the paper as near as possible to the light, without burning it, and read the paper. it was never discovered where or how she learned to read and write. if a young, good-looking, husky negro was trustworthy, the family would make him the driver of the family carriage. they would dress him in the best clothes obtainable and with a silk-finished beaver skin hat. the driver sat on a seat on the top and towards the front of the carriage. he was compelled to stay on this seat when waiting for any of the family that he might be driving, regardless of the weather or the length of time that he had to wait. the mail was carried in the same kind of vehicle with negro drivers. in each town there was a certain rack at which this mail carriage would stop in each village or wherever the designated stop was made. upon nearing the rack and coming to a stop, the driver would blow a bugle call which could be heard for miles around, and people hearing this bugle would come and get their mail. the reverend remembers that several of these drivers froze to death during the cold weather, and that in the winter, many times the horses on the mail carriage upon coming to this rack would stop, and the driver would be sitting frozen to death in his seat. men would take him down, carefully saving the silk beaver-skin hat for some other driver. since the slaves had no votes, they had no interest in politics when they became free and knew nothing about political conditions other than that after the civil war they were free and had a vote. as a boy the reverend remembers seeing the white and black soldiers marching on election day. the politicians would always tell the negroes what was good for them and making it appear that it was for their best interest, and they should vote for him, always giving them the desert first and making them think that they were on the level no matter what the meal might be or what hardships they were causing the negro to suffer. on one instance after the negroes were forbidden to vote they marched in a body to the polls and demanded a democratic ballot and were then permitted to vote. rev. wamble was twenty-seven years of age before he saw and read his first newspaper. he lived with the wambles for twenty years after the war, when his father then in partnership with another man, purchased forty acres of land. he attended his first school for a period of two months only in . in the government built a school on his father's farm and it was taught by a missionary. the school term was for a period of three months each year. the reverend attended this school for seven years. in he married the first time. his first wife died in memphis, tennessee, in . by this marriage there were four children. on february , , the reverend with his two surviving children all entered school at a college in little rock, arkansas. one of his daughters died in the third year of her school year, but the other graduated from the normal school and was a teacher for several years. at the present time she is married to a minister in louisiana and is the mother of ten children and is a nurse. the three oldest children have degrees and the others are expected to do the same. the reverend married his second wife in . she died in . by this marriage nine children were born. the reverend has been in the ministry for thirty-seven years. seeing the need of making more money, two of his sons came to gary, indiana, to work in . now both are working in the post-office. two years later he came to gary for the same reason and after working two years in the coke plant, was laid off due to the depression. the youngest daughter of the reverend by his second marriage graduated from a college in pine bluff, arkansas, and is now teaching in new york city. although the reverend is advanced in years, he is quite active and healthy. he says he has a small pension and is just waiting until it is time to pass on to the next world. he has six children and seventeen grandchildren living. as the reverend remembered the south, none of the white people worked at manual labor, but usually sat under a shade tree. they were usually clerks, bookkeepers or tradesmen. ex-slave stories th district vanderburgh county lauana creel s. barker avenue, evansville, indiana the biography of a child born in slavery samuel watson [hw: personal interview] samuel watson, a citizen of evansville, indiana, was born in webster county, kentucky, february , . his master's home was located two and one half miles from clay, kentucky on craborchard creek. "uncle sammy" as the negro children living near his home on south east fifth street call the old man, possesses an unusually clear memory. in fact he remembers seeing the soldiers and hearing the report of cannon while he was yet an infant. one story told by the old negro relates how; "old missus" saved "old massa's horses". the story follows: the mistress accompanied by a number of slaves was walking out one morning and all were startled by the sound of hurrying horses. soon many mounted soldiers could be seen coming over a hill in the distance. the child samuel was later told that the soldiers were making their way to fort donelson and were pressing horses into service. they were also enlisting negroes into service whenever possible. old master, thomas watson, owned many good able-bodied slaves and many splendid horses. the mistress realised the danger of loss and opening the "big gate" that separated the corral from the forest lands, mrs. watson ran into the midst of the horses shouting and frailing them. the frightened horses ran into the forest off the highway and toward the river. when the soldiers stopped at the watson plantation they found only a few old work horses standing under a tree and not desiring these they want on their way. the little negro boy ran and hid himself in the corner made by a great outside chimney, where he was found later, by his frightened mother. uncle samuel remembers that the horses came home the following afternoon, none missing. uncle samuel remembers when the war ended and the slaves were emancipated. "some were happy! and some were sad!" many dreaded leaving their old homes and their masters' families. uncle samuel's mother and three children were told that they were free people and the master asked the mother to take her little ones and go away. she complied and took her family to the plantation of jourdain james, hoping to work and keep her family together. wages received for her work failed to support the mother and children so she left the employ of mr. james and worked from place to place until her children became half starved and without clothing. the older children, remembering better and happier days, ran away from their mother and went back to their old master. thomas watson went to dixon, kentucky and had an article of indenture drawn up binding both thomas and laurah to his service for a long number of years. little samuel only remained with his mother who took him to the home of william allen price. mr. price's plantation was situated in webster county, kentucky about half-way between providence and clay on craborchard creek. mr. price had the little boy indentured to his service for a period of eighteen years. there the boy lived and worked on the plantation. he said he had a good home among good people. his master gave him five real whippings within a period of fourteen years but uncle samuel believes he deserved every lash administered. uncle samuel loved his master's family, he speaks of miss lena, miss lula, master jefferson and master john and believes they are still alive. their present home is at cebra, kentucky. it was the custom for a slave indentured to a master to be given a fair education, a good horse, bridle, saddle and a suit of clothes for his years of toil, but mr. price did not believe the boy deserved the pay and refused to pay him. a lawyer friend sued in behalf of the negro and received a judgement of $ . (one hundred and fifteen dollars). eighteen dollars repaid the lawyer for his service and samuel started out with $ . and his freedom. evansville became the home of samuel watson in . the trip was made by train to henderson then on transfer boat along the ohio to evansville. the young negro man was impressed by the boat and crew and said he loved the town from the first glimpse. dr. bacon, a prominent citizen living at chandler avenue and second street, employed samuel as coachman. his next service was as house-man for levi igleheart, upper second street. mr. igleheart grew to trust samuel and gave him many privileges allowing him to care for horses and to manage business for the family. samuel was married in . his wife was born in evansville and knew nothing of slavery by birth or indenture. uncle samuel was given a job at the trinity church, corner of third and chestnut streets. mr. igleheart recommended him for the position. he received $ . per month for his services for a period of six years. mr. mcneely employed him for several years as janitor for lodges and secret orders. the old negro was also a paper hanger and wall cleaner and did well untill the panic seized him as it did others. uncle samuel was entitled to an old age pension which he recieved from until but january th, something went wrong and the money was with held. then uncle samuel was sent to the poor house. still he was not unhappy and did what he could to make others happy. in he again applied and received the pension. $ . per month is paid for his upkeep, his only labor consists of tending a little garden and doing light chores. he lives with william crosby on s.e. fifth street. iris l cook district # floyd county slave story story of nancy whallen pearl st. new albany, ind. nancy whallen is now about years of age. she doesn't know exactly. she was about year of age when freedom was declared. nancy was born and raised in hart county near hardinsburg, kentucky. she is very hard to talk to as her memory is failing and she can not hear very well. the little negro girl lived the usual life of a rural negro in civil war time and afterwards. she remembers the "sojers" coming thru the place and asking for food. some of them camped on the farm and talked to her and teased her. she tells about one big nigger called "scott" on the place who could outwork all the others. he would hang his hat and shirt on a tree limb and work all day long in the blazing sun on the hottest day. the colored folk, used to have revivals, out in the woods. they would sometimes build a sort of brush shelter with leaves for a roof and service a would be held here. preachin' and shouting' sometimes lasted all day sundays. colored folks came from miles around when they possibly could get away. these affairs were usually held away from the "white folks" who seldom if ever saw these gatherings. observation of the writer. the old woman remembers the big eclipse of the sun or the "day of dark" as she called it. the chickens all went to roost and the darkies all thought the end of the world had come. the cattle lowed and everyone was scared to death. she lived down in kentucky after the war until she was quite a young woman and then came to indiana where she has lived ever since. she lives now with her daughter in new albany. special assignment emily hobson dist. # parke county interview with anderson whitted, colored ex-slave, of rockville, indiana [illustration: anderson whitted] mr. whitted will be years old next month october . he was born in orange county, north carolina. his mother took care of the white children so her nine children were very well treated. the master was a doctor. the family were hickory quakers and did not believe in mistreating their slaves, always providing them with plenty to eat, and clothing to wear to church on sunday. despite a law that prohibited books to negroes, his family had a bible, and an elementary spelling book. mr. whitted's father belonged to his master's half-brother and lived fourteen miles away. he was allowed a horse to go see them every two weeks. the father could read, and spell very well so would teach them on his visits. mr. whitted learned to read the bible first, then in later years has learned to read other things. it was the custom for the master to search the negro huts, but mr. whitted's master never did. the doctor often took mr. whitted's grandmother with him to help care for the sick. when the war broke out the master's son joined the southern forces. the son was wounded. the doctor and mr. whitted's grandmother went for the boy. on the way home the doctor died but the grandmother got the boy home and nursed him back to health. life for the negroes was different after the son began running the place, he was not good to them. mr. whitted was then years old, and the older brother was the overseer. the negroes had been allowed a share of the crop but the new master refused them anything to live on. in that region the wheat was harvested the middle of june. there was a big crop that year but the entire family was turned out before the harvest, with nothing. mr. whitted left his older brother with his mother and the children sitting by the road, while he ran the miles for his father to find out what to do. the father borrowed two teams and wagons, rented a house in the edge of town, and moved the family in. the slaves were freed about that time, and for the first time in their lives they were free, and the entire family together. the father went to the governor for food. the government was allowing hard tack and pickled beef for the negroes. they received their allotment, and were well satisfied with hard tack because they were free. in telling about the pickled beef he says he never has seen any beef since that looked like it; he believed that it was horse meat. the father started working in a mill in . he was soon bringing home food stuff from there, and in time they had a crop on their little place. the older brother worked in the mornings and went to a quaker normal school in the afternoon. pres. harrison gave him an appointment in the revenue department, then as he grew older he was transferred to the post office department. he was retired on a pension at the age of . he is still living in washington, d.c., and is now years old. during the war mr. whitted ran away, going miles to the camp of the northern soldiers where he stayed two weeks. they gave him a horse to ride, and sent him gathering fuel through the woods for them. those were the happiest days he had ever known--his first freedom. mr. whitted was never sold, but he often saw processions go past after a sale, the wagon loaded with provisions first, then the slaves tied together following. they often took the babies away from their mothers, and sold them. some old woman, too old to work, would then care for the little ones until they were old enough to work. at six years old they were put to work thinning corn, worming the tobacco, and pulling weeds. at seven they were taught to use a hoe. at they were full hands, working along with the older men. in april mr. whitted left orange county, it was so very rough it was hard to make a living. he just started out in search of a better place, leaving his wife and seven children there. in november he sent for them, he was working at the brick yards in rockville. they were finishing the court house. he was so anxious to make a living he often did as much as two men. one child was born here. his wife died soon after coming to rockville. he stayed single for three years, but found he could not care for his family and married again. his second wife died a number of years ago. he now spends the winters with his three living daughters, and during the summer months, a daughter comes to rockville to enjoy his home. mr. whitted's uncle belonged to a mean master. the slaves worked hard all day, then were chained together at night. the uncle ran away in the early part of the war, and after two years broke through the lines, and joined the northern army, going back after emancipation. iris cook dist floyd co. slave story the story of alex woodson e. th st. new albany, ind. observation of writer alex woodson is an old light skinned darkey, he looks to be between and , it is hard to tell his age, and colored folks hardly ever do know their correct age. i visited him in his little cottage and had a long talk with him and his wife (his second). "planted the fust one." they run a little grocery in the front room of the cottage. but the stock was sadly run down. together with the little store and his "pinshun" (old age pension) these old folks manage to get along. alex woodson was born at woodsonville, in hart county, kentucky, just across green river from munfordville. he was a good sized boy, possibly years or more when "freedom wuz declared". his master was "old marse" sterrett who had about a acre place and whose son in law tom williams ran a store on this place. when williams married sterretts daughter he was given uncle alex and his mother and brother as a present. williams was then known as "young master." when war come old master gave his (woodson's) mother a big roll of bills, "greenbacks as big as yo' arm", to keep for him, and was forced to leave the neighborhood. after the war the old darkey returned the money to him intact. uncle alex remembers his mother taking him and other children and running down the river bank and hiding in the woods all night when the soldiers came. they were morgan's men and took all available cattle and horses in the vicinity and beat the woods looking for yankee soldiers. uncle alex said he saw morgan at a distance on his big horse and he "wuz shore a mighty fine looker." sometimes the yankee soldiers would come riding along and they "took things too". when the war was over old master came back home and the negroes continued to live on at the place as usual, except for a few that wanted to go north. old master lived in a great big house with all his family and the negroes lived in another good sized house or quarters, all together. there were a few cabins. "barbecues! my we shore used to have 'em, yes ma'am, we did! folks would come for miles around. would roast whole hawgs and cows, and folks would sing, and eat and drink whiskey. the white folks had 'em but we helped and had fun too. sometimes we would have one ourselves." "used to have rail splittin's and wood choppins. the men woud work all day, and get a pile of wood as big as a house. at noon they'd stop and eat a big meal that the women folks had fixed up for em. them wuz some times, i've spent to many a one." "i remember we used to go to revivals sometimes, down near horse ave. everybody got religion and we shore had some times. we don't have them kind of times any more. i remember i went back down to one of those revivals years afterwards. most of the folks i used to know was dead or gone. the preacher made me set up front with him, and he asked me to preach to the folks. but i sez that "no, god hadn't made me that away and i wouldn't do it." i've saw abraham lincoln's cabin many a time, when i was young. it set up on a high hill, and i've been to the spring under the hill lots of times. the house was on the old national road then. i hear they've fixed it all up now. i haven't been there for years. after the war when i grewed up i married, and settled on the old place. i remember the only time i got beat in a horse trade. a sneakin' nigger from down near horse cave sold me a mule. that mule was jest natcherly no count. he would lay right down in the plow. one day after i had worked with him and tried to get him to work right, i got mad. i says to my wife, belle, i'm goin' to get rid of that mule if i have to trade him for a cat. an' i led him off. when i came back i had another mule and $ to boot. this mule she wuz shore skinny but when i fattened her up you wouldn't have known her." "finally i left the old place and we come north to indiana. we settled here and i've been here for years abourt. i worked in the old rolling mill. and i've been an officer in the baptist church at rd and main for years." "do i believe in ghosts" (here his second wife gave a sniff) well ma'am i don't believe in ghosts but i do in spirits. (another disgusted sniff from the second wife) i remember one time jest after my first wife died i was a sittin right in that chair your sittin in now. the front door opened and in come a big old grey mule, and i didn't have no grey mule. in she come just as easy like, put one foot down slow, and then the other, and then the other i says 'mule git out here, you is goin through that floor, sure as youre born. get out that door.' mule looked at me sad-like and then just disappeared. and in its place was my first wife, in the clothes she was buried in. she come up to me and i put my arms around her, but i couldn't feel nothin' (another sniff from the second wife) and i says, "babe, what you want?" then she started to git littler and littler and lower and finally went right away through the floor. it was her spirit thats what it was. ("rats" says the second wife.) "another time she came to me by three knocks and made me git up and sleep on another bed where it was better sleepin'." "i like to go back down in kentucky on visits as the folks there wont take a thing for bed and vittles. here they are so selfish wont even gave a drink of water away." "yes'm the flood got us. me and my wife here, we whet away and stayed two months. was feet in this house, and if it ever gets in here agin, we're goin down in kentucky and never comin' back no more." the old man and his wife bowed me out the front door and asked me to come back again and we'ed talk some more about old times. produced from images generously made available by the library of congress, manuscript division) +------------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | transcriber's note | | | | text marked with _underscores_ was underlined in the original, | | except on the title page, where it was italicised. text marked | | [hw: like this] was handwritten. | | | | the date marked at the beginning of some of the accounts was a | | stamp mark. where this was partially missing or illegible, the | | omissions are marked as "--". | | | | page numbers in body text refer to the page of the current | | interview, unlike those in the table of contents which refer to | | the numbering of the whole document. (page boundaries are | | preserved in the html version of this ebook.) | | | | some typographical errors have been corrected; they are marked | | in the html version of this ebook. in addition, punctuation and | | formatting have been made consistent, particularly the use of | | quotation marks. | | | +------------------------------------------------------------------+ [illustration: uncle willie, uncle sam, uncle charlie, squire sabagen, uncle hick "_the old south_"] slave narratives _a folk history of slavery in the united states_ _from interviews with former slaves_ typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress _illustrated with photographs_ washington volume ii arkansas narratives part prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of arkansas informants gadson, charlie gaines, dr. d. b. gaines, mary gant, william genes, mike gibson, jennie wormly gill, james gillam, cora gillespie, j. n. glass, will glenn, frank william glespie, ella golden, joe goodridge, jake goodson (goodrum), john govan, george grace, julia graham, charles graham, james grant, marthala graves, wesley gray, ambus gray, green gray, neely (nely) ,  green, henry (happy day) ,  greene, frank greene, george gregory, andrew griegg, annie guess, william and charlotte guidon, lee hadley, linley hall, anna hamilton, ellie hamilton, josephine ,  hamilton, peter hampton, lawrence hancock, hannah ,  haney, julia e. hankins, rachel hardridge, mary jane ,  hardy, o. c. hardy, rosa harper, eda ,  ,  harris, abram harris, betty harris, mary harris, rachel ,  harris, william harrison, william hart, laura haskell, hetty hatchett, matilda hawkens, john g. hawkens, lizzie hawkins, becky hawkins, g. w. hays, eliza haynes, tom haywood, joe hervey, marie e. hicks, phillis hicks, will higgins, bert hill, annie hill, clark ,  ,  ,  hill, elmira hill, gillie hill, harriett hill, hattie hill, oliver hill, rebecca brown hill, tanny hines, elizabeth hinton, charles ,  hite, ben hodge, betty hollomon, minnie holloway, h. b. (dad or pappy) holly, pink holmes, dora hopkins, elijah henry hopson, nettie horn, molly horton, cora l. house, laura howard, pinkey (pinkie) ,  howell, josephine howell, pauline (pearl) hudgens, molly huff, charlie huff, louvenia huggins, anne hulm, margret hunter, john hunter, william hutchinson, ida blackshear ishmon, cornelia island, jack and talitha ,  island, mary isom, henrietta illustrations the old south _frontispiece_ --- -- interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: charlie gadson brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born in barnwell county, south carolina. my parents' name was jane gadson, aaron gadson. my mother master was mr. owens. that is all i ever knowed bout him. my father's master was rivers and harley gadson. "they said they was to get something but they moved on. at the ending of that war the president of the united states got killed. they wouldn't knowed they was free if they hadn't made some change. i don't know what made them think they would get something at freedom less somebody told them they would. "i work at the oil mill and at sawmilling. i been farmin' mostly since i been here. i got kidney trouble and rheumatism till i ain't no count. i own a house and lot in brinkley." # interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: dr. d. b. gaines izard street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in and am now seventy-five years old. you see, therefore, that i know nothing experimentally and practically about slavery. "i was born in south carolina in lawrence county, and my father moved away from the old place before i had any recollection. i remember nothing about it. my father said his master's name was matthew hunter. "i was named for my father's master's brother, dr. bluford gaines. my name is doctor bluford gaines. of course, i am a doctor but my name is doctor. "my father's family moved to arkansas, in . settled near morrilton, arkansas. i myself come to little rock, arkansas, in , october eighth. worked in the homes of white families for my board and entered philander smith college october , . continued to work with judge smith of the arkansas supreme court until i graduated from philander smith college. after graduating i taught school and was elected assistant principal of the little rock negro high school in . served three years. accumulated sufficient money and went to meharry medical college, nashville, tennessee. graduated there in . practiced for five years in the city of little rock. entered permanently upon the ministry in . was called to the mount pleasant baptist church where i have been pastoring for thirty-nine years the first sunday in next may. "the first real thing that made me switch from the medicine to the ministry was the deep call of the ministry gave me more interest in the gospel than the profession of medicine furnished to me. in other words, i discovered that i was a real preacher and not a real doctor. "touching slavery, the white people to whom my parents belonged were tolerant and did not allow their slaves to be abused by patrollers and outsiders. "my mother's people, however, were sold from her in very early life and sent to alabama. my mother's maiden name was harriet smith. she came from south carolina too. her old master was a smith. my mother and father lived on adjoining plantations and by permission of both overseers, my father was permitted to visit her and to marry her even before freedom. out of regard for my father, his master bought my mother from her master. i think my father told me that the old master called them all together and announced that they were free at the close of the war. right after freedom, the first year, he remained on the farm with the old master. after that he moved away to greenville county, south carolina, and settled on a farm, with the brother-in-law of his old master, a man named squire bennett. he didn't go to war. "there was an exodus of colored people from south carolina beginning about , largely due to the ku klux or red shirts. they created a reign of terror for colored people in that state. he joined the exodus in and came to arkansas where from reports, the outlook seemed better for him and his family. he had no trouble with the ku klux in arkansas. he maintained himself here by farming." opinions "it is my opinion that from a racial standpoint, the lines are being drawn tighter due to the advancement of the negro people and to the increased prejudice of the dominant race. these lines will continue to tighten until they somehow under god are broken. we believe that the christian church is slowly but surely creating a helpful sentiment that will in time prevail among all men. "it appears from a governmental standpoint that the nation is doomed sooner or later to crash. possibly a changed form of government is not far ahead. this is due to two reasons: ( ) greed, avarice, and dishonesty on the part of public people; ( ) race prejudice. we believe that the heads of the national government have a far vision. the policies had they been carried out in keeping with the mind of the president, would have worked wonders in behalf of humanity generally. but dishonesty and greed of those who had the carrying out of these policies has destroyed their good effect and the fine intentions of the president who created them. it looks clear that neither the democratic nor the republican party will ever become sufficiently morally righteous to establish and maintain a first-class humanitarian and unselfish government. "it is my opinion that the younger generation is headed in the wrong direction both morally and spiritually. this applies to all races. and this fact must work to the undoing of the government that must soon fall into their hands, for no government can well exist founded upon graft, greed, and dishonesty. it seems that the younger group are more demoralized than the younger group were two generations ago. thus the danger both to church and state. unless the church can catch a firmer grip upon the younger group than it has, the outlook is indeed gloomy. "we are so far away from the situation of trouble in germany, that it is difficult to know what it is or should be. but one thing must be observed--that any wholesale persecution of a whole group of people must react upon the persecutors. there could no cause arise which would justify a governmental power to make a wholesale sweep of any great group of people that were weak and had no alternative. that government which settles its affairs by force and abuse shows more weakness than the weak people which it abuses. "we need not think that we are through with the job when we kill the weaker man. no cause is sufficient for the destruction of seven hundred thousand people, and no persecutor is safe from the effects of his own persecution." interviewer's comment the house at izard is the last house in what would otherwise be termed a "white" block. there appears to be no friction over the matter. note that if you were calling dr. gaines by his professional title and his first name at the same time, you would say dr. doctor bluford gaines. he has attained proficiency in three professions--teaching, medicine, and the ministry. dr. gaines is poised in his bearing and has cultured tastes and surroundings--neat cottage, and simple but attractive furnishings. he selects his ideas and words carefully, but dictates fluently. he knows what he wants to say, and what he omits is as significant as what he states. he is the leader type--big of body, alert of mind, and dominant. it is said that he with two other men dominated negro affairs in arkansas for a considerable period of time in the past. he does not give the impression of weakness now. despite his education, contacts, and comparative affluence, however, his interview resembles the type in a number of respects--the type as i have found it. # interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mary gaines brinkley, arkansas age: born "i was born in courtland, alabama. mother was twelve years old at the first of the surrender. "grandfather was a south carolinian. master harris bought him, two more, his brothers and two sisters and his mother at one time. he was real african. grandma on mother's side was dark indian. she had white hair nearly straight. i have some of it now. mother was lighter. that is where i gets my light color. "master harris sold mother and grandma. mother said she was fat, tall strong looking girl. master harris let a negro trader have grandma, mother and her three brothers. they left grandpa. master harris told the nigger traders not divide grandma from her children. he didn't believe in that. he was letting them go from their father. that was enough sorrow for them to bear. that was in alabama they was auctioned off. master harris lived in georgia. the auctioneerer held mother's arms up, turned her all around, made her kick, run, jump about to see how nimble and quick she was. he said this old woman can cook. she has been a good worker in the field. she's a good cook. they sold her off cheap. mother brought a big price. they caught on to that. the man nor woman wasn't good to them. i forgot their names what bought them. the nigger traders run her three brothers on to mississippi. the youngest one died in mississippi. they never seen the other two or heard of them till after freedom. they went back to georgia. all of them went back to their old home place. "in alabama at this new master's home mother was nursing. grandma and another old woman was the cooks. mother went to their little house and told them real low she had the baby and a strange man in the house said, 'is that the one you goiner let me have?' the man said, 'yes, he's goiner leave in the morning b'fore times.' "the new master come stand around to see when they went to sleep. that night he stood in the chimney corner. there was a little window; the moon throwed his shadow in the room. they said, 'i sure do like my new master.' another said, 'i sure do.' the other one said, 'this is the best place i ever been they so good to us.' then they sung a verse and prayed and got quiet. they heard him leave, seen his shadow go way. heard his house door squeak when he shut his door. then they got up easy and dressed, took all the clothes they had and slipped out. they walked nearly in a run all night and two more days. they couldn't carry much but they had some meat and meal they took along. their grub nearly give out when they come to some camps. somebody told them, 'this is yankee camps.' they give them something to eat. they worked there a while. one day they took a notion to look about and they hadn't gone far 'fore grandpa harris grabbed grandma, then mama. they got to stay a while but the yankees took them to town and master harris come got them and took them back. their new master come too but he said his wife said bring the girl back but let that old woman go. master harris took them both back till freedom. "when freedom come folks shout and knock down things so glad they was free. grandpa come back. master harris said, 'you can have land if you can get anything to work.' grandpa took his bounty he got when he left the army and bought a pair of mules. he had to pay rent the third year but till then he got what they called giving all that stayed a start. "grandma was mariah and grandpa was ned harris. the two boys come back said the baby boy died at selma, alabama. "grandpa talked about the war when i was a child. he said he was in the battle of corinth, mississippi. he said blood run shoe mouth deep in places. he didn't see how he ever got out alive. grandma and mama said they was glad to get away from the camps. they looked to be shot several times. colored folks is peace loving by nature. they don't love war. grandpa said war was awful. my mother was named lottie. "one reason mother said she wanted to get away from their new master, he have a hole dug out with a hoe and put pregnant women on their stomach. the overseers beat their back with cowhide and them strapped down. she said 'cause they didn't keep up work in the field or they didn't want to work. she didn't know why. they didn't stay there very long. she didn't want to go back there. "my life has never been a hard one. i have always worked. me and my husband run a cafe till he got drowned. since then i have to work harder. i wash and iron, cook wherever some one comes for me. when i was a girl i was so much like mother--a fast, strong hand in the field, i always had work. "mother said, 'eat the beans and greens, pot-liquor and sweet milk, make you fat and lazy.' that was what they put in the children's wooden trays in slavery. they give the men and women meat and the children the broth and dumplings, plenty molasses. sunday mother could cook at home in slavery if she'd 'tend to the baby too. all the hands on harrises place et dinner with their family on sunday. he was fair with his slaves. "for the life of me i can't see nothing wrong with the times. only thing i see, you can't get credit to run crops and folks all trying to shun farming. when i was on a farm i dearly loved it. it the place to raise young black and white both. town and cars ruined the country." interviewer's comment owns two houses in among white people. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: william gant forrest city, arkansas age: "i was one hundred and one years old last saturday ( ). i was born in bedford county, middle tennessee. my parents' names was judy and abraham gant. they had the same master. they had three boys and two girls. our owners was jim gant and elizabeth gant. ma had seven children, four gals and three boys. we called her miss betsy. jim gant owned seven hundred acres of good land in one body and some more land summers else. my young masters and mistresses was: malindy, jennie, betsy, mary, jim, john, andy. they had twenty-five or thirty slaves i knowed. he was pretty good to his slaves. he didn't whoop much. give 'em three or four licks. he fed 'em all well. we had warm clothes in winter. "i never seen nobody sold. my brothers and sisters was divided out. miss betsy was my young mistress. i could go to see all my folks. i never seen no hard times in my life. i had to work or be called lazy. i loved to work. i been in the field when the sun come up and got part my ploughing done. go back to the house and eat and feed my mule, rest around in the shade. folks didn't used to dread work so bad like they do now. i lay down and rest in the heat of the day. they had big shade trees for us niggers to rest under, eat under, spring water to drink. i'd plough till smack dark i couldn't see to get to the barn. we had lighted knots to feed by. the feed be in the troughs and water in the big trough in the lot ready. my supper would be hot too. it would be all i could eat too. yes, i'd be tired but i could sleep till next morning. "we had big todoos along over the country. white and black could go sometimes. picnics and preachings mostly what i went to. sometimes it was to a house covering, a corn shucking, a corn shelling, or log rolling. we went on hunts at night some. "sassy (saucy) negroes got the most licks. i never was sassy. i never got but a mighty few licks from nobody. we was slaves and that is about all to say. "i learned to fiddle after the fiddler on the place. uncle jim was the fiddler. andy jackson, a white boy, raised him. he learned him to read and write in slavery. after slavery i went to learn from a negro man at night. i learned a little bit. my master wouldn't cared if we had learned to read and write but the white folks had tuition school. some had a teacher hired to teach a few of them about. i could learned if i'd had or been 'round somebody knowed something. he read to us some. he read places in his bible. anything we have and ask him. we didn't have books and papers. i loved to play my fiddle, call figures, and tell every one what to do. i didn't take stock in reading and writing after the war. "my parents had the name of being a good set of negroes. she was raised by folks named morrow and pa by folks named strahorn. when ma was a little gal the morrows brought her to tennessee. my parents both raised in south carolina by the morrows and strahorns. i was twenty years old in the war. "they had a big battle seven or eight miles from our homes. it started at daylight sunday morning and lasted till monday evening. i think it was bragg and buel. the north whooped. it was a roar and shake and we could hear the big guns plain. it was in hardin county close to savannah, tennessee. it was times to be scared. we was all distressed. "my master died, left her a widow. "we farmed, made thirty or forty acres of wheat, seventy-five acres of oats, some rye. i pulled fodder all day and take it down at night while the dew would keep it in the bundle. haul it up. we was divided out when the war was on. "somebody killed master jim gant. he was murdered in his own house. they never did know who done it. they had two boys at home. one went visiting. they knocked her and the boy senseless. it was at night. they was all knocked in the head. "will strahorn owned my wife. he was tolerable good to his negroes. edmond gant was a black preacher in slavery. he married us. he married us in white folks' yard. they come out and looked at us marry. i had to ask my master and had to go ask for her then. our children was to be strahorn by name. will would own them 'cause my wife belong to him. my first wife had five girls and three boys. my wife died. i left both my two last wives. i never had no more children but them eight. "freedom--my young master come riding up behind us. we was going in dragging our ploughs. he told us it was freedom. the yankees took everything. we went to murray county to get my horse. i went off the next day. the yankees stayed in lawrence county. the yankees burnt tom greenfield out. tom and jim had joining farms. they took everything he had. took his darkies all but two girls. he left. jim was good and they never went 'bout him. jim stayed at home. i went over there. he put me on his brother's place. "i come to arkansas by train. i come to jackson, tennessee, then to forrest city, brought my famlee. my baby child is grown and married. "the ku klux never bothered me. it was a mighty little i ever seen of them. "i never have had a hard time. i have worked hard. i been ploughing, hoeing, cradling grain, picking cotton all my life. i love to plough and cradle grain. i love to work. "there is a big difference now and the way i was raised up. they used to be whooped and made mind. they learned how to work. now the times run away from the people. they used to buy what they couldn't raise in barrels. now they buy it in little dabs. i ain't used to it. white folks do as they pleases and the darkies do as they can. everybody greedy as he can be it seem like to me. laziness coming on more and more every year as they grow up. i ain't got a lazy bone in me. i'm serving and praising my lord every day, getting ready to go over in the next world." jan interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mike genes holly grove, ark. age: "i heard folks talk is all i know bout slavery. i was born in arkansas. my mother was sara jane whitley. my father was ____ genes. my mother came here from tennessee wid henderson sanders. i was raised on the duncan place. my mother raised us a heap like old times. i got fire tongs now she had. she made ash cakes and we had plenty milk. i got her old pot hooks too. she cooked cracklin' bread in the winter and black walnut bread the same way. we made palings and boards for the houses and barns. jes gradually we gittin' away from all that. times is changing so fast. "i heard 'em say in slavery they got 'em up fore day and they worked all day. some didn't have much clothes. i can remember three men twisting plow lines. they made plow lines. "i vote if i have a chance, but i really don't care bout it. i don't know how to keep up to vote like it ought to be. "this young generation may change but if they don't they air a knock out. they do jes anyway and everyway. they don't save and cain't save it look like, way we got things now. folks don't raise nothin' and have to buy so much livin' is hard. folks all doin fine long as the cotton is to pick. this is two reconstructions i been through. folks got used to work after that other one and i guess they have to get used to work this time till it get better. i don't know what causes this spell of hard times after the wars." # interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: jennie wormly gibson biscoe, arkansas age: "gran'ma was phoebe west. mama was jennie west. mama was a little girl when the civil war come on. she told how scared her uncle was. he didn't want to go to war. when they would be coming if he know it or get glimpse of the yankee soldiers, he'd pick up my mama. she was a baby. he'd run for a quarter of a mile to a great big tree down in the field way back of the place off the road. he never had to go to war. ma said she was little but she was scared at the sight of them clothes they wore. mama's and grandma's owners lived at vicksburg a lot of the time but where that was at washington county, mississippi. they had lots of slaves. "grandma was a midwife and doctored all the babies on the place. she said they had a big room where they was and a old woman kept them. they et milk for breakfast and buttermilk and clabber for supper. they always had bread. for dinner they had meat boiled and one other thing like cabbage, and the children got the pot-liquor. it was brought in a cart and poured in wooden troughs. they had gourds to dip it out with. they had gourds to drink their cool spring water with. "daylight would find the hands in the field at work. grandma said they had meat and bread and coffee till the war come on. they had to have a regular meal to work on in the morning. "grandma said their something to eat got mighty slim in war times and kept getting slimmer and slimmer. they had plenty sorghum all the time. them troughs was hewed out of a log and was washed and hung in the sun till next mealtime. they cooked in iron pots and skillets on the fire. grandma worked where they put her but her main trade was seeing after the sick on that place. "they had a fiddler on the place and had big dances now and then. "this young generation won't be advised no way you can fix it. i don't know what in the world the folks is looking about. the folks ain't good as they used to be. they shoots craps and drinks and does low-down things all the time. i ain't got no time with the young generation. times gone to pieces pretty bad if you axing me." # interviewer: watt mckinney person interviewed: james gill r.f.d. marvell, arkansas age: occupation: farmer "uncle jim" gill, an ex-slave eighty-six years of age, owns a nice two hundred acre farm five miles north of marvell where he has lived for the past thirty-five years. "uncle jim" is an excellent citizen, prosperous and conservative and highly respected by both white and colored. this is molasses making time in the south and i found "uncle jim" busily engaged in superintending the process of cooking the extracted juice from a large quantity of sorghum cane. the familiar type of horse-power mill in which the cane is crushed was in full operation, a roaring fire was blazing in the crudely constructed furnace beneath the long pan that contained the furiously foaming, boiling juice and that "uncle jim" informed me was "nigh 'bout done" and ready to drain off into the huge black pot that stood by the side of the furnace. the purpose of my visit was explained and "uncle jim" leaving the molasses making to some younger negro accompanied me to the shade of a large oak tree that stood near-by and told me the following story: "my ole mars, he was name tom white and my young mars what claimed me, he was name jeff. young mars an' me was just 'bout same age. us played together from time i fust riccolect till us left de ole home place back in alabama and lit out for over here in arkansas. "ole mars, he owned a heap of niggers back dere where us all lived on de big place but de lan', it was gittin' poor an' red and mought near wore out; so ole mars, he 'quired a big lot of lan' here in arkansas in phillips county, but you know it was all in de woods den 'bout fifteen miles down de ribber from helena and just thick wid canebrakes. so he sont 'bout twenty famblies ober here end dats how us happened to come 'cause my pappy, he was a extra blacksmith and carpenter and ole mars knowed he gwine to haf to hab him to 'sist in buildin' de houses and sich like. "though i was just 'bout seben year ole den, howsomeever, i 'member it well an' i sure did hate to leave de ole home where i was borned and i didn' want leave mars jeff either and when mars jeff foun' it out 'bout 'em gwine take me he cut up awful and just went on, sayin' i his nigger and wasn't gwine 'way off to arkansas. "ole mars, he knowed my mammy and pappy, dey wasn't gwine be satisfied widout all dere chillun wid 'em, so en course i was brung on too. you see, ole mars and he fambly, dey didn' come and we was sont under de oberseer what was name jim lynch and us come on de train to memphis and dat was when i got so skeered 'cause i hadn' nebber seen no train 'fore den an' i just hollered an' cried an' went on so dat my mammy say if i didn' hush up she gwine give me to de paddy rollers. "dey put us on de steamboat at memphis and de nex' i 'member was us gittin' off at de landin'. it was in de winter time 'bout las' of january us git here and de han's was put right to work clearin' lan' and buildin' cabins. it was sure rich lan' den, boss, and dey jus' slashed de cane and deaden de timber and when cotton plantin' time come de cane was layin' dere on de groun' crisp dry and day sot fire to it and burned it off clean and den planted de crops. "ole mars, he would come from alabama to see 'bout de bizness two an' three times every year and on some of dem 'casions he would bring mars jeff wid him and mars jeff, he allus nebber failed to hab somethin' for me, candy and sich like, and dem times when mars jeff come was when we had de fun. us just run wild playin' and iffen it was in de summer time we was in de bayou swimmin' or fishin' continual but all dem good times ceasted atter a while when de war come and de yankees started all dere debbilment. us was confedrits all de while, leastwise i means my mammy an' my pappy and me an' all de res' of de chillun 'cause ole mars was and mars jeff would er fit 'em too and me wid him iffen we had been ole enough. "but de yankees, dey didn' know dat we was confedrits, dey jus' reckon we like most all de res' of de niggers. us was skeered of dem yankees though 'cause us chillun cose didn' know what dey was and de oberseer, jim lynch, dey done tole us little uns dat a yankee was somepin what had one great big horn on he haid and just one eye and dat right in de middle of he breast and, boss, i sure was s'prized when i seen a sure 'nough yankee and see he was a man just like any er de res' of de folks. "de war tore up things right sharp yit an' still it wasn't so bad here in arkansas as i hear folks tell it was back in de yolder states like tennessee, alabama, and georgia. de bes' i riccolect de yankees come in here 'bout july of de year and dey had a big scrap in helena wid 'em and us could hear de cannons fifteen miles off and den dey would make dere trips out foragin' for stuff, corn and sich, and dey would take all de cotton dey could fin', but our mens, dey would hide de cotton in de thickets an' canebrakes iffen dey had time or either dey would burn it up 'fore de yankees come if dey could. i 'member one day we had on han' 'bout hundred bales at de gin and a white man come wid orders to de oberseer to git rid of it, so dey started to haulin' it off to de woods and dey hauled off 'bout fifty bales and den dey see dey wasn't goin' to hab time to git de res' to de woods and den dey commenced cuttin' de ties on de bales so dey could set fire to dem dat dey hadn' hid yit and 'bout dat time here come one of mr. tom casteel's niggers just a flyin' on a mule wid a letter to de white man. mr. tom casteel, he had he place just up de ribber from us, on de island, and when he gived de letter to de man an de man read it, he said de yankees is comin' and he lit out for de ribber where de boat was waitin' for him and got 'way and dere was all dat loose cotton on de groun' and us was skeered to sit fire to de cotton den and 'bout dat time de yankees arive and say don' you burn dat cotton and dey looked all ober de place and find de bales dat was hid in de woods and de nex' day dey come and haul it off and dey say us niggers can hab dat what de ties been cut on and my mammy, she set to work and likewise de odder women what de yankees say can had de loose cotton and tie up all dey can in bags and atter dat us sold it to de yankees in helena for a dollar a poun' and dat was all de money us had for a long time. "how-some-ever us all lived good 'cause dere was heap of wild hogs an' 'possums and sich and we had hid a heap of corn and us did fine. sometimes de war boats, dey would pass on de ribber--dat is de yankee boats--and us would hide 'hind de trees and bushes and see dem pass. we wouldn't let dem see us though 'cause we thought dey would shoot. heap en heap er times sojers would come by us place. when de yankees ud come dey would ax my mammy, 'aunt mary, is you seen any se-cesh today?' and mammy, she ud say 'naw suh' eben iffen she had seen some of us mens, but when our sojers ud come and say, 'aunt mary, is you seen ary yankee 'round here recent?' she ud allus tell dem de truf. dey was a bunch of us sojers, dat is de confedrits, what used to stay 'round in de community constant, dat we knowed, but dey allus had to be on de dodge 'cause dere was so many more yankees dan dem. "some of dese men i 'member good 'cause dey was us closest neighbors and some of dem libed on 'j'ining places. dere was mr. lum shell, mr. tom stoneham, mr. bob yabee, mr. henry rabb and mr. tom casteel. dem i 'member well 'cause dey come to us cabin right of'en and mammy, she ud cook for 'em and den atter de niggers git dey freedom dey could leave de place any time dey choose and every so of'en mammy ud go to helena and gin'rally she took me wid her to help tote de things she get dere. ole mr. cooledge, he had de biggest and 'bout de onliest store dat dere was in helena at dat time. mr. cooledge, he was a ole like gentleman and had everything most in he store--boots, shoes, tobacco, medicine en so on. cose couldn't no pusson go in an' outen helena at dat time--dat is durin' war days--outen dey had a pass and de yankee sojer dat writ de passes was named buford en he is de one what us allus git our passes from for to git in en out and 'twasn't so long 'fore mr. buford, he git to know my mammy right well and call her by her name. he, just like all de white mens, knowed her as 'aunt mary', but him nor none of de yankees knowed dat mammy was a confedrit and dats somepin i will tell you, boss. "dese sojers dat i is just named and dat was us neighbors, dey ud come to our cabin sometimes en say, 'aunt mary, we want you to go to helena for us and git some tobacco, and mebbe some medicine, and so on, and we gwine write ole man cooledge er note for you to take wid you'; and mammy, she ud git off for town walking and ud git de note to ole man cooledge. ole man cooledge, you see, boss, he sided wid de confedrites too but he didn' let on dat he did but all de confedrit sojers 'round dar in de county, dey knowed dey could 'pend on him and when my mammy ud take de note in ole man cooledge, he ud fix mammy up in some of dem big, wide hoop skirts and hide de things 'neath de skirts dat de men sont for. den she and sometimes me wid her, us would light out for home and cose we allus had our pass and dey knowed us and we easy git by de pickets and git home wid de goods for those sojer men what sont us. "speakin' from my own pussonal 'sperience, boss, de niggers was treated good in slavery times, dat is dat was de case wid my mars' peoples. our mars wouldn't hab no mistreatment of his niggers but i'ze heered tell dat some of de mars was pretty mean to dere niggers, but twasn't so wid us 'cause us had good houses and plenty somepin to eat outen de same pot what de white folks' victuals cooked in and de same victuals dat dey had. you see dat ole kittle settin' ober dar by de lasses pan right now? well, i is et many a meal outen dat kittle in slavery times 'cause dat is de very same kittle dat dey used to cook us victuals in when us belonged to ole mars, tom white, and lived on he place down on de ribber. it was den, boss, just same wid white men as 'tis in dis day and time. dere is heap of good white folks now and dere is a heap of dem what ain't so good. you know dat's so, boss, don't you? "when de niggers been made free, de oberseer, he called all de peoples up and he says, 'you all is free now and you can do like you please. you can stay on here and make de crops ur you can leave which-some-ever you want to do.' and wid dat de niggers, dat is most of dem, lef' like when you leave de lot gate open where is a big litter of shotes and dey just hit de road and commenced to ramble. most of 'em, dey go on to helena and gits dey grub from de yankees and stay dar till de yankees lef'. "but us, we stay on de place and some more, dey stay too and you know, boss, some of dem niggers what belonged to old mars and what he was so good to, dey stole mighty nigh all de mules and rode dem off and mars, he never git he mules back. naw suh, dat he didn'. de war, it broke ole mars up and atter de surrender he jus' let he arkansas farm go an' never come back no more. some of de older peoples, dey went back to alabama time er two and seen ole mars but i nebber did git to see him since us was sot free. but mars jeff, he comed here all de way from de home in alabama way atter he was growed. it's been 'bout fifty year now since de time he was here and i sure was proud to see him, dat i was, boss, 'cause i sure did love mars jeff and i loves him yit to dis day iffen he still lives and iffen he daid which i ain't never heered er not, den i loves and 'spects he memory. "yas suh, boss, times is changed sure 'nough but like i 'splained 'bout white folks and it's de same wid niggers, some is good and trys to lib right en some don' keer and jus' turns loose en don' restrain demselves. "you know, boss, dere is heaps of niggers wid white blood in 'em and dat mess was started way back yonder i reckon 'fore i was ever borned. shucks, i knowed it was long afore den but it wasn't my kine er white folks what 'sponsible for dat, it was de low class like some of de oberseers and den some of de yother folks like for instance de furriners what used to come in de country and work at jobs de mars ud give 'em to do on the places like carpentrying an' sich. i knowed one bad case, boss, dat happened right dere by us place and dat was de oberseer who 'sponsible for dat and he was de oberseer for a widow oman what lived in helena and dis white man runned de place an' he hab he nigger oman and she de mama of 'bout six chillun by dis man i tellin' you 'bout, three gals and three boys, and dem chillun nigh 'bout white and look just like him and den he move off to some yother part of de county and he git married dere to a white oman but he take he nigger fambly wid him just de same and he built dem a house in de middle of de place he done bought and he keep 'em dere eben though he done got him a white wife who he lib wid also and, boss, since i done told you he name don't tell i said so 'cause de chillun, dey is livin' dere yet and some of dem is gettin' old deyselves now but, boss, i don't 'spect i is tellin' you much you don't already know 'bout dat bunch." interviewer: beulah sherwood hagg person interviewed: mrs. cora gillam arch street, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: [scratching pacified master.]] "i have never been entirely sure of my age. i have kept it since i was married and they called me fifteen. that was in ' or ' . anyhow, i'm about , and what difference does one year make, one way or another. i lived with master and mistress in greenville, mississippi. they didn't have children and kept me in the house with them all the time. master was always having a bad spell and take to his bed. it always made him sick to hear that freedom was coming closer. he just couldn't stand to hear about that. i always remember the day he died. it was the fall of vicksburg. when he took a spell, i had to stand by the bed and scratch his head for him, and fan him with the other hand. he said that scratching pacified him. "no ma'am, oh no indeedy, my father was not a slave. can't you tell by me that he was white? my brother and one sister were free folks because their white father claimed them. brother was in college in cincinnati and sister was in oberlin college. my father was mr. mccarroll from ohio. he came to mississippi to be overseer on the plantation of the warren family where my mother lived. my grandmother--on mother's side, was full blood cherokee. she came from north carolina. in early days my mother and her brothers and sisters were stolen from their home in north carolina and taken to mississippi and sold for slaves. you know the indians could follow trails better than other kind of folks, and she tracked her children down and stayed in the south. my mother was only part negro; so was her brother, my uncle tom. he seemed all indian. you know, the cherokees were peaceable indians, until you got them mad. then they was the fiercest fighters of any tribes. "wait a minute, lady. i want to tell you first why i didn't get educated up north like my white brother and sister. just about time for me to be born my papa went to see how they was getting along in school. he left my education money with mama. he sure did want all his children educated. i never saw my father. he died that trip. after awhile mama married a colored man name lee. he took my school money and put me in the cotton patch. it was still during the war time when my white folks moved to arkansas; it was desha county where they settle. now i want to tell you about my uncle tom. like i said, he was half indian. but the negro part didn't show hardly any. there was something about uncle tom that made both white and black be afraid of him. his master was young, like him. he was name tom johnson, too. "you see, the warrens, what own my mother, and the johnsons, were all sort of one family. mistress warren and mistress johnson were sisters, and owned everything together. the johnsons lived in kentucky, but came to arkansas to farm. master tom taught his slaves to read. they say uncle tom was the best reader, white or black, for miles. that was what got him in trouble. slaves was not allowed to read. they didn't want them to know that freedom was coming. no ma'am! any time a crowd of slaves gathered, overseers and bushwhackers come and chased them; broke up the crowd. that indian in uncle tom made him not scared of anybody. he had a newspaper with latest war news and gathered a crowd of slaves to read them when peace was coming. white men say it done to get uprising among slaves. a crowd of white gather and take uncle tom to jail. twenty of them say they would beat him, each man, till they so tired they can't lay on one more lick. if he still alive, then they hang him. wasn't that awful? hang a man just because he could read? they had him in jail overnight. his young master got wind of it, and went to save his man. the indian in uncle tom rose. strength--big extra strength seemed to come to him. first man what opened that door, he leaped on him and laid him out. no white men could stand against him in that indian fighting spirit. they was scared of him. he almost tore that jailhouse down, lady. yes he did. his young master took him that night, but next day the white mob was after him and had him in jail. then listen what happened. the yankees took helena, and opened up the jails. everybody so scared they forgot all about hangings and things like that. then uncle tom join the union army; was in the th regiment, u. s. volunteers (colored) and went to little rock. my mama come up here. you see, so many white folks loaned their slaves to the cessioners (cecessionists) to help build forts all over the state. mama was needed to help cook. they was building forts to protect little rock. steele was coming. the mistress was kind; she took care of me and my sister while mama was gone. "it was while she was in little rock that mama married lee. after peace they went back to helena and stayed two years with old mistress. she let them have the use of the farm tools and mules; she put up the cotton and seed corn and food for us. she told us we could work on shares, half and half. you see, ma'am, when slaves got free, they didn't have nothing but their two hands to start out with. i never heard of any master giving a slave money or land. most went back to farming on shares. for many years all they got was their food. some white folks was so mean. i know what they told us every time when crops would be put by. they said 'why didn't you work harder? look. when the seed is paid for, and all your food and everything, what food you had just squares the account.' then they take all the cotton we raise, all the hogs, corn, everything. we was just about where we was in slave days. "when we see we never going to make anything share cropping, mother and i went picking. yes ma'am, they paid pretty good; got $ . a hundred. so we saved enough to take us to little rock. went on a boat, i remember, and it took a whole week to make the trip. just think of that. a whole week between here and helena. i was married by then. gillam was a blacksmith by trade and had a good business. but in a little while he got into politics in little rock. yes, lady. if you would look over the old records you would see where he was made the keeper of the jail. i don't know how many times he was elected to city council. he was the only colored coroner pulaski county ever had. he was in the legislature, too. i used to dress up and go out to hear him make speeches. wait a minute and i will get my scrap book and show you all the things i cut from the papers printed about him in those days.... "even after the colored folks got put out of public office, they still kept my husband for a policeman. it was during those days he bought this home. sixty-seven years we been living right in this place--i guess--when did you say the war had its wind up? it was the only house in a big forest. all my nine children was born right in this house. no ma'am, i never have worked since i came here. my husband always made a good living. i had all i could do caring for those nine children. when the democrats came in power, of course all colored men were let out of office. then my husband went back to his blacksmith trade. he was always interested in breeding fine horses. kept two fine stallions; one was named 'judge hill', the other 'pinchback'. white folks from kentucky, even, used to come here to buy his colts. race people in texas took our colts as fast as they got born. only recently we heard that stock from our stable was among the best in texas. "the ku kluxers never bothered us in the least. i think they worked mostly out in the country. we used to hear terrible tales of how they whipped and killed both white and black, for no reason at all. everybody was afraid of them and scared to go out after dark. they were a strong organization, and secret. i'll tell you, lady, if the rough element from the north had stayed out of the south the trouble of reconstruction would not happened. yes ma'am, that's right. you see, after great disasters like fires and earthquakes and such, always reckless criminal class people come in its wake to rob and pillage. it was like that in the war days. it was that bad element of the north what made the trouble. they tried to excite (incite) the colored against their white friends. the white folks was still kind to them what had been their slaves. they would have helped them get started. i know that. i always say that if the south could of been left to adjust itself, both white and colored would been better off. "now about this voting business. i guess you don't find any colored folks what think they get a fair deal. i don't, either. i don't think it is right that any tax payer should be deprived of the right to vote. why, lady, even my children that pay poll tax can't vote. one of my daughters is a teacher in the public school. she tells me they send out notices that if teachers don't pay a poll tax they may lose their place. but still they can't use it and vote in the primary. my husband always believed in using your voting privilege. he has been dead over years. he had been appointed on the grand jury; had bought a new suit of clothes for that. he died on the day he was to go, so we used his new suit to bury him in. i have been getting his soldier's pension ever since. yes ma'am, i have not had it hard like lots of ex-slaves. "before you go i'd like you to look at the bedspread i knit last year. my daughters was trying to learn to knit. this craze for knitting has got everybody, it looks like. i heard them fussing about they could not cast on the stitches. 'for land's sakes,' i said, 'hand me them needles.' so i fussed around a little, and it all came back. what's funny about it is, i had not knitted a stitch since i was about ten. old mistress used to make me knit socks for the soldiers. i remember i knit ten pair out of coarse yarn, while she was doing a couple for the officer out of fine wool and silk mixed. i used to knit pulse warmers, and 'half-handers',--i bet you don't know what they was. yes, that's right; gloves without any fingers, 'cepting a thumb and it didn't have any end. i could even knit on four needles when i was little. we used to make our needles out of bones, wire, smooth, straight sticks,--anything that would slip the yarn. well, let me get back to this spread. in a few minutes it all came back. i began knitting washrags. got faster and faster. didn't need to look at the stitches. the girls are so scared something will happen to me, they won't let me do any work. now i had found something i could do. when they saw how fast i work, they say: 'mother, why don't you make something worth while? why make so many washrags?' so i started the bedspread. i guess it took me six months, at odd times. i got it done in time to take to ft. worth to the big exhibit of the national federation of colored women's clubs. my daughter was the national president that year. if you'll believe it, this spread took first prize. look, here's the blue ribbon pinned on yet. what they thought was so wonderful was that i knit every stitch of it without glasses. but that is not so funny, because i have never worn glasses in my life. i guess that is some more of my indian blood telling. "sometimes i have to laugh at some of these young people. i call them young because i knew them when they were babies. but they are already all broken down old men and women. i still feel young inside. i feel that i have had a good life." --- interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: j. n. gillespie park street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born near galveston, in texas, january , , so they tell me. i been in this town and been living right here at park street for fifty-three years and ain't never had no trouble with anybody. "my grandparents were gillespie's. my grandma was an indian woman. she was stolen off the reservation--her and her daughter. the daughter was about twelve years old and big enough to wait table. both of them were full blooded cherokee indians. my grandma married a slave, and when she growed up, my mother married a slave; but my mother's parents were both indians, and one of my father's parents was white, so you see about three-fourths of me is something else. my grandmother's name before her first marriage was courtney and my mother's first name was parthenia. "when they were stolen, they were made slaves. nick toliver bought 'em. he was their first master, far as i heard 'em say. after old man nick toliver died, tom brewer bought my mother. toliver and brewer were the only two masters she had. "after freedom came, my grandma took back her own name, gillespie. grandma's second husband was named berry green. she was free and in the indian reservation when she married gillespie, but she was a slave when she married berry green. "after my mother came to be of age, she married a man named willis. he was a slave. that is why i am like i am now. if my grandma had stayed in the nation, i never would have been a slave, and i wouldn't need to be beatin' around here trying to get just bread and meat. "after freedom, she taken her mother's name by her free husband, gillespie, and she made her husband take it too. that how i got the name of gillespie." occupation of forefathers "after they were made slaves, my grandmother cooked and my mother waited table and worked as a house girl. my grandma used to make clothes too, and she could work on one of these big looms." patrollers "my mother told me that when the boys would go out to a dance, they would tie a rope across the road to make the horses of the patrollers stumble and give the dancers time to get away. sometimes the horses' legs would be broken." subject's occupation "i wants to work and can't get work; so they ain't no use to worry. i used to cook. that is all i did for a living. i cooked as long as i could get something for it. i can't get a pension." slave houses "i didn't see no log houses when i growed up. everything was frame." right after the war "right after the war, my mother stayed around the house and continued to work for her master. i don't know what they paid her. i can't remember just how they got free but i think the soldiers gave 'em the notification. they stayed on the place till i was big enough to work. i didn't do no work in slave time because i wasn't old enough." choked on watermelon seeds "one day i was stealing watermelons with some big boys and i got choked on some seeds. the melon seeds got in my throat. i yelled for help and the boys ran away. old tom brewer made me get on my hands and jump up and down to get the seeds out." leaving galveston "i was a small boy, might have been seven or eight years old, when i left galveston. we came to bradley county, here in arkansas. from bradley my mother took me to pine bluff. after i got big i went back to texas. then i came from texas here fifty-three years ago, and have been living here ever since, cooking for hotels and private families. "i never was arrested in my life. i never been in trouble. i never had a fight. been living in the same place ever since i first came here--right here at park street. i belong to the christian church at thirteenth and cross streets. i quit working around the yard and the building because they wouldn't pay me anything. they promised to pay me, but they wouldn't do it." interviewer's comment gillespie has an excellent reputation, as indeed have most of the ex-slaves in this city. he is clear and unfaltering in his memory. he is deliberate and selects what he means to tell. he is never discourteous. he is a little nervous and cannot be held long at a time. indian characteristics in him are not especially prominent, but you note them readily after learning of his ancestry. he is brown but slightly copper in color, and his profile has the typical indian appearance. he is a little taciturn, and sometimes acts on his decisions before he announces them. i cultivated him about three weeks. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: will glass w. eighth street, little rock, arkansas age: occupation: all phases of paving work [hw: [bit dog's foot off]] "my grandfather was named joe glass. his master was named glass. i forget the first name. my grandfather on my mother's side was named smith. his old master was named smith. the grandfather joe was born in alabama. grandfather smith was born in north carolina." whippings "there were good masters and mean masters. both of my old grandfathers had good masters. i had an uncle, anderson fields, who had a tough master. he was so tough that uncle anderson had to run away. they'd whip him and do around, and he would run away. then they would get the dogs after him and they would run him until he would climb a tree to get away from them. they would come and surround the tree and make him come down and they would whip him till the blood ran, and sometimes they would make the dogs bite him and he couldn't do nothing about it. one time he bit a dog's foot off. they asked him why he did that and he said the dog bit him and he bit him back. they whipped him again. they would take him home at night and put what they called the ball and chain on him and some of the others they called unruly to keep them from running away. "they didn't whip my grandfathers. just one time they whipped grandfather joe. that was because he wouldn't give his consent for them to whip his wife. he wouldn't stand for it and they strapped him. he told them to strap him and leave her be. he was a good worker and they didn't want to kill him, so they strapped him and let her be like he said." picnics "both of my grandfathers said their masters used to give picnics. they would have a certain day and they would give them all a good time and let them enjoy themselves. they would kill a cow or some kids and hogs and have a barbecue. they kept that up after freedom. every nineteenth of june, they would throw a big picnic until i got big enough to see and know for myself. but their masters gave them theirs in slavery times. they gave it to them once a year and it was on the nineteenth of june then. "grandfather joe said when he wanted to marry jennie, she was under her old master, the man that anderson worked under. old man glass found that grandfather joe was slipping off to old man field's to see grandma jennie, who was on field's place, and old man fields went over and told glass that he would either have to sell glass to him or buy jennie from him. old man glass bought jennie and grandfather joe got her. "after old man glass bought jennie, he held up a broom and they would have to jump over it backwards and then old man glass pronounced them man and wife. "grandfather joe died when i was a boy ten years old. grandfather smith died in . he was eighty years old when he died. grandfather joe was seventy-two years old when he died. he died somewhere along in ." whitecaps "i heard them speak of the ku klux often. but they didn't call them ku klux; they called them whitecaps. the whitecaps used to go around at night and get hold of colored people that had been living disorderly and carry them out and whip them. i never heard them say that they whipped anybody for voting. if they did, it wasn't done in our neighborhood." worship "uncle anderson said that old man fields didn't allow them to sing and pray and hold meetings, and they had to slip off and slip aside and hide around to pray. they knew what to do. people used to stick their heads under washpots to sing and pray. some of them went out into the brush arbors where they could pray and shout without being disturbed. "grandfather joe and grandfather smith both said that they had seen slaves have that trouble. of course, it never happened on the plantations where they were brought up. uncle anderson said that they would sometimes go off and get under the washpot and sing and pray the best they could. when they prayed under the pot, they would make a little hole and set the pot over it. then they would stick their heads under the pot and say and sing what they wanted." slave sales "grandfather joe and grandfather smith used to say that when a child was born if it was a child that was fine blooded they would put it on the block and sell it away from its parents while it was little. both of my grandfathers were sold away from their parents when they were small kids. they never knew who their parents were. "when my oldest auntie was born, my mother said she was sold about two years before freedom. aunt emma was only two years old then when she was sold. mother never met her until she was married and had a family. they would sell the children slaves of that sort at auction, and let them go to the highest bidder." opinions "my grandfather brought me up strictly. i don't know what they thought about the young people of their day, but i know what i think. i will tell you. at first i searched myself. kids in the time i came along had to go by a certain rule. they had to go by it. "we don't see to our children doing right as our parents saw to our doing. it would be good if we could get ourselves together and bring these young people back where they belong. what ruined the young folks is our lack of discipline. we send them to school but that is all, and that is not enough. we ought to take it on ourselves to see that they are learning as they ought to learn and what they ought to learn. "i belong to bethel a. m. e. church. i married about , november . i have just one kid and two grand kids." --- interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: frank william glenn des arc, arkansas age: "i was born june in des arc. my parents named richard lewis glenn and pleasant glynn. my mama died when i was small. i recollect hearing em say the southern women oughtn't marry the yankee men, there was so much difference in their lives. a few widows and girls did marry yankee men, very few. southern folks jes' hated em. "master wash glenn had a son named boliver. he may had more. i don't know much about em. we stayed there after the war for a long time then went to work for mr. bedford bethels father. we worked there a long time then went to work for mr. jim erwin. my papa always farmed. i heard my mama say she washed and sewed during slavery. there was three boys and one girl in our famlee. i heard bout the bushwhackers and ku klux. i was too young to tell bout what they did do. i never did see none dressed up. "i don't fool wid votin' much. i have voted. i don't understand votin' much and how they run the govermint. my time of usefulness is nearly gone. "the present time serves me hard. i got my leg caught in a wagon wheel and so sprained i been cripple ever since. the rheumatiz settles in it till i can't sleep at night. my wife quit me. i got two boys in chicago, the girl and her ma in brinkley. they sho don't help me. i have to rent my house. i don't own nuthin'. i work all i'm able. "the present generation is selfish and restless. i don't know what goner become of em. times is changing too fast for me. i jess look on and wonder what going to come on next." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: ella glespie brassfield, arkansas age: "i was born the third year after the surrender. i was born in okolona, mississippi. my parents was jane bowen and henry harrison. ma had seven children. they lived on the gates place at freedom. i'm the onliest one of my kin living anywheres 'bout now. ma never was sold but pa was. "parson caruthers brought pa from alabama. he was a good runner and when he was little he throwd his hip outer j'int running races. then parson caruthers learnt him a trade--a shoemaker. when he was still nothing but a lad he was sold for quite a sum of money. when emancipation come on he could read and write and make change. "so den he was out in the world cripple. he started teaching school. he had been a preacher, too, durin' slavery. he preached and taught school. he was justice of the peace and representative for two terms from chickasaw county in the state legislature. i heard them talk about that and when i started to school mr. suggs was the white man principal. pa was one teacher and there was some more teachers. he was a teacher a long time. he was eighty odd and ma was sixty odd when she died. both died in mississippi. "my folks said master gates was good. i knowd my pa's young master gates. pa said he never got a whooping. they made a right smart of money outen his work. he said some of the boots he made brung high as twenty dollars. pa had a good deal of confederate bills as i recollects. ma said some of them on gates' place got whoopings. "when they would be at picnics and big corn shellings or shuckings either, all gates' black folks was called 'heavy gates'; they was fed and treated so well. i visited back at home in mississippi. went to the quarters and all nineteen years ago. i heard them still talking about the 'heavy gates'. i was one the offspring. "ma cooked for her old mistress years and years. mrs. rogers in south carolina give ma to miss rebecca, her daughter, and said, 'take good care of her, you might need her.' they come in ox wagons to mississippi. ma was a little girl then when miss rebecca married dr. bowen. ma hated to leave miss rebecca bowen 'cause in the first place she was her half-sister. she said master rogers was her own pa. her ma was a cook and house girl ahead of her. ma was a fine cook. heap better than i ever was 'cause she never lacked the stuff to fix and i come short there. "i heard ma tell this. wherever she lived and worked, at dr. bowen's, i reckon. the soldiers come one day and took their sharp swords from out their belts and cut off heads of turkeys, chickens, geese, ducks, guineas, and took a load off and left some on the ground. they picked up the heads and what was left and made a big washpot full of dumplings. she said the soldiers wasted so much. "when i was young i seen a 'style block' at holly springs, mississippi. i was going to tucker lou school, ten miles from jackson. that was way back in the seventies. a platform was up in the air under a tree and two stumps stood on ends for the steps. it was higher than three steps but that is the way they got up on the platform they tole me. "i think times are a little better. i gits a little ironing and six dollars and commodities. the young generation is taking on funny ways. i think they do very well morally 'cepting their liquor drinking habits. that is worse, i think. they are advancing in learning. i think times a little better. "my husband had been out here. we married and i come here. i didn't like here a bit but now my kin is all dead and i know folks here better. i like it now very well. he was a farmer and mill man." interviewer: mary d. hudgins person interviewed: joe golden age: home: gulpha street, hot springs, ark. "yes, ma'am to be sure i remembers you. i knew your father and all his brothers. i knew your mother's father and your grandmother, and all the denglers. your grandpappy was mighty good to me. your grandmother was too. many's the day your uncle fred followed me about while i was hunting. i was the only one what your grandpappy would let hunt in his garden. yes, ma'am! if your grandmother would hear a shot across the hill in the garden, she'd say, 'go over and see who it is.' and your grandfather would come. he'd chase them away. but if it was me, he'd go back home and he'd tell her, 'it's just joe. he's not going to carry away more than he can eat. joe'll be all right.' "yes, ma'am. i was born down at magnet cove. i belonged to mr. andy mitchell. he was a great old man, he was. did he have a big farm and lots of black folks? law, miss, he didn't have nothing but children, just lots of little children. he rented me and my pappy and my mother to the sumpters right here in hot springs. "i can remember hot springs when there wasn't more than three houses here. folks used to come thru and lots of folks used to stay. but there wasn't more than three families lived here part of the time. "yes, ma'am we worked. but we had lots of fun too. them was exciting times. i can remember when folks got to shooting at each, other right in the street. i run off and taken to the woods when that happened. "no, miss, we didn't live in hot springs all thru the war. when the federals taken little rock they taken us to texas. we stayed there until ' . then we come back to hot springs. "yes, miss, hot springs was a good place to make money. lots of rich folks was coming to the hotels. yes, ma'am, i made money. how'd i make it? well lots of ways. i used to run. i was the fastest runner what was. folks would bet on us, and i'd always win. then i used to shine shoes. made money at it too. lots of days i made as much as $ or $ . sometimes i didn't even stop to eat. but i was making money, and i didn't care. "then there was a feller, a doctor he was. he give me a gun. i used to like to hunt. hunted all over these mountains[ ], hunted quail and hunted squirrel and a few times i killed deers. the man what gave me the gun he promised me twenty five cents apiece for all the quail i could bring him. lots of times i came in with them by the dozen. "i tried to save my money. didn't spend much. i'd bring it home to my mother. she'd put it away for me. but if my pappy knowed i got money he'd take it away from me and buy whiskey. you might know why, miss. he was part creek--yes ma'am, part creek indian. "does you remember chinquapins? they used to be all over the hill up yonder.[ ] i used to get lots of them. sell them too. one time i chased a deer up there[ ]. got him with a knife, didn't have a gun. the dogs cornered him for me. best dog i ever had, his name was abraham lincoln. he was extra good for a possom dog. once i got a white possom in the same place i got a deer. it was way out yonder--that place there ain't nothing but rocks. yes, ma'am, hell's half acre.[ ] "yes, miss, i has made lots of money in my time. can't work none now. wish you had got to me three years ago. that was before i had my stroke. can't think of what i want to say, and can't make my mouth say it. you being patient with me. i got to take time to think. "me and my wife we gets along pretty well. we have our home, and then i got other property.[ ] we was real well off. i had $ in the bank--webb's bank when it failed.[ ] never got but part of my money back. "when i sold out my bootblack stand i bought a butcher shop. i made a lot of money there. i had good meat and folks, black folks and white folks came to buy from me. so you remembers my barbecue, do you? yes, miss, i always tried to make it good. yes, i remembers your pappy used to always buy from me. "your grandmother was a good woman. i remember when your uncle freddy had been following me around all day while i was hunting--it was in your grandpappy's garden--his vineyard too--it was mighty big. i told freddy he could have a squirrel or a quail. he took the squirrel and i gave him a couple of quail too. went home with him and showed your grandmother how they ought to be fixed. "i can remember before your father lived in hot springs. he and his brothers used to come thru from polk county. they'd bring a lot of cotton to sell. yes, ma'am lots of folks came thru. they'd either sell them here or go on to little rock. lots of indians--along with cotton and skins they'd bring loadstone. then when your pappy and his brothers had a hardware store i bought lots of things from them. used to be some pretty bad men in hot springs--folks was mean in them days. i remember when your father kept two men from killing each other. wish, i wish i could remember better. this stroke has about got me. "yes, miss, that was the garden. i used to sell garden truck too. had a bush fence around it long before a wire one. folks used to pass up other folks to buy truck from me. your mother did. "life's been pretty good to me. i've lived a long time. and i've done a lot. made a lot of money, and didn't get beyond the third grade.[ ] can't cultivate the garden now. my wife does well enough to take care of the yard. she's a good woman, my wife is. "so you're going to fayetteville to see miss adeline? i remember miss adeline.[ ] she worked for your pappy's brother didn't she. yes, i knowed her well. i liked her. "yes miss, i'm sort of tired. it's hard to think. and i can't move about much. but i got my home and i got my wife and we're comfortable. thank you." interviewer's note: i left him sitting and rocking gently in a home-made hickory stationary swing eyes half closed looking out across his yard and basking in the warm sunshine of late afternoon. footnotes: [ ] units of hot springs national park. [ ] spot without soil or vegetation--broken talus rock. [ ] home clean, well painted and cared for, two story, large lot. rental cottage, good condition, negro neighborhood. [ ] bank owned and operated for and by negroes--affiliated with headquarters of large national negro lodge. [ ] no public schools in hot springs until the late s. [ ] the adeline blakely of another arkansas interview with slaves. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: jake goodridge clarendon, arkansas age: ? is about correct born august , "i was born close to jackson, tennessee in madison county. my master was hatford weathers. his wife's name was susan weathers. they had a big family--john, lidy, mattie, polly, betty, and jimmy, that i recollect and there might er been some more. "my parents' names was narcissus and jacob goodridge. i had one brother that was a yankee soldier, and five sisters. one sister did live in texas. they all dead fur as i know. we got scattered. some of us got inherited fore freedom. jake goodridge took me along when he went to the army to wait on him. right there it was me an' my brother fightin' agin one 'nother. "when we come to st. charles we come to memphis on freight boxes--no tops--flat cars like. there a heap more soldiers was waiting. we got on a boat--a great big boat. there was one regiment--indiana cavalry, one kansas, one missouri, one illinois. all on deck was the horses. there was , men in a regiment and four regiments, , horses and four cannons. there was not settin' down room on the boat. they captured my master and sent him to prison. first they put him in a callaboose and then they sent him on to prison and they took me to help them. they made a waitin' boy of me. i didn't lack none of 'em. they cussed all the time. i heard they paroled my master long time after the war. "they would shoot a cannon, had a sponge on a long rod. they wipe it out and put in another big ball, get way back and pull a rope. the cannon fire agin. course i was scared. i was scared to death bout two years, that 'bout how long i was in the war. i was twelve or fourteen years old. i recollect it as well as if it was yesterday. they never had a battle at st. charles while i was there. they loaded up the boat and took us to little rock. they mustered out there. the yankee soldiers give out news of freedom. they was shouting 'round. i jes' stood around to see whut they goiner do next. didn't nobody give me nuthin'. i didn't know what to do. everything going. tents all gone, no place to go stay and nothin' to eat. that was the big freedom to us colored folks. that the way white folks fightin' do the colored folks. i got hungry and naked and cold many a time. i had a good master and i thought he always treated me heap better than that. i wanted to go back but i had no way. i made it down to st. charles in 'bout a year after the surrender. i started farmin'. i been farmin' ever since. in little rock i found a job in a tin pin alley, pickin' up balls. the man paid me $ a month, next to starvation. i think his name was warren rogers. "i went to indian bay 'bout and farmed for mr. hathway, then mr. duncan. then i come up to clarendon and been here ever since. "one time i owned acres at holly grove, sold it, spent the money. "i too old, i don't fool wid no votin'. i never did take a big stock in sich foolishness. "i live wid my daughter and white folks. the welfare give me $ a month. we got a garden. no cow. no hog. no chickens. "the present conditions seem pretty bad. some do work and some don't work. nobody savin' that i sees. takes it all to live on. i haben't give the present generation a thought." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: john goodson (goodrum) des arc, arkansas age: born in "my master was bill goodrum. i was born at des arc out in the country close by here. my mother was a house woman and my father was overseer. i was so little i don't remember the war. i do remember doc rayburn. i seed him and remember him all right. he was a bushwacker and a ku klux they said. i don't remember the ku klux. never seed them. "i heard my parents say they expected the government to divide up the land and give them a start--a home and some land. they got just turned out like you turn a hog out the pen and say go on i'm through wid you. "i heard them set till midnight talking 'bout whut all took place during the civil war. the country was wild and it was a long ways between the houses. there wasn't many colored folks in this country till closin' of the war. they started bringing 'em here. men whut needed help on the farms. "all my life i been cooking. i cooked at hotels and on boats. i cooked some in restaurants. they say it was the heat caused me to go blind. i cooked up till . the last folks i cooked for was on a boat for heckles and wade sales up at augusta, arkansas. i done carpentry work some when i was off of a cooking job. i never liked farmin' much. i have done a little of that along between times too. my main job is cooking. "i voted along when i could see. i ain't voted lately. i sho lacks this president. "i had a house and lot--this one, but i couldn't pay taxes. we still living in it. we got a garden. no hog, no cow. we made our home when i cooked and my wife washed and ironed. "i think this new generation of colored folks is awful. they can get work if they would do it. times is gettin' worse. they work some if the price suit 'em, if it don't, they steal. they spend 'bout all they make for shows, whiskey and i don't know whut all. "the social welfare gives me $ a month. my wife does all the washing and ironin' she can get. we are doing very well. "i don't understand much 'bout votin' and picking out canidates. it don't hurt if the women want to vote. "only songs i ever heard was corn songs. i don't remember none. they make 'em up out in the fields. some folks good at making up songs. one i used to hear a whole heap was 'it goiner be a hot time in the old time tonite.' another one 'if you liker me liker i liker you. we both liker the same.' i don't remember no more them songs. i used to hear 'em a whole lots. yes out in the fields." editor's note: pages to have been withdrawn after numbering. interviewer: thomas elmore lucy person interviewed: george govan russellville, arkansas age: "george govan is my name, and i was born in conway county somewheres in december --i guess it was about de seventeenth of december. we lived there till , when i come to pope county. both my parents was slaves on de plantation of a mr. govan near charleston, south carolina. dat's where we got our name. folks come to arkansas after dey was freed. no sir, i ain't edicated--never had de chance. parents been dead a good many years. "yas suh, my folks used to talk a heap and tell me lots of tales of slavery days, and how de patrollers used to whip em when dey wanted to go some place and didn't have de demit to go. yas suh, dey had to have a demit to go any place outside work hours. dey whipped my mother and father both sometimes, and dey sure was afraid of dem patrollers. used to say, 'if you don't watch out de patrollers'll git you.' dey'd catch de slaves and tie em up to a tree or a pos' and whip em wid buggy whips and rawhides. "some of de slaves was promised land and other things when dey was freed, and some wasn't promised nothin'. some got land and a span of mules, and some didn't get nothin'. no suh, my daddy didn't farm none at first after he was freed because he didn't have no money to buy land, but he done odd jobs here and there till he come to arkansas seven or eight years after the war. "yes, i owns my own home; been livin' in it for ten years, since i've been workin' as janitor at dis central presbyterian church. i belongs to de missionary baptis' church, but my parents were both methodists. "sure did have lots of good songs in de old days, like 'old ship of zion' and 'on jordan's stormy banks.' used to have one that begins 'those that 'fuse to sing never knew my god.' it was a purty piece; and then there was another one about a 'rough, rocky road.' "de young people today has much better opportunities than when i was a child, and much better than dey had in slavery days, because dar ain't no patrollers to whip em. most of em dese days has purty good behavior, and i think dey're better than in de old days. "i has always voted regularly since i come of age--votes de republican ticket. can't read but a little, but i never had any trouble about votin'." note: george govan is an intelligent negro, fairly neat in his dress, very tall and erect in stature. brogue quite noticeable, and occasional idioms that make his interview interesting and personal. # interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: julia grace n. spruce street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was seventy-four this last past fourth of july. i was born in texas. my mother was sent to texas to keep from bein' freed. "ad march and spruce mccrary is the onliest white folks i remember bein' with. i don't know whether they was our owners or not. "my father was sent to north carolina and i never did see him no more. "after freedom they brought us back here from texas and we worked on the mccrary plantation. "in slavery days mama said she and my father stayed in the woods most of the time. that's when they was whippin' 'em. "my mother come from richmond, virginia. petersburg was her town. she belonged to the wellses over there. "after her master got his leg broke, the rest was so mean to her she run off a couple times, so they sold her. put her up on the tradin' block--like goin' to make a speech. stripped 'em naked. the man bid 'em off like you'd bid off oxen. "mama told me her missis, after her husband died, got so mean to her she run off till her old missis sold her. they weighed 'em and stripped 'em naked to see if they was anything wrong with 'em and how they was built and then bid 'em off. "mama said she never would a been in arkansas if they hadn't been so mean to her. they were too compulsive on 'em--you know, hard taskmasters. "after freedom ad march went back to north carolina and spruce mccrary come here to pine bluff. "fust time i moved here in town was in . i stayed ten months, then i went back to the country. i aimed to go to fort smith but i got to talkin' with my playmates and i didn't have too much money, and i stayed till i didn't have enough money left to keep me till i could get a job. so i stayed here and worked for mrs. freemayer till i got so i couldn't work. she's the one got me on this relief. "i went to school one session in . sam caeser, he was a well-known teacher. he got killed here in pine bluff. "i can't sweep and i can't iron. i got a misery in my back. i washes my clothes and spreads 'em out till they dry. then i puts 'em on and switches into church and ever'body thinks they has been ironed. "they ain't but one sign i believes in and that's peckerwoods. just as sure as he pecks three times, somebody goin' to move or somebody goin' to die. just as sure as you live somebody goin' out. "one time one of my grandchildren and a friend of mine was walkin' through the woods and we missed the main road we aimed to ketch, and we got into a den of wild hogs. i said, 'lord, make 'em stand still till we get out of here.' one of 'em was that tall and big long ears hung down over his eyes. that was the male, you know. i reckon they couldn't see us and we walked as easy as we could and we got away and struck the main road. i reckon if they could a seen us we would a been 'tacked but we got away. i had heard how they made people take to trees, and i was scared. "have you ever seen a three-legged cow? well, i have. i looked at her good. she was grown and had a calf." --- interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: charles graham w. th street, north little rock, arkansas age: [hw: [freed in ' ]] "i was born september , , clarksville, tennessee. i don't remember the county. there are several clarksvilles throughout the south. but clarksville, tennessee is the first and the oldest. "i got a chance to see troops after the civil war was over. the soldiers were playing, boxing, and the like. then i remember hearing the cannons roar--long toms they used to call 'em. my uncle said, 'that is general grant opening fire on the rebels.' "the first clear thing i remember was when everybody was rejoicing because they were free. the soldiers were playing and boxing and chucking watermelons at one another. they had great long guns called muskets. i heard 'em say that abraham lincoln had turned 'em loose. where i was at, they turned 'em loose in ' . lincoln was assassinated in ' . i heard that the morning after it was done. we was turned loose long before then. "i was too young to pay much attention, but they were cutting up and clapping their hands and carrying on something terrible, and shouting, 'free, free, old abraham done turned us loose.' "i was here in them days! heard those long toms roar! general grant shelling the rebels!" patrollers "i don't remember much about the patrollers except that when they been having dances, and some of them didn't have passes, they'd get chased and run. if they would get catched, them that didn't have passes would get whipped. them that had them, they were all right." amusements "they had barbecues. that's where the barbecues started from, i reckon, from the barbecues among the slaves. "they would have corn shuckings. they would have a whole lot of corn to shuck, and they would give the corn shucking and the barbecue together. they would shuck as many as three or four hundred bushels of corn in a night. sometimes, they would race one another. so you know that they must have been some shucking done. "i don't believe that i know of anything else. people were ignorant in those days and didn't have many amusements." occupations "i used to be a regular miller until they laid the men off. now i don't have no kind of job at all." right after the war "some of the slaves went right up north. we stayed in clarksville and worked there for a year or two. in , we went to warren county, illinois. they put me in school. my people were just common laborers. they bought themselves a nice little home. "my mother's name was anna bailis and my father's name was charles morrill. i don't remember the names of their masters. "i was raised by my uncle, simon blair. his master used to be a bailis. my father, so i was told, went off and left my mother. she was weak and ailing, so my uncle took me. he took me away from her and carried me up north with them. my father ran away before the slaves were freed. i never found out what became of him. "i stayed in illinois from the time i was five or six years old up until i was twenty-one. i left there in . that is about the time when garfield ran for president. i was in ohio, seen him before he was assassinated in . garfield and arthur ran against hancock and english. they beat 'em too." little rock "i used to go from place to place working first one place and then another--going down the mississippi on boats. monmouth, illinois, where i was raised--they ain't nothing to that place. just a dry little town!" opinions "the young people nowadays are all right. there is not so much ignorance now as there was in those days. there was ignorance all over then. the peckerwoods wasn't much wise either. they know nowadays though. our race has done well in refinement. "i find that the negro is more appreciated in politics in the north and west than in the south. i don't know whether it will grow better or not. "i'll tell you something else. the best of these white people down here don't feel so friendly toward the north." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: james graham maple street, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: ["free negroes"]] "i was born in south carolina, lancaster county, about nine miles from lancaster town. my father's name was tillman graham and my mother's name was eliza. "i have seen my grandfathers, but i forget their names now. my father was a farmer. my father and mother belonged to this people, that is, to the tillmans. "on my father's side, they called my people free negroes because they treated them so good. on my mother's side they had to get their education privately. when the white children would come from school, my mother's people would get instruction from them. my mother was a maid in the house and it was easy for her to get training that way." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: marthala grant e. barraque, pine bluff, arkansas age: "all i can remember is some men throwin' us up in the air and ketchin' us, me and my baby brother. like to scared me to death. they had on funny clothes. me and my brother was out in the yard playin'. they just grabbed us up and throwed us up and ketched us. "my mother would tell us bout the war. she had on some old shoes--wooden shoes. her white folks name was hines. that was in north carolina. i emigrated here when they was emigratin' folks here. i was grown then. "durin' the war i heered the shootin' and the people clappin' their hands. "my mother said they was fightin' to free the people but i didn't know what freedom was. i member hearin' em whoopin' and hollerin' when peace was 'clared and talkin' bout it. "yes'm i went to school some--not much. i learned a right smart to read but not much writin'. "we'd go up to the white folks house every sunday evenin' and old mistress would learn us our catechism. we'd have to comb our heads and clean up and go up every sunday evenin'. she'd line us up and learn us our catechism. "we stayed right on there after the war. they paid my mother. i picked cotton and nussed babies and washed dishes. "i was married when i was twenty. never been married but once and my husband been dead nigh bout twenty years." "when i come here this town wasn't much--sure wasn't much. used to have old car pulled by mules and a colored man had that--old wiley jones. he's dead now. "i had eleven childen. all dead but five. my boy what's up north went to that spanish war. he stayed till peace was declared. "after we come to arkansas my husband voted every year and worked the county roads. i guess he voted republican. "i can't tell you bout the younger generation. they so fast you can't keep up with them. i really can't tell you." # interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: wesley graves hickory street, north little rock, arkansas age: [hw: [father taught night school]] "my father's white folks were named tal graves. my mother was a mcadoo. her white folks were mcadoos. some of them are over the river now. he's a great jewelryman now. "i was born in trenton, tennessee. my father was born 'round in humboldt, tennessee. my mother was born in paris, tennessee and moved out in the country near humboldt. he met my mother out there and married her just a little bit before the war. he was a slave and she was too. "he didn't go to the war; he went to the woods. he got to chasing 'round. his young mistress married. she married a graves. that was the name we was freed under. she was a shane. "she educated my father. when she come from school, she would teach him and just carry him right on through the course that way. that was a good while before the war. her father gave him to her when she married graves. he was a little boy and she kept him and educated him. graves ran a farm. i don't know just what my father did when he was little. he was raised up as a house boy. very little he ever done in the field. i don't know what he did after he grew up and before freedom came. after peace was declared, he taught in night school. he preached too. his first farming was done a little after he come out here. i was about seven years old then. that was in the year . "my mother's full name was adeline mcadoo. before freedom she did housework. she was a kind a pet with the white folks. she didn't do much farming. my mother and father had six children--five boys and one girl. all born after freedom. there were three ahead of me. the oldest was born before the war, not afterward. "in my country where i was raised the negroes weren't freed until . my uncle, jim shane--that is the only name i ever knew him by--, he ran away and come to this country and made money enough to come back and buy his freedom. just about time he got himself paid for, the war closed and he would have been freed anyway. the money wouldn't have done him no good anyhow because it was all confederate money, and when the war closed, that wasn't no good. "my father ran away when the war broke out. his master wanted to carry him to the army with him and he run off and stayed in the woods three years. he stayed until his little mistress wrote him a letter and told him she would set him free if he would come home. he stayed out till the war closed. he wouldn't take no chances on it. "the pateroles made my father do everything but quit. they got him about teaching night school. that was after slavery, but the pateroles still got after you. they didn't want him teaching the negroes right after the war. he had opened a night school, and he was doing well. they just kept him in the woods then." ku klux "there was a bunch of ku klux that a colored man led. he was a fellow by the name of fount howard. they would come to his house and he would call himself showing them how to catch old people he didn't like. he told them how to catch my old man. i have heard my mother tell about it time and time again. the funny part of it was there was a cornfield right back of the kitchen. just about dusk dark, he got up and taken a big old horse pistol and shot out of it, and when he fired the last shot out of it, a white man said, 'bring that gun here.' believe me he cut a road through that field right now. "they stayed 'round for a little while and tried to bully his people. but the old lady stood up to them, so they finally carried her and her children in the house and told her to tell him to come on back they wouldn't hurt him. and they didn't bother him no more. "my mother's master told my mother that she was free. he called all the slaves in and told them they were free as he was. i don't think he give them anything when they were freed. he was a kind a poor fellow. didn't have but six or seven slaves. he offered to let them stay and make crops. my father had a better job than that. did you ever know bishop lane out in tennessee? my father and he were ordained at the same time in the some c. m. e. church. then he moved to kentucky and joined the a. m. e. church. my father died in and my mother in . "i have been married forty-seven years. i married on the twenty-sixth day of december in . i heard my mother and father say that they married in slavery time and they just jumped over a broom. i don't belong to no church. i am off on a pension. i got a good job doin' nothing. my pension is paid by the railroad. "i put up forty-four years as a brakeman and five years on ditching trains before i went to braking. my old road master put me on the braking. a fellow got his fingers cut off and they turned his keys over to me and put me to braking and i went there and stayed. "i have two children. both of them are living--a girl and a boy. i have had a big bunch of young people 'round me ever since i married. raised a couple of nephews. then my two. all of them married. that is my daughter's oldest child right there. (he pointed to a pretty brownskin girl--ed.) "my father died when i was eight, and i was away from home railroading most of the time and didn't hear much about old times from my mother. so that's all i know. "i have lived right here on this spot for forty-three years. about i bought this place and have lived here ever since. this was just a big woods and weed patch then. there weren't more than about six houses out here this side of the rock island railroad. "i commenced voting in . cast my first ballot then. i never had any trouble about it." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: ambus gray r.f.d. # . biscoe, arkansas age: "i was ten year old when the civil war come on. i was born tallapoosy county, alabama. i belong to jim gray. i recollect the paddyrollers. i don't recollect the ku klux klan. there was twelve boys and two girls in our family in time. i was among the older set. "bout all i remembers bout slavery was how hard the hands had to work. we sho did haf to work! when we wasn't clerin new ground and rollin pine logs an burnin brush we was er buildin fences and shuckin an shellin corn. woman you don't know nufin bout work! we cler new groun all day den burn brush and pile logs at nite. we build fences all day and kill hogs and shuck corn dat night. no use to say word bout bein tired. never heard nobody complainin. they went right on singin or whislin'. started out plowin and drappin corn then plantin' cotton. choppin' time come on then pullin' fodder and layin' by time be on. be bout big meetin time and bout fo that or was over everybody was dun in the cotton field till dun cold weather. i remembers how they sho did work. "both my parents was field hands. they stayed on two years after the war was over. jim gray raised red hogs and red corn, whooper-will peas. he kept a whole heap of goats and a flock of sheep. "we didn't see no real hard times after the war. we went to georgia to work on armstrongs farm. we didn't stay there long. we went to atlanta and met a fellar huntin' hands down at sardis, mississippi. we come on there. rob richardson brought the family out here. i been here round biscoe years when it was sho nuf swamps and woods. "i don't think the ku klux ever got after any us but i seen em, i recken. i don't know but mighty little. the paddyrollers is what i dreaded. sometime the overseer was a paddyroller. my folks didn't go to war. we didn't know what the war was for till it had been going on a year or so. the news got circulated round the north was fighting to give the black man freedom. some of em thought they said that so they'd follow and get in the lines, help out. some did go long, some didn't want to go get killed. nobody never got nuthin, didn't know much when it was freedom. i didn't see much difference for a year or more. we gradually quit gettin' provisions up at the house and had to take a wagon and team and go buy what we had. we didn't have near as much. money then like it is now, it don't buy much. it made one difference. you could change places and work for different men. they had overseers just the same as they did in slavery. "the reconstruction time was like this. you go up to a man and tell him you and your family want to hire fer next year on his place. he say i'm broke, the war broke me. move down there in the best empty house you find. you can get your provisions furnished at certain little store in the closest town about. you say yesser. when the crop made bout all you got was a little money to take to give the man what run you and you have to stay on or starve or go get somebody else let you share crop wid them. as the time come on the black man gets to handle a little mo silver and greenbacks than he used to. slaves didn't hardly ever handle any money long as he live. he never buy nothin, he have no use for money. white folks burried money durin the war. some of them had a heap of money. "i have voted but i don't keep up wid it no mo. it been a long time since i voted. this is the white folks country an they goiner run it theirselves. no usen me vote. no use the women votin as i see it. jes makes mo votes to count. the rich white man is goiner run the country anyhow. "i farmed all my life. i been here in biscoe fifty-eight years. i worked for richardson, biscoe, peeples, nail. i owned a home, paid $ for it. i made it in three years when we had good crops. "times are harder now than i ever seen em here. if you have a hog you have to pen it up and buy feed. if you have a cow, when the grass die, she is to feed. if you have chickens there ain't no use talkin, they starve if you don't feed em. no money to buy em wid an no money to buy feed for em. times is hard. durin the cotton boom times do fine (cotton picking time). the young folks is happy. they ain't got no thought of the future. mighty hard to make young folks think they ever get old. theys lookin at right now. havin em a good time while they young." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: green gray r.f.d. # biscoe, arkansas age: -- ? "i was born after de war in alabama. then we went to atlanta, georgia. bout the first i recollect much bout was in atlanta. i was seventeen years old. they was building the town back up where it had been burnt. if you was a carpenter you could get rough work to do. my father was a farmer and had a family; soon as he could he come with a man he met up wid to sardis, mississippi. he had twelve children. some of em born down in mississippi. the reason we all went to atlanta was dis--we was workin fer a man, white man, named armstrom. white woman told me go do somethin, bring in a load er wood i think it was, and my mother told me not to do it. he and my father had a fuss an he tied my father to some rails and whooped him. soon as they done that we all left. they hunted us all night long. crowd white folks said they goiner kill us. some fellow come on to atlanta and told us bout em huntin us. thater way folks done. it muster been bout the very closin of the war cause i heard em say i was give to my young mistress, sallie gray. i don't remember who they say she married. i never did live wid em long fore my papa took me. "the first free school was in pinola county, mississippi. i went to it. the teacher was a white man named george holliday. "i votes a republican ticket. miss, i don't know nothin much bout votin, cassionly i vote to help my side out a little. we used to elect our town officers here in biscoe but the white folks run it now. professor hardy and professor walker was the postmasters (both negroes) for a long while. john clay was constable and oscar clark magistrate (both negroes). one of the school board was dr. odom (negro). they made pretty fair officers. "i was a cow herder, and a fire boy, and a farmer. when i come to biscoe i was a farmer. i married and had two children. my wife lef me and went wid another fellar then she jumped in the river right down yonder and drowned. i started workin at the sawmill and workin in the lumber. i owns a little home and a spot of ground it on ' ×  '. i made it workin fer mr. betzner (white farmer). i'm farmin now. "times is hard. you can't get no credit. between times that you work in the crop it is hard to live. used to by workin hard and long hours could make a good livin. wages better now, $ to $ . a day. long time ago ¢ a day was the price. then you could buy meat five and six cents a pound. now it ¢. flour used to be ¢ a sack. now it way outer sight. the young folks don't work hard as i used to work but they has a heap better chance at edgercation. some few saves a little but everything jes so high they can't get ahead very much. it when you get old you needs a little laid by." # interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: neely gray e. fifteenth, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in virginia. dr. jenkins bought my mother from a man named norman. brought us here on the boat. i know i was walkin' and talkin'. i don't remember about the trip, but i remember they said they had to keep me out from fallin' in the river. i was too playified to remember anything about it. "durin' the war i was a girl six or seven years old. big enough to nuss my mother's next chile, and she was walkin' and talkin' 'fore surrender. "my mother was pushin' a hundred when she died. i was her oldest chile. sold with her. "dr. jenkins had three women and all of 'em had girls. raised up in the house. dr. jenkins said, 'doggone it, i want my darkies right back of my chair.' he never did 'buse his colored folks. he was a 'cepted (exceptional) man--so different. i never saw the inside of the quarters. "dr. jenkins' house wasn't far from the river. you could hear the boats goin' up and down all night. "i was scared of the yankees 'cause they always p'inted a gun at me to see me run. they'd come in the yard and take anything they wanted, too. "after surrender mama went and cooked for a man named hardin. "hardest time i ever had was when i got grown and had to take care of my mother and sister. worked in the field. "i was married out from behind a plow. never farmed no more. "my fust husband was a railroad man. i tried to keep up with him but he went too fast; i couldn't keep up. he got so bad they finally black-balled him from the road. "i tell you nobody knows what it is till you go through with it. i've had my bitters with the sweet. "been married four times and i've buried two husbands. i just raised one chile and now she's dead. but i got great-grandchillun--third generation--in houston, texas, but i never hear from 'em. "i get along all right. the welfare helps me and i try to live right." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: nely gray e. th avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: does a little quilting "yes ma'm, i was sold from richmond, virginia. dr. jenkins bought my mother when i was a little girl walkin' and talkin'. put me up on the block and sold me too. i was bout three years old. "dr. jenkins was mighty good to his hands. say he was goin' to raise his little darkies up back of his chair. he thought lots of his colored folks. "i member seein' the rebels ridin' horses, three double, down the road time of the war. i used to run off from mama to the county band--right where the roundhouse is now. mama used to have to come after me. you know i wasn't no baby when i shed all my teeth durin' slavery days. "yankee soldiers? oh lord--seed em by fifties and hundreds. used to pint the gun at me jest to hear me holler and cry. i was scared of em. they come in and went in dr. jenkins' dairy and got what they wanted. and every morning they'd blow that bugle, bugle as long as a broom handle. heard em blow 'glory, glory hallelujah'. i liked to hear em blow it. "yankees marched all up and down the river road. they'd eat them navy beans. i used to see where they throwed em in the fence corner. saw so many i don't like em _now_. they called em navy beans and i called em soldier beans. "i member it well. i'm a person can remember. heap a folks tell what other folks see but i tell what i see. don't tell what nobody told me and what i heard. "i member when they had the battle in pine bluff. we was bout three miles from here when they fit-up here. i member all of it. "they started to send us to texas and we got as far as the ravine when they heard the yankees wasn't comin' so we went back home. "i stayed round the house with the white folks and didn't know what nothin' was till after surrender. we stayed with dr. jenkins for a week or two after surrender, then a man come and took my mother down in the country. i don't know what she was paid--she never did tell us her business. "i was mama's onliest girl and she worked me day and night. hoed and picked cotton and sewed at night. mama learned me to knit and i used to crochet a lot. she sure learned me to work and i ain't sorry. "i worked in the field till i come out to marry a railroad man. i never went to school but two or three months in my life directly after freedom. my husband was a good scholar and he learned me how to read and write. i learned my daughter how to read and write so when she started to school they didn't have to put her in the chart class. when she was six years old she could put down a figger as quick as you can. "been married four times and they's all dead now. ain't got nobody but myself. if it wasn't for the white folks don't know what i'd do. "i used to cook for dr. higginbotham when she had company. she couldn't do without old nely. one time she sent for me to cook some hens. i soaked em in soda water bout an hour and fried em and you couldn't tell em from friers. "i'm weak in my limbs now but i believe in stirrin'. welfare helps me but i quilts for people. yes'm, i stirs--if i didn't i just couldn't stand it. "this here younger generation is gone. they ain't goin'--they's gone. books ain't done no good. i used to teach the bible lesson once a week, but i don't fool with em now. ain't got no manners--chews gum and whispers. "i got great grand children lives in houston and they don't give me a penny. i don't know what i'd do if twasn't for the welfare. "used to wash and iron. i've ironed twenty shirts in one-half a day." may interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: "happy day" green near barton and helena, arkansas age: grown during the civil war "i don't know how old i is, young mistress. i was here 'fore the civil war, young mistress. i was born in south, alabama, young mistress. well, it was nigh montgomery, alabama, young mistress. my mama name emily green. she had three children to my knowing. i don't know no father. my owner was boss william green, young mistress. his wife was miss lizabuth, young mistress. they did have a big family, young mistress. to my knowing it was: billy, charlie, bunkum, ida, mary, sally, jimmy, buddy. i never went to school a day in my life, young mistress. when i come on big 'nuff to work i had to help keer for mama and two girl sisters, young mistress. "when i come to this state, van vicks and bill bowman immigrated one hundred head of us. they landed some of us at helena. our family was landed at phillips bayou, young mistress. "i was a cowboy, me and george. he was another black boy, young mistress. we kept flies offen boss william green and miss lizabuth, young mistress. they took naps purt nigh every day when it be the long days (in summer), young mistress. mama was milk woman. boss william green had goats and 'bout a dozen heads of milch cows, young mistress. i was willed to mars billy. he went off to war and died 'fore the war begun, young mistress. "nobody run 'way from boss william green. he told 'em if they run off he would whoop 'em. he didn't have no dogs, young mistress. they be a white man near by owned nigger hounds, young mistress. he take his hounds, go hunt a runaway, young mistress. you would pay him, i reckon, young mistress. "i did get some whoopings, young mistress. they used a cow hide strap on me, young mistress. they blistered me a right smart, young mistress. "we didn't have so much to eat. they give us one peck meal, four pounds meat a week. mama done our cooking, young mistress. we had good clothes, warm clothes, woolen clothes, young mistress. we had a few sheep about the place. we had a few geese 'mong the turkeys, guineas, ducks, and chickens. they kept the peafowls for good luck, young mistress. "fur a fact they had a big garden, young mistress. boss william green worked the garden. he made us pull the plow--four of us boys. he said the stock would tromp down more'n they'd make, young mistress. two of his boys and me and george pulled his plough. we had a big garden. "i chopped in the field, picked up chips on the clearings. i chopped cook wood right smart, young mistress. "when freedom come on, grandpa come after mama. boss william green told her, 'you free.' he give her ten bushels corn, good deal of meat--back bone and spareribs. he come one saturday evening, young mistress. she took 'long whatever she had at our house in the way of clothing and such lack, young mistress. well, grandpa was share crapping, young mistress. "the ku kluckses come one night. they kept us getting 'em water to run through something under their sheets. the water was running out on the ground. we did see it for a fact, young mistress. we was scared not to do that. they was getting submission over the country, young mistress. they would make you be quiet 'long the roadside, young mistress. they would make you be quiet where you have meeting. they would turn the pots down on the floor at the doors, young mistress. the ku kluckses whooped some, tied some out to trees and left 'em. they was rough, young mistress. "i worked in the field all my life. "times is good fer me, young mistress. i live with my niece. i get twelve dollars assistance 'cause i been sick, young mistress. i owns a pony. all i owns, young mistress. "i hab voted, young mistress. i'm too old to vote now, young mistress. i reckon i voted both ways some, young mistress. "young folks is so strong and happy they is different from old folks, young mistress." # interviewer: watt mckinney person interviewed: henry green barton, arkansas age: uncle henry green, an ex-slave ninety years of age, is affectionately known throughout a large part of phillips county as "happy day". this nickname, acquired in years long past, was given him no doubt partly on account of his remarkably happy disposition, but mainly on account of his love for the old religious song, "happy day", that uncle henry has enjoyed so long to sing and the verses of which his voice still carries out daily over the countryside each morning promptly at daybreak and again at sundown. uncle henry and his old wife, louisa, live with uncle henry's sister, mattie harris, herself seventy-five years of age, on a poor forty acre farm that mattie owns in the hyde park community just off the main highway between walnut corner and west helena. henry acts as janitor at the lutherian church at barton and the three do such farming as they are able on the thin acres and with the few dollars that they receive each month from the welfare board together with the supplies furnished them at the relief office these three old folks are provided with the bare necessities sufficient to sustain them. uncle henry, his wife and sister mattie are the most interesting of the several ex-slave negroes in this county whom it has been my pleasure and good fortune to interview. as i sat with them on the porch of their old, rambling log house the following incidents and account of their lives were given with uncle henry talking and mattie and louisa offering occasional explanations and corrections: "yes sir, boss man, my right name is henry green but eberybody, dey all calls me 'happy day'. dat is de name whut mos' all calls me fer so long now dat heap of de folks, dey don't eben know dat my name is sho nuf henry green. i sho ain't no baby, boss man, kase i is been here er long time, dat i is, and near as i kin cum at hit i is ninety years old er mo, kase mattie sey dat de lady in de cote-house tell her dat i is ninety-fo, en dat wuz three years er go. i is er old nigger, boss man, en er bout de onliest old pusson whut is lef er round here in dis part of de county. i means whut is sho nuf old, en what wuz born way bak in de slabery times, way fo de peace wuz 'clared. "us wuz borned, dat is me en sister mattie, er way bak dere in souf alabama, down below montgomery, in de hills, en on de big place whut our ole marster, william green, had, en whar de tanyard wuz. yo see, old marster, he runned er big tanyard wid all de res of he bizness, whar dey tan de hides en mek de shoes en leather harness en sich lak, en den too, marster, he raise eberything on de place. all whut he need fer de niggers en he own fambly, lak cotton, wheat, barley, rice en plenty hogs en cows. iffen peace hadn't er been 'clared en marse billy hadn't er died i wuz gwine ter be marse billy's property, kase i wuz already willed ter marse billy. marse billy wuz old marster william green's oldest son chile, en marse billy claimed me all de while. marse billy, he went off to de war whar he tukkin sik en died in de camp, 'fore he cud eben git in de fitin. "atter de war wuz ober en peace cum, my grandmammy en my grandpappy, dey cum en got my mammy en all us chillun en tuk us wid dem ter montgomery, en dat wuz whar us wuz when dem two yankee mens immigrated us here ter arkansas. dey immigrated er bout er hundred head er niggers at de same time dat us cum. my grandpappy en my grandmammy, dey didn't belong ter old marster william green. i jist don't know whut white folks dey did belong ter, but i knows dat dey sho cum en got my mammy en us chillun. old marster, he neber mine dem er leavin' en tole 'em dat dey free, en kin go if us want ter go, en when us left old marster gib mammy ten bushels er corn en some hog heads en spareribs en tole her ter bring de chillun bak er gin 'fore long kase he gwine ter gib all de chillun some shoes at de tanyard, but us neber did go bak ter git dem shoes kase we wuz immigrated soon atter den. "no sir, boss man, we don't know nuthin' 'bout who our pappy wuz. dar wuzn't no niggers much in slabery times whut knowed nuthin' 'bout dey pappys. dey jes knowed who dey mammys is. dats all dey knowed 'bout dat. us neber hab no pappy, jes er mammy whut wuz name emily green. "boss man, yo see how black i is en kinky dat my hair is en yo can see dat me en sister mattie is sho pure niggers wid no brown in us. well, yo know one thing, boss man, en dis is sho whut my mammy done tole us er heap er times, en dat is dat when i wuz born dat de granny woman runned ter old mis en tell her ter cum en look at dat baby whut emily done gibed birth ter, and dat i wuz nigh 'bout white en hed straight hair en blue eyes, en when old mis seed me dat she so mad dat she gib mammy er good stroppin kase i born lak dat but hit warn't long atter i born 'fore i gits black, en old mis see den dat i er pure nigger, en den she tell mammy dat she sorry dat she stropped her 'bout me being white en er habin blue eyes en straight hair. no sir, boss man, i jes don't know how cum i change but dat sho is whut mammy did tell us. sister mattie, she know dat. "yes sir, boss man, i kin tell you all er bout de old slabery times, en cordin ter whut i'se thinkin', en fer as me myself is, wid de times so tight lak dey is now days wid me, and all de time be er stud'in' 'bout how ter git er long, hit wud be er heap better fer hit to be lak hit wuz den, kase us neber hed nuthin ter worry 'bout den cept ter do dat whut we wuz tole ter do, en all de eatin' en de cloes wuz gib ter us. our marster trained us up right, fer ter do our wuk good en ter obey whut de white folks sey en ter sho be polite to de white folks, en atter us lef old marster den our mammy she trained us de same way, en we is always polite, kase manners is cheap. "all de nigger chillun in slabery time wore slips, bofe de gals en de boys. dere wuzn't no breeches fer de little ones eben atter dey git old enuf ter wuk en go ter de fiel's, dey still wear dem slips, en dey used ter feed us outen dem big wooden bowls whut dey mix de bread up in, wid sometimes de pot-likker, en sometimes mostly wid de milk, en de chillun, dey go atter dat grub en git hit all ober dey faces en dey hands en dey slips en er bout de time dey git through eatin' de old mis she cum out en when dey through old mis, she hab 'em ter wash dey hands en faces nice en clean. "on dem sundays dat de marster want all de niggers ter go ter church fer de preachin', he send dem all de order ter wash up good en clean en put on dey clean cloes en git ready fer de preachin', en fust ter cum up dar whar he waitin' ter see dat dey look good en nice en clean, en when us git up dar ter de house lookin' fresh en good, de marster's folks, dey talk lak dis ter one er nudder; dey sey: 'look er here at my nigger, henry, dat boy is lookin' fine. he is gwine ter be er big healthy man en er good wukker,' en atter dey all done looked all de niggers ober dey tell 'em ter be gwine on ter de church en dey go on en sit in de bak behine all de white folks en hear de white man preach. dar wuzn't no nigger preachers in dem days dat i ever seed. "now i know dat yo has heard of dem paddyrollers. well, i tell yo, boss man, dem paddyrollers, dey wuz bilious. dey wuz de mens whut rid out on de roads at night ter see dat all dem niggers whut wuz out en off dey marster's places hed er pass from dey marsters. dem paddyrollers, dey wud stop er nigger whut dey find out at night en sey, 'boy, whar yo gwine? en is yo got yo pass?' en de lawd help dem niggers whut dey cotch widout dat pass. iffen er nigger be cotch out et night widout de pass writ down on de paper frum he marster, en dem paddyrollers cotch him, dat nigger sho haf ter do sum good prayin' en pretty talkin' er else dey tek him ter whar dey got four stobs drove down in de groun en dey tie he hans en feet ter dem stobs en den ware him out wid er big heaby strop. de mostest reason dat sometimes de niggers out at night is on account dey courtin' some gal whut libes on some udder place. when yo see de paddyrollers er comin' en yo ain't got no pass writ down on de paper en yo don't want ter git er stroppin, den de onliest thing fer yo ter do is ter run en try ter git on yer marster's place 'fore dey git yo, er try ter dodge 'em er somepin lak dat. iffen de paddyrollers got dem nigger hounds wid 'em when de nigger break en run, den de onliest thing dat de nigger kin do den is ter wuk de conjure. he kin wuk dat conjure on dem hounds in seberal different ways. fust, he kin put er liddle tuppentine on he feet er in he shoe, en er lot er times dat will frow de hounds off de track, er else, iffen he kin git er hold er some fresh dirt whar er grabe ain't been long dug, en rub dat on he feet, den dat is er good conjure, en mo dan dat iffen he kin git ter catch er yearlin calf by der tail en step in de drappins whar dat calf done runned er long wid him er holdin' on ter de tail, den dat is a sho conjure ter mak dem hounds lose de track, en dat nigger kin dodge de paddyrollers. "lak i sey, boss man, 'bout de onliest thing dat de niggers in slabery time wud lebe de place at night fer, wud be dey courtin', en mostly den on er wednesday er saturday night, so i gwine ter tell yo how dey sometimes dodge de paddyrollers whilst dey courtin' dere wimmens at night. yo see, mos' all de wimmens, dey be er wukkin at night on dey tasks dat dere old mis gib 'em ter do, er weavin' er de cloth. dese wimmens wud be er settin' 'roun de fire weavin' de cloth en de nigger be dar too er courtin' de gal, en all ter once here cum dem paddyrollers, some at de front door en some at de back door, en when de wimmens er hear 'em er comin', dey raise er loose plank in de flo whut dey done made loose fer dis bery puppus, en de nigger he den drap right quick down 'neath de flo twix de jists, en de wimmens den slap de plank right bak in place on top er de man ter hide him, so iffen de paddyrollers does come in dat dey see dat dere ain't no man in dar. dat wuz de way dat de niggers used ter fool 'em heap er times. "i 'members dem days well when de war gwine on yit i neber did see no yankee mens er tall, en de closest dat us eber cumbed ter see de yankees wuz dat time when old marster hed de horn blowed ter signal de niggers ter git de kerrige hosses en de milk cows off ter de woods kase he had done heard dat de yankees wuz er cumin, but dey missed us en dem yankees, dey neber find old marster's place. i seed some of our sojer mens do, once, atter us lef old marster en go ter montgomery wid our grandpappy. dese sojer mens, dey come in ter town on de train bak frum de war whar dey been fitin fer so long, en dey happy en singin', dey so glad dat peace done 'clared. hit wuz er whole train full er dem fedrit sojers, en dey wimmens en chilluns all dere er huggin' en er kissin' 'em ginst dey git off de train en gibin 'em cakes en sich good things ter eat. "yes sir, boss man, de niggers wuz treated good in slabery times en wuz trained up right, ter wuk, en obey, en ter hab good manners. our old marster, he neber wud sell er nigger en he feed 'em good, en dey lub en 'spected him. yo sho hed better 'spect him, en iffen yo didn't dat strop wud be er flyin'. all er old marster's niggers wuz good multiplyin' peoples. dey sho wuz, en dey raise big famblies. dats one thing whut er woman hed ter be in dem days er she sho be sold quick. iffen she ain't er good multiplier dey gwine ter git shut er her rail soon. day tuk extra pains wid dem good multiplyin' wimmins too en neber gib dem no heaby wuk ter do no mo dan weavin' de cloth er sich roun de place. "whilst our old marster, he neber sell no niggers, de speculators, dey hab 'em fer sale er plenty, en i has seed 'em er passin' in de road en er long string er gwine ter de place whar de sale gwine ter be. 'fore dey git ter de sale place dey roach dem niggers up good jes lak dey roach er mule, en when dey put 'em on de block fer de white mens ter bid de price on 'em den dey hab 'em ter cut de shines en de pidgeon wing fer ter show off how supple dey is, so dey bring de bes' price. "dey neber hed no farm bells in slabery times fer ter ring en call de hans in en outen de fiel's. dey hed horns whut dey blowed early en late. de wuk wud go on till hit so dark dat dey can't see. den de horn wud blow en de niggers all cum in en git dey supper, en cook dey ash cakes in de fire whut dey build in dey own cabins. boss man, is yo eber et er ash cake? i don't 'spects dat yo know how ter mek one er dem ash cakes. i gwine ter tell yo how dat is done. fust yo git yo some good home groun meal en mix hit well wid milk er water en a liddle salt an bakin' powder whut yo mek outen red corn cobs, den yo pat dem cakes up right good en let 'em settle, den put 'em in de hot ashes in de fireplace en kiver 'em up good wid some mo hot ashes en wait till dey done, en boss man, yo sho is got er ash cake dat is fitten ter eat. dats de way dat us made 'em in slabery times en de way dat us yit meks 'em. us didn't know whut white bread wuz in de old days, hardly, 'ceptin sometimes 'roun de marster's kitchen er nigger wud git er hold of er biscuit. all de bread dat de slabe niggers git wud be made outen cornmeal er dem brown shorts whut de marsters gib 'em in de rashions. "us wuz all well fed do in slabery times en kept in good fat condition. ebery once in er while de marster wud hab er cow kilt en de meat 'stributed out mongst de folks en dey cud always draw all de rashions dat dey need. "dey used ter hab dem big corn shuckin's too in de old days. de corn wud be piled up in er pile es big es er house en all de han's wud be scattered out roun' dat pile er corn shuckin' fas' as dey cud, en atter dey done shucked dat pile er corn, ole marster wud hab two big hogs kilt en cooked up in de big pots en kittles, en den dem niggers wud eat en frolic fer de longes', mekin music wid er hand saw en er tin pan, en er dancin', en laffin, en cuttin' up, till dey tired out. dem wuz good days, boss man. i sho wish dat i cud call dem times bak ergin. de marsters whut hed de big places en de slabe niggers, dey hardly do no wuk er tall, kase dey rich wid niggers en lan', en dem en dey famblies don't hab no wuk ter do, so de old marsters en de young marsters, dey jes knock erbout ober de country on dey hosses, en de young misses en de old misses, dey ride er bout in de fine kerrige wid de coachman er doin' de drivin'. dey hab de oberseers ter look atter de mekin er de crops, so de bosses, dey jes sort er manage, en see dat de bizness go on de right way. "de marsters en de misses, dey look atter dere niggers good do en see dat dey keep demselves clean en 'spectible, en try ter keep de disease outen 'em. ebery monday mornin' dey gib 'em all er little square, brown bottle er bitters fer dem ter take dat week. dat wuz dere medicine, but iffen er nigger do git sick, den dey sent fer de doctor right er way en hab de doctor ter 'zamine de sick one en sey, 'doctor, kin you do dat nigger eny good?' er 'do whut yo kin fer dat nigger, doctor, kase he is er valuable han' en wuth muney.' "i neber wuz sick none do in my life, but i jes nathally been kilt, near 'bout, one time in de gin when my head git cotched twixt de lever en de band wheel en uncle dick hed ter prize de wheel up offen my head ter git me loose, en dat jes nigh 'bout peeled all de skin offen my head. old marster, he gib me er good stroppin fer dat too. dat wuz fer not obeyin', kase he hed done tole all us young niggers fer ter stay 'way frum de gin house. "i wuzn't gwine ter be trained up ter wuk in de fiel's, i wuz trained ter be er pussonal servant ter de marster, en sister mattie, she wuz gwine ter be trained up ter be er house woman, en so wuz my old woman, louisa, kase her mammy wuz er house woman herself fer her white folks in south carolina, so i rekkin dats de reason us always thought we so much en better 'en de ginral run er niggers. "yes sir, boss man, de niggers is easy fooled. dey always is been dat way, en we wuz fooled er way frum alabama ter arkansas by dem two yankee mens, mr. van vleet en mr. bill bowman, whut i tole yo er bout, dat brung dat hundred head er folks de time us cum. dey tole us dat in arkansas dat de hogs jes layin' er roun already baked wid de knives en de forks stickin' in 'em ready fer ter be et, en dat dere wuz fritter ponds eberywhars wid de fritters er fryin' in dem ponds er grease, en dat dar wuz money trees whar all yo hed ter do wuz ter pik de money offen 'em lak pickin' cotton offen de stalk, en us wuz sho put out when us git here en fine dat de onliest meat ter be hed wuz dat whut wuz in de sto, en dem fritters hed ter be fried in de pans, en dat dar warn't no money trees er tall. hit warn't long 'fore my grandpappy en my grandmammy, dey lef 'en went bak ter alabama, but my mammy en us chillun, we jes stayed on right here in phillips county whar us been eber since, en right en dat room right dar wuz whar us old mammy died long years er go. "well, boss man, yo done ax me en i sho gwine ter tell yo de truf. yes sir, i sho is voted, en i 'members de time well dat de niggers in de cotehouse en de red shirts hab ter git 'em out. dat wuz de bes' thing dat dey eber do when dey git de niggers outen de cotehouse en quit 'em frum holdin' de offices, kase er nigger not fit ter be no leader. i neber cud wuk under no nigger. i jes nathally neber wud wuk under no nigger. i jist voted sich er length er time, en when de red shirts, dey say dat er nigger not good enuf ter vote, en dey stopped me frum votin', en i don't mess wid hit no mo. "yes sir, boss man, i blebe dat de lawd lef' me here so long fer some good puppose, en i sho hopes dat i kin stay here fer er heap er mo years. i jes nathally lubes de white folks en knows dat dey is sho gwine ter tek care of old 'happy day', en ain't gwine ter let me git hurt. "de young niggers in dis day sho ain't lak de old uns. dese here young niggers is jes nathally de cause of all de trubble. dey jes ain't been raised right en ter be polite lak de old ones, lak me, i don't hold it er gin yo, kase, mebbe yo pappy en yo mammy owned my pappy en my mammy in slabery times en whupped 'em, kase i 'spects dat dey needed all de punishment whut dey got. all de education whut i got, boss man, is jes ter wuk, en obey, en ter lib right. "i knows dat i ain't here far many mo years, boss man, en i sho hopes dat i kin git ter see some of my marsters, de greens, ergin, 'fore i goes. i ain't neber been back since i lef, en i ain't neber heard frum none of 'em since i been in arkansas, en i know en cose dat all de old uns is gone by now, but i 'spects dat some of de young uns is lef yit. i wud sho lak ter go back dar ter de old place whar de tanyard wuz, but i neber wud hab dat much money ter pay my way on de train, en den, i don't rekkin dat i cud fine de way nohow. i wud git some of de white folks ter write er letter back dar fer me iffen i know whar ter send hit, er de name of some of my young marsters whut mebbe is dar still. yes sir, boss man, i sho hopes dat i kin see some of dem white folks ergin, en dat some of dese days dey will fine me. yo know i is de janitor at de church at walnut corner whar de two hard roads cross, en whar all de cars cum by. de cars, dey cum by dar frum eberywhars, en so ebery sunday morning atter i gits through er cleanin' up de church, i sets down on de bench dar close ter mr. gibson's sto, whar dey sell de gasolene en de cold drinks, en whar de cars cum by frum eberywhar, en i sets dar er lookin' at all dem white folks er passin' in dey cars, en sometimes dey stop fer ter git 'em some gasolene er sumpin, en i says ter myself dat mebbe one er my young marsters sometimes gwine ter be in one of dem cars, en gwine ter drive up dar er lookin' fer me. er heap er times when de cars stop dar will be er white gentman in de cars whut git out en see me a settin' dar on de bench, en he sey, 'uncle, yo is rail old, ain't yo?' an den he ax me my name en whar i borned at, en er heap er times dey buy me er cigar. well, boss man, dats how cum i sets on dat bench dar at de road crossin' at walnut corner ebery sunday, mos' all day, atter i gits through er cleanin' up de church, jes settin' dar watchin' dem cars cum by en 'spectin one of dese days fer one of my young marsters ter drive up en ter fine me er settin' dar waitin' fer him, en when he cum, iffen he do, i know dat he sho gwine ter tek me back home wid him." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: frank greene saracen street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm, i can remember the civil war and the yankees, too. i can really remember the yankees and my old boss. i can't remember everything but i can remember certain things just as good. "dr. ben lawton was my old boss. that was in south carolina. that was what they called buford county at that time. "had a place they called the honey hill fight. i used to go up there and pick up balls. "i can remember the yankees had little old mules and blue caps and the folks was runnin' from 'em. "i remember old boss run off and hid from 'em--first one place and then another. "i remember the yankees would grab up us little folks and put us on the mules--just for fun you know. i can remember that just as well as if 'twas yesterday--seems like. "they burned old boss's place down. he had five or six plantations and i know he come back and rebuilt after peace declared, but he didn't live long. "he wasn't a mean man. he was good to his folks. we stayed there two years after surrender and when i come to this country, i left some of my uncles on that same place. "i remember a white gentlemen in south carolina would just jump his horse over the fence and run over the folks, white and black, cotton and all. he was a rich man and he'd just pay 'em off and go on. he wouldn't put up the fence neither. he was a hunter--a sporting man. "me? yes ma'am, i used to vote--the republican ticket. we ain't nothin' now, we can't vote. i never had any trouble 'bout votin' here but in the old country we had some trouble. the democrats tried to keep us from votin'. had to have the united states soldiers to open the way. that was when hays and wheeler was runnin'. "here in the south the colored folks is free and they're not free. the white folks gets it all anyway--in some places. "but they ain't nobody bothered me in all my life--here or there. "i went to school some after the war. didn't have very much, but i learned to read and write and 'tend to my own affairs. "i have done farm work all my life and some public work. i got the same ambition to work as i used to have but i can't hold it. i start out but i just can't hold it. "just to pass my opinion of the younger generation, some of 'em level-headed, but seems to me like they is a little rougher than they was in my day. "i think every one should live as an example for those coming behind." may interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: george greene temporary-- pulaski st., little rock, ark. permanent--wrightsville, ark. age: ? birth and age "i don't know when i was born. i don't know exactly, but i was born in slavery time before the war began. i was big enough to wait on the table when they was fighting. i remember when they was setting the negroes free. i was born in aberdeen, mississippi, in monroe county. seven miles from the town of aberdeen, out on the prairies, that is where i was born. "i figure out my age by the white woman that raised me. she sent me my age. when they was working the roads, my road boss, i told him i was forty-five years old and he didn't believe it. so i sent to the white woman that raised me from a month-old child. when i left her, i'd done got grown. her name was narcissus stephenson; she had all our ages and she sent mine to me. "she may be dead now. i could've stayed right there if she isn't dead, because she never did want me to come away. right out in arkansas, i come,--to my sorrow. well, i done right well till i got crippled. got hit by an automobile. that's what i'm doin' here now." parents and relatives "my father's name was nathan greene. i reckon he went by that name, i can't swear to it. i wasn't with him when he died. i was up in mississippi on the mississippi river and didn't get the news in time to get there till after he was dead. he was an old soldier. when the yankees got down in mississippi, they grabbed up every nigger that was able to fight. if i'd get his furlough papers, i'd a been drawin' pension before i did. but his brother was with him when he died and he let the dismiss papers get lost, and nobody got nothin'. don't draw nothin' from it at all. couldn't find the papers when i was down there. "i don't know whether my father used his master's name or his father's name. his father's name was jerry greene, and his master's name was henry bibb. i don't know which name he went by, but i call myself greene because his father's name was jerry greene. no bibb owned him at first. jerry greene was born in north, alabama in morgan county. that's where he was born. bibb bought him and brought him down to mississippi where i was born. lord! old man bibb owned a lot of 'em, too. my father and grandfather were both colored but my grandfather was an old yellow man. you know, he had to take his color after his papa. i don't know my great-grandfather's name. they can't tell nothin' 'bout that in them days. his papa, my grandfather's papa, i can't tell for sure whether he was white or black. "my mother's name was adeline greene. grandpa's wife's name was louisa. she was one of these kinder mixed with indian. she lived to see a many a year before she died. she lived to be a hundred and fifteen years of age before she died. i knowed grandma louisa. up until i was a man grown. she was about my color with long straight hair and black (hair). old lady bibb was her mistress. she died way after freedom. "i don't know mama's age. i was here in arkansas when she died. didn't know she was dead until a month after she was buried. she died in mississippi. grandma, mama, and all of them died in mississippi. "my grandma on my mother's side was named--i can't remember her name, but i knowed her. i can't remember what the old man's name was neither. it's been so long it just went from my memory. they never told me much neither. folks didn't talk much to children in those days. i wouldn't hardly have thought of it now anyway." house and furniture "a old log house was what i was born in,--when i come out from mississippi that old house was still standing. aw, they put up houses them days. it had one room. didn't have but one room,--one window, one door,--didn't have but one door to go in and out. i remember that well. didn't have no whole parcel of doors to go in and out. plank floors. i wasn't born on the dirt! i was born on planks. our house was up off the ground. we had a board roof. we used four foot boards. timber was plentiful then where they could make boards easy. boards was cheap. there wasn't no such things as shingles. didn't have no shingle factories. "we didn't have nothing but on old wooden bed. it wasn't bought. it was made. made it at home. carpenter made it. making wooden beds was perfect then. they'd break down every two or three years. they lasted. there was boards holding then. wasn't no slats nor nothing. nail them boards to the post and to the sides of the house, and that was the end of it with some people. we had a corded bed. put them ropes through the sides and corded them up there as tight as dick's hatband--and they stayed. they made their own boards, and made their own ropes, and corded them together, and they stayed. chairs! shucks! they just took boxes. they made chairs too--took shucks and put bottoms in them. them chairs lasted. them shucks go way, they'd put more there. wish i had one of them chairs now. we made a box and put our rations in it. them days they made what they called cupboards. they made anything they wanted to. when they got free, they'd buy dishes. when they got free, boxes and cupboards went out of style. they bought safes. there wasn't no other furniture. we used tin pans for dishes in slavery time. when we got free, we bought plates. "when them pans fell they didn't break. they even as much as made their own trays to make bread in. they would take a cypress tree and dig it out and them scoundrels lasted too. don't see nothin' like that now. tin pan is big enough to make up bread in now. in them days they made anything. water buckets,--they did buy them. old master would give 'em a pass to go get 'em. anything they wanted, he would give 'em if he thought it necessary. old master would get 'em all the buckets. he was good and he would buy what you would ask him for. they made milk buckets. they made 'em just like they make 'em now." work of family in slave time "my people were all field hands. my master had a great big farm--three or four hundred acres. i waited table when i was a little chap and i learned to plow before the war was over." good master "old man bibb was as good and clever a man as ever you knowed. that overseer down there, if he whipped a man old man bibbs would say, 'here's your money. don't want you beating up my niggers so they can't work. i don't need you.' he'd tell 'im quick he don't need him and he can git. that's the kind of man he was. wouldn't let you be mobbed up. he was a good christian man. i'll give that to him. in the time of the war when they was freeing slaves and i was a little old eight-year-old kid, there was a little old dutchman, a tennessee man, he came out in the country to get feed. out there in alabama. "i was in alabama then. the white woman that raised me had taken me there. she had done married again and left me with mama awhile. while i was little, that was. when i was about seven, she came and got me again and carried me down in alabama and raised me with her children. that white woman never called me nothin' but baby as long as she lived. you know she cared for me just like i was one of her's. when a person raise a child from a month old she can't help from loving it. "this dutchman come and asked me where my parents was and i told him they was in mississippi. he slipped me away from my folks and carried me to decatur and they got cut off there. he was a yankee soldier, and old forrest's army caught 'em and captured me and then carried me first nearly to nashville. they got in three miles of the town and couldn't get no closer. they ran us so we never got no res' till we got to booneville, mississippi. then i sent word to bibb and my uncle came up and got me. him and billie bibb, my young master. billie bibb was a soldier too. he was home on a furlough. i was glad to see him because i tell you in the army there was suffering. but i'll tell you i'll give them credit, those tennessee men took care of me just as though i was their own. i was in a two mule wagon. i drove it. i was big enough to drive. the ambulance man stopped in nashville to see his folks and got a furlough and went on home." work "i learned how to work--work in the field. wasn't nothing but field work. i learned how to hoe first. but in alabama i learned how to plow. i didn't want to be no hoe man; i wanted to plow. when i went back to mississippi, they put me on the plow. i was just eight years old when i learned to plow." share cropping "right after freedom, i just kept on plowing. we share cropped. my mama and i would take a crop. she'd work. we'd all work like the devil until i got a job and went to town. she was willing to let me go. that was when i married too." how freedom came "all i know about freedom was old man henry bibb come out and told us we was free. that is how i came to know it. he came out there on the farm and said, 'well, you all free as i am. you can stay here if you want to or you can go somewhere else.' we stayed. mama stayed there on the farm plumb till she come to town. i don't know how many years. i was there in town and so she come onto town later. moved in with the people she was with. they gave up their place. i was nineteen years old when i left the country. my mother gave me her consent,--to marry then, too. she came to town a few years later. "the slaves weren't given nothin' after they was freed. nothing but what they worked for. they got to be share croppers." ku klux klan "the ku klux never bothered me but they sure bothered others. way yonder in mississippi directly after the surrender, they'd hated it so bad they killed up many of them. they caught white men there and whipped them and killed them. they killed many a nigger. they caught a white man there and whipped him and he went on up to washington, d. c. and came back with a train load of soldiers. they came right down there in the south end of our town and they carried them ku kluxers away by train loads full. they cleaned out the east side of the river. the ku klux had been stringing up niggers every which way. 'twasn't nothin' to find a nigger swinging up in the woods. but those soldiers come from washington city. if they didn't clean 'em up, i'll hush. "i don't know what become of 'em. they never did come back to aberdeen." occupations followed and life since freedom "i ain't worked a lick in four or five years. if i lived to see august tenth, i will be eighty-six years old. i used to follow railroading or saw milling or farming. that is what i followed when i was able to work. the last work i did was farming, working by the day--a dollar and a half a day. and they cut it down and cut me down. now they ain't giving nothing. if a man gets six bits a day he doing good. harder times in arkansas now than i have ever seen before. if a man is able to take care of his family now, he is doing well. they don't give niggers nothing now. "the only way i live is i get a little pension. they give me eight dollars a month and commodities. that is all i live on now. that keeps me up, thank god. i have been getting the pension about ever since they started. i reckon it is about two years. i have been receiving it every month. it ain't failed yet. they been taking care of me pretty well ever since they started. first start it wasn't nothin' but rations. they give me groceries enough to las' me every month. i had a wife then. "i have been a _widow_ now four years. four years i've been a _widow_. but there ain't nothin' like a man staying in his own house. i have made out now for four years. right there cooking and washing for george! i didn't have nothing else to do. fellow can't tell what day the lord will say, 'stop', but as long as i am this way, i'll keep at it. "this soreness in my leg keeps me in bad shape. i came here to get my leg fixed. it gets so i can't walk without a stick. i don't like to stay with other folks. they're sinners and they use me sorta sinful--speak any sort of language. but they sure 'nough treats me nice. "i got my leg hurt last december. car ran into me at wrightsville, and knocked me down and threw me far as from here to that thing (about fifteen feet). after they flung me down, i was flat on my back a long while. i couldn't move. when a fellow gets old and then gets crippled up, it's hard. but i'm gettin' 'long pretty well now, 'cept that this leg ain't strong." dec -- interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: andrew gregory brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born in carroll county, tennessee. my mother was owned by houston. she said when war was declared he was at a neighbor's house. he jumped up and said, 'i gonner be the first to kill a yankee.' they said in a few minutes he fell back on the bed dead. my father owner was tillman gregory. after freedom he stayed on sharecroppin'. from what he said that wasn't much better than bein' owned. they had to work or starve. he said they didn't make nobody work but they didn't keep nobody from starvin' if they didn't go at it. they was proud to be free but that didn't ease up the working. "my people stayed on in tennessee a long time. when i was nineteen years old they was making up a crowd to come here to work. said the land was new. i come wid them. it was a big time. we come on the hardcash (steamboat). i farmed and cleared land all my life. i sold wood, hauled wood. i've done all kinds of form work. i get $ from the welfare association. "the young generation is a puzzle to me. that why i stand and watch what they do. the folks make the times. it's a puzzle to me too." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: annie griegg madison, arkansas age: "i was born a slave, born in nashville, tennessee. i was sold twice. i don't recollect my mother; i was so small when i was parted from her. i had two sisters and i recollect them. one of my sisters was sold the same day i was sold and i recollect my other sister was named rebecca. i never seen her no more after i was sold. i was the youngest. "mother belong to captain walker. that was before the civil war so i know he wasn't an officer in it. his daughter married a man named mr. foster. captain walker had give me to his daughter when she married. they lived in nashville, tennessee too. mr. foster sold me and captain walker sold my sister ann and mr. bill steel henderson at columbia, tennessee bought us both and give my sister to his widowed sister for a house girl and nurse and he kept me. "they lived close to us and my sister stayed at our house nearly all the time. my sister and me was sold for the some price, $ a piece. she could count and knew a dollar. she had some learning then. i never went to school a day in my life. "the first block was a big tree and stumps sawed off for steps by the side of it. the big tree had been sawed off up high. the man cried me off standing on the next stump step. my sister told me our mother was a cook at captain walker's. she told me my father was a foster. it was my understanding that he was a white man. my sister was darker than i was. mr. foster sold me for a nurse. mr. henderson's sister was name mrs. mcgaha (?). my sister nursed and cooked. i nursed three children at mr. henderson's. he was good to me. i loved the children and they was crazy about me. he sold me to mr. field mathis. i nursed four children for them. i never did know why i was sold. mr. henderson was heap the best. mr. henderson never hit me a lick in his life. "mathis was cruel. he drank all the time. he got mad and stamped my hand. i nearly lost the use of my hand. it was swollen way up and hurt and stayed riz up till his cousin noticed it. he was a doctor. he lived in the other end of the house--the same house. he found some bones was broke loose in my hand (right hand). dr. mathis (dr. mathis or dr. mathews who died at forrest city, arkansas) set his brother out about treating little nurse thater way. told him he oughter be ashamed of hisself. dr. mathis splintered my hand and doctored it till it got well. "mr. field mathis was a merchant. they moved to colt, arkansas at the beginning of the war, dr. and mr. field mathis both. we come on the train and steamboats. it was so new to me i had a fine time but that is all i can tell about it. mr. field was cross with his wife. she was fairly good to me. i had all the cooking, washing and ironing to do before i left there. "after we come to arkansas i never got to see my sister. my husband was a good scholar. he could write. he wrote and wrote back to find my sister and mother but they never answered my letters. i asked everybody that come from there about my sisters and mother but never have heard a word. i slept on a pallet on the floor nearly all my life. i had a little bed at mr. henderson's. "i didn't know it was freedom till one day when i was about fourteen or fifteen years old--judging from my size and what i done. i went off to a spring to wash. i had one pot of clothes to boil and another just out of the pot to rub and rinse. a girl come to tell me mrs. field had company and wanted me to come cook dinner. i didn't go but i told her i would be on and cook dinner soon as i could turn loose the washing. there was two colored girls and a white girl could done the cooking but i was a good cook. the girl put on the water for me to scald the chickens soon as she went to the house. when i got there mrs. field mathis had a handful of switches corded together to beat me. i picked up the pan of boiling water to scald the chickens in. she got scared of me, told me to put the pan down. i didn't do it. i didn't aim to hurt her. i wouldn't throwed that boiling water on nothing. she sent to the store for her husband. he come and i told him how it was about the clothes and three girls there could cook without me. he got mad at her and said: 'mary agnes, she is as free as you are or i am. i'm not going to ever hurt her again and you better not.' that is the first i ever heard about freedom. it had been freedom a long time. i don't know how long then. "i stayed on, washed out the clothes and strung them up that evening. i ironed all the clothes and cooked the rest of the week. mr. field got me a good home with some colored folks. he told me if i would go there he never would let nobody bother me and he never would mistreat me no more. i worked some for them but they paid me. she ought to thought a heap of me the way i cooked and worked for her. that was my freedom. i was sold on a platform to mr. mathis. "after freedom i done field work. i never seen a ku klux in my life. i cooked out some and i married. i still cooked out. i was married once and married in a church. i have seven children living and seven dead. "i live with my daughter and her family and i get $ and commodities. i'm mighty thankful for that. it helps me a whole lots. "i recken young folks do the best they know to do. seems like folks are kinder hearted than they used to be. times have changed a heap every way. times is harder for poor folks than the others. it is a true saying that poor folks have hard ways and rich folks have mean ways. they are more selfish. i always had to work hard. both times i was sold for $ ." interviewer: miss irene robertson persons interviewed: william and charlotte guess west memphis, arkansas ages: and william guess "i was born in monroe county, arkansas. father come from dallas, texas when a young man before he married. him and two other men was shipped in a box to indian bay. i've heard him and ike jimmerson laugh how they got bumped and bruised, hungry and thirsty in the box. i forgot the name of the other man in the box. they was sent on a boat and changed boats where they got tumbled up so bad. it was in slavery or war times one. white folks nailed them up and opened them up too i think. father was born in dallas, texas. mother was a small woman and come from tennessee. billy boyce in monroe county owned her. that is the most i ever heard my folks tell about the civil war." charlotte guess "mother was born in dallas, texas. she was born into slavery. she was a field woman. she was sold there and brought to mississippi at about the close of the civil war. she was sold from her husband and two children. she never seen them. she farmed cotton and corn in texas. her husband whooped her, so she was glad to be sold. she married after the surrender to another man in mississippi. no, he didn't beat her. they had disputes. she was the mother of ten children. she lived to be years old. she went from arkansas back to mississippi to die." interviewer's note it would be interesting if i could find out more about why the negroes were sent in the box. he seemed not to know all about it. this negro man when young was a light mulatto. he is light for his age. he looks and acts white. has a spot on one eye. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lee guidon clarendon, arkansas age: "yes maam i sho was in the cibil war. i plowed all day and me and my sister helped take care of the baby at night. it would cry and me bumpin' it. [in a straight chair, rocking.] time i git it to the bed where its mama was it wake up and start cryin' all over again. i be so sleepy. it was a puny sort o' baby. its papa was off at war. his name was jim cowan an' his wife miss margaret brown 'fore she married him. miss lucy smith give me and my sister to them. then she married mr. abe moore. jim smith was miss lucy's boy. he lay outen the woods all time. he say no needen him gittin' shot up and killed. he say let the slaves be free. we lived, seemed lack, on 'bout the line of york an' union counties. he lay out in the woods over in york county. mr. jim say all they fightin' 'bout was jealousy. they caught him several times but ebry time he got away frum 'em. after they come home mr. jim say they never win no war. they stole and starved out the south. "they didn't want the slaves talkin' 'bout things. one time i got ruffed up and i say i was goin' to freedom--the wood whar mr. jim be--and i recollect we was crossin' over a railin' fence. my ma put her hand over my mouth like dis, and say you don't know anything 'bout what you sain' boy. "i neber will forgit mr. neel. he was all our overseer. he say 'lee good boy' plows so good. he never spoke an unkind word in his life to me. when i haf to go to his house he call me in an' give me hot biscuits or maybe a potato. i sure love potato [sweet potatoes]. he was a good old christian man. the church we all went to was made outer hand hewd logs--great big things. my pa lived in union county on the other side the church. "he lived to be years old. ma lost her mind. they both died right here with me--a piece outer town. he was named pompey and ma fannie. her name 'foe freedom was fannie smith, then she took the name guidon. "after freedom a heap of people say they was going to name their selves over. they named their selves big names then went roaming 'round lack wild, huntin' cities. they changed up so it was hard to tell who or whar anybody was. heap of 'em died an' you didn't know when you hear 'bout it if he was your folks hardly. some of the names was abraham an' some called their selves lincum. any big name 'ceptin' their master's name. it was the fashion. i herd 'em talking 'bout it one ebenin' an' my pa say fine folks raise us an' we goiner hold to our own names. that settled it wid all of us. "ma was a sickly woman all her life. they kept her 'round the house to help cook and sweep the yards. not a speck of grass, not a weed growd on her yard. she swep it 'bout two times a week. it was prutty and white. the sand jes' shined in the sun. had tall trees in the yard. "i can't recollect 'bout my papa's master cause i was raised at my mama's master's place. he said many and many a time joe guidon never had to whoop him. after he growd up he never got no whoopins a tall. joe guidon learned him to plow an' he was boss of the plow hands. his wife was named mariah guidon. he say she was a mighty good easy woman too. "saturday was ration day and sunday visitin' day. but you must have your pass if you leave the farm an' go over to somebody elses farm. "when i was a boy one thing i love to do was go to stingy tom's still house. his name was tom whiteside. he sure was stingy and the meanest white man i ever seed. i went to the still house to beat peaches to make brandy. it was four miles over there and i rode. we always made least one barrel of peach brandy and one of cider. that would be vinegar 'nough by spring. 'simmon beer was good in the cole freezin' wether too. we make much as we have barrels if we could get the persimmons. he had a son name bill whitesides. "once an old slave woman lost her mind. stingy tom sent her to get a bull tongue and she chased after one of the bulls down at the lot try in' to catch it. she set his barn fire and burned thirteen head of horses and mules together. stingy tom had the sheriff try to get her tell what white folks put her up to do it. he knowed they all hated him cause he jes' so mean. the old woman never did tell but they hung her anyhow. there was a big crowd to see it. miss lucy jes' cried and cried. she say satan got no use for stingy tom he so mean. that the first person i ever seed hung. they used to hang folks a heap. the biggest crowds turned out to see it. "the old woman's son he went to the woods he so hurt cause they going to hang his ma. "the missouri soldiers were worse than the yankees. they waste an' steal your corn and take your horses. they brought a little girl they stole and let stingy tom have her. he kept her and treated her so mean. they thrash out wheat and put it on big heavy sheets to dry. the little girl had to sit outen the sun an' keep the chickens offen it. i seed him find her 'sleep and hit hard as he could in the face wid big old brush. it was old dogwood brush wid no leaves on it. he wouldn't let that little girl have no biskit on sunday mornin'. everybody had all the hot biskit they could eat on sunday mornin'. well after freedom, long time, her aunt heard she was down there and come an' got her. she grow up to be a nice woman. them same missouri soldiers took henry guidon (younger brother of lee guidon) off. stole him from the master--stole his mule. they was so mean. they found out when they shoot, the mule so scared it would throw henry. they kept it up and laughed. course it hurt henry. liable to kill him. they say they making a yankee soldier outen him that way. one night before they got too fur gone he rode off home. they burn whole cribs corn. could smell it a long ways off. they was mean to eberybody. "i recken i do know 'bout the ku kluck. i knowed a man named alfred owens. he seemed all right but he was a republican. he said he was not afraid. he run a tan yard and kept a heap of guns in a big room. they all loaded. he married a southern woman. her husband either died or was killed. she had a son living wid them. the ku kluck was called upper league. they get this boy to unload all the guns ( shooters). then the white men went there. the white man give up and said, 'i ain't got no gun to defend myself wid. the guns all unloaded an' i ain't got no powder and shot.' but the ku kluck shot in the houses and shot him up like lace work. he sold fine harness, saddles, bridles--all sorts of leather things. the ku kluck shure run them outen their country. they say they not going to have them 'round and they shure run them out, back where they came from. "charles good had a blacksmith. they [the missouri soldiers] opened a fence gap when they came through. they took him, tied him to a tree and shot him in the face with little shot. he suffered there till wednesday when he was still living. they tied him to the tree wid his own gallowses. they was doubled and strong. then some of them went down there and finished up the job beating him over the head with the guns till he was dead. the ku kluck broke up every gun they could find. they sure better not ketch a gun at the quarters of colored folks. they whoop him and break up the gun. ask him where he got that gun and start more bad trouble. "they packed a two-story jail so full of men they had orders to turn 'em out. then they built a high fence 'bout eight foot tall and put 'em in it. they had lights and guards all 'round it. they kept 'em right out in the hot sun in that pen. that's where the yankees put the ku klucks. then they had trials and some was sent to albany for three years and eight years and the like. they made glass at albany. them yankees wouldn't let 'em have no bonds. then the white folks told them they needn't settle among them. they owned all the land and wouldn't sell them a foot for nuthing. a heap of lawyers and doctors got in it. that fence was iron and bob wire. the ku kluck killed good men, but republicans. "we stayed on like we were 'cause we done put in the crop and the ku kluck never did bother us. we made a prutty good crop. then we took our freedom. started workin' fer money and part of the crop. "i married in . me and emma went to bed. somebody lam on the door. emma say 'you run they won't hurt me.' i say 'they kill me sure.' we stayed and opened the door. they pull the cover offen her looking. they lifted up a cloth from over a barrel behind the bed in the corner. i say that are a hog. he say we right from hell we ain't seen no meat. then they soon gone. the moon shining so bright that night. they were lookin' for my wife's brother i heard 'em say. they say he done something or another. "charleston was the nearest a army ever come to me but i seed a heap of soldiers on the roads. one road was the rock hill road. "one man i heard 'em talk cheap about had the guns and powder. they shot holes in the walls. he climbed up in the fireplace chimney and stood up there close to the brick. it was dark and they couldn't see him. they looked up the chimney but didn't see him. it was a two-story chimney. lady if you ain't never seen one i can't tell you just how it was. but they shot the house full of holes and never harmed him. "for them what stayed on like they were reconstruction times 'bout like times before dat 'ceptin' the yankees stole out an' tore up a scanlus heap. they tell the black folks to do something and then come white folks you live wid and say ku kluck whoop you. they say leave and white folks say better not listen to them old yankees. they'll git you too fur off to come back and you freeze. they done give you all the use they got fer you. how they do? all sorts of ways. some stayed at their cabins glad to have one to live in an' farmed on. some runnin' 'round beggin', some hunting work for money an' nobody had no money 'ceptin' the yankees and they had no homes or land and mighty little work fer you to do. no work to live on. some goin' every day to the city. that winter i heard 'bout them starving and freezing by the wagon loads. "i never heard nuthing 'bout votin' till freedom. i don't think i ever voted till i come to mississippi. i votes republican. that's the party of my color and i stick to them long as they do right. i don't dabble in white folk's buzness an' that white folks votin' is their buzness. if i vote i go do it and go on home. "i been plowin' all my life and in the hot days i cuts and saws wood. then when i gets outer cotton pickin' i put each boy on a load of wood an' we sell wood. then we clear land till next spring. i don't find no time to be loafing. i never missed a year farming till i got the brights disease an' it hurt me to do hard work. the last years we got $ a cord. farmin' is the best life there is when you are able. "i come to holly springs in , stopped to visit. i had six children and $ in money. we come on the train. my parents done come on from south carolina to arkansas. man say this ain't no richer land than you come from. i tried it seven years. i drove from there, ferried the rivers. it took a long time. we made the best crop i ever seed in . i had eight children, my wife. i cut and hauled wood all winter. i soon had three teams haulin' wood to clarendon. some old men, [white men] mean things! learned one of my boys to play craps. they done it to git his money. "when i owned most i had six head mules and five head horses. i rented acres of land. i bought this house and some other land about. the anthrax killed nearly all my horses and mules. i got one big fine mule yet. its mate died. i lost my house. my son give me one room and he paying the debt off now. it's hard for colored folks to keep anything. somebody gets it frum 'em if they don't mind. "the present times is hard. timber is scarce. game is about all gone. prices higher. old folks cannot work. times is hard for younger folks too. they go to town too much and go to shows. they going to a tent show now. circus coming they say. they spending too much money for foolishness. it's a fast time. folks too restless. some of the colored folks work hard as folks ever did. they spends too much. some folks is lazy. always been that way. "i signed up to the governmint but they ain't give me nuthin' 'ceptin' powdered milk and rice what wasn't fit to eat. it cracked up and had black somethin' in it. a lady said she would give me some shirts that was her husbands. i went to get them but she wasn't home. these heavy shirts give me heat. they won't give me the pension an' i don't know why. it would help me buy my salts and pills and the other medicines like swamp root. they won't give it to me." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: linley hadley madison, arkansas age: "i was born the very day the civil war started, april , . i was born in monroe county close to aberdeen, mississippi. my papa was named dave collins. he was born far back as . he was a carriage driver. "mama was born same year as papa. she was a field hand and a cook. she could plough good as any man. she was a guinea woman. she weighed ninety-five pounds. she had fourteen children. she did that. had six or seven after freedom. she had one slave husband. her owners was old master wylie collins and mistress jane. we come 'way from their place in . "i can recollect old master collins calling up all the niggers to his house. he told them they was free. there was a crowd of them, all mixes. why all this took place now i don't know. most of the niggers took what all they have on their heads and walked off. he told mama to move up in the loom house, if she go off he would kill her. we moved to the loom house till in . "one night some of the niggers what had been collins' slaves come and stole all mama's children, toted us off on their backs at night. where we come to cross the river, uncle george tunnel was the ferryman. he had raised mama at his cabin at slavery. he took us to his white folks. we lived with them a year and then mama moved on bill cropton's place and we lived there forty years. all the croptons dead now. "we come to arkansas in close to cotton plant. , i come to madison. been here ever since. "grandma belong to master rogers where we knowed george tunnel. mama, named harriett, and aunt miller was sold. a man in texas bought aunt miller. we never could hear a word from her. after freedom we tried and tried. master collins was mean. you couldn't lay your hand on mama's back without laying it on marks where she had been beat. all his niggers was glad to leave him. they stripped mama's clothes down to her waist and whooped her, beat the blood out with cowhides. master collins 'lowed his niggers to steal, then his girls come take some of it to their house to eat. master collins didn't have no boys. "papa was a little chunky man. he'd steal flour and hogs. he could tote a hog on his back. my papa went on off when freedom come. they was so happy they had no sense. mama never seen him no more. i didn't neither. mama didn't care so much about him. he was her mate give to her. i didn't worry 'bout him nor nobody then. "master collins did give us plenty to wear and eat too. when i left there we all worked. mama married ag'in. we kept on farming. i farmed all my life. "i got a boy what works. we own our house and all this place (one-half acre). i don't get no help from nowhere. seem like them what works and tries ought to be the ones to get help and not them what don't never pay no taxes. fast generation it is now. but they don't bother me. i got a good boy. times is hard. everything you have to buy is high." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: anna hall (mulatto) brinkley, arkansas age: "i don't know nuthin' cept what i heard folks talk 'bout when i was a child. i was born good while after that war. my folks lived in scott county near jackson, mississippi when i was little and in slavery times too. my mother's mistress was miss dolly cruder. she was a widow and run her own farm. i don't remember her. she give her own children a cotton patch apiece and give the women hands a patch about and they had to work it at night. if the moon didn't give light somebody had to hold a literd (lantern) not fur from 'em so they could see to hoe and work it out. i think she had more land then hands, what they made was to be about a bale around for extra money. it took all the day time working in the big field for miss dolly. i heard 'em say how tired they would be and then go work out their own patches 'fore they go to bed. i don't remember how they said the white girls got their cotton patches worked. and that is about all i remembers good 'nough to tell you. "they didn't expect nothing but freedom out the war. the first my mother heard she was working doing something and somebody say, 'what you working fur don't you know you done free?' that the first she knowed she was free. they just passed the word round; that's how they heard it and the soldiers started coming in to their families. some of them come back by themselves and some come riding several of them together. "i know they didn't give my mother nothing after the war. she washed and ironed 'bout all her life. "the young generation is doing better than we old folks is. if there is any work to get they gets it in preference to us. education is helping some of 'em here in brinkley. some of the young ones gets good money. they teaches and cooks. times is hard for some. "i live wid my son. yes he own his house. i gets $ from the relief. we has 'bout 'nough to live on and dat is all." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: ellie hamilton (male) clarendon, arkansas age: "i was born about near holly springs, mississippi. my parents' masters' name william and mary ellen jefferies. i don't know much 'bout them. my parents' name neely and amos hamilton. i judge that was pa's master's name. they had eight children. three of us living yet. "i been farmin' and workin' 'round clarendon ever since i was a chap. i work 'round hotels and stores and farm too. "i votes when we have a leader for our party. it don't do no good. i never seed no good come outen the colored race votin' yet. "some ways times is much better, much better! some ways they is worser. the people is educated better'n i had a chance at. "work wages is a heap better. i has worked for $ a month. now some can get $ to $ a week. but the young generation throwin' it away. they ain't going to save a bit of it. the present condition is worse morally. they used to could depend on a man. you can't hardly depend on the younger generation. they is so tricky. folks going too much. i recollect when i was a child i went to town one or two times a year. i didn't want all i seen there then neither. seems lack folks spends so much money foolishly. "i own a home, no cow, no hog, no land. get $ a month from the pwa. [hw: [wpa?]] "i come to arkansas to farm. it is a fine farmin' country, miss. my father died and left my mother wid seven children to raise. she come on out here to make a livin'. "i remember when tilden and hendrick lost and hayes and wheeler was elected. they sung songs 'bout 'em and said 'carve that possum nigger to the heart.' it done been so long since we sung them rally songs i forgot every line of all of them. people used to sing more religious songs seems like than they do now. they done gone wild over dancin' 'stead of singin'. "i farmed for j. p. cherry at holly springs from time i was eight year old till i was twenty-one year old. that's a long time to stay by one man ain't it?" interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: josephine hamilton hazen, arkansas age: "i was born near houston, mississippi, in . we lived about three miles north when i can first recollect. my mistress was named frankie hill and my master was littleton hill. i had some sisters and brothers dead but i had four brothers and one sister that got up grown. the first house i remembers living in was a plank house. then we lived in a log house wid a stick-and-dirt chimney. i was wid my old master when he died of heart trouble. she lack to died too. we setting by de fire one night and he held the lamp on one knee and reading out loud. it was a little brass lamp with a handle to hook your finger in. he was a baptist. he had two fine horses, a big gray one and a bay horse. joe drove him to preaching. miss frankie didn't go. he said his haid hurt when dey went to eat dinner and he slept all the evening. he et supper and was reading. i was looking at him. he laid his haid back and started snoring. he had long white hair. i say 'miss frankie, he is dieing.' cause he turned so pale. he was setting in a high back straight chair. we got him on the bed. he could walk when we held him up. his brother was a curious old man. he et morphine a whole heap. he lived by himself. i run fast as my legs would take me. soon as i told him he blowed a long horn. they said it was a trumpet. you never seen such a crowd as come toreckly. the hands come and the neighbors too. it being dot time er night they knowed something was wrong. he slept awhile but he died that night. i stayed up there wid miss frankie nearly all de time. it was a mile from our cabin across the field. joe stayed there some. he fed and curried the horses. nom i don't remember no slave uprisings. they had overseers on every farm and a paddyroll. i learned to sew looking at the white folks and my ma showed me about cutting. there wasn't much fit about them. they were all tollerably loose. we played hiding behind the trees a heap and played in the moonlight. we played tag. we picked up scaley barks, chestnuts, and walnuts. miss frankie parched big pans of goobers when it was cold or raining. some of the white folks was mean. once young mistress was sick. she had malaria fever. i was sitting down in the other room. young master was lying on de bed in the same room. a woman what was waiting on her brought the baby in to put a cloth on him. he was bout two months old, little red-headed baby. he was kicking and i got tickled at him. young master slapped me. the blood from my nose spouted out and i was jess def for a long time. he beat me around till miss polly come in there and said 'you quit beating that little colored girl. you oughter be ashamed. your wife in there nearly dead.' 'yes maam, she did die.' i never will forgit miss polly. i saved one of the young mistress little girl bout seven or eight years old. miss frankie raised a little deer up grown. it would run at anybody. didn't belong at the house. it got so it would run me. it started at the little girl and i pulled her in on the porch backwards and in a long hall. her mama show was proud. said the deer would paw her to death. "i remembers everybody shouting and so glad they was free. it was a joyful time. if they paid my folks for work i didn't know it. we stayed on with miss frankie till i was grown and her son billy hill took her to houston, texas to live. miss sallie and miss fannie had been married a long time. we always had a house to live in and something to eat. "i show never did vote. i would not know nothing about it. i think the folks is getting wiser and weaker. some of us don't have much as we need and them that do have wastes it. i always lived on the farm till eight years ago when my husband died. i wasn't able to farm by myself. i didn't have no children. i come to hazen to live wid dese here girls i raised. (two girls.) they show is good to me. no maam i ain't never got no old age pension. they won't give it to me. we come to arkansas in . we lived down around holly grove. we had kin folks wrote about out here and we wanted to change. long as i was able i had a good living but since i been so feeble i have to make out wid what the children bring me. i don't know if de times is getting any better, don't seem lack the people training their children a tall. they say they kaint do nothing wid em. i allus could do something wid dem i raised. i used to look at them and they minded me. the trouble is they ain't learning to work and won't do nothing less they going to get big pay. then they run spend it fast as they can go for fool-bait." folklore subjects [hw: arkansas] little rock district name of interviewer: irene robertson subject: herbs--cures & remedies, etc. story--information (if not enough space on this page add page) if you borrow salt it is bad luck to pay it back. parch okra seed grind up or beat it up and make coffee. parch meal or corn and make coffee. in slavery times they took red corn cobs burned them and made white ashes, sifted it and used it instead of soda. beat up charcoal and take for gas on the stomach. sift meal add salt and make up with water, put on collard leaf, cover with another collard leaf put on hot ashes. cover with hot ashes. the bread will be brown, the collard leaves parched up, "it is really good." roast potatoes and eggs in the ashes. in slavery times they made persimmon beer. had regular beer barrels made a faucet. put old field hay in the bottom, persimmons, baked corn bread and water. let stand about a week, a fine drink with tea cakes. it won't make you drunk. comb hair after dark makes you forgetful. asafoetida and garlic on the bait makes the fish bite well. rub fishing worms on the ground makes them tougher so you can put them on the hook. this information given by: josephine hamilton place of residence: hazen, arkansas occupation: field work and washwoman. age: _folklore subjects_ pine bluff district name of interviewer: martin--pettigrew subject: negro customs story--information (if not enough space on this page add page) "my mother made three crops after she wuz freed, and i wuz born when she made her third crop, so i thinks i wuz born 'round . i wuz born in bolivar county, mississippi. my mother and father were slaves and belonged to the harris family. only one i 'members is my sister, she died. my brothers went off and worked on ships, and i never saw them no mo'. "after freedom, my mother kept working for her marster and misstis, and they paid them for their work. they stayed on the same plantation until i wuz almost grown. "at christmas time, we had heaps to eat, cakes, homemade molasses candy that you pulled, popcorn, horse apples which wuz good, mo' better'n any apples we get these days. "the white folks give gifts in the big house and mammy went to the house and the white folks give her the things to put in we nigger chilluns' stockings. "we hung up our stockings in our house and up at the white house too. 'fore christmas, the white folks would tell us if we stole chickens, eggs, ducks and things, or go in the apple orchard, and wuz bad, santa claus would not come to us. but if we were good, he would bring gifts to us. 'fore christmas, the white folks would make a santa claus out of clothes and stuff it, put a pack on his back, and stand him up in the road. colored chillun feared to go near him. "i have never been arrested, never been in the jail house or calaboose. went to school when i could. "traveled all over, worked on canal in south america. "name of boat i wuz on was the 'clamshell, no. ', with captain nelson, fum new york." this information given by: peter hamilton place of residence: near airport--pine bluff, ark. occupation: age: interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lawrence hampton r.f.d., forrest city, arkansas age: "i was born in orangeburg, south carolina. my parents' names was drucilla and peter hampton. she was the mother of twelve children. they both b'long to john d. kidd and texas kidd. to my knowing they had no children. they was old to me being a child but i don't reckon they be old folks. they had a plantation, some hilly and some bottom land. he had two or three hundred slaves. he was a good, good man. he was a good master. he had some white overseers and some black overseers. grandpa peter was one of his overseers. he was proud of his slaves. he was a proud man. "we all had preaching clothes to wear. he had his slaves be somebody when they got out of the field. they went in washing at the fish pond, duck pond too. it was clear and sandy bottom. wouldn't be muddy when a lot of them got through washing (bathing). they was black but they didn't stink sweaty. they wore starched clean ironed clothes. they cooked wheat flour and made clothes. when the war come on their clothes was ironed and clean but the wheat was scarce and the clothes got flimsy. john d. kidd was loved by black and white. he was a good man. grandpa george had a son sold over close to memphis. they had twelve children last letter mama had from them. i've never seen any one of them. "grandpa peter was a overseer. after he was made overseer he was paid. that was a honor for being good all his life. when freedom come on he had ten thousand dollars. he was pure african, black as ace of spades. he give papa and the other four boys five hundred dollars a piece to start them farms. papa died when he was sixty-five and grandma was about a hundred. mama was seventy-five when she died. grandpa was eighty-five when he died. they didn't know exactly but that was about their ages. it was a pretty big honor to be a carriage man. they had young men hostlers and blacksmiths. "freedom--the boys all stayed around and girls too. they bought places about. they never would charge john d. kidd for work. they let the girls cook, milk, and set the fowls, long as the old couple lived. they never took no pay. they go in gangs and chop out his crop and big picnic dinners all they ever took from him. we all loved that old man. "they done some whooping on the place but it was a shame. they got over it and went on dressed up soon as the task was done. never heard much said about it. i never seen nobody whooped. "my own folks whooped me. we was free then. "i heard how easy to farm out in arkansas. i come to forrest city in . i was 'bout twenty-five years old then. it was a mud hole is right. i farmed all my life. we made money. "my color folks don't know how to take care of their money. they can make money but don't handle it long. "i owns a home and twenty acres of land. i want to keep it. me and my wife live out there. i had ten children and four of them still living. they all good children and i'm proud to own they mine. "john d. kidd had a lot of his wife's brothers that come visiting. i'd find out they be up there. here i'd go. we'd swim, fish, ride, and i'd love to be around them and hear them talk. that was the kind of good times we had when i was a boy. i missed all that when i come here. it was sich fine farming land. i couldn't go back to stay. i been back numbers of times visiting. "i heard of the ku klux but i never seen none of them. they was hot over there in south carolina in some spots. "i'm able by the grace of god to make my own humble living. sometime i may like a little help but i ain't asked foe none yet. "i heard this here about the ku klux in forrest city. i heard different ones say. they was having a revival out here at lane chapel and the captain of the ku klux come in and they followed in their white clothes and he give the colored minister a letter. he opened it and it had some money for him. they went on off on their horses. i don't know when that was. i didn't see it, i heard about it." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: hannah hancock [hw: biscoe, arkansas?] age: past "i was born in chesterfield county, south carolina. my mother's name was chloa. we lived on hardy sellers plantation. she was the white folks cook. i et in the white folks kitchen sometimes and sometimes wid the other children at maw's house. show my daddy was livin. but he lived on another man's farms. his master's name was billy hancock and his name was dave. der was a big family of us but dey all dead now but three of us. ize got two sisters and a brother still livin, i reckon. i ain't seed them in a long time. mrs. sellers had several children but they were all married when i come along and she was a widow. joe pete was her son and he lived close, about a mile across the field, but it was farther around the road. billy hancock married mrs. sellers daughter. my mistress didn't do much. miss becky hancock wove cloth for people. you could get the warp ready and then run in the woof. she made checked dresses and mingledy looking cloth. they colored the cloth brown and purple mostly. mrs. sellers get a bolt of cloth and have it all made up into dresses for the children. sometimes all our family would have a dress alike. yesm, we did like dot. granny made de dresses on her fingers. she was too old to go to de field an she tote water from the big spring and sometimes she water de hands when dey be hoeing. she would cut and dry apples and peaches. nobody knowed how to can. they dried de beef. it show was good. it was jess fine. no maam, granny didn't have no patterns. she jess made our dresses lack come in her haid. we didn't get many dresses and we was proud of em and washed and ironed and took care of em. "i recollects hearing de men talking about going off to war and em going. no jess de white men left from mrs. sellers place. de children didn't set around and hear all that was said. they sent us off to play in the play houses. we swept a clean place and marked it off and had our dolls down there. we put in anything we could get, mostly broken dishes. yes maam, i had rag dolls and several of them. no wars real close but i could hear the guns sometimes. "mrs. sellers had two large carriage horses. the colored boys took them down in the bottoms and took off a lot of the meat and groceries and hid them 'fo the yankees come along. they didn't nebber fin them things. mrs. sellers was awful good and the men jess looked after her and took care of her. me or maw stayed at the house with her all the time, day and night. when anybody got sick she sent somebody to wait on them and went to see what they needed and sometimes she had 'em brought up to the house and give 'em the medicine herself. she didn't have no foman. uncle sam and uncle john was the oldest and uncle henry. they was the men on the farm and they went right on with the work. folks had bigger families than they do now. they show did work, but de field work don't last all de time. they cleared land and fixed up the rail fences in the winter. a rail fence was on each side of a long lane that led down to the pasture. the creek run through the pasture. it was show a pretty grove. had corn shuckings when it was cold. we played base down there. we always had meat and plenty milk, collards and potatoes. old missus would drip a barrel of ashes and make corn hominy in the wash pot nearly every week and we made all the soap we ever did see. if you banked the sweet potatoes they wouldn't rot and that's where the seed come from in the spring. in the garden there was an end left to go to seed. that is the way people had any seed. times show have changed. i can't tell what to think. they ain't no more like than if they was another kind of folks. so much different. i jess look and live. i think they ought to listen to what you say. say anything to them they say 'kaint run my business.' i don't know if they spected anything from freedom. seemed like they thought they wouldn't have to work if dey was free and dey wouldn't have no boss. missus let a lot of her land grow up in pine trees. said she had no money to pay people to work for her. some of de families staid on. my maw and paw went on a farm on share not far from mrs. sellers. when she was going to have company or she got sick she sent for my maw. my maw washed and ironed for her till they moved plum off. they said somebody told them it was freedom. when dey picked up and moved off de missus show didn't give em nothing. they didn't vote. they didn't know how. i heard a lot about the ku klux klan but i wasn't scared. i never did see none. "de younger generation jess lives today and don't know what he'll do tomorrow or where he'll be. i ain't never voted and i don't know if my boys do or not. "i never heard of uprisings. de paddyroll was to see after dot and mrs. sellers didn't have none. uncle sam and uncle john made em mind. "sing--i say dey did sing. sing about the cooking and about the milking and sing in de field. "i never did see nobody sold. but i heard them talk about selling em. they took em off to sell em. that was the worst part about slavery. the families was broke up. i never lived nowhere 'cept in south carolina and prairie county (arkansas). my folks come here and they kept writing for me to come, and i come on the train. mrs. sellers son, joe sellers, killed himself, shot himself, one sunday evening. didn't know how come he done it. i was too little to know what they expected from the war. the colored folks didn't have nothing to do with it 'cept they expected to get freed. a heap of people went to the cities, some of them died. after freedom things got pretty scarce to eat and there was no money. i worked as a house girl, tended to the children, brushed the flies off the table and the baby when it slept and swept the house and the yard too. after i come here (to arkansas) i married and i worked on the farms. we share cropped. i raised my children, had chickens, geese, a cow and hogs. when the cotton was sold we got some of it. yes maam, i show had rether be out there if i could jess work. we lived on mr. dick small's place till he sold out. we come to town a year and went back and made enough in one year to buy dis place. it cost $ . jess my two sons and me. the others were married. my husband died on the farm. i come in town and done one or two washings a week. yes maam i walked here and back. that kept me in a little money. it was about two miles. i washed for mr. l. hall and part of the time for mrs. kate hazen. i guess they treated us right about the crop settlement. we thought they did. we knowed how much was made and how much we got. the cheatin come at the stores where the trading was done. "i lives with my son and his wife. sometimes i do my cooking and sometimes i eat in there. i get $ . from the rfc and prunes, rice, and a little dried milk. i buys my meal and sugar and lard and little groceries with the money. it don't buy what i used to have on the farm. "i don't remember much about the war. i was so little. i heard them talk a lot about it and the way they killed folks. i thought it was awful. my hardest time is since i got old and can't work." folklore subjects little rock district name of interviewer: irene robertson subject: spells--voodoo-- story--information (if not enough space on this page add page) i asked her if she believed anyone could harm her and she said not not unless they could get her to eat or drink something. then they might. she said a gypsy was feeling her and slipped a dollar and a quarter tied up in her handkerchief from her and she never did know when or how she got it. said she never believed their tales or had her fortune told. she didn't believe anyone could put anything under the door and because you walked over it you would get a "spell". she said some people did. she didn't know what they put under the doors. she never was conjured that she knew of and she doesn't believe in it. said she had to work too hard to tell tales to her children but she used to sing. she can't remember the songs she sang. she can't read or write. the old woman is blind and gray, wears a cap. her mistress was mrs. mary and her master was mr. hardy sellers in chesterfield county, south carolina. her husband died and left her with six children. her brother came with a lot of other fellows to arkansas. "everybody was coming either here or to texas". mr. david gates at devalls bluff sent her a ticket to come to his farm. her brother was working for mr. gates wattensaw plantation and that is where she has been till a few years ago she moved to hazen and lives with her son and his wife. she remembered when the civil war soldiers took all their food, mules and hitched mrs. sellers driving horses to the surry and drove off. her mistress cried and cried. she said she had a hard time after she left mr. and mrs. sellers, they was sure good to them and always had more than she had ever had since. she wanted to go back to south carolina to see the ones she left but never did have the money. said they lived on mr. dick small's place and he was so good to her and her children but he is dead too now. this information given by: hannah hancock place of residence: hazen, arkansas occupation: work in the cotton field--cook and wash. age: she is blind. she gets $ . pension, she is proud to tell. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: julia e. haney pulaski street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in gallatin, tennessee, twenty-six miles north of nashville, september , . willard blue and mary blue were my master and my mistress. "i wanted to put in for a pension and didn't want to tell a story about my age. in reading the gazette, i found out that william blue got shot by an insurance man in dallas, texas over a stenographer. i found out where my young master was and after allowing him time to get over his grief, i wrote to him about my age. he wrote me that andrew was the oldest and he didn't know, so he sent my letter to tacoma, tennessee, to henry blue. henry wrote to him and told him to look in the bottom of the wardrobe in the old family bible. he looked there and found the bible and sent my age to me. they wrote to me and sent me some money and were awful nice to me. they said that i was the only one of the slaves living." good masters "our masters were awful good to us. they didn't treat us like we were slaves. my mother carried the keys to everything on the place. they lived in the city. they didn't live in the country. i came here in ." family "my mother married a thompson. her married name was margaret thompson and her name before she married was margaret berth. her master before she married was berth. her last master was blue. her mother's name was cordelia lowe. her maiden name was berth. when the old man berth died, he made his will and bullard berth didn't want any slaves because he wanted to train his children to work. willard, my mother's master, should have been a berth because he was old man berth's son, but he called himself blue. it might have been that old man berth was his stepfather. anyway he went by the name of willard blue. he was an undertaker. "my father's name was oliver thompson. i don't remember any of my father's people. his people were in nashville, tennessee, and my mother's people were in gallatin, tennessee. we were separated in slavery." separation of parents "i don't know how my mother and father happened to get together. they didn't belong to the same master. my father belonged to thompson and lived in nashville and my mother belonged to blue in gallatin. they were not together when freedom came and never did get together after freedom. they only had one child to my knowledge. i don't know how they happened to be separated. it was when i was too small. nashville is twenty-six miles from gallatin. perhaps one family or the other moved away." patrollers "i have heard my mother speak about the pateroles. i don't know whether they were pateroles or not. they had guards out to see if the slaves had passes and they would stop them when they would be going out for anything. they would stop my mother when she would be going out to get the cows to see if she had a pass." jayhawkers "i never heard my mother speak of jayhawkers, but i have heard her say that they used to catch the slaves when they were out. i don't know whether it was jayhawkers or not. i don't know what they done with them after they caught them. i have heard other people speak of jayhawkers. my people were very good to us. they never bothered my mother. she could go and come when she pleased and they would give her a pass any time she told them she wanted one." really scared to death "i know one thing my ma told me. when the soldiers came through, there was an old rebel eating breakfast at our place. he was a man that used to handcuff slaves and carry them off and sell them. he must have stolen them. when he heard that the yankees were marching into town with all them bayonets shining, it scared him to death. he sat right there at the breakfast table and died. i don't know his name, but he lived in tennessee." mother's work "my mother was a cook and she knitted. she molded candles and milked the cows, and washed and ironed. she and her children were the only slaves they owned. they never whipped my mother at all. i stayed in the house. they kept me there. i never had to do anything but keep the flies off the table when they were eating." schooling "my grandfather gave me my schooling after i came here. i had come here in . i went to school in capitol hill and union schools. mrs. hoover (white) was one of the teachers at union school when i was there. she was a good teacher. miss lottie andrews--she is a stephens now--was another one of my teachers." how freedom came "my master came right on the back porch and called my mother out and told her she was free, that he wasn't going in no war. that was at the beginning when they were mustering in the soldiers to fight the war. and he didn't go neither. she stayed with him till after emancipation. she was as free as she could be and he treated her as nice as anybody could be treated. she had the keys to everything." house, furniture, and food "my mother had a little house back in the yard joined to the back porch and connected with the kitchen. it had one room. she did all cooking in his kitchen. her room was just a bedroom. "the furniture was a bed with high posters. it didn't have slats, it had ropes. it was a corded bed. they had boxes for everything else--for bureaus, chairs, and things." further details about schooling "i went to school as far as the eighth grade. professor hale, professor mason, and professor kimball were some of the teachers that taught me. they all said i was one of the brightest scholars they had." later life "i married cado haney in . he is dead now. he's been dead nearly forty years. we didn't live together but fifteen years before he died. we never had no children. after he died i laundried for a living until i got too old to work. now i get old age assistance." interviewer's comment a mighty sweet old lady to talk to. interviewer: pernella m. anderson person interviewed: rachel hankins el dorado, arkansas age: "i was born in alabama. my old mistress and master told me that i was born in . get that good-- ! that makes me about but i can't member the day and month. i was a girl about twelve or fourteen years old when the old darkies was set free. my old mistress and master did not call us niggers; they called us darkies. i can't recollect much about slavery and i can recollect lots too at times. my mind goes and comes. i tell you children you all is living a white life nowdays. when i was coming up i was sold to a family in alabama by the name of columbus. they was poor people and they did not own but a few slaves and it was a large family of them and that made us have to work hard. we lived down in the field in a long house. we ladies and girls lived in a log cabin together. our cabin had a stove room made on the back and it was made of clay and grass with a hearth made in it and we cooked on the hearth. we got our food from old mistress's and master's house. we raised plenty of grub such as peas, greens, potatoes. but our potatoes wasn't like the potatoes is now. they was white and when you eat them they would choke you, especially if they was cold. and sorghum molasses was the only kind there was. i don't know where all these different kinds of molasses come from. "they issued our grub out to us to cook. they had cows and we got milk sometimes but no butter. they had chickens and eggs but we did not. we raised cotton, sold part and kept enough to make our clothes out of. raised corn. and there wasn't no grist mills then so we had a pounding rock to pound the corn on and we pound and pound until we got the corn fine enough to make meal, then we separated the husk from the meal and parched the husk real brown and we used it for coffee. we used brown sugar from sorghum molasses. we spun all our thread and wove it into cloth with a hand loom. the reason we called that cloth home-spun is because it was spun at home. splitting rails and making rail fences was all the go. wasn't no wire fences. nothing but rail fences. bushing and clearing was our winter jobs. you see how rough my hands is? lord have mercy! child, i have worked in my life. "master columbus would call us niggers up on sunday evening and read the bible to us and tell us how to do and he taught us one song to sing and it was this 'keep your lamp trimmed and burning' and he'd have us to sing it every sunday evening and he told us that that song meant to do good and let each other see our good. when it rained we did not have meeting but when it was dry we always had meeting. "i never went to school a day in my life. i learned to count money after i was grown and married. "my feet never saw a shoe until i was fourteen. i went barefooted in ice and snow. they was tough. i did not feel the cold. i never had a cold when i was young. if we had ep-p-zu-dit we used different things to make tea out of, such as shucks, cow chips, hog hoofs, cow hoofs. ep-p-zu-dit then is what people call flu now. "when war broke out i was a girl just so big. all i can recollect is seeing the soldiers march and i recollect them having on blue and gray jackets. some would ride and some would walk and when they all got lined up that was a pretty sight. they would keep step with the music. the southern soldiers' song was 'look away down in dixie' and the northern soldiers' song was 'yankee doodle dandy.' so one day after coming in from the field old master called his slaves and told us we was free and told us we could go or stay. if we stayed he would pay us to work. we did not have nothing to go on so we stayed and he paid us. every th of june he would let us clean off a place and fix a platform and have dancing and eating out there in the field. the th of june is the day we thought we was freed but they tell me now that we was freed in january but we did not know it until june , . never got a beating the whole time i was a slave. "i came to north arkansas forty years ago and i been in union county a short while. my name is rachel hankins." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mary jane hardridge west barraque st., pine bluff, ark. age: "oh don't ask me that, honey. yes, i was here in slavery days. i reckon i was here before the civil war; i was born in ' . i'm right now in my birth county about four miles from this city. "i can remember my young masters that went to war. one was named ben and one chris. old master's name was james scull. he was kinda mixed up--he wasn't the cruelest one in the world. i've heard of some that was worse than he was. i never suffered for nothin' to eat. "i can tell you about myself as far back as i can remember. i know i was about thirteen or fourteen when the war ended. "my father's birth home was in virginia. his name was flem price and his father was a doctor and a white man. mother's name was mary price and she was half indian. you can tell that by looking at her picture. she was born in arkansas. "i can remember seeing the soldiers. i had to knit socks for them. used to have to knit a pair a week. yes ma'm i used to serve them. i had it to do or get a whippin'. i nursed and i sewed a little. my mother was a great seamstress. we did it by hand too. they didn't have no sewing machines in them times. "when my white folks went on summer vacations--they was rich and traveled a great deal--mama always went along and she just left us children on the plantation just like a cow would leave a calf. she'd hate to do it though. i remember she went off one time and stayed three months and left me sick in the white folks house on a pallet. i know i just hollered and cried and mama cried too. there was another old colored lady there and she took me to her house. we lived right on the river where the boat landed and i remember the boat left at high noon and i cried all the rest of the afternoon. "i remember the first yankee i ever saw. they called him captain hogan. i had a white chile in my arms. he set there and asked the boss how many negroes did he have and the boss said what was the news. he come out to let the negroes know they was as free as he was and told marse jim to bring all of them back from texas. i know i run and told mama and she said 'you better hush, you'll get a whippin'.' "they sho didn't burn up nothin'--just took the mules and horses. now i remember that--they didn't burn up nothin' where i lived. "i heard of the ku klux but i never seen any. we was expectin' 'em though at all times. "my grandmother belonged to creed taylor and after freedom mama got her and she lived there with the sculls two years. my mother and father was paid a salary and they paid me too--four dollars a month. and i remember mama never would let me have it--just give me what she wanted me to have. they treated us better than they did before the war. cose they was a little rough, but they couldn't whip you like they did. they could threaten it though. "i went to school just a little after freedom. mama and papa wasn't able to send me. wasn't no colored teachers competent to teach then and we had to pay the white teacher a dollar a month. "i had very strict parents and was made to mind. when i went out i knew when i was comin' in. i had one daughter who died when she was eight years old and if i could bring her back now, i wouldn't do it cause i know she would worry me to death. "i used to sew a lot for people in pine bluff but i am too old now. i own my home and i have some rooms rented to three young men students and i get a little help from the welfare so i manage to get along. "well good-bye--i'm glad you come." # interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mary jane hardrige w. barraque, pine bluff, arkansas age: "well, i don't believe in signs much. my sister was sick about a year once. they said she had the t. b. (tuberculosis). one day i was there and she said, 'sis, do you hear that peckerwood? he's drivin' a nail in my coffin.' and sure enough she died not long after. "but let me tell you i had a peculiar dream yesterday morning just before day. there's a little child here. his mother died and left him, the baby child. i dreamt his mother brought him to me. she said, 'i brought my boy here and i want you to keep him.' i thought he come to me just as naked as he could be. he kept sayin', 'come on, mrs. hardrige, and let's go home, i'm cold.' he didn't have a garment on. his mother was with him and she's dead you know. "i mentioned it to one of my neighbors and she said it was a sign of some woman's death. "i was very much devoted to the child. i love him, and that dream stayed with me all day. i don't know but i've always heard if you dream of the dead it's goin' to rain. "i ain't four miles from where i was born. i was born across the river. we belonged to jim scull. i've lived all my life in jefferson county." interviewer: pernella anderson person interviewed: o. c. hardy el dorado, ark. age: "o. c. hardy is my name and i is years old. i like [hw: lack? kwf] a lot of being a real old time slave, but i tell you i am a slave now, and ain't no slave. i was born way down in louisiana. we lived on a plantation with some white people by the name of chick johnson. that is the first place i remember we ever stayin' on. my ma and pa slave for them folks. all of the children worked like slaves. what i mean by working like slaves--we didn't stop to get our breath until night. i was slavin' for just the white folks then and since i got grown and married i've been slavin' for my wife and children and the white folks. my mama and papa went in the name of their mistress and master's name and so did i, so we was all hardys. "sixty-nine years ago the time wasn't like it is now. everything was different. there was no cars, no airplanes, a few buggies, no trains. the go was ox teams and stage coaches. people used ox teams in place of mule and horse teams. sometimes you would see ox teams with twelve and fourteen oxen. the ox wore yokes that sometime weigh a hundred or more pounds. the reason of that, they were so mean they had to wear them yokes to hold em down. one yoke would go across two oxen's heads. they could pull--oh my!--as much as some big trucks. we made much better crops back in the s than we do now. the winters was much harder and you know the harder the winter the better the crop year you have. we always plowed and turned our ground over in the hard of winter--that was in order for the cold to kill all insect and germs in the ground. you see, worms eats up your seed and plant, and germs do your seed and plant just like they would do your body. so we got rid of them little hinderings. in january we was ready to get our corn ground ready for planting, and man! we raised some crops. i recollect one year way back yonder we had what they called a centennial snow--that was the biggest snow that's ever been and the best crop year i ever knowed. i started plowing when i was about eight. before then all i can remember doin' was bushing. after gathering crops we split rails and built fences. we played on sunday evening. our sport was huntin', fishin', and bird thrashin' and trap settin'. to catch fish easy we baited snuff and tobacco on the hook. we used to be bad about stealin' watermelons, eggs, chickens and sweet potatoes and slippin' way down in the woods and cookin'. "wasn't no such things as screen windows and doors. that is some of this stuff to my knowing. flies and mosquitos was plentiful. our cooking was plain boiled or fried cause we cooked on fireplaces. wasn't no stoves. we used all brown sugar from syrup that turned to sugar. white sugar is about forty years old to my knowings. my ma used to cook the best old syrup cake and syrup potatoes pudding. she knitted all our socks and sweaters for you couldn't buy things like that because stores was few and she spun and wove for the white folks and knitted too." # interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: rosa hardy biscoe, arkansas age: ? "i was born in brownsville, tennessee. my mother died when i was real young, and i had no father. pike sutton was mother's master. he was my old grandfather. he owned a big farm. tove sutton was his son and my father. mother was light but not as light as i am. i had a sister older than i am i lived with. i never lived among white folks except in a town with them. i don't know a thing about my people to tell. i don't know my age. i give myself a birthday. i don't know the day nor month i was born. but i'm old. i can count back enough to tell that. "i work in the sewing room. i'm the oldest woman in there at de valls bluff. i get twenty-one dollars and this month i am to get twenty-seven. "if you don't have work times are not good. i know that. i don't hardly know the young generation. of course i see them but that is all. they hurrying their way and i'm going my way." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: ida harper west pullen street; pine bluff, arkansas age: "now what you want with me? i was born in mississippi. i come here tollable young. i'se ninety-three now. "my old master mean to us. we used to watch for him to come in the big gate, then we run and hide. he used to come to the quarters and make us chillun sing. he make us sing dixie. sometimes he make us sing half a day. seems like dixie his main song. i tell you i don't like it _now_. but have mercy! he make us sing it. seems like all the white folks like dixie. i'se glad when he went away to war. "but they used to feed you. heap better meat than you get now. i tell you they _had_ things to eat in them days. "i 'member when the soldiers was comin' through and runnin' the white folks both ways. law chile--you don't know nothin'! we used to hide in the cistern. one time when the yankees come in a rush my brother and me hide in the feather bed. "when the war ended, white man come to the field and tell my mother-in-law she free as he is. she dropped her hoe and danced up to the turn road and danced right up into old master's parlor. she went so fast a bird could a sot on her dress tail. that was in june. that night she sent and got all the neighbors and they danced all night long. "i never went to school a day in my life. i wish i could read but they ain't no use wishin' for spilt milk. "how long i been in arkansas? let me see how many chillun i had since i been to arkansas. let me see--i fotch four chillun with me and i'se the mother of ten. "yes'm i sho' has worked hard. i worked in the field and cooked and washed and ironed. but oh lord i likes my freedom. "i couldn't tell you what i think of this present generation. they is just like a hoss on the battle field--white and black. they say 'grandma, you just an old fogy.' "i think they is another slave-time gal down in the next block. you want me to show you?" folklore subjects name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: signs and superstitions story--information (if not enough space on this page, add page) "in slavery times you used to carry a rabbit foot in your pocket to keep old massa from whippin' you." this information given by: eda harper place of residence: w. pullen street, pine bluff, arkansas occupation: age: folklore subjects name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: games of pre-war days story--information (if not enough space on this page, add page) "we used to play a game called 'once over.' throw a ball over the house and if they caught it on the other side, they'd run around and try to catch you. "then we used to play 'hide the switch.' and if you found it, the others all run to keep from bein' hit. oh lawd, that's been a long time." this information given by: eda harper place of residence: w. pullen, pine bluff, arkansas occupation: none age: # interviewer: watt mckinney person interviewed: abram harris marvell, arkansas, ( miles west) age: abram harris, an ex-slave, just past ninety-three years of age lives with his daughter, hannah, years old, on the farm of mrs. alice davison a few miles west of marvell, arkansas. the two of them have just completed, within the last few days, the harvesting of a small crop of cotton and corn, and abram was found in a small thicket not far from their cabin where he was busily engaged in cutting some firewood for their winter use. a small tree had been felled and the old man was swinging his axe with the strength and enthusiasm of one far younger than he as the wood was being cut to the proper length for his heater. interrupted at my approach, abram laid aside the axe and greeted me with that courtesy so characteristic of an ex-slave. after stating the purpose of my visit, the old negro apparently pleased at this opportunity afforded him to rest and talk, sat on the body of the newly cut tree and told me the following story: "yes sir, cap'n, my name is abram harris and i is jist past ninety-three year old. en cose i knows dat i don't look dat old en all de folks sey dat i acts er heap younger dan my age iffen i really is old as i claims, en i kin still wuk bettern heap dese young uns, kase i is always knowed how ter wuk. my old boss man teach me de tricks. he war er wukker he-self, en eberybody hed ter roll roun old marster. he neber low no lazy pussen ter stay wid him. yes sir, cap'n, i sho has kept up wid my age eber since dat time when old marster tole me how ole i is. yo kin see dat i is er old nigger, kase dese here whiskers so white en de hair on my haid so white too. when ye see dat on er nigger yo kin know dat he er old pussen right off. i gwine ter tell yo, how cum dat i sho knows how old i is. er heap er niggers, dey tell yo dat dey is so en so year old when dey aint no sich er thing en dey don't know dey age, but i does, en hit wus jes dis er way. "i wus borned en raised in south carolina not fur from greenville en my old marster whut i belonged ter, wus marse hodges brown, en my young marster he wus marse hampton, en me en marse hampton wus sho born in de same mont en de same year, en de mont, hit wus october, en dats zackly whut old marster tole me, en marse hampton sed dat same thing. us wus boys togedder, me en marse hampton, en wus jist er bout de same size, en marse hampton, he claimed me, en i gwine ter be his property when bofe us grown. dat is iffen de war not cum on en marse hampton hadn't er got kilt in de battle. when de war fust brake out, marse hampton he too young den ter jine de troops, how-sum-eber he went ter jine up den when he older brudder, marse thad, jine up, but old mis she wud'nt hear ter marse hampton gwine off den, kase he not old enuf, en den, he old mis' baby chile. marse thad, he bout two er three year older dan marse hampton en he jine de troops at de fust muster en went off ter de war en fit de yankees night bout two years when de ball shot him in de shoulder, en he wounded den en hab ter cum bak home fer ter git well ergin. atter marse thad cum home en stay fer er mont er sich time fer he wound ter heal up, den he ready ter go bak ter de company, en marse hampton gwine ter be eighteen year old pretty soon den, so dey swade old mis ter let marse hampton go wid marse thad bak ter de war, so old mis en old marster, dey gib in en marse hampton lef wid marse thad ter jine up wid him in de same company whut he in when de ball hit him. now dat wuz in de spring when marse hampton jine up wid de troops, en him en me gwine ter be eighteen dat fall in october, but hit twarnt as awful long fore marse hampton got kilt in de big battle, en marse thad too. dey wuz bofe kilt in de charge, right dar on de bres-wuks, wid dey guns in dey hans, dem two young marsters er mine, right dar in dat gettysburg battle, dats whut old marster en old mis bofe tole me er meny er time, en i wus eighteen in dat october atter dat big fight whut mars thad en marse hampton git kilt in, en marse hodges writ hit down fer me on er paper, en ebery october since den i gits sumbody whut kin figger ter tell me how old i is so's i kin know en tell folks when dey ax me, en jes last mont, my gal hannah figgered hit out er gin en she sey dat i is now ninety-three past, so dat is de way dat i gits at hit cap'n. now is dat right? "my white folks wus sho good ter all dey niggers. dere wus nigh bout no whippin er tall, least old marster neber did whip his slaves ter do no good, en he mos ginerally tole us mammies er pappies ter do de whippin er de chillun en de older boys en gals. he hab whip me do en he whip marse hampton too when us wus boys. old marster start in wid dat hickry en mek out lak he gwine ter frail us out, but atter he done landed er few licks on us, en den us commence hollerin lak he hirtin bad, den he quit whippin, dat de way old marster wus. he neber want ter hurt nobody. "my pa wus name, jake, en my mammy wus named, fanny, old marster bought dem from sum-whar, but i wus borned right dar, me en delia en all de res er de chillun. "cap'n, wud ye lak fer me ter tell ye bout dat time dat me en delia wuz stole? well, we sho wux stole. de speckle-ladies (speculators or traders) stole us er way frum old marster when us wus chillun, bout twelve er thirteen year old. hit happened in de night, when dar warnt nobody dar in de quarters but de wimmin. old marster en all de men wus down on de ribber dat night, er floatin logs er cuttin timber er sum sich wuk es dat, when dese hear folks cum er stealin chillun. delia en me wus de fust ones dat dey grab en de onliest ones dat dey git frum old marster, but dey sho got us. i 'members dat stealin good. dem folks tuk us off ter de woods whar dey tied us up ter er tree fer er whole night en day, en tell us dat iffen we cry er holler dat dey gwine ter kills us sho. den dey cum en tuk us er way en ganged us up wid er lot mo nigger boys en gals whut dey done stole sum whars else. dey yoked us togedder en walked us clean ter georgia whar dey sole us. dey sho pushed dem chillun hard ober de rocks en de hard places till our feets wud bleed frum de sores whar de rocks en de thorns scratch. "dey sole me en delia ter er young white man en he wife whut ain't been married long en ain't got no start er niggers yit. us stayed dar fer mo dan er year i rekkin, en dem wus good white folks en wus good ter us. de mis teach delia ter be er house gal en de marster teach me ter handle stock en plow wid him eber day. us wus skeered ter tell dem white folks whut bought us whar us home wus en who us marsters used ter be, kase we skeered dat de speckle-ladies mout cum bak en steal us sum mo, en tek us er way sum mo. i don't know how hit wus dat old marster hodges brown cum ter fine out whar we wus, but he sho learnt er bout hit sum sich er way, en one mornin early here cum old marster hodges brown wid two mo white mens cumin atter me en delia. atter dey thru dentifyin us, old marster tuk us on bak home wid him, en we sho wus glad ter go. now cap'n, dat is de truf i am tellin you bout dat stealin, when me en delia wus stole. "my pappy wus named, jake, en he wus de wagoner fer marster till he daid, den marster tuk me en trained me fer de wagoner atter den. my marster warnt no big, rich man lak er heap er de white folks in dem slabery times, yit en still, he sho hed er plenty er ebery-thing, en de bes of all he fed he niggers good en wus always good ter tem. marster used ter peddle er heap in columbia en greenville bofe atter i git ter be de wagoner fer him. us wud tek big loads er taters en truck ter dem towns whar marster wud sell em ter de folks dar. sumtimes he wud tek er bout twenty beeves ter one er dem towns en rent him er yard whar he wud butcher er bout one beef ebery day en peddle out de meat. marster neber hed many niggers lak lots de white folks. he jes hed er bout er dozen in all. he sey dat all he want, er got eny use fer. "marster hed er big fruit orchard. jes all kines er fruit wud be in dat orchard, en when dey ripe, marster send loads dem apples en peaches down ter de still whar he had dem made up in ter brandy en put in de kegs en barrels en brought bak home when hit done. heap er times dat i 'members he call de folks up ter de bak gallery en sey, 'cum on up here folks en git yo all er dram'. dats whut he say. "whilst our marster wus good ter all he niggers, dar wus heap er de marsters in dem slabery times whut wus mean, en dat whut mek de niggers run off en hide in de woods, en dats when dey git de nigger hounds on em en track em down jes lak ye do er coon. my pappy, jake, he owned by er mean white man, fore old marster bought him in. i 'members bout him tellin us chillun when he used ter run off en hide in de cane thickets fer days en days kase he marster so mean en beat him up so bad, en dat he git so hungry dat he slip bak in close ter de house in de night, en dat sum de wimmins slip him sum meat en bread. he sey dat he used ter sleep wid de dogs under de crib on cold nights so de togs cud keep him warm. "dar warnt none er de white folks in dem slabery times whut wud let dey niggers hab any learnin. yo sho better not be cotch er tryin ter learn no readin er writin. our marster neber eben lowed dat, en iffen er nigger wus ter be foun whut cud write, den right straight dey wud chop his fore finger offen dat han whut he write wid. dar warnt no sich er thing es no schools fer de niggers till atter de surrender. "endurin er de war, dar warnt no fightin tuk place roun whar us libed, en de onliest yankees dat i eber seed wus in greenville atter de surrender. i sho wus sprized when i seed dem yankees, kass i neber knowed whut sort er lookin thing dat er yankee wus. no sir, cap'n, i neber knowed dat er yankee wus er man jes lak my white folks till i seed dem in greenville, but yo know cap'n er yankee looks jes lak yo is, only he do talk funny en fast, mo so dan de kine er white folks dat i is always been er roun. "dar warnt nary one er old marsters niggers whut lef him eben when dey set free, dat is dey did'n lebe him fer two er three years eny way, but atter den sum of em started ter driftin er roun en hirin er roun er bout. when de surrender cum, old marster tole em all dat dey free en kin go iffen dey want ter go, en effen dey want ter go dat he gib em sum grub ter go on. marster wus er good man en iffen he war libin ter day, i wud sho quit dis place en go on wid him, whar-sum-eber he want me ter go. "no sir, cap'n, de niggers dey did'n know what de war wus gwine on fer, en dey did'n know dat dey free till dere marsters tole em, whilst dey wus wantin ter be free all right. atter us wus free, de white folks hab ter teach us jes lak yo teach er chile. "dem klu klux whut dey brought on atter de surrender wus sho pizen. dey wus white mens. dats whut dey wus, en all dressed up in dem long white garments wid er red cross on em en ridin er big hoss. dey wus atter dem niggers whut dey claim is mean en zerted dey marsters en went en tuk up wid de yankees. when dem klu klux fust cum in operation de niggers think dat dey is hants er spirits, till dey fine out dat dey warnt nuthin but white mens wid dem garments on em. dem klux wud cotch er nigger dat dey want en pin he haid down ter de groun wid er forked stick en one wud hold him whilst de others whip im wid er strop er a lash. yes sir, cap'n, dem klu klux sho did dis-encourage de niggers er heap. "plenty er de white mens whut wus mustered in ter de war wud tek er nigger wid em ter wait on em en ter tend ter de hosses en de sich eber whut dey want done, en i sho did want ter go wid marse hampton, en mebbe dat i cud tek care of im. marse hampton want me ter go wid him too en try ter swade old marster ter let me go, but old marster sey dat he hab ter hab me dar at home ter help mek de crops so's dat he kin send corn en meat ter de sojers. de day dat marse hampton lebe, he cum down ter de quarters fer ter tell all de niggers good-bye, en he sey ter me 'abe,' he called me abe, 'i gwine off ter dat war en kill out dat whole crowd er yankees, en den i'se cumin bak en gwine ter georgia en buy me er farm whar i kin git rich mekin cotton en terbakker. yo know yo is my nigger en yo gwine ter georgia wid me, when i goes'. hit sho did hurt me when marse hampton got kilt kase i lubed dat white man. he wus good ter me. "in my dreams at night i kin yit see marse hampton, en er heap er times in de day when i is by myself er hoein de cotton he talks ter me plain so's i kin understand, en he ax me iffin i is yit en still er good nigger, en tell me ter not be dis-encouraged. cap'n de bible is right when hit sey dat, 'de young mens dream dreams en de old uns see de visions'. "i kin jes natchally feel spirits, cap'n, i sho don't spute dat. i is skeered ter spute hit. when yo is gwine long de road en feel sum warm air, den dat is whar de spirits hes jes been. de wings er de daid has done fanned dat air till hits hot, en when i is gwine er long en hits dat hot air, den i knows dat sum spirit er hant hes been er long dat same route, kase hit sho is hants in dis worl, yit en still dey don't walk en act lak natchal people. "yes sir, cap'n, i kin tell yo sum er dem old songs whut de niggers used ter sing in de slabery times. dis is sum of em:" black judy wus er good gal, en black judy wus er bad gal too. mus jesus bear de cross alone and all de worl go free? oh brother don't stay away oh blackslider, don't stay away. my old mistis promised me dat when she died, she gwine set me free, but she lived so long en got so po dat she lef me diggin wid er garden ho. wheel er bout en do er bout en jump jim crow. ebery time i do er bout i do jes so. yo can't do wrong en git by no matter how hard yo try. yo kin do lak you please en feel at yo ease but you can't do wrong en git by. may interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: betty harris brinkley, arkansas age: about or ? "my parents wus both in the civil war. he was levi berthy and she was misson berthy. mid hill was mother's owner. she said he was better to them than most owners. he never whooped 'em. mother was real light and father was dark. i was born in pinola county, mississippi. i had a stroke five years ago. i can't walk a step for two years now. my parents didn't let us hear them talk, they sent us out to play, then they died before they got old. i never heard much of their own lives. i live with my daughter and her husband. i don't get welfare aid." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mary harris n. plum street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born right here in arkansas and i remember they was havin' somethin'. i remember when they taken this town (pine bluff). the people what owned me was the parson of the methodist church--parson walsh. yes ma'm i knowed the union soldiers was dressed in blue and the secessors was called greybacks. my father was with the yankee soldiers. i don't know how he got with em but i know he was gone away from this town three years. he come back here after he was mustered out in vicksburg. "i remember the yankee soldiers come and took the colored folks away if they wanted to go. that was after surrender. they carried us to the 'county band' and fed us. "i know the day the yankees taken pine bluff; it was on sunday and marse jesse went to services. the secessor soldiers left pine bluff. of course i didn't understand what it was all about cause in them times people didn't enlighten children like they does now. they know everything now, ain't no secrets. "most work i've done is washin' and ironin' since i been a full-grown, married woman. i was twenty some odd when i was married. i know i was out of my teens. "i went to school a good while after the war. my first teacher was mr. todd from the north. "i used to do right smart sewing. i did sewing before machines come to this town. the frocks they used to make had from five to ten yards. "we is livin' now in a time of worry. what they is doin' is told about in the scripture." dec interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: rachel harris ½ e. fifth, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i reekolect when the war started. i was big enuf to be totin' water, sweepin', feedin' chickens. i was a big chap when it started. i went with the white chillun and watched the soldiers marchin'. the drums was playin' and the next thing i heered, the war was gwine on. you could hear the guns just as plain. the soldiers went by just in droves from soon of a mornin' till sundown. they said they was goin' to head off the yankees. dis fore the war ended i heered en say they was gwine to free the colored folks. that was in mississippi. "my old master was jim smith and old mistress' name was louisa smith. "i had many a whip put on me. when they wasn't whippin' me the chillun was. they whipped my mother and everybody. "my brother lewis went plum through the war till surrender. he waited on a rebel soldier--cooked and washed for him. i never did see no white yankee soldiers but i seed the colored soldiers with the blue suits. i stood out many a night and day and heered them guns. "jim smith had near bout a hundred head of colored folks on his place. he didn't go to war--he just seed that all the white women had plenty to eat while their men folks was away. "my mother was sold away from my father long 'fore i was born. he used to come to visit, but a little while 'fore i was born they stopped him and wouldn't let him come no more. "after surrender one of my brothers come home and say the war was over. "we stayed there three years after surrender. they paid my mother and stepfather but they wouldn't pay us chillun nothin', so my mother sent me to town to live with my sister. "i hired out as a nurse girl and them white folks just as good to me as could be. she paid me $ a month and give me all my clothes. i was young and didn't have no sense, but all i didn't spend on candy i sent to my mother. "in slavery times the white folks had a servant to comb the hair and lift up the dress. yes ma'm, they had servants. i sho was glad they had that war and freed me. "yes, jesus, i seen them ku klux. i member once we had a big ball. we was cuttin' a dash that night. the ku klux come and made out they was dead. some of the folks run they was so scared, but one woman come out and said she knowed every one of the men. she knowed em by their hosses. next mornin' we went by old purvis newman's house and it looked like they was a hundred saddles layin' out in the yard. i was a young woman then and sparkin' fit to kill. yes ma'm i member all about it. i reekolect it just as well as i can walk out that door. "my son wrote me bout eight years ago and say, 'mama, you is might near a hunderd.' my daughter, my baby chile, is bout sixty-three. "about this younger generation, i don't know what to think. some say the devil loose 'for a season.' i say if he ain't loose, he tied mighty slack." folklore subjects little rock district name of interviewer: irene robertson subject: tales [hw: superstitions and charms] story--information (if not enough space on this page add page) when she was a child she remembered white children and colored playing "no boogerman tonight." one would catch the others as they ran from behind big trees. then whoever he caught would be the boogerman, till he caught somebody else. * * * * * they made ash cakes and put black walnuts in it. it was just as good as crackling bread which was made from rendering lard. they made molasses candy and pulled it at the master's house during christmas. * * * * * mothers combed their children's hair sunday and wrapped it, sometimes had dyed string. the master had a mule named beck. only one on the farm could tend old beck. he would buck and kick. sometimes he would run and he would lope if you "hitched" him to a buggy. when freedom came the master studied who would tend old beck so he gave him to jack. jack felt so free as he rode from the farm out into the big world all his own and no place to go. in about a year jack sent a letter back by somebody to the master. "i want you to send me $ . of your own money. my wife has gone raving destracted. my mule is dead. i am pestered and bothered. i bound you." * * * * * will said there used to be witches when somebody got mad with somebody they would bewitch the cows. you couldn't get the butter to come no matter how long you churned and sometimes a bewitched cow would come up and give bloody milk. if you keep plenty salt around in the troughs the witches wouldn't come about so much. * * * * * if you carry a rabbit foot in your pocket it will bring you good luck. if you find anything pointed with point toward you, that is a sign of good luck. if you put your shirt or dress on wrong side out, don't change it. thats good luck for the day. * * * * * don't start to sew a piece of goods on friday unless you are sure you can get it done before night for that is bad luck. * * * * * this information given by: rachel harris place of residence: green grove, hazen, arkansas occupation: field.--lives with her daughter. age: interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: william harris devalls bluff, ark. age: or "i was born in chetam county close to nashville, tennessee. our master was named joe harris. his wife was miss sallie harris. they had eight children. i knowed newt, tom and kittie. my mother had nine children. her name was julia. my papa's name was isom harris. i think they belong to the same family of white folks. granny was old woman looked after white children. see if any of em got sick. she seen after little nigger children too. mama was a field hand like papa. after war plummer harris went on off. he was cruel to his wife and grown folks but good to the children. we had good houses and plenty wood but the feed was light. "i seen the yankees riding through the country. they looked pretty, 'specially them on white horses. my papa and mama left. mama died with pneumonia. papa died, too. we had a mighty hard time after freedom and before too. papa worked about on shares--hired out on jobs. "when freedom come on we went on and they didn't think to give us nothing. when the hands all left they had the land and nobody to work. they was land pore. it was tore up. fences down, houses down, and nothing to be raised to eat in the winter. "when i got bigger i helped build the north western railroad into nashville. i made right smart of money. i was building up the track bed. i farmed, worked on the section. i delivered here till my feet got in bad fix. "i got thirteen children in all. some in tennessee by my first wife and some here and some grandchildren. "folks won't work like i used to work. it ain't no use to be 'larmed bout the times--they been changing since the world started--still changing. if you able it is best to go hunt work and be at a job working. "i heard about the ku klux, they never troubled us. i seen em. i was scared of em. "i get commodities and a check for us three old folks. my wife washes and irons. "i got a bunion on one foot and raw sores on top of my toes. it won't cure up. both feet in bad shape. my wife had both her legs broke. we doing very well." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: william h. harrison forrest city, arkansas age: over "i was born march , in richmond, virginia. master anderson harrison was a cousin to benjamin harrison, the twenty-third president of the united states. master anderson harrison was my owner. i was a personal attendant of his young son and when i reached manhood i was the carriage boy. i did all the driving on all the trips the young people of the family took. my memories of slave days was my easiest days. slavery was pleasant for me. my owner's wife was named ann. the son was gummel l. harrison. i went with him to war. i was his servant in the battle-field till we fought at gettysburg and manassas gap. then i was captured at bulls gap and brought to knoxville, tennessee and made a soldier. i was in the war three and one half years. they had us going to school. they had yankee teachers in the army. all the schooling i ever got. i was mustered out at chattanooga, tennessee. "my parents was julia ann hodge and cairo hodge. i don't know my mother's last owners. when i was about eight years old i was sold to ben cowen. when i was thirteen years old i was sold to master anderson harrison. my brothers sam and washington never were sold. me and sam hodge, my brother, was in the war together. we struck up and knowed one another. a man bought mama that lived at selma, alabama. i never seen her ag'in to know her. after i was mustered out i went to birmingham where she was drove and sold in search of her. i heard she was taken to selma. i went there. i give out hunting for her. it was about dusk. i saw a woman standing in the door. i asked her to tell me where i could stay. she said, 'you can stay here tonight.' i went in, hung my overcoat up. i started to the saloon. i met her husband with a basket on his arm coming home. i told him who i was. we went to get a drink. i offered him sherry but he took whiskey. i got a pint of brandy, two apples, two oranges, for his wife and two little boys. i spent two nights there and two and a half days there, with my own mother but neither of us knew it then. "fourteen years later wash wrote to me giving me the address. i told him about this and he said it was mama. he told her about it. she jumped up and shouted and fell dead. i never seen her but that one time after i was sold the first time. i was about eight years old then. she had eighteen of us boys and one girl, diana, and then the half-brothers i seen at selma. i had eleven brothers took off in a drove at one time and sold. they was older than i was. i don't know what become of them. i never seen my papa after i was sold. diana died in knoxville, tennessee after freedom. i seen better times in slavery than i've ever seen since but i don't believe in slave traffic--that being sold. "i was with my young master till my capture. that was my part in freedom. i was forced to fight by the yankees then in the union army. i was with general grant when lee surrendered at appomattox. that was freedom. after the war i come to arkansas and settled at madison. my hardships started. i got married the first thing. "this is how good my owners was to me. he sent me to hendersonville, north carolina (henderson?) to learn to fiddle. i was so afraid of the old colored teacher i learned in a month about all he could play. i played for parties in eight states in slavery. all up in the north. they trained children to dance then. i took martha jane, easter ann, jane daniel, my young mistresses and their mother's sisters, emma and laura, to parties and dances all time. we went to ashville, north carolina to a big party. while they was having fine victuals after the dance they sent me out a plate of turnip greens and turnips, fat meat and corn bread. i took it and set it down. when miss martha jane got in sight i took her to our carriage. she said, 'empty it to the dogs,' and give me one dollar fifty cents and told me to go to town and buy my supper. i was treated same as kin folks. i et and drunk same as they had to use. after freedom i fixed up twice to move back to my young master. once he sent me three hundred fifty dollars to move on. betty fell off the porch and broke her thigh. that ended my hopes of going back. betty was my first wife. i had seven children by her and one by my second wife and this wife ain't had none. she's been married twice though. "i got one boy in virginia seventy-three years old and one boy sixty-eight years old. my boys are scattered. one lives here. i don't hear from them now. "after the war i come to madison. it was a thriving little river town surrounded on all sides by wilderness. there were thousands of indians camped in the neighboring woods. there was nothing but wooded hills where forrest city now stands. "when general nathan bedford forrest built the cut between forrest city and madison for the road, i was his cook and the first fireman to make the run through the cut. i used to drive a stagecoach over the old military road through pine tree on the stage run from memphis to little rock. "game was the nicest thing the country afforded. i killed bear and other wild game on sites where marianna, wynn, and jonesboro now stand. where this house now is was a lake then. (west part of town on north side of the railroad track.) they caught fish in it then. "when i heard benjamin harrison had been elected president of the united states, i asked mr. george lewis to write to him for me. i was working for him then. i handled freight at the depot for him. he was dubious of me knowing such a person but wrote it to please me. a few weeks a reply come to our letter and a ticket. "i got my fiddle and went and visited two weeks. i et at the same table with the president. i slept in the white house. we et out of skillets together when i was a little boy and drunk out of the same cups. me and him and gummel raised up together. i played for the president and his cabinet. "twice more i went and it cost me nothing. i played for big balls. my young master sent me my gold name plate. (it is heart shaped with his name, birth and birthplace--ed.) i been wearing it on my watch chain a long time. it is my charm. mr. lewis was so glad when i got my letter and ticket. he was good to me. "i have voted. i voted a republican ticket because it hope the party out that freed my race. some white men told me they burnt up a lot of our votes. i never seen it done. i can't see to fool with voting. "the colored folks are seeing a worse time now than in slavery times. there is two sides to it. the bible say they get weaker and wiser. i did read before i got blind. i get a federal pension of one hundred dollars a month. i'm thankful for it." interviewer's comment he has trouble talking. one lung is affected. he is deaf. he is blind. he said he was wounded caused his lung trouble. seems to me old age. he isn't very feeble in the house. their house was clean and he and his wife, also born in slavery, looked clean. interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: laura hart eleventh & orange st., pine bluff, arkansas age: "i just can't tell you when i was born cause i don't know. my mother said i was born on christmas eve morning. i'm a old woman. i was big enough to work in slave times. "yes ma'am. i member when the war started. i was born in arkansas. i'm a arkansas hoosier. you know i had to have some age on me to work in slave times. "i pulled corn, picked cotton and drive the mule at the gin. just walked behind him all day. i've pulled fodder, pulled cotton stalks, chopped down corn stalks. i never worked in the house when i was a child while i was under the jurisdiction of the white folks. "my old master was sam carson and his wife was named phoebe carson, boy named andrew and a daughter named mary and one named rosie. "we had plenty to eat and went to church on sunday. after the white folks had their services we went in. the church was on his place right across the river. that's where i was when freedom taken place. "when the war started--i remember that all right--cause when they was gettin' started old master sent a colored man to take his son's place in the war. "i was born up here at fort smith and brought here to jefferson county and sold--my mother and three chillun. "now wait--i'm goin' to give you the full history. my father's mother was a white woman from the north and my father was a colored man. her folks run her here to arkansas and she stayed with her brother till my father was nine months old and then she went back north and my papa stayed with his uncle. "when his uncle died he willed my papa his place. he had it recorded at the cotehouse in little rock that my papa was a free man. but he couldn't stay in arkansas free, so he just rambled 'till he found old man carson and my mother. he offered to buy my mother but old master wouldn't sell her so he stayed with old man carson till they was all free. "my white folks was tollable fair--they didn't beat up the people. "my mother was as bright as you are. she could sit on her hair. her mother was a creole and her father was a frenchman. after freedom they would a killed my father if it hadn't been for old sam carson, cause they thought my mother was a white woman, she was so bright. "ku klux? the lord have mercy! i remember them. they came and surrounded the house, hundreds of em. we had a loose plank in the floor and we'd hide under the floor with the dogs and stay there, too, till they'd gone. "my father was a gambler. he gambled and farmed. my mother was a christian woman. when i got big enough to know anything, she was a christian woman. "i married when i was fourteen. we lived at a place called 'wildcat.' didn't have no school. nothin' up there but saloons and gambling. "then we moved to what they called the earl wright place. i had four chillun--three boys and one girl. most of my work was in the field. "i been here in pine bluff gwine on seventy-one years. you know--i knowed this town when they wasn't but one store and two houses. i'm a old woman--i ain't no baby. "honey, i even remember when the indians was run out o' this town! "well, i done telled you all i know. in my comin' up, the colored people didn't have time to study bout the chillun's ages." # interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: hatty haskell w. pullen, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm, i reckon i was about twelve when the civil war ended. oh, i could nurse a little. "no ma'am, i wasn't born in arkansas. i was born in tennessee, but i was brought here when i was a baby. come here before the war. the old master had sold 'em. "we was bought by will nichols. you ever hear of this here dick lake? well, that's the place. "they taken my father and my sister to texas and stayed till after freedom. my mother was sick and they didn't carry her and i was too little, so they left me. they was pretty good to us as far as i know. "i remember when the yankees come through. oh, yes'm, i was scared. i used to hide under the bed. i wouldn't give 'em a chance to talk to me. "our folks stayed on the nichols' place about two years. then they farmed on the shares till he got able to buy him a mule, then he rented. "after the war the cholera disease come along. my mother and sister died with it. "somebody said if you would hang up some beef outdoors between the road and the house, it would stop the disease. i know old master hung up about a half a quarter and it seemed to work. the meat would turn green. "the yankees took things to eat but the rebels would take the women's clothes--and the men's too. i guess they just took 'em 'cause they could. "biggest work i've done is farm work. "my daddy said i was sixteen when i married. i had thirteen children but they ain't all livin'. "i remember when they said they was free. some of the folks left the place and never come back and some of 'em stayed. "sometimes i had a pretty good time and sometimes pretty tough. "i'm gettin' along all right now. i stay here with my son part of the time and then i go to the country and stay with my daughter." # interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: matilda hatchett w. twenty-fifth street, north little rock, arkansas age: between and "i was born right here in arkansas about nine miles from dardanelles (dardanelle) in sevier county. i think it's sevier. no, it was yell county. yell county, that's it. you put the dardanelles there and if they get that they'll get the yell part. can't miss yell if you get dardanelles. "i wish i could get holt of some of my old white folks. maybe you can find 'em for me. there's one big policeman here looks like them but i don't know whether he is or not. the first white owners that i knowed was jackie george in south carolina. that is where i heard them talkin' about him comin' from. i wasn't born there; i was born here. i wasn't born when he come from south carolina. his wife was named nealie. he was just like a ole shoe. never whipped me but one time in my life. "i'll tell you about it. this is what they whipped me for. me and my brother, sam, had to water the horses. i didn't have to go with sam, but i was big enough to do that. we had one ole horse named john--big ole horse. i would have to git up on a ten-rail fence to git on him. one day i was leading ole john back and i got tired of walking. so when i come to a ten-rail fence, i got up on ole john. i got up on 'im backwards and i didn't have hold of no bridle nor nothin' because i was lookin' at his tail. "the others got back there before they did. ole master said to them, 'where's tillie?' "they said to him, 'she's comin', leadin' ole john.' "atter a while they saw me comin', an' one of 'em said, 'there's tillie now.' "an' 'nother one, 'man, she's sittin' on the horse backwards.' and ole john was amblin' along nippin' the grass now an' then with his bridle draggin' and me sittin' up on his back facin' his tail and slippin' and slidin' with every step. "ole john was gentle. but they were scairt he would throw me off. ole missis come out the gate and met him herself, 'cause she was 'fraid the others would 'cite him and make him throw me down. she gentled him and led him up to ole master. they was careful and gentle till they got me off that horse, and then ole master turned and lit into me and give me a brushin'. "that's the only whippin' he ever give me. but that didn't do me no good. leastwise, it didn't stop me from ridin' horses. i rode ole john ever chance i could git. but i didn't ride him backwards no more." dresses "we used to wear homespun dresses. i have spun a many a yard and wove it. did you ever see a loom? i used to have a wheel, and my children tore it up some way or 'nother. i still have the cards. we done our own knittin' and spun our own thread and knitted our socks and stockings." houses "the white folks lived in pretty good houses and we did too. they lived in big log houses. the white folks' houses had piazzas between the rooms. that haney didn't build them houses. his daddy, tim haney, built 'em. the haneys come in by tim bein' thad's father. thad married jackie george's daughter--louisa george. george was her daddy and haney was her husband. "there were four rooms besides the piazza. on one side, there was a big room built out of lumber. on the other side, there was a big room that a doctor lived in. there was a great big kitchen west of the piazza. the kitchen was about fifteen by fifteen. i know it was that large because we'd all eat at the same time. the old man, tim, owned about thirty niggers. after he died they were all divided out among the boys. every boy took his part of the land and his part of the niggers. but i wasn't at his house then. i was livin' with ole jackie george. the white folks hadn't moved together then. "but i went to ole tim haney's funeral. the old white woman fainted and they rubbed her with camphor and stuff and had her layin' out there. i wasn't old enough to cry over him and wouldn't anyhow because i didn't care nothin' much about him. but i would have cried for my ole master though, because i really loved him." soldiers "i saw the soldiers when they come through our place. the first start of us noticin' them was this. i was always up to the white folks' house. thad was goin' back to the rebel army. ole master tole my dad to go git 'im a hat. he'd got 'im one and was ridin' back with thad's hat on on top of his'n. before he could git back, here come a man jus' a ridin'. "thad was eatin'. he look out, and then he throwed his head back and said, 'them's the federals.' "thad finished his breakfast and then he ran on out and got with the federals. he didn't join 'em. he jus' fooled 'em. the bridge was half a mile from our house and the yankee army hadn't near finished crossing it when the head of it reached us. "while they were at the house, pa came ridin' up with the two hats on his head. they took the hats and throwed pa's on the ground and tried thad's on. they took the mare but they give it back. "them folks stood 'round there all day. killed hogs and cooked them. killed cows and cooked them. took all kinds of sugar and preserves and things like that. tore all the feathers out of the mattress looking for money. then they put ole miss (nealie haney) and her daughter (louisa haney) in the kitchen to cookin'. "ma got scairt and went to bed. dreckly the lieutenant come on down there and said, 'auntie, get up from there. we ain't a goin' to do you no hurt. we're after helpin' you. we are freein' you. aunt dinah, you can do as you please now. you're free.' "she was free! "they stayed 'round there all night cooking and eatin' and carryin' on. they sent some of the meat in there to us colored folks. "next mornin' they all dropped off goin' down to take dardanelles. you could hear the cannons roarin' next day. they was all night gettin' away. they went on and took dardanelles. had all them white folks runnin' and hidin'. "the secesh wouldn't go far. they would just hide. one night there'd be a gang of secesh, and the next one, there'd come along a gang of yankees. pa was 'fraid of both of 'em. secesh said they'd kill 'im if he left his white folks. yankees said they'd kill 'im if he didn't leave 'em. he would hide out in the cotton patch and keep we children out there with him. ole mis' made him carry us. "we was freed and went to a place that was full of people. we had to stay in a church with about twenty other people and two of the babies died there on account of the exposure. two of my aunts died, too, on account of exposure then. "the soldiers didn't take anything that night but food. they left all the horses. what they took was what they could eat. but they couldn't catch the turkeys. the lieutenant stayed around all the time to make the soldiers behave themselves. the meals he made my ole mis' and her daughter cook was for the officers. "yes lawd! i have been here so long i ain't forgot nothin'. i can remember things way back. i can remember things happening when i was four years old. things that happen now i can't remember so well. but i can remember things that happened way back yonder." schooling "i learnt to read a little after peace was declared. a ole lady, aunt sarah nunly, learnt us how to spell and then after that we went to school. i went to school three weeks. i never went to school much. "didn't git no chance to learn nothin' in slavery. sometimes the children would teach the darkies 'round the house their abc's. i've heard of folks teachin' their slaves to read the bible. they didn't teach us to read nothin'. i've heard of it, but i've never seen it, that some folks would cut off the first finger of a nigger that could write." father's children freed before emancipation "my father had some children that were set free. they lived down on the river bottom. their ole master was named ole crow. he died and sot his niggers free. he had four slaves. he had five. if any of you know philo pointer, his father was one of 'em. they sot him free. his daughter--crow's daughter--wanted the niggers and they would break the ole man's will. they furnished them a wagon and sot them free. they came by my father's place and he killed his hog and fed them and they put the rest of it in the wagon and went on to the free state. i've got an old piece of a dish them boys give my mama. it's done broke up to a piece now, but i saves that. "patsy crow was the name of the girl that was freed, and one of the boys was named joe crow, and the others i don't know what it was. i guess it was jim. their old master had left a will givin' them the wagon and team because he knew it wouldn't be possible for them to stay there after he died. he said he didn't want his niggers to be under anybody after he died. wills was wills in them days. his daughter wanted them niggers, but they didn't give them to her. they sot them free and sont them off." wants to see her people "i nursed three children for thad haney and louisa, his wife. them girls' names was: the oldest was julia; the next one was named emma; and the youngest one was named virginia. if i can find them and see them again, i'll be so happy. i jus' want to meet them one more time--some of them--all of them if they're livin'; but i know they can't all be living. "matilda haney was my name then, and i nursed thad's children in slavery time." age "i think i'm between ninety-seven and ninety-eight years old. they had an old-age contest in reverend smith's time. they had reverend coffee and another man here since reverend smith. the pastor we have now is yates. our church is lee chapel a. m. e. church. the contest was in i think and the people all agreed that i was the oldest colored woman in north little rock. they said i was ninety-six years old then. that would make me about ninety-eight years old now. but i saw my children afterwards and they said i was a year older. i used to have my age in the family bible and my husband's too, but it got burnt up. accordin' to them i oughta be about ninety-nine or a hundred." occupation "my folks didn't raise no cotton. they raised about two bales a year. didn't have nobody to raise it. thirty slaves were not enough for that. and they didn't care nothin' about it nohow. they had forty-six acres of land in wheat and lots in corn and potatoes. they raised cows, hogs, horses, turkeys, chickens, and everything else. even had peafowls. the geese used to run me 'round many a day. "they ran a cotton gin and my father managed it. that was his job all the time before the war. "after the war, my father farmed. he worked on shares. they never cheated him that he knew about. if they did, he didn't know it. he owned his horses and cows." # interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: john g. hawkens biscoe, arkansas age: "i was born in monroe county, mississippi december , . my parents was frances hawkens. she was a half white woman. i was told my daddy was a white man, mr. young. mother was a cook and house woman. grandmother was a field woman. she was dark but had some indian blood in her. i believe they said it was part choctaw indian. i don't remember a grandfather. "lamar county, alabama was across the line from monroe county, mississippi. one of the hawkens girls (white girl) married a man in mississippi. the master had three boys and one or two girls. grandmother was sold to the hawkens and mother was born there in alabama. there was another woman they owned called mandy. they was all the slaves they owned that i knowd of. "when the war come on, the old man hawkens was dead. his widow had three sons but one was married and off from her home somewhere. all three boys went to war. her married son died in the war. "one son went to war but he didn't want to go. he ask his mother if she rather free the negroes or go to war. she said, 'go fight till you die, it won't be nothing but a breakfast spell.' he went but come back on a furlough. he spent the rest of the time in a cave he dug down back of the field. he'd slip out and come to the house a little while at night. it was in the back woods and not very near anybody else. "aunt mandy, another old man, grandmother and my mother lived in a house in the yard, two of us was born in slavery. my sister mandy was fifteen years old when slavery ended. "the way we first heard about freedom, one of the boys come home to stay but no one knew that when he came. he told sister mandy cook him a good supper and he would tell her something good. she cooked him a good supper and set the table. he set to eat and she ask him what it was. he told her, 'all the slaves are free now.' from that on it was talked. we left there. my mother and sister mandy told me i wasn't born. we went to mississippi then. i was born over there. some sharecropped and some worked as renters. "sister mandy told so many times about carrying fire in a coffeepot--had a lid and handle--to the son in the cave. she'd go across there, a meadow like and a field, calling the sheep for a blind so if the cavalry spied her they would think she had a little feed for the sheep. the cavalry was close about. it was cold and the young master would nearly freeze in his cave. "mother said they was good to them. they never touched them to beat them but they all went from early till late. they all worked and the old mistress too. "two of mother's children was slave born. sister mandy is dead but my brother george hawkens is on appenway, little rock. he can tell you more than i know. two of us was born after slavery. we all had the same father--mr. young. he lived about two miles from hawkens and had a white wife and family. i carried water to the field where he worked and talked a little with him. i saw him when he was sick. he had consumption. i heard when he died and was buried. he never did one thing for us children. mr. young and the hawkens was partners some way in the farming. mr. young died young. "when her son told my sister mandy at supper table, 'all the slaves are free now', old mistress jumped up and said, 'it's not recorded! it's not recorded!' "mr. wolf was a man, old, old man on a big plantation. he had one hundred slaves. he didn't know his slaves when he met one of them. he had overseers. he talked with his slaves when he met one about and they would tell him, 'you're my master.' they said during the war the old man had cotton seed boiled down for his slaves to eat. the war was about to starve them all out. oil mills were unheard of at that time. "the war brought freedom and starvation both to the slaves. i heard old people say they died in piles from exposure and hunger. there was no let-up to their work after freedom. "all my family came from mississippi to forrest city, arkansas together. i married the first time there. my wife died. then i married at brinkley, arkansas. we have one boy living in lee county. he's my only child." interviewer's comment j. g. hawkens is the whitest negro i have ever seen. he has blue eyes and straight hair. he was fishing two days i went to see him. # interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lizzie hawkens biscoe, arkansas age: "i was born close to magnolia, arkansas. "my mother was harriett marshal. her old mistress was a marshal. she was a widow woman and had let all her slaves go out to her children but mama. mama was her husband's chile, what she tole mama. they come here from atlanta, georgia visiting her married daughter. they was the joiners at magnolia, arkansas. she brought mama and on her way back home to atlanta she died. her daughter brought her back and buried her in arkansas and kept mama. "mama said they was nice to her. they wouldn't let her keep company with no black folks. she was about as white as white folks. she was white as my husband. her mother was light or half white. my own papa was a black man. "the joiners and scotts visited down at magnolia among themselves but they didn't want mama to marry in the scott family (of negroes). but the white folks was mighty good friends. mama took care of the children. they was in the orchard one day. papa spied mama. he picked up a plum and threw at her. she say, 'where that come from?' he stooped down and seen her under the limbs. they was under another plum tree. papa got to talk to her that day. the old mistress wouldn't let her out of sight. papa never could have got her if mistress marshal had lived. "mama had three or four sisters and brothers in atlanta, and her mother was in atlanta. her parents were bob and lucindy marshal. bob was lucindy's master. mama told old mistress to bring harriett back and she promised she would. that was one thing made her watch after her so close. she never had been made a slave. she was to look after old mistress. "after she died mama's young mistress let papa have her. he mustered up courage to ax for her and she said, 'yes, l (for elbert), you can have her.' that was all the marrying they ever done. they never jumped over no broom she said. they was living together when she died. but in slavery times mama lived on at judge joiner's and papa at scott's place. one family lived six miles east of magnolia and the other six miles north of magnolia. papa went to see mama twelve miles. they cut through sometimes. it was dense woods. mama had one boy before freedom. in all she had three boys and four girls. "the scott and joiner white folks told the slaves about freedom. papa homesteaded a place one mile of the courthouse square. the old home is standing there now. "papa said during the civil war he hauled corn in an ox wagon. the cavalry met him more than once and took every ear and grain he had. he'd have to turn and go back. "he said when freedom come, some of the people tole the slaves, 'you have to root pig or die poor.' "my great-grandpa was sold in south carolina. he said he rather die than be sold. he went up in the mountains and found a den of rattlesnakes to bite him. they was under a stone. said when he seen them he said, 'uhher! you can't bite me.' they commenced to rattle like dry butter-beans. he went on and dressed to be sold. master scott bought him and brought him on to arkansas. he had to leave his wife. he never got back to see her. "grandpa had to come leave his wife. he married ag'in and had five sons and a girl. they was glasco, alex, hilliard, elbert, bill, and katherine. they belong to spencers till the scotts bought them but all these children was his scott children. "my uncle's wife belong to white folks not scotts. scotts wouldn't sell and her folks wouldn't part from her. they moved down in louisiana and took her and one chile. uncle run away to see her. the scotts put the hounds after him and run him two days and two nights. he was so tired he stopped to rest. the dogs come up around him. he took a pine knot and killed the lead dog, hit him in the head and put him in a rotten knot hole of a hollow tree been burned out and just flew. the dogs scattered and he heard the horns. he heard the dogs howl and the hoofs of the man's horses. the old master was dead. he didn't allow the boys to slash in among his niggers. after he died they was bossy. uncle said he made his visit and come back. he didn't ever tell them he killed the lead dog nor how close they come up on him. he said they was glad to see him when he come back. his wife was named georgana. "after freedom grandpa named himself spencer scott. he buried his money. he made a truck garden and had patches in slavery both in south carolina and at magnolia. he told me he had rusty dollars never been turned over since they made him came here. he left some money buried back there. we found his money on his place at magnolia when he died. he tole us where it was. "one night he was going across a bridge and taking a sack of melons to magnolia to sell in slavery times. a bear met him. he jumped at the bear and said 'boo'. the bear growled and run on its way. he said he was so scared he was stiff. they let them work some patches at night and sell some things to make a little money. the ole master give them some money if they went to the city. that was about twice a year papa said. he never seen a city till years after freedom. his pa and grandpa got to go every now and then. magnolia was no city in them days. "it is hard to raise children in this day and time. when i went on the betzner place (near biscoe, arkansas) my son was eight years old. he growed up along side brooks (betzner). i purt nigh talked my tongue out of my head and brooks' (white boy) mother did the same thing. every year when we would lay by, me and my husband (white negro) would go on a camp. brooks would ask me if he could go. we took the two of them. (the hawkens boy is said to be a dark mulatto--ed.) he's a smart boy, a good farmer down in lee county now. he married when he was nineteen years old. it is hard to raise a boy now. there is boxing and prize fighting and pool halls and _that's not right_! times are not improving as i can see in that way. worse than i have ever seen them." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: becky hawkins louisiana street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm, i was born in slave times but my mammy was sucklin' me. don't know much bout slavery but just come up free. "my mammy's old master was calvin goodloe in alabama, pulaski county, near tuscumbia. i heered my uncle say old master favored his niggers. "mammy told me bout em gettin' whippin's, but she never let the overseer whip her--she'd go to old master. "my grandmama's hair was straight but she was black. she was mixed indian. my mammy's father was indian and she say he fought in the revolution. she had his pistol and rocks. when he died he was the oldest man around there. "i tell you what i remember. i 'member my mammy had a son named enoch and he nussed me in slave days when mammy was workin' in the field. they didn't low em to go to the house but three times a day--that was the women what had babies. but i was so sickly mammy had enoch bring me to the fence so she could suckle me. "i went to school down here in arkansas in lincoln county. i got so i could read in mcguffy's fourth reader. i member that story bout the white man chunkin' the boy down out of the apple tree. "that was a government school on the railroad--notch house. just had one door and one window. they took the nigger cabins and made a schoolhouse. "after freedom my mammy stayed on old master's place--he didn't drive em away. my mammy spinned the raw cotton and took it to tuscumbia and got it wove. some of it she dyed. i know when i was a gal i wore a checked dress with a white apron. and my first sunday dress was striped cotton. after she worked enough she bought me a red worsted dress and trimmed it and a sailor hat. we went to church and they led me by the hand. after church i had to take off my dress and hang it up till next sunday. had a apron made of cross barred muslin. don't see any of that now. it was made with a bodice and had ruffles round the neck. wore brass toed shoes and balmoral stockin's in my gal time. when my husband was courtin' me, my dress was down to my shoe top. he never saw my leg! "my fust work was nussin'. i went to hot springs with the white folks. i nussed babies till i got against nussin' babies. i stayed right in the house and slep on a sofa with a baby in my arms. in my time they lowed you off half a day on sunday. "chile, i washed and ironed and washed and ironed and washed and ironed till i married. i married when i was seventeen. my mother was dead and i'd rather been married than runnin' loose--i might a stepped on a snake. "my daddy was a ex-soldier. i don't know what side he fought on but my mammy got bounty when he died. that's what she bought that land with down here in lincoln county from her old master goodloe. "i tell you--i'm a old christian and i think this younger generation is growin' up like christ said--they is gettin' weaker and wiser. "my mother's sister, patience goodloe, lived in pulaski county, alabama and i went back there after i was married and stayed two months. i went up and down the fields where my daddy and mommy worked. i went out to the graveyard where my little brother was buried but they had cotton and corn planted on the old slavetime graveyard. "i like that country lots better than this here arkansas. don't have no springs or nothin' here." # interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: g. w. hawkins appianway, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in lamar county, vernon, alabama, january , . i was a slave only four months. "my father was arter hawkins and my mother was named frances. my grandmother on my mother's side was malvina. i forget the name of my great-grandmother, but i believe it was elizabeth. she was one hundred nine years old and i was twelve years old then. her mind was just like a little sparrow floating in the air. that was my great-grandmother on my mother's side. my grandfather on my father's side was named alec young. my mother's father was named eliza wright. "my mother's people were the hawkins, and my father's were the yanceys. "my father and mother were farmers, and ran whiskey stills. there wasn't any revenue on whiskey then. the first revenue ever paid on whiskey was ten cents. the reason i remember that so well was that a fellow named john hayman ran a still after the revenue was put on the stuff. finally they caught him. they fined him. "my folks farmed right after freedom and they farmed in slavery time. they didn't raise no cotton. they raised corn and wheat and such as that in alabama. alabama is good for cotton, corn, wheat, tobacco, or anything you want to grow. it is the greatest fruit country in the world. "right after freedom, my folks continued to farm till they all played out." [hw: insert on p.  ] "i came out here after i got grown. i just took a notion to go somewhere else. i have been in arkansas forty-eight years. i first lived in forrest city. stayed there six years and did carpenter work. i have been a carpenter all my life--ever since i was about sixteen years old. i went to barton, arkansas and stayed there two years and then came here. i have supported myself by carpenter work ever since i came here. i helped build the frisco road from potts camp to the alabama river. that is the other side of jefferson county in alabama. "i haven't asked for the old folks pension--can't get no one to believe that i am old enough for one thing. can't get it nohow. it is for destitute people. i can't get under the security because they say i am too old for that. i'm too much of a worker to get old age assistance and too old to be allowed to put up tax to become eligible for old age pension. "i never went to school. i just got an old blue back speller and taught myself how to read and write with what i picked up here and there from people i watched. that's one way a man never fails to learn--watching people. that's the only way our forefathers had to learn. i learned arithmetic the same way. i never considered i was much at figuring but i took a contract from a man who had all kinds of education and that man said i could do arithmetic better than he could. "i belong to the a. m. e. church. i have been a member of it for forty-one years. "i have three boys living and one stepdaughter. but she feels like she is my own. i don't make any difference. i never have whipped my children. i had one child--a girl--that died when she was eight months old. i taught all my boys the carpenter trade, and they all work and stay right here at home with me." living conditions during and immediately after slavery "there are two quarters that i used to visit with my grandmother when i was a little boy. the boss's house was built so that he could stand on the porch of his house and see anything on the place, even in the slave quarters. the houses were all built out of logs. the roof was put on with what they called rib poles. they built the cable and cut each beam shorter than the other. they laid the boards across them and put a big log on top of them to weight them down, so that the wind couldn't blow the planks off. they were home-made planks. they didn't have no nails. they had nothing but dirt floors. "where the men folks were thrifty when they wanted to, they would go out at night and split the logs into slabs and then level them as much as they could and use those for floors. all the colored folks' were split log floors if there were any floors at all. there was no lumber then. the planks were made with whipsaws and water-mills. i was a grown man before i ever saw a steam mill. the quarters that i saw were those that were built in slave time. "if cracks were too big, they would put a pole in the crack and fill up the rest of it with mud--that is what they called chink and dob. the doors were hung on wooden hinges. they would bore a hole through the hinge and through the door and put a wooden pin in it in place of screws. there wasn't a nail or a screw in the whole house when it was finished. they did mortise and tenon joints--all frame houses. where we use nails now, if they had to, they would bore a hole and drive in a pin--wooden pin." furniture "the colored folks would put a post out from the corner and bore a hole and put the other end in it. they wouldn't have any slats but would just lay boards across the side and put wheat or oat straw on the boards. the women made all the quilts. what i mean, they carded the rolls, spun the thread--spun it on an old hand-turned wheel--and then they would reel it off of the broach onto the reel and make hanks out of it. then they would run it off on what they called quills. then it would go 'round a big pin and come out with the threads separated. then they would run through something like a comb and that would make the cloth. "it was the rule in slave time to card one hundred rolls. sometimes they would be up till after twelve o'clock at night. they carded that in one night and spun it the next night. start with old cotton just like it come from the gin. card it one night and spin it the next. done wool and cotton the same way. one hundred rolls carded gave enough threads to make a yard of cloth. "in them days they tasked everybody to the limit." stoves "for stoves they used an iron pot on a big fire. in the kitchen, they had a fireplace built ten feet wide. they had things they called pot racks hung down from the chimney, and they would hang pots on them. they put the pots on those hooks and not on the logs. when they baked bread they would use iron skillets--north carolina people called them spiders. they would put an iron lid on them and put fire over the top and underneath the skillet and bake good bread. i mean that old-time bread was good bread. they baked the light bread the same way. they baked biscuits once a week. sunday mornings was about the only time you ever got them." food in general (slaves) "in slavery times they had all kinds of meat--more than they have now--, vegetables and fruits too. they raised them themselves. there wasn't no food issued. didn't need to be. one cook cooked it all in one kitchen and they all sat around the same big old long table long as a house. all the hands ate at the same table and in the same room and at the same time. "the way they fed the children, they took pot-liquor or bean soup or turnip liquor or the juice from anything they boiled and poured it out in a great big wooden bowl and let all the children get 'round it like so many cats and they would just tip their hands in it and eat what they wanted. of course they had all the milk they wanted because everybody raised cows. i didn't have to undergo this myself, but this was what they had to undergo at the places where my grandmother took me to visit." clothes "a colored boy had to be more than twelve years old before he wore a pair of pants. he wore nothing but a long shirt that come down to his knees. the hands in slave time wore homemade shirts. all clothes were homemade--pants and coats and dresses and stockings and everything. the shoes were made out of harness leather. tanned and made right by hand at home. i have seen tanning vats and yards two blocks square." patrollers "you had to get a pass from owners to go out at night. if you had a pass and the pateroles found you, it was all right if you hadn't overstayed the time that was written on it. if you didn't have a pass or if you had overstayed your time, it was still all right if you could outrun the pateroles. that held before freedom and it held a long time after freedom. the pateroles were still operating when i was old enough to remember those old quarters. they didn't break them up for a long time. i remember them myself. i don't mean the ku klux. the ku klux was a different thing altogether. the ku klux didn't exist before the war. i don't know where they got the name from--i don't know whether they give it to themselves or the people give it to them. but the ku klux came after the war and weren't before it." ku klux influence on negroes "the ku klux klan weren't just after negroes. they got after white folks and negroes both. i didn't think they were so much after keeping the negro from voting as some other things. "there was one colored fellow in alabama--i think his name was egbert bondman--that wasn't influenced. he was a politician and they got after him one time. he lived about six miles south of vernon in lamar county, alabama. he went down to the hole where they watered their horses and stretched an old cable wire across the road just high enough to trip up their horses. he hid in the woods and cut down on them with his shotgun when they came up. i hear there was one more scramble when those horses commenced stumbling, and those men started running through the forest to get away from that shot. "i remember one night my mother woke me up, and i looked out and there was a lot of the ku klux riding down the road. they had on long white robes and looked like a flock of geese in the dark. "the main thing the ku klux seemed to try to do, it seemed to me, was to try to keep the colored folks obedient to their former masters and to keep the white folks from giving them too much influence. and they wanted to stop the white men that ran after colored women. "but they didn't last long. they whipped a fellow named huggins in the early seventies, and he was a government man. after that government men camped on their trail, and they didn't amount to much." slave breeding "the thing they were fighting began in slavery. there were slave men kept that forced slave women to do what they wanted to do. and if the slave women didn't do it, the masters or the overseers whipped them till they did. the women were beat and made to go to them. they were big fine men, and the masters wanted the women to have children by them. and there were some white men, too, who forced the slave women to do what they wanted to. some of them didn't want to stop when slavery stopped." slave tasks and hours of work "i've told you the slaves were tasked to the limit. the hours of the slave hands--if it was summer time--he must be in the field when the sun rose. and he must come home and eat his dinner and get back in the field and stay till the sun went down. in the winter time he must be out there by the time it was light enough to see the work and stay out till it was just too dark to see the work with just enough time out to stop and eat his dinner. this was just after slavery that i remember. but the hours were the same then. the average on cotton picking was two hundred pounds a day. pulling fodder was a hundred bundles. gathering corn and such as that was all they could do." wages just after freedom "the average wage that a man got for twenty-six days' work--twenty-six days were counted a working month--was eight dollars and board for the month. that was the average wage for work like that. that is the way they worked then." this matter of slave clothes again "clothes!!! they didn't know nothing 'bout underclothes. they didn't wear them just after the war, and i know they didn't before the war--not in my part of alabama. that's the reason why they say the negro is cold natured. he didn't have anything on. i have seen many a boy picking and chopping cotton on a cold autumn day with nothing on but his shirt. in his bare feet too. he got one pair of shoes a year and he didn't get no more. when he wore them out, he didn't have any till the next year. "when i was a boy i have seen many a young lady walk to church with her shoes flung over her shoulders and wait till she got nearly there before she would put them on. she didn't want to wear them out too soon. "i didn't have to undergo this myself. "when i was ten years old, my job was to drive a [hw: ox] team twenty-six miles, and it took me two days to go and two days to come and one day to load and unload--five days. the team was loaded with cotton going and anything coming back. we used to get salt from some place near new orleans. we would drive ox teams down there, put in on order, wait till they dipped the water out of the lake, boiled the salt out of it, and packed it up. there was no such thing as mining salt like they do now. it would take from august first till about the middle of september to get it. ox team won't make more than about twelve miles a day. the people would make up a wagon train and go and come together. people in those days didn't believe a horse would pull anything but a buggy, so they used steers mostly for heavy pulling. they ran all gins and thrashers by horse power and the running gear was all made out of wood. a lot of people say you couldn't make a wooden cotton press that would pack a bale of cotton. you can make a wooden press that will break a bale in two. of course the gin was made out of metal. but they made the press out of wood." slave schooling "the slaves were not allowed to learn anything. sometimes one would be shrewd enough to get in with the white children and they would teach him his a-b-c's, and after he learnet to spell he would steal books and get out and learn the rest for himself." how freedom came "the way i heard it the owners called their slaves up and told them they was free. they give them their choice of leaving or staying. most of them stayed." first crop after freedom "in , when the slaves were freed, they acknowledged they were free in may in alabama. all that was free and would stay and help them make their crops, they give them one-tenth. that is, one-tenth went to all the hands put together. of course if they had a lot of hands that wouldn't be much. then again, it might be a good deal. i know about that by hearing the old people talk about it." opinions "i'll tell you my opinions some other time. i think the young people are beyond control. i don't have any trouble with mine. i never have had any trouble with them." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: eliza hays w. twentieth street, little rock, arkansas age: or more "on the fourth of august, my birthday, and directly after the colored people were set free, all the white people gave a great big dinner to the slaves. all the white people at my home came together and gave a big dinner to us. it was that way all over the united states. my mother told me i was four years old at that big dinner. they went to a great big book and throwed it open and found my birthday in it. i never will forget that. you can figure from that exactly how old i am. (seventy-seven or seventy-eight--ed.) "my mother's name was elizabeth tuggle and my father's name was albert tuggle. my mother was the mother of sixteen children. they were some of them born in freedom and some born in slavery. they are all dead but three. my mother was married twice. "old tom owens was my mother's master. i just do remember him. my father's master was named tom tuggle. my mother and my father got together by going different places and meeting. they went together till freedom and weren't married except in the way they married in slavery. during slavery times, old master gave you to some one and that was all of it. my father asked my mother's old master if he could go with my mother and old man owens said yes. then father went to her cabin to see her. when freedom came, he taken her to his place and married her accordin' to the law. "aunt mariny tuggle was my father's mother. i don't know anything about his father. she has been dead! she died when i was young. i can remember her well, though. "i can remember my mother's mother. her name was eliza whitelow. her husband was named jack whitelow. they was my grandfather and my grandmother on my mother's side. they old people. i can remember seeing them. "i never saw my grandfather on my father's side. that was way back in slavery time. i used to hear them say he was a guinea man. he was short. my own father was small too. but my father's father was short as i am. i am about four and a half feet tall. (i stopped here and measured her, and she was exactly four feet six inches tall--ed.) i never heard nobody say where he came from. my father's sisters were part indian. their hair was longer than that ruler you got in your hand there. it came down on their shoulders. they was a shade brighter than i am. "my father's mother was small too. his sisters were not whole sisters; their daddy was indian." occupation "my father and his father and mother were all farmers. my mother and her mother were farmers too. all my people were long-lived. grandpa, grandma, and all of them. i reckon there about a hundred children scattered back there in tennessee. brother's children and sister's children. i believe my folks would take care of me if they knew about my condition. these folks here are mean. them folks would take care of me if i were home." slave houses "the slaves lived in old log houses; just one room, one door, one window, one everything. they had any kind of furniture they could git. some of them had old homemade beds and some of them one thing and another. you know the white folks wasn't goin' to give them no furniture. "they had plenty of meat and bread and milk to eat. coarse food--the commonest kind of food they could get 'hold of! when i knowed anything, i was in the big house eating the bes' with the white folks. some of them could live well then. my mama gave me to the owenses--her old mistress. i was raised on a pallet in the house. i was in the house from the time i was large enough to be taken from my mother. i didn't never do any work till i was married. old mistress wouldn't let me work. just keep by her and hand her a drink of water, and on like that. she's dead now--dead, dead, dead! they didn't leave but two children, they was 'round in the country somewheres then i left there. "after i married i went to her husband's first wife's child. she had about nine or ten boys and one girl. i raised part of them. but most of them was great big children--big enough for me to throw a glass of milk at their heads. i would fight. sometimes they used to hear them hollering and come out, and i would be throwing a glass at one and jumping across the table at the other. but when them boys grew up, they loved me just the same as anybody. nobody in town could touch me, right or wrong." mean masters "my mother's masters used to tie her down before the dairy door and have two men beat her. she has told me that they used to beat her till the blood ran down on the bricks. some white people in slavery times was good to the niggers. but those were mean, that's the reason i ain't got no use for white folks. i'm glad i was not old in that time. i sure would have killed anybody that treated me that way. i don't know that my father's people beat him up. i think his people were kinder and sorter humored him because he was so small." marriage "they tell me some of them would have a big supper and then they would hug and kiss each other and jump over the broomstick and they were supposed to be married." amusement and recreation "they used to go out and dance and carry on for amusement, and they would go to church too. it was just about like it is now. dancing and going to church is about all they do now, isn't it? they got a gambling game down there on the corner. they used to do some of that too, i guess." breeders "i have heard my mother say many times that a woman would be put up on the block and sold and bring good money because she was known to be a good and fast breeder." ku klux, patrollers, robbers "i've heard of the pateroles and ku klux. i thought they said the ku klux was robbers. i think the ku klux came after the war. but there was some during the war that would come 'round and ask questions. 'where's yo' old master?' 'where's his money hid?' 'where's his silverware?' and on like that. then they would take all the money and silver and anything else loose that could be carried away. and some of them used to steal the niggers theirselves 'specially if they were little childrens. they was scared to leave the little children run 'round because of that." opinions "i don't know. i better keep my 'pinions to myself. you just have to go on and be thankful and look to the lord." support and later life "i haven't done a day's work for seven years. i haven't been able. i have a son, but he has a family of his own to support and can't do nothin' for me. i have another son but he is now out of work himself. he can't get anything to do. i just have to git along on what little i can turn up myself, and what little i get from my friends. "my husband died about seven years ago. i have lost two boys inside of seven years. after they died, i went right on down. i ain't been no good since. the youngest one, mose, got killed on a sunday night. i felt it on saturday night and screamed so that people had to come 'round me and hold me and comfort me. then on sunday night mose got shot and i went crazy. he was my baby boy and he and his brother were my only support. my other boy got sick and died at the hospital. when the man stepped on the porch to tell me he was dead, i knew it when i heard him step up before he could say a word. i can't git to see his wife now. she was the sweetest woman ever was. she was sure good to my son. she treated him like he was a baby. she was devoted to him and his last request to her was to see to me. i don't know just where she is now, but she's in the city somewheres. she would help me i know if i could get to her. "my husband was a preacher. he pastored the st. john baptist church for fifteen years. he lived here over thirty years before he died. i left a good home in brownsville, tennessee. that's where we were married. i have been married twice. i lived with my first husband, george shaver, a year. i married him about . i was single for two years. after that i married rev. hays. i lived with rev. hays about twenty-one years in brownsville, tennessee. we bought a house and lot there. we were gettin' along fine when we decided to come here. he was a shoemaker then. he made shoes after he came here, too. i ran a restaurant in brownsville. i guess we lived together more then fifty years in all. he died seven years ago. "i rent these two rooms in this little shack. they won't give me no help at the welfare." --- - interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: tom haynes w. second street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was six years old when the war ended--the day we was set free. my old mistress, miss becky franks, come in and say to my mother 'addie, you is free this morning' and commenced cryin'. she give my mother some jerked beef for us. "i know i run out in the yard where there was eighty yankee soldiers and i pulled out my shirt tail and ran down the road kickin' up the dust and sayin', 'i'm free, i'm free!' my mother said, 'you'd better come back here!' "i never knew my mother to get but one whippin'. she put out her mouth against old mistress and she took her out and give her a breshin'. "i can remember away back. i can remember when i was three years old. one day i was out in the yard eatin' dirt and had dirt all over my face. young master henry come out and say 'stick out your tongue, i'm goin' to cut it off.' i was scared to death. he said 'now you think you can quit eatin' that dirt?' i said 'yes' so he let me go. "one time the yankee soldiers took young master henry and hung him up by the thumbs and tried to make him tell where the money was. master henry's little brother jim and me run and hid. we thought they was goin' to hang us too. we crawled under the house just like two frogs lookin' out. "old master had about thirty-five hands but some of em run away to war. my father run away too, but the war ended before he could get into it. "i went to school a little while, but my father died and my mother bound me out to a white man. "when we was first freed i know those eighty soldiers took us colored folks to the county band in monticello. there was forty soldiers in the back and forty in front and we was in the swing. "i learned to read after i was grown. i worked for the railroad in the freight office fifteen years and learned to check baggage. "i was a house mover when i was able, but i'm not able to work now. i own this house here and i'm livin' on the relief. "my father was a blacksmith and shoemaker--made all our shoes. i've lived in town all my life. "the people are better off free if they had any sense. they need a leader. when they had a chance if they had bought property, but no--they wanted to get in office and when they got in they didn't know how to act. and the young people don't use their education to help themselves." # interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: joe haywood west eleventh street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born the first day of january, born in mississippi, yazoo county. my mother said i was a new year's present. a. m. payne was our owner. "i just do 'member seein' the soldiers and that's all. i 'member the brim of slavery and that's all. "i member henry dixon. he was a klu klux. he was klu klukin round breakin' up the benevolent societies. he was a real bad man. he just went round with his crowd and broke 'em up. my owner was a good man--good man. they all give him a good name. "our folks stayed there till i was plumb grown. "i've farmed, carpentered, and all kinds of work on the plantation. i've been a engineer in a gin and gettin' out crops every year. "after i left mississippi i just roved around. went through louisiana to texas. i lived in texas. i reckon, from to ' . then i started to rove again. i roved from texas back home to mississippi in . stayed there till , then i roved over here to arkansas. i done got too old to rove now. "school? oh lord, i went to school all my days till i was grown. they kep' me in school. my mother kep' me in till she died and then my stepmother kep' me in. i got very near through the fifth grade. in my day the fifth grade was pretty good. wilson's fifth reader was a pretty good book. they took me out of wilson's fifth reader and put me in mcguffy's and there's where i quit. studied the blue back speller. "i've had some narrow escapes in my life. i had a shot right through here in the breast bone--right over my heart. that was in ninety-six. me and another fellow was projectin with a gun. "then i had a bad accident on the ninth of march, . a -foot log came down on me. it near 'bout killed me. i was under a doctor 'bout six or eight months. that's how come i'm crippled now. it broke my leg and it's two inches shorter than the other one. i walked on crutches 'bout five years. got my jawbone broke too. couldn't eat? i ain't never stopped eatin'. ain't no way to stop me from eatin' 'cept to not give it to me. "i compressed after i got my leg broke. and i was a noble good bricklayer. "i never have voted. nobody ever pushed me up to it and i ain't never been bothered 'bout anything like that. everythin was a satisfaction to me. just whatever way they went was a satisfaction to me. "i have never heard my folks give my white folks no 'down the hill'. my daddy was brought from charleston, south carolina. he was a ship carpenter. he did all of payne's carpenter work from my baby days up. "the last of the paynes died since i came here to arkansas. he was a a. m. payne, too. "i can 'member the soldiers marchin' by. they wore yellow shirts and navy blue coats. i know the coats had two little knobs right behind, just the color of the coat. "i don't know what to think of the younger generation. i don't know why and what to think of 'em. just don't know how to take 'em. ain't comin' like i did. lay it to the parents. they have plenty of leaders outside the family. "i'm lookin' for a better time. god's got his time set for 'em on that. "i belong to st. james methodist episcopal church." # interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: marie e. hervey pulaski street, little rock, arkansas age: "i have heard my father and mother talk over the war so many times. they would talk about how the white people would do the colored and how the yankees would come in and tear up everything and take anything they could get their hands on. they would tell how the colored people would soon be free. my mama's white folks went out and hid when the yankees were coming through. "my father's white people were named taylor's--old job taylor's folks. they lived in tennessee. "my mother said they had a block to put the colored people and their children on and they would tell them to tell people what they could do when the people asked them. it would just be a lot of lies. and some of them wouldn't do it. one or two of the colored folks they would sell and they would carry the others back. when they got them back they would lock them up and they would have the overseers beat them, and bruise them, and knock them 'round and say, 'yes, you can't talk, huh? you can't tell people what you can do?' but they got a beating for lying, and they would uh got one if they hadn't lied, most likely. "they used to take pregnant women and dig a hole in the ground and put their stomachs in it and whip them. they tried to do my grandma that way, but my grandpa got an ax and told them that if they did he would kill them. "they never could do anything with him. "my mother's people were the hess's. they were pretty good to her. it was them that tried to whip my grandma though. "you had to call everybody 'mis'' and 'mars' in those days. all the old people did it right after slavery. they did it in my time. but we children wouldn't. they sent me and my sister up to the house once to get some meal. we said we weren't goin' to call them no 'mars' and 'mis'.' two or three times we would get up to the house, and then we would turn 'round and go back. we couldn't make up our minds how to get what we was sent after without sayin' 'mars' and 'mis'.' finally old man nick noticed us and said, 'what do you children want?' and we said, 'grandma says she wants some meal.' when we got back, grandma wanted to know why we took so long to go and come. we told her all about it. "people back home still have those old ways. if they meet them on the street, you got to get off and let them by. an old lady just here a few years ago wouldn't get off the sidewalk and they went to her house and beat her up that night. that is in brownsville, tennessee in hayeard [hw: haywood] county. that's an old rebel place. "white people were pretty good to the old colored folks right after the war. the white folks were good to my grandfather. the taylors were. they would give him a hog or something every christmas. all the old slaves used to go to the big house every christmas and they would give them a present. "my husband ran off from his white people. they was in helena. that's where he taken the boat. he and a man and two women crossed the river on a plank. he pulled off his coat and got a plank and carried them across to the other side. he was goin' to meet the soldiers. he had been told that they were to come through there on the boat at four o'clock that afternoon. the rebels had him and the others taking them some place to keep them from fallin' into the hands of the yankees, and they all ran off and hid. they laid in water in the swamp all that night. their bosses were looking for them everywhere and the dogs bayed through the forest, but they didn't find them. and they met some white folks that told them the boat would come through there at four o'clock and the white folks said, 'when it comes through, you run and get on it, and when you do, you'll be free. you'll know when it's comin' by its blowin' the whistle. you'll be safe then, 'cause they are yankees.' "and he caught it. he had to cross the river to get over into helena to the place where the boat would make its landin'. after that he got with the yankees and went to a whole lot of places. when he was mustered out, they brought him back to little rock. the people were burl ishman and two women who had their children with them. i forget the names of the women. they followed my husband up when he ran off. my husband's first name was aaron. "my husband had a place on his back i'll remember long as i live. it was as long as your forearm. they had beat him and made it. he said they used to beat niggers and then put salt and pepper into their wounds. i used to tell daddy that 'you'll have to forget that if you want to go to heaven.' i would be in the house working and daddy would be telling some white person how they 'bused the slaves, and sometimes he would be tellin' some colored person 'bout slavery. "they sold him from his mother. they sold his mother and two children and kept him. he went into the house crying and old mis' gave him some biscuits and butter. you see, they didn't give them biscuits then. that was the same as givin' him candy. she said, 'old mis' goin' to give you some good biscuits and some butter.' he never did hear from his mother until after freedom. some thought about him and wrote him a letter for her. there was a man here who was from north carolina and my husband got to talking with him and he was going back and he knew my husband's mother and his brother and he said he would write to my husband if my husband would write him a letter and give it to him to give to his mother. he did it and his mother sent him an answer. he would have gone to see her but he didn't have money enough then. the bank broke and he lost what little he had saved. he corresponded with her till he died. but he never did get to see her any more. "nothin' slips up on me. i have a guide. i am warned of everything. nothin' happens to me that i don't know it before. follow your first mind. conscience it is. it's a great thing to have a conscience. "i was born in tennessee. i have been in arkansas about forty-six years. i used to cook but i didn't do it long. i never have worked out much only just my work in the house. my husband has been dead four years this last april. he was a good man. we were married forty years the eleventh of december and he died on the eighth of april." may interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: phillis hicks edmondson, arkansas age: "my mother's owner was master priest gates. he had a son in memphis. i seen him not long ago. he is an insurance agent. they was rosy rich looking folks. mama was a yellow woman. she had fourteen living children. her name was harriett gates. papa named shade huggins. they belong to different folks. they was announced married before the war and they didn't have to remarry. "she said the overseers was cruel to them. they had white men overseers. she was a field hand. i heard her say she was so tired when she come to the house she would take her baby in her arms to nurse and go to sleep on the steps or under a tree and never woke till they would be going to the field. she would get up and go on back. they et breakfast in the field many and many a time. old people cooked and took care of the children. she never was sold. i don't know if my father was. they come from alabama to mississippi and my mother had been brought from georgia to alabama. "she picked geese till her fingers would bleed to make feather beds for old master i reckon. they picked geese jus' so often. the gates had several big quarters and lots of land. they come to be poor people after the war--land poor. mother left gates after the war. they didn't get nothing but good freedom as i ever heard of. my father was a shoemaker at old age. he said he learned his trade in slavery times. he share cropped and rented after freedom. "i heard 'em say the ku klux kept 'em run in home at night. so much stealing going on and it would be laid at the hands of the colored folks if they didn't stay in place. ku klux made them work, said they would starve and starve white folks too if they didn't work. they was share cropping then, yes ma'am, all of them. i know that they said they had no stock, no land, no rations, no houses to live in, their clothes was thin. they said it was squally times in slavery and worse after freedom. they wore the new clothes in winter. by summer they was wore thin and by next winter they had made some more cloth to make more new clothes. they wove one winter for the next winter. when they got to share croppin' they had to keep a fire in the fireplace all night to warm by. the clothes and beds was rags. corn bread and meat was all they had to eat. maybe they had pumpkins, corn, and potatoes. they said it was squally times. "i got a place. i rented it out to save it. my brother rents it. i can't hardly pay taxes. i'd like to get some help. i could sew if they would let me on. i can see good. i'm going to chop cotton but it so long till then. "i washed and ironed in memphis till washing went out of style. prices are so high now and cotton cheap. i'm counting on better times. "times is close. young folks is like young folks always been. some are smart and some lazy. none don't look ahead. they don't think about saving. guess they don't know how to save. right smart spends it foolish. i'm a widow and done worked down." ex-slaves interviewer: pernella anderson [hw: hicks, will] "i was born in farmerville, la., i don't know what year. i was about three or four years at surrender. i lived with my mother and father. the first work i ever did was plow. i did not work very hard at no time but what ever there was to do i went on and got through with it. all of our work was muscle work. there were no cultivators. "i stayed at home with my father and mother until i was years of age. i was thirty years old when papa died and mother lived two years longer. about a month after mother died i married. we lived in a real good house. my father bought it after slavery time. we had good furniture that was bought from the hardware. the first stove that we used we bought it and father bought it just after surrender. never used a homemade broom in my life. now, ma just naturally liked ash cakes so she always cooked them in the fireplace. we wore all homespun clothes, and we wore the big bill baily hats. we chaps went barefooted until i was years old then i bought my first pair of shoes. they were brass toe progans. i never been in the school house a day in my life. can't read neither write nor figure. i went to church. our first preacher was name prince jones. the biggest games i played was ball and card. i was one of the best dancers. we danced the old juland dance, swing your partner, promonate. danced by fiddling. the fiddlers could beat the fiddlers of today. get your partners, swing them to the left and to the right, hands up four, swing corners, right hands up four promonate all around all the way, git your partners boys. i shoot dice, drink, i got drunk and broke up church one sunday night. me and sister broke up a dinner once because we got drunk. whiskey been in circulation a long time. there have been bad people ever since i been in the world." --will hicks. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: bert higgins missouri street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in slavery times. i was thirteen when peace declared. i was workin' in the field. "no ma'am, i wasn't born in arkansas. i was born in macon, mississippi. "marcus higgins was my old master. he was good to me. he treated me all right. "he had a good big plantation--had two plantations. one in north carolina and one in mississippi. "sold? yes'm, i was put up on the block, but they couldn't quite make it. had six of us--boys and girls--and he sold one or two i 'member. but that's been a long time. "yes'm, i can 'member when i was a boy in slavery. run off too. old master ketch me and switch me. look like the switch would sting so. 'member the last switchin' i got. dr. henderson--i think he was old master's son-in-law. me? well, he whipped me 'cause i'd steal his eggs. i don't reckon i would a been so bad but i was raised up a motherless child. my mother died and my stepmother died. "i can 'member pretty well way back there. "he'd send me off on a mule to carry the mail to his people around. and i used to tote water. he had a heap a darkies. "i could do very well now if i could see and if i wasn't so crippled up. i was a hard worker. "we had a plenty to eat and plenty to wear in slavery times. "old master would whip me if i went any further than the orchard. if i did happen to go outside the field, i come in 'fore night. but i hardly ever went outside. sometimes i run off and when i come back to the house, he'd give me a breshin'. "i seen the yankees durin' of the war. i run from 'em and hid. i thought they was tryin' to carry me off. white folks never did tell me nothin'. they'd come in and throw things outdoors and destroy 'em--old master's provisions. and they'd take things to eat too. "my father belonged to marcus higgins when i first could remember. "after freedom we stayed there till i was grown. i don't never 'member him payin' me, but i got somethin' to eat and a place to stay. "i never went to school; i had to work. i farmed all my life till i come to the city of pine bluff. i worked here 'bout thirty years. "i've always been well treated by my white folks. i never sassed a white person in my life as i remember of--never did. i think that's the reason i was so well took care of 'cause i never sassed 'em. i've always tried to do what was right. "i think these here government people have treated us mighty well. they have give us money and other things. "when we got free old master read it to us out of the paper. we was out in the field and i was totin' water. some of 'em struck work and went to the house and set around a while but they soon went back to the field. and a few days after that he hired 'em. "old master was good. he'd let you stop and rest. he hired a overseer but he didn't do no work. the time run out 'fore he got started. "i think this younger generation is havin' a heap harder time than the old folks did. their disbehavior and the way they carry theirselves now'days. so many of 'em will pick up things don't belong to 'em. "i don't believe in these here superstitions. i tried carryin' a rabbit foot and i know it never brought me no good luck. if you serve the lord and try to live right, pray and serve the lord, and whatever you need you'll get it." # form a _circumstances of interview_ state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave . name and address of informant--annie hill, izard street, little rock. . date and time of interview-- . place of interview-- izard street, little rock. . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant-- . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you-- . description of room, house, surroundings, etc.-- # form b _personal history of informant_ state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave name and address of informant--annie hill, izard street, little rock. . ancestry--father, richard hill; mother hulda bruce. . place and date of birth--nashville, arkansas in . . family-- . places lived in, with dates--nashville, benton and little rock. no dates. . education, with dates-- . occupations and accomplishments, with dates--laundry work. . special skills and interests-- . community and religious activities-- . description of informant-- . other points gained in interview-- # form c _text of interview (unedited)_ state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave name and address of informant--annie hill, izard street, little rock "my mother lived to be one hundred years old. she died in . her name is hulda bruce. she belonged to a man named leslie during slavery. i forget his name--his first name. she come from mississippi. she was sold there when she was eleven years old. that is where all her people were. there might be some of them here and i don't know it. she said she had three sisters but i don't know any of them. the folks raised her--the leslie white folks. it was the leslies that brought her and bought her in the old country. i don't know the names of the people that sold her. she wasn't nothing but a kid. i guess she would hardly know. "the leslies brought her to arkansas when she was eleven. that is what she always told us kids. she was eleven years old when they sold her. just like selling mules. "i don't know what is the first place they come to here. benton, arkansas was the first place i knowed anything about. that is where her folks were and that is where the young generation of them is now. the old ones is dead and gone. "i was born in nashville. and she had come from benton to nashville. she was living in benton, arkansas when she died. she was never able to send me to school when i was young. when the white folks first turned them loose they weren't able to do for them as they are now. children have a chance now and don't appreciate it. but when i was coming up my folks weren't able. mother knew she was one hundred eight years old because her white folks told her what it was. when her old white folks died, the young ones hunted it up for her out of the old family bible and sent it to me. the bible was so old that the leaves were yellow and you could hardly turn them. they were living in benton, arkansas and i guess they are still living there because that is the old home place. that is the kids is still there, 'cause the old folks is dead and gone. one girl is named cora and one of the boys is called bud, buddy. leslie is the last name of them both. "i got one of her pictures with her young master's kids--three of 'em--in there with her. anybody that bothered that picture would git in it with me, 'cause i values it. "mother farmed right after the surrender. she married after freedom but went back to her old name when her husband left. he was named richard hill. he was supposed to be a bishop down there in arkadelphia. but he wasn't no bishop with mama. all them hills in arkadelphia are kin to me. she had four children--one boy and three girls. the boy died before i was born. she was just married the one time that i know about. "her white folks were good to her. you know there was so many of them that weren't. and you know they bound to be because they were always good to her. they would be looking for her and sending her something to eat and sending her shoes and clothes and things like that, and she'd go to them and stay with them months at a time so they bound to 've been good to her. all the young kids always called her their black mammy. they thought a heap of her. that is since freedom. since i been born. that is somethin' i seen with my own eyes. "i spect my mother's white folks is mad at me. they come to see her just before she died and they knew she couldn't live long. they told me to let them know when there was a chance. "that was about three days before she died. there come a storm. it broke down the wire so we couldn't let them know. my boy was too small; i couldn't send him. he was only nine years old. and you know how it is out in the country, you can't keep them long. you have to put them away. you can't keep no dead person in the country. so i had to bury her without letting 'em know it. "i do laundry work for a living when i can get any to do. i am living with my boy but i do laundry work to help myself. it is so good, and nice to kinda help yourself. i'll do for self as long as i am able and when i can't, the children can help me more. i have heard and seen so many mothers whose children would do things for them and it wouldn't suit so well up the road. you see me hopping along; i'm trying to work for annie. "my mother told me about seein' the pateroles before the war and the ku klux klan afterwards. she knowed them all right. she never talked much about the pateroles. it was mostly the ku klux. neither of them never got after her. she said the ku klux used to come in by droves. she said the ku klux were dressed all in white--white caps and white hoods over their faces, and long white dresses. they come out mostly at night. they never did bother her, but they bothered others 'round her that she knowed about. sometimes they would take people out and beat them and do 'round with them. but she never did know just what it was they did and just what they did it for. you see, her white folks was particular and didn't talk much before her. so many colored folks learnt things because they eavesdropped their white folks, but mother didn't do that. she didn't learn nothin' but what they talked before her, and they were careful. but they protected her. they never did allow nobody to bother her no way. "she was a baptist. she belonged to the white folks' church before she was freed. then she joined the methodist church at benton because there wasn't no other church there. but she was a full-blood baptist." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: clark hill e. th street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "good morning. my name is clark hill. my name goes by my white folks. i was born in georgia--in americus, georgia. my old master was will g. hill and they called my young master bud. i never did know what his name was--they just called him bud. "it was my job to sweep the yard, keep smoke on the meat and fire under the kiln. yes mam! old master had a big orchard and he dried all the fruit in the kiln--peaches, apples, and pears. then he had lots a watermelons too. when they got ripe they'd get all the childun big enough to tote a melon and we'd carry 'em to the house. i would like to be with my white folks now. "old master raised pigeons too and it used to be my job to go down to the pigeon house and ketch the squalls (squabs). "i used to go to church with my white folks too. i was the gate opener. they put me on the little seat at the back of the carriage. when we got there they'd let us childun sit in the back. the preacher would tell us to obey our master and not take anything that belonged to him. "oh, my white folks was good to me. he never hit me but once and that was one time when my brother went into the kitchen, went into some peas the cook had and she told on him. old master come down and told my brother to eat the whole dish full. he never hit him or nothin' but just stood there and made him eat 'em. i thought i'd help him out a little and said to my brother, 'give me some.' old master just took his walking stick and hit me over the head, and that's the onliest time he ever hit me. "when you got big enough to marry and was courtin' a woman on another plantation, you couldn't bring her home with you. old master would marry you. he'd say 'i give this man to you' and say 'clark, i give this woman to you and now you is man and wife.' they never had no book of matrimony--if they did i never seen it. then you could go over to see her every saturday and stay all night. "i used to work in the field. they didn't farm then like they do now. they planted one row a cotton and one row a corn. that was to keep the land from gettin' poor. "i remember when the yankees was comin' through i got scared because some of the folks said they had horns. i know old master took all his meat and carried it to another plantation. "when freedom come old master give us all our ages. i think when they say we was free that meant every man was to be his own boss and not be bossed by a taskmaster. cose old master was good to us but we wanted to have our own way 'bout a heap a things. "i come to arkansas the second year of surrender. yes'm, i voted when clayton was sheriff and i voted for governor baxter. i voted several tickets. i was here when they had the brooks-baxter war. they fit not far from where i was livin'. "well, that's 'bout all i can remember. my mind ain't so good now and i got the rheumatism in my legs." # interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: clark hill e. fifteenth street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was workin' 'round the house when freedom come. i was eleven. "born in georgia--americus, georgia. used to go with my young master to corinth after the mail. we'd ride horseback with me right behind him. he used to carry me to church too on the back seat to open the gates. "they worked me in the loom room too. had to hold the broche at the reel. i was glad when my young master called me out to go after the mail. then they worked me in the smokehouse. "i never had no schoolin' a tall. what little i know i learned since i married. my wife was a good scholar. "i thank the lord he spared me. eighty-four is pretty old. "i come here to pine bluff in ' . wasn't no town here then. just some little shacks on barraque. and third street was called catfish street. "they was fifty carloads come here to arkansas when i come. "i've farmed mostly. then i've cooked four or five years in railroad camps, when they was puttin' in this cotton belt track. then i've cooked on a steamboat. "yes ma'am, i've voted. i voted teeth and toe-nail for one man, and he got it and then they shot him down. he was about to get on to the fraud. he was 'testin' the election. that was john m. clayton. they can do most anything in these here elections. i know 'cause i done been in so many campaigns." folklore subjects # name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: humorous story story--information (if not enough space on this page, add page) "i heard a story 'bout a old colored man named tony. it was in slave times and he was prayin' to the lord to take him out of bondage. he was prayin', 'oh lord, come and take poor old tony away.' just then somebody started knockin' and tony says, 'who'd dat?' 'it's the lord, i come to take you away.' then tony said, 'no! no! don't take me away. i ain't ready to go.'" this information given by: clark hill (c) place of residence: e. fifteenth street, pine bluff, arkansas occupation: none age: folklore subjects # name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: superstitions story--information (if not enough space on this page, add page) "i've heard if a turkle dove, when the season first starts, comes to your house and starts moanin', it's a sign you is goin' to move out and somebody else goin' move in. "if a squinch owl starts howlin' 'round your house and if you turn your shoe upside down at the door, they sure will hush. now i know that's so. "i used to run myself nearly to death tryin' to get to the end of the rainbow to get the pot of gold. "and i've heard the old folks say if you start any place and have to go back, you make a circle on the ground and spit in it or you'll have bad luck." this information given by: clark hill (c) place of residence: e. fifteenth street, pine bluff, arkansas occupation: none age: interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: elmira hill north willow pine bluff, ark. age: "i'm one of em. accordin' to what they tell me, i think i'll be ninety-eight the ninth day of february. i was born in virginia in kinsale county and sold from my mother and father to arkansas. "the lord would have it, old man ed lindsey come to virginia and brought me here to arkansas. i was here four years before the old war ceasted and i was twelve when i come here. "i was right there standin' behind my mistis' chair when abe lincoln said, 'i 'clare there shall be war!' i was right here in arkansas--eighteen miles from pine bluff when war ceasted. the lord would have it. i had a good master and mistis. old master said, 'fore old lincoln shall free my niggers, i'll free em myself.' they might as well a been free, they had a garden and if they raised cotton in that garden they could sell it. the lord bless his holy name! we didn't know the difference when we got free. i stayed with my mistis till she went back to virginia. "yes, honey, i was here in all the war. i was standin' right by my mistis' chair. i never heard old master make a oaf in his life, but when they brought the paper freein' the slaves, he said, 'dad burn it.' "i member a man called jeff davis. i know they sung and said, 'we'll hand old jeff davis to the sour apple tree.' "i been here a long time. yes, honey, i been in arkansas so long i say i ain't goin' out--they got to bury me here. arkansas dirt good enough for me. i say i been here so long i got arkansas 'stemper (distemper). "my old master in virginia was joe hudson. my father used to ketch oysters and fish. we could look up the patomac river and see the ships comin' in. in virginia i lived next to a free state and the runaways was tryin' to get away. at harper's ferry--that's where old john brown was carryin' em across. my old mistis used to take the runaway folks when the dogs had bit their legs, and keep em for a week and cure em up. this time o' year you could hear the bull whip. but i was lucky, they was good to me in virginia and good to me in arkansas. "yes, chile, i was in alexandria, virginia in kinsale county when they come after me by night. i was hired out to captain jim allen. i had been nursin' for captain allen. he sailed on the sea. he was a good man. he was a christian man. he never whipped me but once and that was for tellin' a story, and i thank him for it. he landed his boat right at the landin' on saturday. next day he asked me bout somethin' and i told him a story. he said, 'i'm gwine whip you monday morning!' he wouldn't whip me on sunday. he whipped me and i thank him for it. and to this day the lindsey's could trust me with anything they had. "i was in virginia a play-chile when the ships come down to get the gopher wood to build the war ships. old mistis had a son and a daughter and we all played together and slep together. my white folks learned me my a b c's. "they come and got me and carried me to richmond--that's where they sold em. sold five of us in one bunch. sold my two brothers in new orleans--robert and jesse. never seed them no more. never seed my mother again after i was sold. "yes, chile, i was here in arkansas when the war started, so you know i been here a long time. "i was here when they fit the last battle in pine bluff. they called it marmaduke's battle and they fit it on sunday morning. they took the old cotehouse for a battery and throwed up cotton bales for a breastworks. they fit that sunday and when the yankees started firin' the rebels went back to texas or wherever they come from. "when we heard the yankees was comin' we went out at night and hid the silver spoons and silver in the toilet and buried the meat. after the war was over and the yankees had gone home and the jayhawkers had went in--then we got the silver and the meat. yes, honey, we seed a time--we seed a time. i ain't grumblin'--i tell em i'm havin' a wusser time now than i ever had. "yankees used to call me a 'know nothin' cause i wouldn't tell where things was hid. "yes, chile, i'm this way--i like everbody in this world. i never was a mother, but i raised everbody else's chillun. i ain't nothin' but a old mammy. white and black calls me mamma. i'll answer at the name. "i was married twice. my last husband and me lived together fifty years. he was a preacher. my first husband, the old rascal--he was so mean to me i had to get rid of him. "yes, i been here so long. i think the younger generation is goin' the downward way. they ain't studyin' nothin' but wickedness. yes, honey, they tell me the future generation is goin' a do this and goin' a do that, and they ain't done nothin'. and god don't like it. "my white folks comes to see me and say as long as they got bread, i got it. "i went to school the second year after surrender. i can read but i ain't got no glasses now. i want you to see this letter my mother sent me in . my baby sister writ it. yes, honey, i keeps it for remembrance. "don't know nothin' funny that happened 'ceptin stealin' my old master's company's hoss and runnin' a race. white chillun too. them as couldn't ride sideways ridin' straddle. better _not_ ride rob roy--that was old master's ridin' hoss and my mistis saddle hoss. that was the hoss he was talkin' bout ridin' to the war when the last battle was fit in helena. but he was too old to go to war. "well, goodbye, honey--if i don't see you no more, come across the jordan." # interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: gillie hill arch street, little rock, arkansas age: about "my grandmother told me that they had to chink up the cracks so that the light wouldn't get out and do their washing and ironing at night. when they would hear the overseers or the paterolers coming 'round (i don't know which it was), they would put the light out and keep still till they had passed on. then they would go right on with the washing and ironing. "they would have to wash and iron at night because they were working all day. "she told me how they used to turn pots down at night so that they could pray. they had big pots then--big enough for you to get into yourself. i've seen some of them big old pots and got under 'em myself. you could get under one and pray if you wanted to. you wouldn't have to prop them up to send your voice in 'em from the outside. the thing that the handle hooks into makes them tilt up on one side so that you could get down on your hands and knees and pray with your mouth close to the opening if you wanted to. anyway, my grandma said they would turn the pots upside down and stick their heads under them to pray. "my father could make you cry talking about the way they treated folks in slavery times. he said his old master was so mean that he made him eat off the ground with the dogs. he never felt satisfied unless'n he saw a nigger sufferin'." interviewer's comment gillie hill is the daughter of evelyn jones already interviewed and reported. the few statements which she hands in make an interesting supplement to her mother's story. the mother, evelyn jones, remembered very few things in her interview and had to be constantly prompted and helped by her daughter and son who were present at each sitting. there was considerable difference of opinion among them over a number of things, especially the age of the mother, the daughter showing letters to prove the age of seventy, the mother saying she had been told she was sixty-eight, and the son arguing that the scattering of the ages of her nineteen children showed that she must be well over eighty. gillie hill claims to be somewhat clairvoyant. she gave a brief analysis of my character, stating accurately my regular calling and a few of my personal traits even indicating roughly my bringing-up and where. she is not a professional fortune-teller, and merely ventured a few statements. my impression was that she was an unusually close and alert observer. like her mother she is somewhat taciturn. i should have said that her mother was reserved as well as forgetful. the mother never ventured a word except in answer to a question, and used monosyllabic answers whenever possible. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: harriett hill forrest city, ark. (visiting at brinkley, ark.) age: "i was born in lithonia, georgia, at the foot of little rock mountain, close to stone mountain, georgia. i been sold in my life twice to my knowing. i was sold away from my dear old mammy at three years old but i can remember it. i remembers it. it lack selling a calf from the cow. exactly, but we are human beings and ought to be better than do sich. i was too little to remember my price. i was sold to be a nurse maid. they bought me and took me on away that time. the next time they put me up in a wagon and auctioned me off. that time i didn't sell. john george (white man) was in the war; he wanted some money to hire a substitute to take his place fightin'. so he have jim george do the sellin'. they was brothers. they talked 'fore me some bit 'fore they took me off. they wouldn't take me to atlanta cause they said some of the people there said they wouldn't give much price--the negroes soon be set free. some folks in atlanta was yankees and wouldn't buy slaves. they 'cluded the best market to sell me off would be ten or twelve miles from home. i reckon it was to augusta, georgia. they couldn't sell me and start on back home. a man come up to our wagon and say he'd split the difference. they made the trade. i sold on that spot for $ . i was nine or ten years old. i remembers it. course i do! i never could forget it. now mind you, that was durin' the war. "master jake chup owned mammy and me too. he sold me to john george. jim george sold me to sam broadnax. when freedom come on that was my home. freedom come in the spring. he got some of the slaves to stay to finish up the crops for / at christmas. when they got through dividin' up they said they goin' to keep me for a bounty. i been talkin' to kitty--all i remembers her name kitty. she been down there at the stream washin'. some children come told me kitty say come on. she hung out the clothes. i lit out over the fence and through the field with kitty and went to conniars. she left me at the railroad track and went on down the road by myself to lithonia. i walked all night. i met my brother not long after kitty left me. he was on a wagon. he knowed me and took me up with him to mr. jake chup's jr. he was the young man. then chups fed me till he come back and took me to mammy. master chups sold her to dr. reygans. i hadn't seen her since i was three years old. she knowed me. my brother knowed me soon as ever he saw me. i might a not knowed them in a gatherin' but i hadn't forgot them. they hear back and forth where i be but they never could get to see me. i lived with my folks till i married. "the first man i lived with ten years. the next one i lived with fifty years and some days over. he died. they both died. the man i married was a preacher. we farmed long with his preachin'. we paid $ . for forty acres of this bottom land. cleared it out. i broke myself plum down and it got mortgaged. the planters bank at forrest city took it over. i ain't had nothin' since. i ain't got no home. i ain't had nothin' since then. my husband died two years ago and i has a hard time. "my folks was livin' in decatur, georgia when the ku klux was ragin'. we sure was scared of em. mighty nigh to death. when freedom come on the niggers had to start up their churches. they had nigger preachers. sometimes a white preacher would come talk to us. when the niggers be havin' preachin' here come the ku klux and run em clear out. if they hear least thing nigger preacher say they whoop him. they whooped several. they sure had to be mighty particular what they said in the preachin'. they made some of the nigger preachers dance. there wasn't no use of that and they knowed it. they must of had plenty fun. they rode the country every night for i don't know how long and that all niggers talked bout. "my mammy had eleven children. i had one boy. he died a baby. "my pa come and brought his family in . he come with a gang. they didn't allow white men to take em off so a white man come and stay round shy and get nigger man to work up a gang. we all come on a train to memphis, then we got on a big boat. no, ma'am, we didn't come on no freight train. we got off at white hall landing. they got off all long the river. we worked on wages out here. pa wanted to go to mississippi. we went and made eighteen bales cotton and got cheated out of all we made. we never got a cent. the man cheated us was mr. harris close to trotter's landing. "mr. anderson, the poor white man we worked for, jumped in the river and drowned his self. the turns (returns) didn't come in for the first batch we sold at all, then when the turns come they said we done took it up--owed it all. we knowed we hadn't took it up but couldn't get nothin'. we come back to arkansas. "i been to detroit, short time, and been way, but i comes back. "i forgot to say this: my mammy was born in south carolina. marbuts owned her and sold her. my pa lived to be or years old. he died in arkansas. she did too. "of course i don't vote! women ain't got no business runnin' the government! "i nursed, worked in the field. when i was a slave they raised a little cotton in georgia but mostly corn. i chopped cotton and thinned out corn. "the present times is too fast. somethin' goin' to happen. the present generation too fast. folks racin'. ridin' in cars too fast. they ain't kind no more. "i rent a house where i can and i get $ . from the government. that all the support i got. i farmed in the field mighty hard and lost all we had." may interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: hattie hill route , main street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes ma'am, i was raised a house gal. me and another cousin and i was borned in georgia. my old master's name was edward maddox. yes ma'am. "i had a good master but i didn't have such a good missis. her name was fannie maddox. we belonged to the old man and he was good to his niggers. he didn't 'low 'em to be cut and slashed about. but when he was gone that's when old mis' would beat on us. "i've seen a many a one of the soldiers. they used to march by our place. "i can remember one of my old missis' neighbors. her name was miss phipps. old mis' would send me there to borry meal. yes ma'am, i'd go and come. she'd always send me. i met the soldiers a many a time. i'd hide behind a tree and as they'd go by i'd go 'round the tree--i was so scared. "but thank the lawd, we is free now. "i heered old master pray a many a prayer that he would live to see his slaves sot free. and he died the same year they was sot free. he sent for all his hands to come and see him 'fore he died. even the little chillun. i can remember it jus' as well as if 'twas yesterday. old mis' died 'fore he did. "our folks stayed on the place two years. old master told 'em he wanted 'em to take care of themselves and said, 'i want you to get you a place of your own.' he said, 'i raised you honest and i want you to stay on the place as long as you live or as long as the boys treat you right.' "i seed the patrollers all right. i 'member that old song 'run nigger run' and a heap of 'em run too. "them ku klux was hateful too, but they never bothered my father's house. they beat one man--steve mclaughlin--till he couldn't get back to the house. they beat him from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. "we had a plenty to eat in slave times. they fed us good. i never did work in the field--i was raised up a house gal. "after freedom my father had me in the field. "i used to cut and split a many a hundred rails in a day and didn't mind it neither. "i used to like to work--would work now if i was able. and i'd rather work in the field any day as work in the house. the people where i lived can tell you how i worked. i didn't make my living by rascality. i worked like my father raised me. oh, i haven't forgot how my old father raised me. "never went to school but one day in my life. i can't read. "i didn't come to arkansas till after i was free. i been livin' here so long i can't tell you how many years. "i married young and i'm the mother of six chillun. "i think a heap of the colored folks is better off free, but a heap of 'em don't appreciate their freedom. "heap of the younger generation is all right and then they's a heap of 'em all wrong. "i can't remember nothin' else 'cause i was too young then and i'm too old now." oct -- interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: oliver hill kentucky street, pine bluff, arkansas age: oliver hill is ninety-four years old, erect, walks briskly with the aid of a cane, only slightly hard of hearing and toothless. he was born and lived in the state of mississippi on the plantation of alan brooks where he said his father was an overseer and not a slave. said his mother was a full-blooded indian. (i have never talked to a negro who did not claim to be part indian.) he cannot read or write and made rather conflicting statements about the reason why. "white folks wouldn't let us learn." later on in the conversation he said he went to school about one month when his "eyes got sore and they said he didn't have to go no more." "i was nineteen years old when de wa' begun. de white folks never tole us nothin' 'bout what it was fo' till after de surrender. dey tole us then we was free. they didn't give us nothin'." after the surrender most of the slaves left the plantations and were supported by the bureau. in the case of oliver hill, this lasted five months and then he went back to his former master who gave him one-fifth of what he made working in the field. alan brooks grieved for the loss of his slaves but at no time were they under any compulsion to remain slaves. after a long time about half of them came back to work for pay. the ku klux klan was "de devil", but about all they wanted, according to oliver, was to "make a democrat" of the ex-slaves. they were allowed to vote without any trouble, but "de democrats robbed de vote. yes'm i knowed they did." concerning the present restricted suffrage, he thinks the colored people should be allowed to vote. in general, his attitude toward the white people is one of resentment. frequent comments were: "dey won't let de colored people bury in de same cemetery with de white people." "dey don't like it if a colored man speak to a white woman." "dey kill a colored man and de law don't do nothin' 'bout it." "old man brooks" when referring to his former master. he lived with the brooks family for five years after freedom, and seems to have been rather a favored one with not much to do but "ride around" and going to dances and parties at night. when alan brooks died he left oliver $ in cash, a cow and calf, horse, saddle and bridle and two hogs. he went to live with his father taking his wife whom he had married at the age of twenty-one. as soon as the inheritance was gone, the scene changed. in his words, "i thought it gwine last forever." but it didn't and then he began to hold a succession of jobs--field hand, sorghum maker, basket weaver, gardener and railway laborer--until he was too old to work. now he is supported by the welfare department and the help a daughter and granddaughter can give. about the younger generation--"i don't know what gwine come of 'em. the whites is as bad as the blacks." he thinks that present conditions are caused by the sinfulness of the people. there were no slave uprisings but sometimes when they did not work fast enough or do the task right, they were "whupped" by the overseer and given no food until it was done right. oliver came to arkansas in . he has had two wives and "de lawd took both of 'em." his second wife was "'ligious" and they "got along fine." all in all he had a good time during his active days "and didn't have no trouble with de white folks". he does not believe god ever intended some of the people to be slaves. may interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: rebecca brown hill brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born october , in northeast mississippi in chickasaw county. it was close to the fulton road to houston, mississippi. my folks belong to c. b. baldwin. after 'mancipation papa stop calling himself jacob baldwin and called himself jacob brown in his own pa's name. mama was named catherine brown. the same man owned them both. they had twelve children. they lost a child born in . i had two brothers sent to louisiana as refugees. the place they was sent to was taken by the yankees and they was taken and the yankees made soldiers out of them. charlie died in in mobile, alabama and lewis after the war joined the united states army. i never saw any grandparents. mama was born in baltimore and her mother was born there too as i understood them to say. mama's father was a white choctaw indian. he was a cooper by trade. his name was john abbot. he sold harriett, my grandma, and kept mama and her brother. then he married a white woman and had a white family. her brother died. that left her alone to wait on that white family. they cut her hair off. she hated that. she loved her long straight black hair. then her papa, john abbot (abbott?), died. her brother run off and was leaving on a ship on the potomac river. a woman lost her trunk. they was fishing for it and found mama's brother drowned. he had fell overboard too. "mama took a bucket on her arm to keep the stealers from gagging her. she knowed if she had a bucket or basket they would not bother, they would know she went out on turn (errand) and would be protected. they didn't bother her then. she went down to the nigger trader's yard to talk awhile but she was making her way off then. sometimes she went down to the yard to laugh and talk with some she knowed down there. she said them stealers would kill 'em and insect (dissect) 'em. but they didn't get her. but might as well, jim williams owned that nigger yard. he put her on a sailboat named big humphries. she was on there hard sailing, she said, twenty-four days and nights. jim williams stole her! on that sailboat is where she seen my papa. when they got to new orleans a white man from baltimore was passing. he seen my mama. he ask her about her papers. she told him she had been stole. he said without papers jim williams couldn't sell her. he told jim williams he better not sell that woman. jim williams knowed she was crazy about my papa. he hired him out and ask her if she wanted to go with him. he got pay for both of them hired out. it was better for him than if he owned her. when they had two children, jim williams come back out to chambers county, alabama where he had them hired out. he ask her if he would agree to let him sell her. he was going to sell papa and the two children. she said she had seen them whooped to death in the yards because they didn't want to be sold. she was scared to contrary him. she had nobody to take her part. so she let him sell her with papa and the two children. jim williams sold her and papa and the two children to billy gates of mississippi. jim williams said, 'don't never separate henry and hannah 'cause i don't have the papers for hannah.' then they lived in the prairies eighteen miles from houston, where billy gates lived. mama done well. she worked and they treated her nice. eight of us was born on that place includin' me. "i was raised up in good living conditions and kept myself so till twelve years ago this next august this creeping neuritis (paralasis) come on. i raised my niece. i cooked, washed and ironed, and went to the field in field time. "master billy gates' daughter married cyrus brisco baldwin. he was a lawyer. he give mama, papa and one child to them. master billy gates' daughter died and left miss bessie. mr. c. b. baldwin married again. he went to war in the 'six day crowd.' miss bessie baldwin married bill buchannan at okolona, mississippi. mama went and cooked for her. they belong to her. she was good as she could be to her and papa both. one time the overseer was going to whip them both. miss bessie said, 'tell mr. carrydine to come and let us talk it over.' they did and she said, 'give mr. carrydine his breakfast and let him go.' they never got no whippings. "mama was white as any white woman and papa was my color (light mulatto). after freedom they lived as long as they lived at houston and okolona, mississippi. she said she left maryland in . "some blue dressed yankees come to our shack and told mama to bake him some bread. i held to her dress. she baked them some. they put it in their nap sacks. that was my first experience seeing the yankees. "they come back and come back on and on. one time they come back hunting the silverware. they didn't find it. it was in the old seep well. the slaves wasn't going to tell them where it was. we washed out of the seep well and used the cistern water to drink. it was good silver. they put it in sacks, several of them, to make it strong. uncle giles drapped it down in there. he was old colored man we all called uncle giles. he was no kin to me. he was good as could be. i loved him. me and his girl played together all the time. her name was roxana. we built frog houses in the sand and put cool sand on our stomachs. we would lie under big trees and watch and listen to the birds. "when mr. billy gates died they give henry, my youngest brother, to his son, john gates. henry, a big strong fellow, could raise a bale of cotton over his head. "one time the yankees come took the meat and twenty-five cows and the best mules. they left some old plugs. they had two mares in fold. uncle giles told them one mare had buck-eye poison and the other distemper. they left them in their stalls. we had to tote all that stuff they give out back when they was gone. all they didn't take off they handed out to the slaves. there was some single men didn't carry their provisions back to the smokehouse. everybody else did. they kept on till they swept us all out of victuals. the slaves had shacks up on the hill. there was six or eight pretty houses all met. mr. gates' house was one of them. "freedom--capt. gehu come and sent for all the slaves to come to mr. john gates. we all met there. he said it was free times now. we lived on and raised peas, corn, pumpkins, potatoes. the yankees come and took off some of it. that was the year of the surrender. mama moved off the hill in a man's home what moved to town to look after the house for them. it was across the road from master john gates' house. we worked for the gates a long, long time after that. we worked for the baldwins and around till the old heads all dead. i come to clarendon, arkansas, eleven o'clock, eleventh of may . i have no children. i raised my sister's baby. she died. i live wid her now. she's got grandchildren. i get ten dollars from the welfare a month. i buy what i needs to eat with it. i helps out a sight. i had a baby girl. it died an infant. "the place they refugeed charlie and lewis was to opelousas, louisiana. it was about the first part of the country the yankees took. "ku klux--they never bothered us but in i seen them pass. my nephew was a little boy. he said when they passed there was jack slaughter on his horse. he knew the big horse. they went on. the colored men had left their wives and children at home and went up to red bud church (colored). we seen five pass but others joined on. they had bad times. a colored man killed a ku klux named tom middlebrook. one man got his foot cut off wid a ax. some called them 'white caps.' i was scared of whatever they called theirselves. "the younger set of folks seems more restless than they used to be. i noticed that since the last war (world war). they ain't never got settled. the women is bad as the men now it seems. times is better than i ever had them in my life." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: tanny hill brinkley, arkansas age: ? no record of age "'uncle solomon' we all called him but he wasn't no kin to us, he was the funniest old man i ever heard tell of. he was a slave. he belong to sorrel crockell i heard him say. he didn't go to no war. "when the war ended he was a fisherman in arkansas. he used to tie his own self to a tree keep the fish from pulling him in the river. he caught big fish in the early times. he'd come to our house when i was nothing but a child and bring 'nough fish for all our supper. ma would cook 'em. pa would help him scale 'em. we'd love to see him come. he lived thater way from house to house. "one time he made me mad. i never had no more use for him. we'd give him tomatoes and onions. he told us to go bring him thater watermelon out of the garden. he cut and eat it before us. never give us a bite. he was saying, 'you goiner get your back and belly beat black and blue.' i didn't know what he was saying. grandma found the watermelon was gone. i owned up to it. ma got switches and whooped us. i was singing what he was saying. grandma tole me what he meant. from that on we had no more of his good fish." interviewer's comment large, medium black. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: elizabeth hines w. fourteenth street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born january , , in baton rouge, louisiana. i came here. i can't read or write. my brother-in-law told me that i was born three years after the war on january tenth. "my mother's name was sara cloady. my father's name was square cloady. i don't remember the names of any of my grand people. yes i do; my father's mother was named bertha because i called my daughter after her. she must have been in the square family because that was his name. "i had four brothers and sisters. three of them i don't know anything about. i have never seen them. my sister, rachael fortune, suckled me on her breast. that is her married name. before she was married her name was rachael bennett. her father and mine was not the same. we was just half-sisters. we have the same mother though. my father was half indian and hers was pure-blooded indian. they are all mean folks. people say i am mean too, but i am not mean--unless they lie on me or something. my mother died when i was three years old. children three years old didn't have as much sense then as they do now. i didn't know my mother was laid out until i got to be a woman. i didn't have sense enough to know she was dead. my sister was crying and we asked her what she was crying about. "i don't know the name of my mother's old master. yes i do, my mother's old master was named laycock. he had a great big farm. he was building a gas house so that he could have a light all night and work niggers day and night, but peace came before he could get it finished and use it. god took a hand in that thing. i have seen the gas house myself. i used to tote water home from there in a bucket. it was cool as ice-water. the gas house was as big 'round as that market there (about a half block). "my father served in the army three years and died at the age of one hundred ten years about twenty years ago as near as i can remember. that is the reason i left home because he died. he served in the war three years. he was with the yankees. plenty of these old white folks will know him by the name of square cloady. the name of his company was company e. i don't know the name of his regiment. he got his pension as long as he lived. his last pension came just before he died. i turned it back to the courthouse because it is bad to fool with uncle sam. they wrote for my name but when i told them i was married they wouldn't send me anything. i didn't know to tell them that my husband was dead. "i was married when i was about twenty-seven and my husband died more than three years before my father did. my father lived to see me the mother of my last child; my husband didn't. when my husband was dying, i couldn't see my toes. i was pregnant. my husband died in the year of the great tornado. the time all the churches were blown down. i think it was about . (storm time in louisiana.) "i don't know what my mother did in slavery. i don't think she did anything but cook. she was fine in children and they buys women like that you know. my sister was a water toter. my father raised cotton and corn and hogs and turkeys. his trade was farming before the war. i don't know how he happened to get in the army but he was in it three years." [hw: cf. p. ] house, furniture and food "laycock's farm was out in the country about four miles from baton rouge, louisiana. some of the slaves lived in log houses and some in big old boxed houses. most of them had two rooms. they had nothing but four post beds and chairs like this i am settin' down in (a little cane chair). i reckon it is cane--looks like it is. they had homemade chairs before the war, boxes, and benches. the boards were often bought. but nothing else. "they et greens and pickled pork. my father got tired of that and he would raise hogs. pickled pork and corn bread! "my father never told me what his master was to him, whether he was good or mean. he got free early because he was in the army. he didn't run away. the soldiers came and got him and carried him off and trained him. [hw: cf. p. ] i just know what my father told me because i wasn't born. he served his full time and then he was discharged. he got an honorable discharge. he had a wound in the leg where he was shot. "i got along all right supporting myself by planting cotton until last year when the doctor stopped me. "i took care of my father and the lord is taking care of me. i am weak and still have that giddy head but not as bad as i used to have it." opinions "some of the young people do very well but some of them ain't got no manners and don't care what they do. i am scared for them. the man above ain't scared and he is going to cut them down." _folklore subjects_ pine bluff district name of interviewer: martin--barker subject: ex-slave story: "son of martha and peter hinton. came from n.c. about years ago, at close of civil war. mother had nine children, she belonged to mr. sam hinton. "at close of war mistis called us to her, said we were free and could go. so we went away for about a year, but came back. sorry we were free. "we saw about soldiers. never went to school. went to white church on plantation. white preachers said, servants, obey your marster. i was valued at $ . . "when i was a small boy i lay at marsters feet and he would let us play with his feet. he always had shiny shoes and we niggers would keep rubbing them so they would shine more. as i grew older, i cleaned the yard, later helped pick cotton. "i am a baptist. have behaved myself. have prayer meeting at my home. "during the war we had prayer meetings at the different houses on the plantations. we prayed to be set free. turned wash pots down in the house to keep the sound down so white folks wouldn't hear us singing and praying to be set free. "overseer would whip neggers when out of humor. miss mary would always tell them not to mistreat her help. "times were so hard during slave times, white marster took them into the bottoms and hid them, so they wouldn't run off with the yankee soldiers. "talk of war got so hot, brought us out of the woods and put us in wagons and took us and de older people off to texas. "we got up at  am, work all day until or at night. on sunday we worked if it was necessary. "i was tough and strong. i could outrun a wild animal, barefooted and bare headed. "we would have a country dance once in awhile. someone would play the banjo. "miss mary, white mistis called us all in one day and opened a large trunk. she showed us money, gold and silver, saying that we had all helped to make it for them. thats the first money i ever saw. "before christmas we killed hogs. "our white folks didn't like any one wearing blue clothes. thought they were yankees, and that meant freedom for us niggers. men in blue clothes came and put a rope around my marsters neck, took him all around the nigger cabins and asked where he hid them. he told them, texas. they said, get them and free them or they would hang him. "he sent after them and everything was alright. "i though my white marster was god. he took sick and died. "i heard the other slaves saying he committed suicide because he had lost all his money. "in those times my father saw my mother, decided he wanted her for his woman. he tol his white folks and they fixed up a cabin for them to live in together. was no ceremony. had nigger midwives for babies. "i knows every lucky silver pieces of money. i believe in lucky pieces of silver. i is a dreamer, always been dat way. i have seen my bright days ahead of me, in dreams and visions. if i hears a woman's voice calling me, a calling me in my sleep i is bound to move outa dat house. i dont keer wher i goes, i is got to go some whars." information by: charles hinton place of residence: rfd old riv. rd. occupation: age: interviewer: bernice bowden. person interviewed: charlie hinton (c) age: home: old river road--pine bluff, ark. "oh lordy, lady, i was pickin' cotton durin' the war. i was here before the first gun was fired. when the war came they sent my mother and father and all the other big folks to texas and left us undergrowth here to make a crop. "my mother's name was martha and my father was named peter hinton. now i'm just goin' to tell you everything--i'm not ashamed. i've got the marks of slavery on me. my old marster and miss mary, they was good to me, but the old cook woman throwed me off the porch and injured my back. i ain't never been able to walk just right since. "now, here's what i remember. our marster, we thought he was god. "they pretty near raised us with the pigs. i remember they would cook a great big oven of bread and then pour a pan full of buttermilk or clabber and we'd break off a piece of bread and get around the pan of milk jest like pigs. yes mam, they did that. "let's see now, what else occurred. old marster would have my father and uncle jacob and us boys to run foot races. you know--they was testin' us, and i know i was valued to be worth five hundred dollars. "but my folks was good to me. they wouldn't have no overseer what would be cruel. if he was cruel he would have to be gone from there. "one time old marster say 'charlie how come this yard so dirty?' you know there would be a little track around. i said, will you give me that old gray horse after i clean it and he said 'yes'. so i call up the boys and we'd clean it up, and then the old gray horse was mine. it was just the old worn out stock you understand. "i want to tell you when the old folks got sick they would bleed them, and when the young folks got sick they give you some blue mass and turn you loose. "i remember when old marster's son sam went to war and got shot in the leg. old marster was cryin' 'oh, my sam is shot'. he got in a scrummage you know. he got well but he never could straighten out his leg. "when freedom come, i heard 'em prayin' for the men to come back home. miss mary called us all up and told us our age and said, 'you all are free and can go where you want to go, or you can stay here.' "oh yes, the ku klux use to run my daddy if they caught him out without a pass, but i remember he could outrun them--he was stout as a mule. "i been here so long and what little i've picked up is just a little fireside learnin'. i can read and write my name. i can remember when we thought a newspaper opened out was a bed-cover. but a long time after the war when the public school come about, i had the privilege of going to school three weeks. yes mam, i was swift and i think i went nearly through the first reader. "i am a great lover of the bible and i'm a member of mount calvary baptist church. "i'm glad to give you some kind of idea 'bout my age and life. i really am glad. goodbye." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: ben hite ohio street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "well, i didn't zactly live in slavery times. i was born in , the th of july. they said it was on the william moore place four miles from chattanooga but i was in georgia when i commenced to remember--in fort valley--just a little town. "i been in arkansas sixty-five years the first day of january. come to the old post of arkansas in . i been right here on this spot forty-three years. made a many a bale of cotton on the barrow place. "went to school three weeks right down here in 'linkum' county. i could read a little but couldn't write any much. "i been married to this wife forty years. my fust wife dead. "i lived in 'linkum' county eight years and been in jefferson county ever since. "three years ago i was struck by a car and i been blind two years. i can just 'zern' the light. when i was able to be about i used to vision what it would be like to be blind and now i know. "yes'm, i just come here on the eve of the breakin' up. i seed the yankees in georgia after freedom. they called em bluejackets. "all my life i have farmed--farmed." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: betty hodge hazen, ark. age: "uncle billy hill used to visit us. he was noah's uncle. he was a slave and one thing i remembers hearing him tell was this: he was the hostler for his old master. the colored folks was having a jubilee. he wanted to go. he stole one of the carriage horses out--rode it. it started snowing. he said he went out to see bout the horse and it seemed be doin' all right. after a while here come somebody and told him that horse he rode was dead. he didn't believe it, but went out there and it was sho dead. he said he took that horse by the tail and started runnin' up the road. they drug that horse home and put him in the stable where he belong at. it was snowing so hard and fast they couldn't see their hands 'fo em he said. it snowed so much it covered up where they drug the horse and their tracks. he said the snow saved his life. they found the horse dead and never thought bout him having him out at the jubilee. he said none of em ever told a word bout it but for long time he was scared to death fear the old master find out bout it. "grandma frances was born in west virginia. she was papa's mama. she purt nigh raised us. mama and papa went to the field to work. she cooked and done the housework. she had a good deal of indian blood in her. i heard em say. she had high cheeks and the softest, prettiest hair. she told about the stars falling. she said they never hit the ground, that they was like shooting stars 'cepting they all come down like. everybody was scared to death. she talked a good deal about haywood county--i believe that was in tennessee--that was where they lived durin' of the war. papa made her a livin' long as she lived. when she got old noises bothered her, so then we growed up and she lived by herself in front of our house in a house. "grandma frances and our family come to arkansas 'reckly after the civil war. they come with mr. john and miss olivia cooper. miss olivia was his wife, but miss presh was a old maid. folks used to think it was sort of bad if a woman didn't marry. thought she have no chances. it sort of be something like a disgrace if a woman was a old maid. don't seem that-a-way no more. i never heard much about miss presh but i heard mama tell this: grandma mary lea come on a visit to see mama and she brought her some sweet potatoes in a bag. had nothing else and wanted to bring her something. miss olivia picked out the biggest ones and took em. said she was mean. said she had a plenty of everything. just left mama the smallest ones. she said miss olivia was stingy. mama was the house girl and nurse and they had a cook. mama was a girl then she belong to the coopers, but mama belong to somebody else. she hadn't married then. "one day miss olivia called her and she didn't get there soon as miss olivia wanted her to. miss olivia say, 'you getting mean, lucy. you like your ma.' she said, 'i just like you if i'm mean.' but miss olivia didn't understand it. she ask the cook and the cook told her she was talking to her. she told mr. john cooper to whoop em but he didn't. he kind of laughed and ask the cook what lucy said to miss olivia. miss olivia told him if he didn't whoop em both she was going back home. he told her he would take her and she wouldn't come back neither when she left. he didn't whoop neither one of em and she never left him till she died, cause i been over to des arc and seen all of em since i come in this world. "mama was lucy lea till she married will holloway, my papa. then she married isarel thomas the preacher here at hazen. he come from tennessee with old dr. hazen (white man). mama's mama was mary lea; she lived out here at green grove. i don't know where she was born, but she was owned by the lea's round des arc. she come and stay a month or two with us on a visit. "old folks was great hands to talk bout olden times. i forgot bout all they told. "in old times folks had more principal, now they steal and fight and loud as they can be. folks used to be quiet, now they be as loud as they can all the time. they dance and carouse all night long--fuss and fight! some of our young folks got to change. the times have changed so much and still changing so fast i don't know what goin' to be the end. i study bout it a lot." # interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: minnie hollomon r.f.d., biscoe, arkansas age: "my parents was elsie and manuel jones. they had five children. the jones was farmers at hickory plains. auntie was a cook and her girl, luiza, was a weaver and a spinner and worked about in the house. "i heard auntie talk about the soldiers come and make them cook up everything they had and et it up faster 'en it took 'er to fix it ready for 'em to guttle down. dems her very words. they took the last barrel er flour and the last scrap er meat they had outen the smokehouse. "uncle sebe jones was massa jones' boss and wagoner (wagon man and overseer). auntie said uncle sebe drunk too much. he drunk long as he lived 'cause old massa jones trained to that. "uncle whit jones was more pious and his young massa learned him to read and write. he was onliest one of the jones niggers knowed how er had any learning er tall. "the women folks spun and wove all winter while the nights be long. "pa said massa jones was pretty fair to his black folks. he fed 'em pretty good and seen they was kept warm in rainy bad weather. he watch see if the men split plenty wood to keep up the fires. jones didn't allow the neighbors to slash up his black folks. he whooped them if he thought they needed it and he knowed when and where to stop. mama didn't b'long to the same people. "grandma was a native of south ca'lina. her name was malindy fortner. she died over at alex hazen's place. she come to some of her people's after the war. i think ma come with her. her own old mistress come sit on a cushion one day. the parrot say, 'cake under cushion, burn her bottom.' grandma made the parrot fly on off but the cake was warm and it was mashed flat under the cushion when she got up. she took it to her little children. she said piece of cake was a rarity. they had plenty corn bread, peas and meat. "grandma said after they had a baby it would be seben weeks b'fore they would let them put their hands in a washtub. they all had tasks in winter time. they sit by the fire and talk and sing. ma said in slavery a girl had a baby and her hugging around a tree. said her mistress come to the cabin to see about her and brought corn bread and pea pot-liquor. said that would kill folks but it didn't hurt her. "pa b'long to the jones and whitlocks both but he never told us about ever being sold. he told us about it took nearly two weeks one time in the bad weather to meet the boat and get provisions. his wagon was loaded and when the rain and freeze set in it caught him. he like never got back. his white folks was proud when he got back." folklore subjects name of interviewer--s. s. taylor person interviewed--h. b. holloway (dad or pappy) story: birth, parentage "i never lived in the country. i lived in town. but sometimes my father would go into the country to hunt and i would go with him. "i was born in austin county, fort valley, georgia, miles below atlanta one way, and by macon it would be . i was thirteen years old when the war began and seventeen when it ended. i was born the fifteenth day of february, . "my mother was a nurse and midwife. my father was a finished mechanic. i never had to do any work until after the civil war, but i was just crazy about railroading and went to railroading early. i railroaded all my life. i did some draying too and a lot of concreting too. "i was born free. there weren't so many free niggers in georgia. none that i knew owned any slaves. i never heered of any owning any slaves. my mother was a full blooded cherokee woman, and my father was a dark spaniard." [("dad" or "pappy" holloway is a fine looking old white man and shows evidence of white and indian blood; however, negro blood shows.) [hw: omit]] "i am the only one out of twelve children that can't talk my mother's language and don't know my father's. i remember the indian war whoop, and the war dance--used to do that myself. when they run the indians out of georgia into florida, my mother never did go. she was one hundred seven years old when she died." marriage, breeding, weddings, separations "you know, there weren't no marriages like now with niggers--just like if you and your wife owned a man and i owned a woman, if your man wanted to marry, he got consent from you and my woman would get consent from me. and then they would marry, and i either got to buy your slave or you got to buy mine. sometimes the white folks wouldn't want you to marry. "they didn't force nobody to marry. they might force you to marry if both of you had the same master, but not if they belonged to different masters. they were crazy about slaves that had a lot of children. "niggers didn't separate in slave times because they never was married except by word of mouth. there was a lot of old souls that came out of slavery times that lived together and raised children that never was married (except by word of mouth), just got together. but they made out better and were better husbands and wives and raised better families than they do now. "sometimes folks would get separated when the slave traders would sell them, and sometimes families would get separated when their white folks died or would run into debt." slave sales "they had a slave block in georgia. you see they would go to virginia and get the people that they would bring across the water--regular africans. sometimes they would refugee them four or five hundred miles before they would get the chance to sell them. sometimes a woman would have a child in her arms. a man would buy the mother and wouldn't want the child. and then sometimes a woman would holler out: 'don't sell that pickaninny.' (you know they didn't call colored children nothin' but pickaninnies then.) 'i want that little pickaninny.' and the mother would go one way and the child would go the other. the mother would be screaming and hollering, and of course, the child wouldn't be saying nothin' because it didn't know what was goin' on. "they had a sale block in my home (fort valley, georgia), and i used to go and see the niggers sold often. some few wasn't worth nothin' at all--just about a hundred dollars. but they generally ran about five or six hundred dollars. some of them would bring thousands of dollars. it depended on their looks. the trader would say, 'look at those shoulders; look at those muscles.' "someone would holler out, 'a thousand dollars.' "then another would holler out, 'fifteen hundred.' "they went like horses. a fine built woman would bring a lot of money. a woman that birthed children cost a heap. "virginia was where the slaves would be brought first. the slave traders would go there and get them and take them across the country in droves--just like you take a drove of cattle. they would sell them as they would come to sale blocks. the slaves would be undressed from the shoulders to the waist." houses, food, clothes "the slaves lived in log huts on the plantations. some men would weatherboard them. they didn't put any ceiling in. you could lay back in your bed and see the moon and stars shining through. "some got good food and some of the owners would make the niggers steal their food from other folks. old myers green would make his niggers steal and he would say, 'if you get caught, i'll kill you.' one or two of them let themselves get caught, and he would whip them. that was to save him from paying for it. they couldn't do anything to you but whip you nohow. but they could make him pay for it. "they used homemade clothes made out of homemade cotton cloth. they would spin the cotton to a thread. when they would get so many broaches of it, they would make it into cloth. a broach was just a lot of thread wound around a stick. they would take it to the wheel and make the cloth, them women used to have tasks:--spinning, weaving, dressmaking, and so on. sometimes they would have five and six spinning wheels running before they would get to the weaving. "i don't know who made the clothes. but you know them niggers made them. they used to learn some slaves how to do some things,--the right way. jus' like they learned themselves. there was plenty of nice seamstresses. the white folks used to make them make clothes for their children. the white folks wouldn't do nothin'. they wouldn't even turn down the bed to get in it." ages "colored folks in slavery times didn't know how old they was. when you would buy a drove of darkies, you would go by what they would tell you, but they didn't know how old they was. some of those niggers they bought from africa wouldn't take nothin' neither. "they would say: 'me goin' do what you say do, but me aint goin' to get no whipping.' and when they whipped them, there was trouble. "the masters kept records of ages of those born in their care. some of them did. some of them didn't keep nothin'. jus' like people nowadays. raised them like pigs and hogs. jus' didn't care." amusements "there used to be plenty of colored folk fiddlers. dancing, candy pulling, quilting,--that was about the only fun they would have. corn shucking, too. they used to enjoy that. they would get on top of that pile and start singing--the white folks used to like that--sometimes they would shuck corn all night long. and they would sing and eat too. "they had what they called the old-fashioned cotillion dance--partners--head, foot, and two sides--four men and four women--each man danced with his partner. music by the fiddlers. i used to dance that. "at the quilting, they'd get down and quilt. the boys and young men would be there too and they would thread the needles and laugh and talk with the girls, and the women would gossip. "the masters would go there too and look at them and see what they'd do and how they'd do and make them do. they would do that at the candy pullin' too, and anything else. "the candy pulling--there they'd cook the candy and a man and a girl would pull candy together. look to me like they enjoyed the corn shucking as much as they did anything else." christmas "they'd give time to celebrate christmas time. they'd dance and so on like that. but they worked them from new year's day to christmas eve night the next year. the good white people would give them a pig and have them make merry. they'd make merry over it like we do now. that's where it all come from." run-away slaves "i seen a many a runaway slave. i've seen the hounds catch them too. you could hear the hounds all hours of the night. some nigger was gone. some of them would run away from the field. and some of them would slip out at night. "i used to mock them hounds. the first hound would say 'oo-oo-oo, he-e-e-e-re he-e-e-e-e g-o-o-o-oes.' the others would say, 'put 'im up. put 'im up. put 'im up. put 'im up. put 'im up.' my mother would laugh at me. the lead-hound howled, and the catch dog wouldn't say nothin' but you could hear the sound of his feet. the lead hound didn't catch the nigger, but he would just follow him. when he caught up with him, he would step aside and let the catch dog get him if he wasn't treed." pateroles "the pateroles were for niggers just like police and sheriffs were for white folks. they were just poor white folks. when a nigger was out from the plantation at night, he had to have a pass. if the pateroles seen him, they would stop him and ask for his pass. if'n he didn't have it, he'd mos' likely get a beating. i was free and didn't have no pass. sometimes they would stop me, but i never had no trouble with 'em. i was a boy then, and everybody knowed me." good masters "men like colonel troutman, major holmes, and preacher russell--thomas russell--they didn't whip their niggers and didn't allow no one else to whip them. they had a little guardhouse on the plantation and they would lock them up in it. you'd better not hit one of their niggers. they'd take a pole or something and run you ragged." mean masters "white folks was cruel in slavery times. you see i was free and could go where i wanted too, and i see'd a lot. old myer green would take a nigger and tie his feet to one side of a railroad track and tie his hands to the other side, and whip him till the blood ran. then he would take him down to the smoke house and rub him down with lard and red pepper. 'rub plenty in,' he would say, 'don't let him spoil.' "then i have seen them take up a ten-rail fence end set it down on a nigger's neck and whip him. if he would rare and twist and try to jump up, he would break his neck." [hw: to follow st. par, p. ] pateroles (see also on page ) "one night, when me and my mother was coming from town, my mother had a demijohn of whiskey. they (pateroles) tried to take it. and she snatched a palling off the fence and nearly beat them poor white trash to death. my mother was a good woman, strong as any man. i was sitting on the demijohn. i was a little fellow then. they didn't do nothin' to her neither, 'cause they knew what old colonel troutman would do." (holloway's mother was midwife to colonel troutman's wife and nurse and 'mammy' to his boy, although a free indian.) [hw: delete last sentence] mixed bloods "i can carry you to columbus, georgia. there was ten mulatto niggers born there and you would think they were all white; but they were all colored. they were slaves, but their master was their daddy. "i'll tell you somethin'. w. h. riley and henry miller,--you know them don't you--they are blood brothers,--had the same mother and the same father. riley's grandfather was a white man named miller. miller got mad at his son, riley's father, and sold him to a white man named riley. riley took the name of his father's second master. after freedom, henry and josephine took the name of miller, their real grandfather. they said, 'miller had never done anything' for them." curious beliefs and slave expectations of freedom "i was looking right in lincoln's mouth when he said, 'the colored man is turned loose without anything. i am going to give a dollar a day to every negro born before emancipation until his death,--a pension of a dollar a day.' that's the reason they killed him. but they sure didn't get it. it's going to be an awful thing up yonder when they hold a judgment over the way that things was done down here." lincoln's visit to atlanta "when the war was declared over, abraham lincoln came south and went to the capitol (of atlanta), and there was so many people to meet him he went up to the tower instead of in the state house. he said, 'i did everything i could to keep out of war. many of you agreed to turn the negroes loose, but jeff davis said that he would wade in blood up to his neck before he would do it.' "he asked for all of the confederate money to be brought up there. and when it was brought, he called for the oldest colored men around. he said, 'now, is you the oldest?' the man said, 'yes sir.' then he threw him one of those little boxes of matches and told him to set fire to it and burn it up. "then he said, 'i am going to disfranchise every one of you (the white folks), and it will be ten years before you can even vote or get back into the union.'" grant's attitude "grant was the one that killed the republican party. we ain't had but three real republican presidents since the war--garfield, mckinley and teddy roosevelt. they killed garfield, and they killed mckinley, and they tried to kill teddy roosevelt. well, they asked grant if they could make state constitutions. grant said, 'yes, if they didn't conflict with the national constitution.' but they did conflict and grant didn't do nothin' about it." schooling, antebellum and postbellum "northern teachers were sent down here after the war and they charged a dollar a month until the state set up schools. some of the niggers learned enough in the six months school to teach, and some white persons taught. "in slave times, they didn't have any schools for niggers. niggers better not be caught with a book. if he were caught with a book they beat him to death nearly. niggers used to get hold of this webster's blue back book and the white folks would catch them and take them away. they didn't allow no free niggers to go to school either in slave times." share cropping "i used to see niggers in georgia share cropping. nigger work all the year. christmas eve night they would be going back to the plantation singing--done lost everything--sitting on the wagon singing: 'sho' pity lawd forgive that ar' pentant rebel live.' "then they would have to get clothes and food against the next year's crop. then you'd see 'em on the wagon again driving back to the plantation loaded down with provisions, singing: 'lawd revive us agin all our increase comes from thee.' "i used to study how them people could live. they didn't give but ten dollars a month for common labor. they didn't give anything to the share cropper. they took all of it. they said he spent it, borrowed it, and on like that." didn't want to be free "some that didn't know any better didn't want to be free. especially them that had hard taskmasters. when the nigger was turned loose sho nuff, some of them didn't have a good shirt to their back. the master hated to lose them so bad, he wouldn't give them anything. "but for twenty-five years after slave times, there ain't no race of people ever traveled as fast as the nigger did. but when the young ones came up, they are the ones what killed the thing. an old white man said: 'we thought if you folks kept it up we or you one would have to leave this country. but when the young ones came on, and began begrudging one another this and that and working against one another, then we saw you would never make a nation.'" riots and kkk "i have been in big riots. i was in the atlanta riots in . we lost about forty men, and i don't know how many the white folks lost, but they said it was about a hundred. i used to live there. i came here in . "we had a riot there when the kkk was raising so much cain. the first ku klux wore some kind of hat that went over the man's head and shoulders and had great big red eyes in it. they broke open my house one night to whip me. "i was working as a foreman in the shops. one night as i was going home, some men stopped and said 'who are you.' i answered 'h. b. holloway.' then they said, 'well we'll be over to your house tonight to whip you.' "i said, 'we growed up together and you couldn't whip me then. how you 'spect to do it now. you might kill me, but you can't beat me.' "and one of them said, 'well we'll be over to see you at eleven thirty tonight, and we are going to beat you.' "i went on home end told my wife what had happened. she was afraid and wanted me to leave and take her and the children with her. "but i said, 'no, you must take the little children and go in the bedroom and stay there.' "she did. i had three sons that were grown up, between twenty and twenty-eight years old, and i had a winchester, a shotgun and a pistol. i gave the winchester to the oldest, the shotgun to the next, and the pistol to the youngest. i took my ax for myself. i stationed the boys at the far end of the room--away from the door. "the oldest said, 'papa, let's kill them.' "i said, 'no. you just stand there and do nothing till i tell you. when they break in, i'll knock the first one in the head with the ax. but don't you do nothin' till i tell you.' "after a while, we heard a noise outside, and i took my stand beside the door. then they gave a rush, and battered the door down. a man with a gray hood on jumped inside. i hit him side the head with the flat of the ax, and he fell down across the door. "then the others rushed up, and the boys cut loose with all three of the guns, and such another uproar you never heard. they high-tailed it down the street, and the boys took right after them, shooting at their legs. the winchester shot sixteen times, and the pistol shot six, and the boy with the shotgun was shooting and breaking down and reloading and shooting again as fast as he could. "i went outside and whistled for the boys to come back. they come. they would always obey me. i told them to carry the man i had hit out. he was still lying there. through all the fuss and uproar, he had been lying there across the doorway. carried him out, and threw him on the sidewalk. my eldest son said the man said, 'holloway, don't hit me no more.' "i didn't, but if i had known who he was then, i would have gone out and cut his throat. he was old colonel troutman's son. there was just two hours difference in our birth. me and him both nursed from the same breast. we grew up together and were never separated until we were thirteen (beginning of the war). many people thought we were brothers. i had fought for him and he had fought for me. when he wasn't at my house, i was at his, and his father partly raised me. that's the reason i don't trust white people. "we had a big dog that everyone was scared of. we always kept him chained up. i unchained the dog, and took the boys and we went out in the woods. it was cold; so we made a fire under a tall sapling. "near daylight, i said, 'the dog sees something, but we can't see what it is.' the eldest son said, 'pappy, if you get astride the dog, and look the way he's looking, you can see what he sees.' "i got astride him and looked, and finally way off through the trees and the branches and leaves, i saw six men riding through the woods on horseback. i took the guns away from the boys and put the pistol and shotgun under the leaves at my feet. i made the boys separate and hide in the brush at a good distance from me and from each other. i made the dog lie down beside me. then i waited. "when the men came near me and were about to pass on looking for me, i hailed them. i told them to stop right where they were or i'd drop them in their tracks. it was colonel troutman and five other of the old men from town out hunting me. "colonel troutman said, 'we just wanted to talk to you holloway.' "i said, 'stand right where you are and talk.' "after some talk, i let them come up slowly to a short distance from me. the upshot of the whole thing was that they wanted me to go back to town with them to 'talk' over the matter. they allowed i hadn't done nothin' wrong. but colonel troutman's man was hurt bad, and some of the young men in the mob had had their legs broke. and they were all young men from the town, boys that knew me and were friendly to me in the daytime. still they wanted me to go to town in their charge, and i knew i wouldn't have a chance if i did that. finally i told colonel troutman, that i was going home to see my wife that evening, and that if he wanted to talk to me, he could come over there and talk. "when they left, i sent the boys along home and told them to tell my wife. that night when i got home, colonel troutman was in the house talking to my wife. i went in quietly. he said that they said i had forty niggers hid in the house that night. i told him that there wasn't anybody there but me and my family, and that all the damage that was done i done myself. he said that well he didn't blame me; that even if it was his son, they broke in on me and i had a right to defend my family, and that none of the old heads was going to do anything about it. he said i was a good man and had never given anybody any trouble and that there wasn't any excuse for anybody comin' stirrin' up trouble with me. and that was the end of it." hoodoo "my wife was sick, down, couldn't do nothin'. someone got to telling her about cain robertson. cain robertson was a hoodoo doctor in georgia. they there wasn't nothin' cain couldn't do. she says, 'go and see cain and have him come up here.' "i says, 'there ain't no use to send for cain. cain ain't coming up here because they say he is a "two-head" nigger.' (they called all them hoodoo men 'two-head' niggers; i don't know why they called them two-head.) 'and you know he knows the white folks will put him in jail if he comes to town.' "but she says, 'you go and get him.' "so i went. "i left him at the house and when i came back in, he said, 'i looked at your wife and she had one of then spells while i was there. i'm afraid to tackle this thing because she has been poisoned and it's been goin' on a long time. and if she dies, they'll say i killed her and they already don't like me and lookin' for an excuse to do somethin' to me.' "my wife overheard him and says, 'you go on, you got to do somethin'.' "so he made me go to town and get a pint of corn whiskey. when i brought it back, he drunk a half of it at one gulp, and i started to knock him down. i'd thought he'd get drunk with my wife lying there sick. "then he said, 'i'll have to see your wife's stomach.' then he scratched it, and put three little horns on the place he scratched. then he took another drink of whiskey and waited about ten minutes. when he took them off her stomach, they were full of blood. he put them in the basin in some water and sprinkled some powder on them, and in about ten minutes more, he made me get them and they were full of clear water and there was a lot of little things that looked like wiggle tails swimming around in it. "he told me when my wife got well to walk in a certain direction a certain distance and the woman that caused all the trouble would come to my house and start a fuss with me. "i said, 'can't you put this same thing back on her.' "he said, 'yes, but it would kill my hand.' he meant that he had a curing hand and that if he made anybody sick or killed them, all his power to cure would go from him. "i showed the stuff he took out of my wife's stomach to old doc matthews and he said, 'you can get anything into a person by putting it in them.' he asked me how i found out about it, and how it was taken out, and who did it. "i told him all about it, and he said, 'i'm going to see that that nigger practices anywhere in this town he wants to and nobody bothers him.' and he did." opinions of young people "the young niggers aint got as much sense as the old ones had,--those that were born before the war. one thing, they don't read enough. they don't know history. i can't understand them. looks like to me they had a mighty good chance; but it looks like the more they get the worse they are. looks like to me their parents didn't teach them right--or somethin'. young ladies--i look at them every day of my life--coarse, swearing, running with bootleggers, and running the hoodlums down, smoking, going half-naked, and so on. they don't care what they do or nothing." relatives "my brother was in collodiusville, georgia, the last time i heard from him. that is in monroe county, or upton county,--i don't know what county it's in. i know he is there if he is living because he owns a home there. "william always lived in macon but he is dead. bud,--i don't know where he is. milton, irving, and zekiel, i don't know where they are. i used to keep up with them regular. but we ain't written to each other in a long time. "the last time i heard from mahala and laura, their husbands were bricklayers and they were living in atlanta, i think. they went some other place where there was plenty of work. i think it was to cleveland, ohio. there's josephine, mandy, and little mary--five sisters and seven brothers. "outside of william, crawford, and milton, i haven't seen none of them since fifty years. i haven't seen zekiel since the year of the surrender. i seen some of the white folks the year they had the re-union here. they seen me on the street, and came over and talked to me, and wanted me to go back to fort valley, and offered to pay my railroad fare. but i told 'em i was goin' to stay here in god's country." this information given by: h. b. holloway (dad or pappy) place of residence: valentine street, little rock, arkansas occupation: formerly railroader and drayman--pension now. age: --- interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: pink holly holly grove, arkansas age: "i was born in anderson county, south carolina. my papa was abe brown and my mama was lizzie white. she died when i was a baby and miss nancy white took me up to her house and raised me. her husband was mars henry white. they was good to me. miss nancy was the best. they treated me like their own boy. it was done freedom then but my papa stayed on the place. i learned to do up the night turns, slop the hogs and help bout the milkin'. they had young calves to pull off. i toted in the wood and picked up chips. she done everything for me and all the mother i knowed. "when i was seven years old my papa pulled me off to arkansas. we come on a immigration ticket, least i recken we did. i don't think my papa paid our way. we was brought here. the land was better they told em. "we settled in the woods close to mariana and commenced farmin'. i been farmin' and workin' in the timber and i carpenters a little. the timber is gone. "i supports myself all i can. i own a little house at clarendon i recken is the reason i don't get no government help." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: dora holmes [hw crossed out: (light brown)] valentine st., little rock, ark. age: ? occupation: housewife "my father's half brothers were white. they all fought in the army. they were confederate soldiers. once during the war when they came home, they brought my mother the goods for two dresses,--twenty yards of figured voile, ten yards for each dress. the cost of the whole twenty yards was fifty dollars ($ . ). "i still have the dresses and some petticoats and pantaloons which are nearly as old. i have ironed these things many a time until they were so stiff they stand straight up on the floor." interviewer's comments mary ann king, mother of dora holmes, was the original owner of the dresses. she died at the age of ninety-eight two or three years ago. one of the dresses is still in the possession of the daughter. it has a skirt with nine gores and a twelve-inch headed ruffle. the petticoat is of white muslin with a fifty-two yard lace ruffle in sixteen tiers of lace with beading at the top. it was worn just after the civil war. there are also a baby dress and a baby petticoat fifty-six years old. may interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: elijah henry hopkins ½ ringo street, little rock, arkansas age: "my father's master was old tom willingham, an awful big farmer who owned farms in georgia and south carolina, both. he lived in southwest georgia in baker county. old man willingham's wife was phoebe hopkins. her mother was old lady hopkins. i don't know what the rest of her name was. we never called her nothin' but old lady hopkins or mother hopkins. she was one of the richest women in the state. when she died, her estate was divided among her children and grandchildren. her slaves were part of her estate. they were divided among her children and grandchildren, too. tom willingham's family come in for its part. he had three sons, tom, jr., john, and robert. my father already belonged to tom willingham, sr., so he stayed with him. but my mother belonged to old lady hopkins, and she went to robert, so my daddy and mother were separated before i knew my daddy. my father stayed with old man willingham until freedom. "robert willingham was my mother's master. he never married. when he died he willed all his slaves free. but his relatives got together and broke the will and never did let 'em go. "when i saw my father to know him, i saw him out in georgia. they told me that was my father. then he had another wife and a lot of children. my mother brought me up and my father taken charge of me after she died and after freedom--about a year after. it was close to emancipation because the states were still under martial law. "i was born may , , in the barnwell district, south carolina. they used to call them districts then. it would be barnwell county now. they changed and started calling 'em counties in [hw:  ?] or thereabouts. i was running around when they mustered the men in for the civil war, and i was about nine years old when the war ended. i was about ten when my mother died and my father taken charge of me. i was taken from south carolina when i was about four years old and carried into georgia and stayed there until emancipation. my mother didn't tarry long in georgia after she was emancipated. she went back into south carolina; but she died in a short time, as i just said. then my father taken charge of me. i got married in south carolina in , and then i came out here in --to arkansas. little rock was the first place i came to. i didn't stay here a great while. i went down to the reeder farm on the arkansas river just about sixteen miles above pine bluff. i started share cropping but taken down sick. i never could get used to drinking that bottom water. then i went to pine bluff and went to work with the railroad and helped to widen the gauge of the cotton belt road. then the next year they started the sewer contract, and i worked in that and i worked on the first water plant they started. in working with the king manufacturing company i learned piping. "i stayed in pine bluff sixteen years. my wife died august , . a couple of years after that, i came back to little rock, and have been here ever since. i went to work on the illinois central railroad just across the river, which is now the rock island railroad. after it became the rock island, the bridge was built across the river east of main street. they used to go over the old baring cross bridge and had to pay for it. the missouri pacific enjoined the rock island and wouldn't let it go straight through, so they built their own bridge and belted the city and went on around. i got stricken down sick in and haven't been able to do heavy work since. you know, a plumber and steam-fitter have to do awful heavy work. "i get a little old age assistance from the state. they are supposed to give me commodities but my card got out and they ain't never give me another one. i went down to see about it today, and they said they'd mail me another one." how the little children were fed "my mother was always right in the house with the white people and i was fed just like i was one of their children. they even done put me to bed with them. you see, this discrimination on color wasn't as bad then as it is now. they handled you as a slave but they didn't discriminate against you on account of color like they do now. of course, there were brutal masters then just like there are brutal people now. louisiana and alabama and mississippi always were tough states on colored people. south carolina and georgia got that way after people from those places came in and taught them to mistreat colored people. yet in alabama and louisiana where they colored people were worse treated, it seems that they got hold of more property and money. same way it was in mississippi." patrollers "the patrollers was just a set of mean men organized in every section of the country. if they'd catch a nigger out and he didn't have a pass, they'd tie him up and whip him and then they'd take him back. you had to have a pass to be out at night. even in the daytime you couldn't go no great distance without a pass. them big families--rich families--that had big plantations would come together and the niggers from two or three places might go to a church on one of them. but you couldn't go no place where there wasn't a white man looking on." reading and writing in slave time "some of the white people thought so much of their slaves that they would teach them how to write and read. but they would teach them secretly and they would teach them not to read or write out where anybody would notice them. they didn't mind you reading as much as they minded you writing. if they'd catch you now and it was then, they'd take you out and chop off them fingers you're doing that writing with." slave occupation and wages "my daddy was a builder. old man willingham gave him freedom and time to work on his own account. he gave him credit for what work he done for him. he got three hundred dollars a year for my father's time, but all the money was collected by him, because my father being a slave couldn't collect any money from anybody. when my father's master died, he may have had money deposited with him. but he was strictly honest with my father. no matter how much he collected, he wouldn't take no more'n three hundred dollars and he put all the rest to the credit of my father. he said three hundred dollars was enough to take." how freedom came "the owners went to work and notified the slaves that they were free. after the proclamation was issued, the government had agents who went all through the country to see if the slaves had been freed. they would see how the proclamation was being carried out. they would ask them, 'how are you working?' 'you are free.' 'what are you getting?' some of them would say, 'i ain't gettin' nothin' now.' well, the agent would take that up and they would have that owner up before the government. maybe he would be working people for a year and giving them nothin' before they found him out. there are some places where they have them cases yet. where they have people on the place and ain't paying them nothin'." memories of soldiers and the war "i have seen thousands and thousands of soldiers. sometimes it would take a whole day for them to pass through. when sherman's army marched through atlanta, it took more than a day. i was in atlanta then. he sent word ahead that he was coming through and for all people that weren't soldiers to get out of the town. i saw the rebels, too; i saw them when they stacked their arms. looked like there was a hundred or more rifles in each stack. they just come up and pitched them down. they had to stack their arms and turn them over. "i was taken to georgia when i was four years old, you know. i recollect when all the people came up to swear allegiance, and when they were hurrying out to get away from sherman's army. they fit in atlanta and then marched on toward savannah. then they crossed over into south carolina. they went on through columbia and just tore it up. then they worked their way on back into georgia. they didn't fight in augusta though. "jeff davis was captured not far from my father's place[ ]. jeff davis had a big army, but the biggest thing he had was about a thousand wagons or more piled up with silver and other things belonging to the confederacy. he was supposed to be taking care of that. he had to turn it over to the north." 'shin plasters' "they had a kind of money right after the civil war--paper money gotten out by the united states government and supposed to be good. the confederate money was no good but this money--these 'shin plasters' as they were called--was good money issued by the government. they did away with it and called it all in. you could get more for it now than it is worth. the old green back took its place but the 'shin plaster' was in all sizes. it wasn't just a dollar bill. it was in pinnies, five cents, ten cents, twenty-five cents, and then they skipped on up to fifty cents, and they didn't have nothin' more till you got to a dollar." schooling "i haven't had a great deal of schooling. i have had a little about in places. just after the emancipation, my mother died and my father married again. my stepmother had other children and they kept me out of my education. since i have been grown, i have gotten a little training here and there. still i have served as supervisor of elections and done other things that they wanted educated people to do. but it was just merely a pick-up of my own. the first teachers i had were white women from the north." politics "i have never taken a great deal of interest in politics. only in the neighborhood where i lived there was a colony of colored people at bentley, south carolina. they chose me to represent them at the polls and i did the best i could. i got great credit for both the colored and the white people for that. but i never took much interest in politics. "my father spent a fortune in it but i never could see that it benefited him. i never did care for any kind of office except a mail contract that i had once to haul mail. i went through that successfully and never lost a pouch or anything but at the end of the year i throwed it up. i couldn't trust anyone else to handle it for me and i had to meet trains at all hours. the longest i could sleep was two or three hours a night, so i gave it up at the end of the year." care of old people "some of the masters treated us worse than dogs and others treated us fine. colonel robert willingham freed his slaves but his sisters and brothers wouldn't stand for it. they went and stole us off and sold us. my mother being a thrifty colored woman and a practical nurse, everywhere she went, a case gave thirty dollars and her board and mine. my father paid his master three hundred dollars a year. he built these gin houses and presses. the old man would write him passes and everything and see that he was paid for his work. some years, he would make as much as three or four thousand dollars. his master collected it and held it for him and gave it to him when he wanted it. that was during slavery times." opinion of the present "slavery days were hard but in the same time the colored people fared better than now because the white folks taken up for them and they raised what they needed to eat. you couldn't go nowhere but what people had plenty to eat. now they can't do it. "i know what caused it too. the jews didn't have much privilege till after the negro was emancipated. they used to kill jews and bury them in the woods. but after emancipation, he began to rise. first he began to lend money on small interest. then he started another scheme. people used to not have sense. they went to work and got in with the southern white folks and got a law passed about the fences. "the greeks and italians are next to the jews. they don't make much off the white man; they make it off the negro. they come 'round and open up a place and beg the niggers to come in; and when they get up a little bit, they shut out the niggers and don't want nothin' but white folks. it's a good thing they do, too; because if somebody didn't shut the negro out, he'd never have anything. "the slaveholders were hard, but those people who come here from across the water, they bring our trouble. you can't squeeze as much out of the poor white as you can out of the darkey. the darkey is spending too much now--when he can get hold of it. everywhere you see a darkey with a home, he's got a government mortgage on it. some day the government will start foreclosing and then the darkeys won't have anything, and the biggest white man won't have much. "a hundred years from now, they won't be any such thing as negroes. there will be just americans. the white people are mixed up with greeks, germans, and italians and everything else now. there are mighty few pure americans now. there used to be plenty of them right after the war. "the country can't hold out under this relief system. "they're sending the young people to school and all like that but they don't seem to me to have their minds on any industry. they have got to have backing after they get educated. now, they'll bring these foreigners in and use them. in the majority of states now the colored man ain't no good unless he can get some kind of trade education and can go into some little business. "in slavery times, a poor white man was worse off than a nigger. general lee said that he was fighting for the benefit of the south, but not for slavery. he didn't believe in slavery." occupation and present support of hopkins "i came to arkansas in . i got married in in south carolina. i never had but the one wife. i have done a little railroading, worked in machinery. i have planted one crop. did that in but got sick and had to sell out my crop. for forty-six years, i worked as a plumber and piper. i worked in piping oil, gas, water, and i worked with mechanics who didn't mind a colored man learning. they would let me learn and they would send me out to do jobs. "nothing hurts me but my age. if i were younger, i could get along all right. but the work is too heavy for me now. "i get old age assistance from the state. they pay me eight dollars. i have to pay four dollars for the use of this shack. so that don't leave much for me to live on. i'm supposed to get commodities too, and i am waiting for my order now." footnotes: [ ] [hw: jeff davis captured may , , outside irwinsville, ga.] interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: nettie hopson helena (home--poplar grove), arkansas age: ? "i don't know how old i is. i am old. i been here so long. i feel my age now right smart. i want to do things and give out. i know i'm old. i look old. i was born in alabama. "mother was sold to bud walls at holly grove. papa bought her and brought us to this state. my father died seven months before i was born my mother told me. she married ag'in. she was the mother of ten children. we all lived and do better than we do now. mother was light. she worked in the field ever since i come to know 'bout things. her name was martha foster. i don't know my father's name but foster. the rest of the family was called walls. whether they wanted to be called that, they was called walls' niggers 'fore and after freedom both. "my husband is living. my daughter died first day of march. it sorter addled me." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: molly horn holly grove, arkansas age: "my ma and pa belong to the same white folks. i was born in north carolina. ma and pa had six children. i don't know how many owners they ever had in north carolina. ma and pa was named sarah and jad nelson. "when i was a baby rubin harriett bought me and mama. his wife was becky harriett. ma was too old to sell without me. they didn't want to sell me but they couldn't sell her widout me. i am the baby of our family. papa didn't get to come to arkansas. that parted them. after freedom her other children came. i heard ma say how they kept papa dodged round from the yankees. the white folks kept him dodged round. he was a field hand. ma was a cook and house girl. she never did work in the field till she come out here. she said white folks didn't whoop him; he wouldn't take it. i don't know why they thought he wouldn't be whooped. "i could walk when i first seed the yankees. i run out to see em good. then i run back and told miss becky. i said, 'what is they?' she told ma to put all us under the bed to hide us from the soldiers. one big yankee stepped inside and says to miss becky, 'you own any niggers?' she say, 'no.' here i come outen under the bed and ask her fer bread. then the yankee lieutenant cursed her. he made the other four come outen under the bed. they all commenced to cryin' and i commenced to cry. we never seed nobody lack him fore. we was scared to deaf of him. he talked so loud and bad. he loaded us in a wagon. mama too went wid him straight to helena. he put us in a camp and kept us. mama cooked fer the yankees six or seven months. she heard em--the white soldiers--whisperin' round bout freedom. she told em, 'you ain't goiner keep me here no longer.' she took us walkin' back to her old master and ax him for us a home. then she married man on the place. he was real old. i had five half brothers and sisters then. i was a good size girl then. "they had run him and some more men to texas. they went in a wagon and walked. they made one crop there. he said fifteen or sixteen families what belong to different owners went out there. they heard some people talking--overheard it was free times. they picked up and left there at night. they dodged round in the woods and traveled at night. when he got back he made terms to work as a share cropper. "master, he didn't give us nuthin'. i didn't hear they would give em anything. truth of it was they didn't have much to keep less givin' the niggers something. we all had little to eat and wear and a plenty wood to burn and a house to shelter us. the work didn't slack up none. the fences down, the outhouses had to have more boards tack on. no stock cept a scrub or so. we had no garden seed cept what be borrowed round and raised. times was hard. we had biscuits bout once a week, lucky if we got that. "the ku klux got after our papa. they fixin' to kill him. he hid in the gullies. they come to our house once or twice but i never seed em. papa come once or twice and took us all and hid us fore sundown. they quit huntin' him. "we farmed wid mr. hess. mr. herrin wouldn't let nobody bother his hands. "we had good times. i danced. we had candy pullings bout at the houses. we had something every week. i used to dance in the courthouse at clarendon--upstairs. paul wiley was head music man. all colored folks--colored fiddlers. "i was married over fifty years. bunt sutton's mother helped bout my weddin' supper. (bunt sutton's mother was a white woman.) she and her family all was there. she had then two boys and two girls. mama bought me a pure white veil. i was dressed all in white. we had a colored preacher to marry us. we married at night, borrowed lamps and had em settin' about. there was a large crowd. ann branch was the regular cake-cooker over the country. she cooked all my cakes. they had roast pork and goose and all sorter pies. then i went on to my new home on another man's place bout one-fourth mile from mama's house. bunt sutton's mama was a widow woman. "my husband voted some but i don't pay no tention to votin'. "i own a place but it don't do no good. my son is cripple and i can't work. i done passed hard work now. my husband bought this place before he died. i don't get help from nowhere. "this is hardest times in my life. well, education doin' a heap of good. the papers tell you how to do more things. it makes folks happier if they can read. "now i don't be bothered much wid young folks. you heard em say flies don't bother boilin' pots ain't you? i does nough to keep me going all the time and the young folks shuns work all they can cept jes' what it takes for em to live on right now. their new ways ain't no good to me." # interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: cora l. horton w. ninth street, little rock, arkansas age: between and ? "my grandfather on my mother's side was a slave. after my mother had been dead for years, i went to georgia where he was. i never had seen him before and i would always want to see him, because i had heard my mother speak of him being alive and he would write to her sometimes. i said if i ever got to be grown and my grandfather stayed alive, i was going to georgia to see him. so the first opportunity i got i went. that was a long time ago. if i'd waited till now he'd a been dead. he's been dead now for years. he lived a long time after i visited him. his name was john crocker. he lived in marshallville, georgia. "i couldn't tell how he and my mother got separated. i don't know. i don't believe i ever heard her say. in georgia when she was quite a girl, i think she said some of her people left georgia and went to covington, tennessee. some of the white people that was connected with them in slavery were named hollinsheds and my auntie went in that name. that is, her husband did. my mother's name was adelaide crocker. she was never a slave. her mother was. "my mother and father had children--twelve of them. i don't know how many children my grandparents had. i know three uncles--william, harmon, and matthew. they were all my grandmother's children and they were flewellens. she married a flewellen. those were my father's brothers. my auntie's husband was named dick hollinshed. they all come from georgia. "it comes to me now. i remember hearing my mother say once that her father was sold. i think she said that her father was sold from her mother. she didn't seem to know much about it--only what she heard her father say. "a man came through the country when i was a girl before my mother died. she died when i was young. he came to our house and he said he was a relative of my mother's and he went on to tell what he knew of her folks in slave times. by him telling so much about her folks, she thought he really was related to her. but after he left, she found out that he was just a fraud. he was going 'round throughout the country making it by claiming he was related to different people. i don't know how he found out so much about the different people he stopped with. i suppose there was a lot of people made it that way. "i don't know what my grandparents did in slavery time. when i did see my grandfather, he wasn't able to do anything. he didn't live so long after i seen him. my mother's mother was dead and he had married another woman. i never did see my grandmother. i do remember seeing one of my granduncles. but i was so small i don't remember how he looked. "i used to hear my grandma say that they weren't allowed to have a church service and that they used to go out way off and sing and pray and they'd have to turn a pot down to keep the noise from going out. i don't know just how they fixed the pot. "i had one auntie named jane hunter. when she died, she was one hundred and one years old. she married rev. k. hunter over here in north little rock. she had been married twice. she was married to dick hollinshed the first time. she's been dead ten years. she was thirty-eight years old when emancipation came. she baked the first sacrament bread for the c. m. e. church when it was organized in . "my grandmother lived a hundred years too. that was my father's mother. i knew both of them. my grandmother lived with us. that is, she lived with us a while when my mother died. she lived here a while before she died, and then she went back to georgia because she had a son there named william flewellen. he is a presiding elder in the c. m. e. church, in georgia. "my father was a railroad man and when my mother did anything at all, she worked in the field. my father farmed during the time when he was working on the railroad. "i have heard my grandmother talk about slaves being put on the block and sold and then meeting way years after and not knowing one another. she told me about a woman who was separated from her son. one day, years after slavery, when she had married again and had a family, she and her husband got to talking about old slave times. she told him about how she had been sold away from her baby son when he was a little thing. she told him how he had a certain scar on his arm. her husband had a similar scar and he got to talking about slave times, and they found out that they were mother and son. he left her and went on his way sad because he didn't want to stay on living as husband with his mother. i don't think those people were held accountable for that, do you?" [hw: omit] interviewer's comment cora horton is the first president of the woman's missionary society composed of the societies of the three arkansas c. m. e. conferences. she has been president of the annual conference division of the woman's home missionary society of the little rock conference for about seven years. she visits all meetings of the general conference and the general board of the c. m. e. church as well as all connectional meetings of the little rock conference, and such meetings of the arkansas and southwest conferences as relate to the discharge of her duties as president of the state woman's home missionary society organization. she has been president of the n. c. cleves club of bullock temple c. m. e. church of little rock for seven years and is a most active church worker as will be seen from this comment. in her worship she represents the traditional negro type, but she buys the current issue of the c. m. e. church discipline and is well acquainted with its provisions relating to her specific church work as well as to all ordinary phases of church work and administration. there is a lot of drama in her story of the mother who unwittingly married her son. there is an interesting sidelight on slavery separations in this interview. never had it occurred to me that imposters among negroes might seize upon the idea of missing relatives as the basis for a confidence scheme. there is also an interesting sidelight on c. m. e. church history in the naming of jane hunter as the woman who baked the first sacrament bread at the organization of that church in . name of interviewer: thomas elmore lucy person interviewed: laura house russellville, arkansas age: ? "no sir, i don't remember hearing my parents ever tell me just when i was born, the year or the month, but it was sometime during the war. my parents' master was named mentor--spelled m-e-n-t-o-r. we come to pope county several years after the war, and i have lived here in russellville forty years and raised our family here. father passed away about fifteen years ago. "mother used to tell me that the master wasn't overly kind to them. i remember she used to talk of some money being promised to them after they were freed, but i don't know how much. but i do know that none was ever paid to them. "no sir, i cannot read or write. "i have been a member of the a. m. e. church ever since i was a little girl." note: mrs. house is very neat in her dress and general deportment, is industrious, and keeps busy working here and there at odd jobs, but her memory is very uncertain as to many important details about her ancestry. nov mrs. mildred thompson mrs. carol graham el dorado district _ex-slave--hoodoo--haunted houses_ aunt _pinkey howard_, an old negress of slavery days, can't "comember" her age but she must be about or years old as she was about fourteen or fifteen when the war closed. in speaking of those days aunt pinkie said: "oooh, chile, you ought to been there when mr. linktum come down to free us. policemen aint in it. you ought ter seen them big black bucks. their suits was so fine trimmed with them eagle buttons and they wuz gold too. and their shoes shined so they hurt your eyes. i tell yo ah cant comember my age but it's been a long time ago. "my ole marsa holbrook lived at hillsboro and he wuz a good marsta. i never went hungry or wid out cloes in them days. slavery days was good old days. these days is hard days. po' ole neeger caint git enough to feed herself. them days weuns made our cloth and growed our food and never paid for it. never did want for nothin' and marster had heaps of slaves. use to bring them across moro bay and them neegers always fighting and running off. they'd run off and go across moro bay trying to get back home. marsta neva went after em. said: 'let 'em go. aint no count no ways.' "i wooden take $ for living in slavery days and i member when they all parted out. mr. linktum come down. yasum, mr. abe linktum and his partner horace greeley, comed down. lieutenants and 'sarges' all comed. and some big yaller buck niggers all dressed up fine. i served mr. linktum myself wid my own hands. yasum i did. i fetched cold water from the spring on a waiter and i stood straight an held it out just like dis in front of me. yasum and his partner, mr. horace greeley too. and them big yaller buck niggers went in the kitchen where my mammy was cookin and tole her: 'git out er here nigger. you don have to wait on dese white fokes no more.' yasum dey did. and they done said: 'you aint got no more marster and no more missus. yo don' have to work here no more.' but my mother said: 'i'se puttin old marster's victuals on to cook. wait till i gets em on.' an they tole her again that she didn't have no more marster and no more missus. i tole my mammy to kick him down the step but she said she was afeard he would shoot her. all i hates about them 'sarges' and lieutenants is they never did shave. them days all wore whiskers. i 'comember' when i was a little chap standin on the block with my mammy and being sold. but ah always had a good marster. "ah members standin on nuther block to cook. tables wuz high to keep nothin from draggin things off. grandma aiken learnt me to cook an i stood on a block and made out biscuits with a spoon. ah neber put my scratchers in the dough in my life. and i could cook good too. wuz knowed as the drummers cook. drummers would come through fum new orleens and et at ole marsters and bragged on my cookin and tried to git me ter go wif them to new orleans and cook fuh they wives. "mah fust name was pinkie dixon. i was married on ole mistesses front gallery and mah name wuz cook then. next time ah married mah name wuz howard. "ah can count but not to member hit. ah don' know the number of my chilluns but ah kin name em. there's alec, henry, winnie, ellen, mary, gola, seebucky, crawford, sarah and ruby. seebucky wuz named fer sears and roebuck. cause at that time weuns ordered things fum them and ordered seebuckys clo'es fore she cum fum thar. that why we named 'er that. "ah deednt git no book larnin. ah larnt enough to keep out of devilment and ah knowed how to cook. now these fools aroun here don' know nothin. they never did see linktum or horace greeley. ah wishes it wuz work time agin but ah caint hold out now." "ah never gits hot nor cold lak yo does. ah takes mah cold bath ever mornin and ah feels good." thus old aunt pinkey rambled on and on talking of this and that and especially the good days--slavery days. she evidently thought that some of the army officers were lincoln and greeley. she probably heard her master or mistress talk about these men and got them confused with the army officers who visited in the home. _old marion johnson_ was seven years old when the war closed. is now. "chillun let me tell you ah don want to go over what i done been over. not agin. in slavery days we had plenty to eat and plenty to wear but since then oh, lordy. my old mawster's name was alex anderson and he lived in jackson parrish, louisiana. yuh say youh wants me to tell you some tales about ole times, ghostes and the like. well ah sure can if ah gits started but somehow i jest don' seem wound up this mawnin. "one time there was a man what had a house full of daughters and his girl janie wanted to git married. her lover asked her father's permission to wed. he said: 'well mr. have you got any objection to me and your daughter janie maryin'?' the old man didn't want the young one to see how anxious he was to get rid of his daughter so he said: 'you wantin to marry my daughter, janie? janie don't want ter git married.' the girl was behind the door listening and when her father said that she spoke up and said: 'yes i do pappa, bad.' the young man said: 'see there now we both wants to git married.' the ole man spoke then and said: 'well, damn you, dash you take her.' "you know what the clocks says? the big old mantle clocks we used to have ticked along real slow and they said: 'take your time. take your time. take your time.' the little alarm clocks of today say: 'get together. get together. get together.' and that is jes like the young folks. when i was young the young folks them days young folks took their time and went together a long time and they married they stayed married. the young folks today rush around and get married in a week and fust thing you knows they is done duvoced and married agin. they is jest as diffunt as the clocks is diffunt. "you knows if you makes up yo mind to do somethin and asks the lord to help you he will. i was comin along that path in june years ago. i chewed brown mule tobacco and wanted a chaw. i had been plowing all day and when i pulled the tobacco outen my pocket it was wet where i had sweated on hit and the outer leaves wuz all curled up so i said 'lord help me' and throwed it out in the weeds and havn't taken a chew since. "youns notice how the younguns cuss this day. the womens too. in the olden days the women didn't cuss out loud but they did 'wooden cussin.' now i bet you girls is done wooden cussin lots o times. loose your temper and want to say things and don't dare so you slams chairs around on the floor when you is movin them to sweep. that is wooden cussin. "you says you is interested in buried treasure? well near strong where the ccc camp is was a place of buried treasure. madam hartline and three other white folks and myself went down there in a car. with a finding rod (divining rod) we located the treasure. then i took this here proving rod you sees here and drove it down in the groun till hit struck somethin hard. a voice from somewhere said: 'what you all doing here? what you after?' ever body lit a shuck to the car and nobody ever did go back to see about the treasure. you says why did i run? dese feets wuz made to take care of this body and i used em is all. "when ah was a young man and livin down in louisiana below farmerville ah went with a bunch of white fellows to dig fer buried gold. they didn't begin diggin until after dark. six men were on guard. we dug by a light made by a big pine torch. dug and dug and dug. finally we struck hit. got hit all uncovered and sure nuff there hit was. jest then the torch blew out and we heard the quarest noises and ever' body run to camp. hit jest poured down rain that night and the next mornin, we went back to get the money and hit was gone. "and you says you is interested in spooks and ghosties. down in louisiana dr. fred hodge (white) had me to hitch up his buggy and go with him on my horse to make a call many miles away from home one night. hit must have ben bout nineteen miles. i was ter go on some other place with him but the patient was so bad that he had ter stay and sent me on in the buggy an kept my horse to ride back. i was glad to git the buggy sos i could take my gal for a ride. the doctor stayed till bout four o'clock in the mornin. he had to go home by a graveyard. there was a big white oak tree growin by the side of the road and when the doctor passed there every limb fell off the tree and left the naked tree standin there. the doctor rode back to the house where he had been and he rode so fast that the horse was winded when he got there. the man went on back with him and there stood the tree just as hit was before ever a limb fell ofn it. "nother man i knew went to town on horseback and bought a bolt of domestic for his wife and tied it on the back of his saddle. he had to pass a cemetery. jest as he passed he noticed a flapping sound and looked back to see sumpin white wavin behind. he whipped his horse and made him run and the faster he ran the more the flapping sounded and it got longer and longer behind him. at last he got home and found that the domestic had got unwrapped and was flappin in the wind. the man was plumb weak and the horse died he had run him so hard. "an talk of hainted houses. this here one that ahm livin in is hainted. frank thompson a yaller nigger died here before me and mah wife moved here. before mah wife died, weuns would hear things and mah wife said hit was frank thompson come back. we would be in bed and would hear fokes walkin aroun and the door would come unlatched and come open. mah wife would say that hit wes frank thompson's sperit come back and as soon as he got through ramblin aroun she would git up and bolt the door agin. one satiday night me and her went to town. on our way back as we wuz comin acrost that little ditch out thar she said to me step aside marion and let frank thompson pass. don' you see him comin? and we stepped aside an she said he passed and we come on home. ah hears him now at times walkin aroun and goin in and out the doors but ah aint never done seen him like she has. "now ah'll tell you about a curious happenin'. one time down in louisiana a brown skin girl died. when they started to the graveyard with her the sun was shinin as purty as hit is right now they lowered the coffin in the grave and it 'come-inced' to rain hard and ever'body run in the church and stayed till it quit raining. the rain stood in holes and puddles and ever'body expected the grave to be full but when we went out there was not a bit of water in the grave. how come if it wasn't hoodooed? "ah jes aint wound up right this mawnin to tell youns what you wants to know but if you all will come back ahm sure ah can member some more ah knows." and uncle marion kept working with the chair in which he was weaving a new bottom of white-oak splits. before we left he showed us baskets that he had woven. old _della benton_ can neither read nor write and doesn't know her age she must be near seventy. della was my washwoman several years ago and i remembered hearing her tell something about hoodoes so we went to see della to get all we could about it. "honey don' you know that if you make a hole in a tree and put a hair from the head of the person you want to hoodoo in the tree and seal it up in there the person will go crazy. yas mam and ifn you puts pins and needles in with the hair before you seals the hole they will die. why my neighbor _angelina thompson_ was hoodood by a woman and ah'll jest take you all ovah and let her tell you for herself. "and ifn you all wants to drive somebody away fum home sos they'll nevah come back take one of their hairs and put hit in a steam of runnin water so hit'll run off and they will leave home and nevah come back. "an somebody can git your track and run you slam crazy. yasum they kin too. where you steps in the clay or mud they gits hit and takes hit up with sumpin and does things to you and you goes crazy. "now you chillun come with me ovah to sister thompson's and she kin tell you fer herself what was done done to her when she wuz hoodooed." we went to a nearby house and della called angelina out. she told us that she was truly hoodoed and what she said was as follows: "sister thompson tell these ladies about bein hoodooed. oh they is alright. this is some of my white folks i used to work fuh long time ago." then angelina told the following: "yasum, i sholey wuz hoodooed. how hit come about i loaned my clothes to a woman. a dress and shoes. she put something on them that looked like snuff. it was brown lookin and i jes though she had spilled snuff on em. that wuz years ago and she done hit outa jealousy. she wanted my ole man and she thought she would hoodoo me and ahd die and she'd get him. and she woulda too ifn hit hadn a been for mother dye. you all know she's a doodoo doctor who lived at newport. an i went to her fer bout two years and she cured me. mother dye is daid now but jess rogers, a man thar does the docterin now. "you all ask how hit fected me when ah was hoodooed. i tole you bout the brown stuff bein in my shoes and on mah dress. well ah put em on and in a little while mah feet itched lak an could claw the bones out. ah nevah was in such misery. then ah tuk somethin like the dry rot. the meat come off my fingers and toes. jest look at them scars. and look at these scars in mah hair. see how mah haid is all scarred up. at times ah had a mind that ah wanted to go and didn' know where. they had to watch me all the time. but ole mother dye cured me and that woman didn' git mah ole man aftah all." della and angelina talked among themselves for a moment and della said "ah believe ah will." then she said: "does you all know phil green? he lives about two miles and a half down the junction city highway and he is a hoodoo man. he can tell you all things efn you all cares to go ahll go with you. he can tell you what is gwianter happen and what has happened and he can hoodoo." of course we were in for going right then while we had a car so della crawled in the back seat and we were away to phil green's. went out the highway about two miles and turned off on a country road. up hill and down, around this field and that and through a big gate, winding around through a field and orchard. at last we arrived. _phil green_ looked to be a prosperous farmer. we drove up to the back of the house and around front. some negro had just killed a chicken for dinner. several cars were parked in the yard. one bore a louisiana license. the porch was full of negroes. della called and asked if phil was there. they replied that he was but that he was busy. della said, "we wants to see him" and a black negro woman came out to the car. my, but she was furious. we had never seen a negro so angry before. the first thing she did was to tell us that they didn't serve white people but the way she expressed it was a scream she said: "we don' use white people. no suh! we don' use em. hits too dangerous. ah don't care who tole you phil used white people. he don'. he is may husban and ah won't let him." we soon pacified her by telling her that we appreciated her point of view and that it was perfectly alright with us. della crawled out of the car right now and said: "you all knows the way back to town don' you? ah's going ter stay." the next morning we went back to della's. she told us that the people on phil's front porch were from marion louisiana and they had come to get him to tell them how to get one of the men of the family out of the penitentiary. she apologized for taking us out there and declared that she believed that he once served white people. aunt _dilcie raborn_ and all her family declared that she would be a hundred this august. she is an ex-slave and mr. john wright of louisiana was her master. "yas'm chillun i'se a hunnerd years ole. ah was one of the las' young niggers on marster's plantation. mah job was nusin the chillun. ole marster's father was livin in them days and he fought in the resolution war. yasum he did. he was rail old and my mother chawed fer him jes like she did fer her baby. i'se seen more hardness since i got old than ah ever did in mah life. slavery wuz the easiest time of all. mah muthas name was charity and she wuz the family cook, yasum an ah wuz the nuss girl. i tuk care of the chilluns. ole marster's wife lost her mind and they had to watch her all the time. did you ask they send her to the sylum? no man thar warn't no sylums in them days and anyway ole marster had plenty of niggers to wait on her and take care of her and watch her sos she wouldn't git out and git hurt. she did slip out one time and ah was totin the flour from mill from the gate to the kitchen and she grabbed hit away fum me and throwed hit all ovah me and rubbed hit in mah face good and then laughed at me. then she run and got in the creek and set down in the watah and the niggas had to git in thar and git her out. hit made her sick and old marster sho did git them niggers fer lettin her git out. "i sho wish all times could be slavery times. ah had everything nice then. "i had some chillun. ah cant count em but ah can name em. joe, habe, abram, billy, johnny, charity and caline. ah makes mah home here with charity, she is mah baby chile and she is fifty. "you asks is ah afeard of haints? ah'v never taken no frightment off'n em. ah'v lived in houses other folks couldn't live in but ah'v never lived that way that i had to run from haints. "ah lived jes like a millionaire when ah lived in slavery times, seed more hardness since i got old than i ever did in mah life." then we left aunt dilcie with her snuff and went to find _aunt jane carter_. after rambling around in rock island quarters we at last found jane carter. she was living with her grand daughter and was sitting out in the yard with a bunch of her great-grand-children. she was so deaf that we were not able to talk to her, much to our disappointment. the granddaughter told us that she was years old and that mrs. roscoe taunton's granfather was jane's old master. we later saw mrs. taunton and she told us that jane had belonged to her grandfather stephen manning and was her mother's nurse. jane was grown when mrs. taunton's mother was born. we were told about _old bill_ who lives in barton quarters and went to find her. she was sitting out on the porch of her cabin and we sat on the edge of the porch much to the dismay of bill who could not walk because of a sore foot which she told us was caused by the bite of a rattlesnake years ago in slavery time. "ah don' want mah white folks to sit on the floo'. honey go in dah and git dat sheet and spred hit on the floo'. ole bill would go herself efn she could walk. honey you all is gwianter git blistered out in de sun like you is widout no hats on. don you all know you had orter take keer of thet purty white skin of yourn? my ole missus never would git out in the sun widout somethin on her haid. ole mawster thought she was purty and she aimed to stay purty. "you all says you wants ter heah ole bill tell about slavery days, lawsy chillun ah pray ter god ah'll be with mah white chillun agin and play mah harp with em. we'll have plenty to eat and plenty to wear jes as we did when we had our good mawster in slavery days. marster's grown son used to say: 'bill she's ruint to death.' why i used ter git my young mistesses dresses and put em on and git out in the yard and flounce and flip. the young mistess would scole me but young marster would say 'leave bill erlone, ah lack to see her dance. dance some moah bill.' mah white folks use ter teach me. now when white folks taugh me ahm a nigger done taughted. "honey ah jes don' like ter see mah white folks sit on the floo' ah wishes ole bill cud foch some cheers fer yo all ter set on. "how ole is ah? ah jes don' member but ah's powerful ole. "yas'm ah' wuz nurse girl for marsters chillun. i nevah had ter wuk hard a tall, all ah had ter do was play wid the chillun and take keer of em. oncet a circus show comed thru and mawster bought a rattle snake fum em fer a pet. hit nevah did have hits teeth pulled (fangs). hit wuz a plum pet too, allus followin us about. we would have to knock hit back outn de way sometimes. one time ah wuz comin down de stairs wid a chile in each arm and de snake wuz crawlin erlong sides me. jest as we got ter the bottom hit crawled roun front of me and ah didn see hit cause of havin the chillun in mah arms and ah stepped slambang on that snake an hit turnt aroun and bit mah foot. ah nevah drapped them chillun though. my ole man said ifn hit had been him he'd a throwd them chillun down and run but not ole bill. marster and mistess trusted bill to take keer of them chillun and ole bill sho did take keer of em. but mah foot nigh bout kilt me and thet foot is whut is the mattah wid me terday. "you ask haint ah got no folks? no'm. ah nevah had but one youngun and hit died wid the croup. the man next doo' owns this heah house and lets ole bill live heah. the guvment lady send me a check ever' month (pension) and joe lyons gits hit and fetches hit out ter me. "you ask does ah know erbout any hainted houses? no'm when ah fin's a house is hainted ah aint gwian in. no'm not ole bill. but sumpin happened not long ergo that give me a big fright. hit waz long bout dusk ah seed two women, white as anybody gwian down de road and when they got along thar they quit the road and come aroun the path. ah said: 'howdy' and they never even speak jus kep' a goin'. ah say: 'whar is you all a goin' and they nevah say a word. then ah say to em: 'won't you all come by and set with ole bill a while.' an still they nevah say nothin. jus kep' on a goin' roun' that house and down the road. then ah got skeered and went in the house an ah doan set out late no moah. efn them ghost had uh come in th house ah would a gone undah the house. "you all chillun ain goin is you? come back ter see ole bill. ah sholey hates to have mah white folks sit on the floor but mebby ole bill's foot will be bettuh next time an she can git her white fokes some cheers." aunt _sally fields_ said to be years old lived in mack quarters about two and a half or three miles south of el dorado. she is blind and lives with hattie moseley. during slavery days she belonged to the patterson family and came with them from alabama to louisiana and later to caledonia where she was living at the close of the civil war. her mind was wandering to such an extent that we could not get very much from her and when asked about slavery times she said: "slavery time is gone. the stars are passed. the white folks that raised me said: 'i want you all to get up in the morning and tell me about the stars.' oh lordy! the stars fell. ole missus would come say: 'ah want to be standing up behind the door. ah don' want to be buried.' my ole missus was good to all the niggers. "there was a big spring on marsters plantation. when we would start to the spring mistress would say: 'don't go on the left hand side of the spring, go up the right hand side to the chinquapin tree.'" it took sally about twenty minutes to say that much so we didn't stay longer. interviewer: carol graham person interviewed: pinkie howard (add) el dorado, ark. age: ? "mornin', honey! here you is to see aunt pinkie again. what did you bring me? didn't you bring old aunt pinkie somethin' good to eat? "lawsy, honey, its been so long i can't member much bout plantation days. but i members the children on the plantation would ring up and play ring games. and we used to have the best things to eat back in them days. we used to take taters and grate them and make tater pudding. made it in ovens. made corn bread and light bread in ovens too and i used to bake the best biscuits anybody ever et and i didn't put my scratchers in them neither. old miss taught me how. and we had lasses pone corn bread and them good old tater biscuits. we used to eat parched corn, and cornmeal dumplings was all the go back there. "i worked all my life and hard, too, but i still is a pretty good old frame. "he! he! he! look at that black boy passing, will you? them brichie legs is half way his thighs. he needs to put sugar in his shoes to sweet talk his brichie legs down. and did you notice he didn't speak to old aunt pinkie. young folks ain't got no manners these days. now when i was young back there on that plantation at hillsboro old miss aiken taught all her niggers manners. she would say to us, 'now, you all don' clean your noses, or years, or fingernails before folks; it's ill manners. and don' make no 'marks bout folks. don' eat onions and go out in company, if you does, eat coffee to kill the taste. don't talk with yo' mouth full of sumpin' to eat; that ill manners too. don' eat too fast cause you is liable to git strangled. and don' wear yo' welcome out by staying too long.' "ain't it warm and nice today missy? jus like a spring day. an see that bee after my flower? wasn't it a bee? you know, bees used to swarm in the springtime back on the plantation. the way they would catch em was to ring a bell or beat on a old plow and keep beatin' and ringin' till they settled on a tree limb. then they made a bee gum and covered it and left a hole at the bottom of the gum for them to go in and out, then they sawed the limb off and put the bees in the gum and put some sweetened water made from molasses so they can start to makin' honey. sometimes the bees would sting some of us and we would put a little snuff on it and cure it right up." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: josephine howell brinkley, arkansas age: "my mother was rebecca jones. she was born in nashville, tennessee. grandma was a cook and a breeding woman. the jones thought she was very valuable. they prized her high. she was the mother of twenty-one children. mother was more than half indian. she was bright color. the jones wanted to keep her, thought she would be a fine cook and house woman and a fine breeder. she had such a terrible temper they sold her to mcalways, some of their relations close to augusta, arkansas. "mama said she was eight years old when gabe mcalway come to nashville, tennessee and got her. he bought her. he was a young man and a saloon-keeper at augusta, arkansas. he put her out on the farm at his father's. she was a field hand. she was part african and a whole lot indian. she was fractious and high tempered. the old man mcalway and the overseers would drop her clothes down in the field before all the hands and whoop her. gabe never even slapped her. his aunt mrs. jones didn't want them to put her in the field. she wanted to keep her but couldn't she was so fractious, and she didn't know how bad old man treated her. "when mother was sold she was brought from twenty brothers and her mother and never saw none of them no more. she left them at wolf river. they took the boat. wolf river is close to memphis. they must have brought them that far but i don't know. this is what all she told me minua and minua time. her own papa bought her when she was eight years old, gabe mcalway. when she got to be a young maid he forced motherhood up on her. i was born before freedom. how old i am i don't know. gabe mcalway was sort of a young bachelor. he got killed in the civil war. he was a scotch-irishman. i never seen my father. "mother married then and had five children. she lived in the back yard of mrs. will thompson. dr. goodridge stopped her from having children, she raved wild. she had such a bad fractious temper. she suckled both mrs. will thompson's children, old man nathan mcgreggor's grandchildren. she lived in mrs. thompson's back yard but she slept in their house to help with the babies. "judge milwee's wife and auntie, mrs. baxter, raised me from a baby (infant). judge milwee was in brinkley but he moved to little rock. them is my own dear white folks. honey, i can't help but love them, they part of me. they raised me. they learned me how to do everything. "my son live with me and i raising my little great-grandson. we can't throw him away. my baby's mother is way off in st. louis. he is three years old. "mother never talked much about slavery other than i have told you. she said during of the war women split and sawed rails and laid fences all winter like men. food got scarce. they sent milk to the soldiers. meat was scarce. after she was free she went on like she had been living at john mcalway's. she said she didn't know how to start doing for herself. "some of our young generation is all right and some of them is too thoughtless. times is too fast. folks is shortening their days by fast living. hurting their own bodies. forty years ago folks lived like we ought to be living now." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: pauline howell nickname pearl brinkley, arkansas age: or ? "i was born in paris, tennessee and come to arkansas when i was a child. i don't know how old i am but my mama knowed 'bout when i was born. it warnt long after the war. i past sixty-five and it is nearer seventy from what she said. she ain't been dead long. she was about a hundred years old. i. c. switch killed her. she was going cross there to fisher body and the switch engine struck her head. she dropped something and stooped to pick it up or the engine wouldn't touched her. she lived in memphis. "she was born at oaks, tennessee. she took me down to see the cabin locks where she was born. they had rotted down and somebody lived in the big house. it had gone to rack then pretty bad. my father's master was george harris. he was governor of tennessee. my mother's mistress at oaks was miss ann laguion (or maybe gwion). i never heard her husband's name. they had several farms and on each farm was the cabin locks (little houses all in a row or two rows). the houses was exactly alike. grandma cooked for the white folks and mama nursed. the baby was a big fat heavy sort, a boy, and it was so heavy she couldn't hardly pick it up. she had to carry it around all day long. when night come she was wore out. there was several of them. when she go to their houses in memphis they honor her. they take her down town and buy her shoes and dresses. buy her whatever she say she want. they say they was proud of her. she was a little black guinea woman (low and stocky). not long go mr. (_white man_) in brinkley asked me when my ma coming back here. said he ain't seed her for so long. i tole him she was dead. he said he have to go tell mrs. ____ (his wife). she come out here and stay and piece quilts. she sewed so nice. made pretty little stitches. she'd take the most time and pains fixing the pieces together to look pretty. she'd set there and sew and me over there and tell me bout how she was raised and i'd cry. cry cause she had so hard a time when she was a girl. "the old master sent my father to liverpool, england to bury his money. he was his own son anyhow. sent him with his money to keep the yankees from taking it. my aunt, my father and uncle jesse all his own children. course old mistress love them little children like her own. she couldn't help herself. "mariah steed went in governor harrises name after freedom. so did randall travis harris. "my mama said she was never sold but her sister and her children were. she was put upon the auction stile and all her little children. a man in mobile, alabama bought her. they never did see nor hear tell of her no more. the reason they sold her was she killed two men overseers. they couldn't manage her. the last one was whipping her with a black snake whip and she grabbed him. grabbed his privates and pulled 'em out by the roots. that the way she killed both the overseers. cause she knowed that was show death. my mama said that was the nicest little soft man--the last man she killed. she said he just clum the walls in so much misery that night. "she said they would whisper after they go to bed. they used pine torches for lights. they had to cover up the fire--cover up fire in the ashes so it be coals to kindle a fire in the morning--put out the light pretty early. old master come stand round outside see if they all gone to bed. "when freedom--my mama said old master called all of 'em to his house and he said: 'you all free, we ain't got nothing to do wid you no more. go on away. we don't whoop you no more, go on your way.' my mama said they go on off then they come back and stand around jess lookin' at him an' old mistress. they give 'em something to eat and he say: 'go on away, you don't belong to us no more you been freed.' "they go way and they kept coming back. they didn't have no place to go and nothing to eat. from what she said they had a terrible time. she said it was bad times. some took sick and had no 'tention and died. seemed like it was four or five years before they got to places they could live. they all got scattered. "she said they did expect something from freedom but the only thing old master give jesse was a horse and bridle and saddle. it was new. old master every time they go back say: 'you all go on away. you been set free. you have to look out for your selves now.' "the only way i know this is i remembers from hearin' my dear old mama tell me when she come here to see me. i was too little. i guess i wasn't born till two or three years, maybe longer than that, after freedom. "after my son died here i get $ . a month, just my house rent. i work out when i can get something to do. work is so scarce i hardly get a living. "if you could see my brother in little rock he could tell you a heap he remembers. he is white headed, keeps his hair cut close and goes dressed up all the time. they say he is a good old man. he does public work in little rock. henry travis is his son. his phone is - . his street is arch. my brother is really born a slave, i ain't. ask for e. k. travis, that is his name. he can tell you bout all you want to know." jan interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: molly hudgens devalls bluff, arkansas age: born in "i was born in clarendon in . my mother was sold to judge allen at bihalia, n. c. and brought to arkansas. the cunninghams brought father from tennessee when they moved to this state. his mother died when he was three months old and the white mistress had a baby three weeks older en him so she raised my father. she nursed him with gus cunningham. my father had us call them grandma, aunt indiana, and aunt imogene. "when i was seven or eight years old i went to see them at roe. when i first come to know how things was, father had bought a place--home and piece of land west of clarendon and across the river. i don't know if the cunninghams ever give him some land or a mule or cow or not. he never said. his owner was moster john henry cunningham. "my father was a medium light man but not as light as i am. my mother was lighter than i am. i heard her say her mother did the sewing for all on her owner's place in north carolina. my mother was a house girl. the reason she was put up to be sold she was hired out and they put her in the field to work. a dispute rose over her some way so her owner sold her when she was eighteen years old. her mother was crying and begging them not to sell her but it didn't do no good she said. after the war was over she got somebody to write back and ask about her people. she got word about her sister and aunt and uncle. she never seen none of them after she was sold. never did see a one of her people again. she was sold to judge allen for a house girl. his wife was dead. my mother sewed at judge allen's and raised two little colored children he bought somewhere cheap. he had a nephew that lived with him. "mr. felix allen and some other of his kin folks, one of them made me call him 'tuscumby bob.' i said it funny and they would laugh at me. judge allen went to memphis and come home and took smallpox and died. i heard my mother say she seen him crying, sitting out under a tree. he said he recken he would give smallpox to all the colored folks on his place. some of them took smallpox. "we have been good living colored folks, had a right smart. i farmed, cooked, sewed a little along. i washed. i been living in devalls bluff years. i got down and they put me on the relief. seems i can't get back to going agin. "don't get me started on this young generation. i don't want to start talking about how they do. times is right smartly changed somehow. everybody is in a hurry to do something and it turns out they don't do nuthin'. times is all in a stir it seem like to me. "i don't vote. i get $ and demodities and i make the rest of my keepin'." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: charlie huff brinkley, arkansas age: born "i was born close to charlotte, north carolina. alex huff owned my parents and me. my pa was a dark man. he was named alex huff too. ma was named sarah huff. she was ginger cake color they called it. both her parents was part creek indian. i seen the block at richmond, virginia where they sold pa. they kept him three weeks away from me before he was sold. they sold him at the last of slavery for $ , . ma never seen him no more. after freedom she brought me and immigrated to arkansas. my sister wouldn't come, she was fixing to marry. we come on the train, paid our own way. we heard it was a fine country and ma heard somebody out here bought pa. we kept inquiring till after she died. i heard where he was. i went to see him. he told me what i told you. he was sold and brought to louisiana. he was a cross-eyed man and named alex the best way i found him. my ma never was sold as she remembered. "master alex huff owned a turpentine factory and pa worked at it. ma washed and cooked. master alex huff raised palmer christy beans. i think he sold the seed to keep moles out of the land. moles was bad in new cleared land. when they found a mole hill they opened it and put in a few beans so the mole would eat them and die. he sold the beans. "the ku klux never bothered us. "we come to arkansas as soon as we could after freedom. we wanted to find pa. when we first come i worked on a steamboat, then i mined at pratt city, tennessee--coal mines--a year and a half. then for forty-five years i worked on the railroad section as a hand. i made two crops in all my life. the first year i did fine and not so bad the next. but since three years ago i had these two strokes. i am here and not able to work. my wife draws $ from the welfare order. "it has been a long time since i voted. i voted last time for president mckinley. i didn't like the strict franchise laws." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: louvenia huff brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born third year after the surrender. there was thirteen children in my family when i was a child. we was different sizes and the grown children helped look after the little ones. my parents was field hands. my parents belong to dr. hatch. he lived in aberdeen, mississippi. we lived in the country on his place. he had five or six children. ben and needham come out to the farm. he was an old man and we stayed on the son's place--same place--till i come to arkansas. we come in . we heard it was a better country and open stock range. dr. hatch was very good to my folks. "i don't think the ku klux bothered my folks but we was afraid of them. "my father voted a republican ticket. i never voted. "my grandmother was real light skin. mother was mixed with white. she told us she was sold away from her mother when she was a little bitter of a girl and never seen her no more till she was the mother of six children. they didn't know one another when they met. her mother knowed who bought her and after freedom she kept asking about her and finally heard where she was and come to her. there was no selling place at aberdeen so i don't know where she was bought. dr. hatch lived to be an old man. he owned a lot of slaves and lots of land. "father's old master was whitfield. he sold him to dr. hatch when he was a young man. father was a driver in the civil war. he hauled soldiers and dumped them in the river. the union soldiers wouldn't give them time to bury the other side. he took rations all but the times he hauled dead soldiers. he got shot in his arm above the wrist. he died before they give him a pension. he was a union soldier. he talked a lot but that is all i can tell straight. i don't know if he mustered out or not. "i worked in the field, wash, iron, and cooked. we get $ from the welfare. my husband had two strokes. he has been sick three years. "my parents' name simpson hatch and jacob hatch. they had thirteen children." interviewer: mary d. hudgins person interviewed: mrs. anna huggins home: pleasant at john street. "miss huggins? (pronounced hew--gins) yes, ma'am she lives here. oh miss huggins, miss huggins. they's somebody to see you." the interviewer had approached an open door of an "l" kitchen attached to a "shot gun house". thru the dining room and a bed room she was conducted to the front bedroom. this was furnished simply but with a good deal of elaboration. the bed was gay with brightly colored pillows. most of them had petal pillow tops made from brilliant crepe paper touched with silver and guilt. the room was evidently not occupied by mrs. huggins herself for late in the interview a colored girl entered the room. "do you want your room now?" mrs. huggins inquired. "no indeed, there's lots of time," the girl replied politely. but the interviewer managed to terminate the interview quickly. "so you knew fanny mccarty. well, well, so you knew fanny. i don't know when i've heard anybody speak about her. she's not so much on looks, but fanny is a good little woman, a mighty good little woman. she's up in michigan. you know she worked at one of the big hotels here--the eastman it was. when they closed in the summer they sent her up to the big hotel on mackinac. for a while she was here in the winter and up there for the summer season. then she stayed on up there. "you say she worked for you when you were a little girl? before the fire of ? now, i remember, you were just a little girl and you used to come over to my house sometimes with her. i remember." (a delighted smile.) "now i remember. "no, i don't remember very much about the war. it is mostly what i heard the older ones say. my grandmother used to tell me a lot about it. i was just a little thing in my mother's arms when the war was over. guess i was about four years old. we lived in st. francis county and as soon as we were free pappa sent for us. he sent for us to come by boat to where he was. we went to helena. i remember they were all lined up--the colored soldiers were. but i knew pappa. they all wondered how, hadn't seen him in a long time. but i picked him out of all the line of men and i said, 'there's my pappa.' yes, my pappa was a soldier in the war. he was gone from home most of the time. i only saw him once in a while. "my grandmother told me lots of things about slavery. she was born a free girl. but when she was just a little girl somebody stole her and brought her to arkansas and sold her. no, from the things they told me--especially grandmother--they weren't very good to them. lots of times i've gone down on my knees to my grandmother to hear her tell about how mean they were to them. "i'd say to her, 'grandmother, why didn't you fight back?' 'you couldn't fight back,' she said, 'you just had to take it.' 'i wouldn't,' i said, 'i wouldn't take it.' guess there's too much indian blood in me. a white person never struck me but once. i was a girl--not so very big and i was taking care of a white lady's little girl. she and a friend of hers were talking and i sneaked up to the door and tried to listen to what they were saying. she caught me and she scolded me--she struck at me with her fan--it was just a light tap, but it made me mad. i fought her and i ran off home, she came to get me too. i never would have gone back otherways. she said she never did see a girl better with children. "i remember my grandmother telling about once when she was cooking in the kitchen, her back was turned and an old hound dog got in and started to take the chicken which was on the table. he had even got part of it in his mouth. but she turned and saw him--she choked the dog--and choked him until she choked the chicken out of him. you can see she must have been pretty scared to be afraid to let them know the chicken had been tampered with. then we always thought my mother's death was caused by her being beat by an overseer--she caused that overseer's death, she got him while he was beating her. they had to hide her out to save her life--but a long time afterwards she died--we always laid it to that hard beating. "we lived in helena after the war. my father was the marrying kind. he was a wild marrying man. he had lots of wives. but mother and grandmother wouldn't let us call them mother--she made us call them aunt. it really was my grandmother who reared me. she was a good cook, had good jobs all the time. "when i grew up i married. mr. huggins was a bar tender in a saloon. he made good money. we had a good home and i took care of the home. i had it mighty easy. then one day he fell in the floor paralyzed. i brought him to hot springs. that was back in . we stayed on and he lived for years. "i got a house there and i kept roomers. that was where fanny stayed with me. it was at pleasant. you remember the place, tho. when i was young, i had it easy. but now i'm old and i don't have it so well. a few years ago i was out in california on a visit. there was a man shining up to me and i wrote my niece 'what would you think if your aunty married?' 'law,' she wrote back to me, 'you've lived by yourself so long now, you couldn't stand a man.' maybe she was right." (at this point the girl passed into the room.) "look maggie! three pretty handkerchiefs. miss hudgins brought them. and i was just writing to my sister--my half sister today, i didn't even expect to much as a handkerchief for christmas. and my initials embroidered on them two. one with a on it and two with h. i'm really proud of them. "i'm going to write to fanny to tell her about your coming to see me. she'll be so glad to know about you. i'll tell her about the handkerchiefs. you know, for a while fanny had it pretty hard while she was here. she stayed at my house and i kept her for a long time without pay. i knew fanny was a good girl and that when she got work she would pay me back. do you know what fanny has done? when she heard i was hard up she wrote me and told me to come up to michigan to her and she would take care of me just as i had taken care of her. but i didn't want to go. wasn't it nice of her, though? "yes, when i was young i had it easy. i had my home and took care of it. if i needed more money, i mortgaged my home and paid it back. then i'd mortgage it and pay it back. but i mortgaged it once too often. that time i couldn't pay it back. i lost it. "well, i'm so glad you came to see me. i remember the pretty little girl who used to come to my house with fanny. be sure to write to her, she'll appreciate it, and thank you for the handkerchiefs." interviewer: mrs. annie l. lacotts person interviewed: margret hulm, humphrey, arkansas age: (story of abraham lincoln as a spy) in the west edge of humphrey in a small house beneath huge old trees lives an aged negro woman with her boy ( years old) and his wife. this woman is margret hulm who says she was born march , in hardeman county, tennessee. when asked if she remembered anything about the war and slavery days she said: "oh yes mam. i was years old when the slaves were set free. my folks belonged to master jimmie pruitt, who owned lots of other slaves. when they told him his niggers were free, he let them go or let them stay on with him and he'd give them a place to live and some of the crops. i guess that's what folks call a share crop now. i was what folks called a house girl. i didn't work in the field like some of the other slaves. i waited on my mistress and her chillun, answered the door, waited on de table and done things like that. i remember mr. lincoln. he came one day to our house (i mean my white folks' house). they told me to answer the door and when i opened it there stood a big man with a gray blanket around him for a cape. he had a string tied around his neck to hold it on. a part of it was turned down over the string like a ghost cape. how was he dressed beneath the blanket? well, he had on jeans pants and big mud boots and a big black hat kinda like men wear now. he stayed all night. we treated him nice like we did everybody when they come to our house. we heard after he was gone that he was abraham lincoln and he was a spy. that was before the war. oh, yes, i remember lots about the war. i remember dark days what we called the black days. it would be so dark you couldn't see the sun even. that was from the smoke from the fighting. you could just hear the big guns going _b-o-o-m, boom_, all day. yes, i do remember seeing the yankees. i saw 'em running fast one day past our house going back away from the fighting place. and once they hung our master. they told him they wanted his money. he said he didn't have but one dollar. they said 'we know better than that.' then they took a big rope off of one de yankee's saddle and took de master down in de horse lot and hung him to a big tree. the rope must a been old, for it broke. our master was a big man though. then they hung him again. he told 'em he didn't have but one dollar and they let him down and said 'well, old man, maybe you haven't got any more money.' so they let him go when the mistress and her little chillun come down there. he didn't have but one dollar in his pockets but had lots buried about the place in two or three places." while margret was giving this information she was busily sewing together what looked like little square pads. when examined they proved to be tobacco sacks stuffed with cotton and then sewed together which would make a quilt already quilted when she got enough of them sewed together to cover a bed. interviewer: s. s. taylor person interviewed: john hunter w. th street, little rock, arkansas age: biographical john hunter claims to be only seventy-four years old, but when he is talking he has the manner of an eye-witness to the things he relates. in this connection, many of the ex-slaves seem to be sensitive concerning oldness. hunter is blind. he lives with mrs. alston, herself the widow of an old ex-slave. his relation to her is simply that of a renter, although where he gets the rent from i don't know. his father fought in the confederate army until disabled by disease. hunter was born in north carolina but has lived in this state something like fifty years. houses "slave houses were old log huts. some made log houses and some made tent harbors. just any sort of way on dirt. some of them didn't have any floors. "one with a floor was built with one room. cooked and et and everything in that one room. about  ×  . one window. no glass panes in it. shutter window. some niggers just built up a log house and dobbed it with dirt to keep the air from coming through. "food was kept in an old chest. there weren't no such things as trunks and cupboards. i brought one from north carolina with me--old-fashioned chest. bed was homemade and nailed to the side of the wall. some of them had railings on both sides when they were trying to make it look nice. mattress was made out of straw or shucks. you could hear it rattling like a hog getting in his bed at night. i have slept on 'em many a time. those with floors and those without were made alike. a box or anything was used for a table. if his master would give him anything he would make it out of a plank. make it at night. boxes and homemade stools were used for chairs. no chairs like there is now. people are blessed now. didn't go asking for no chairs then. they'd give you a chair--over your head. "they et anything--any way they could get it,--in pans, old wooden trays, pots, anything. fed you just like little pigs. poured it all out in something and give them an old wooden spoon and telled them to get down and eat. sometimes get down on your belly and eat. no dishes for niggers like now. no dishes till after freedom, and often none then." tent harbors "sometimes they'd have a great long place with walls in it with logs and planks and divided into stalls just like a man would have a great long place for mules and divide it into stalls. they were called stockades. you can see them in tensas parish in louisiana. now, each man would take his family and live in his stall. no doors between the rooms. each room had a door leading into the open. they called 'em 'tent harbors' because they were built more like a tent. some of them were covered with boards. people would go into the woods and rive out boards with a fro. a fro is a piece of iron about a foot and a half long with an eye in it and a wooden handle in the eye. you would drive it into the log and then work it along until you rived out the board. "slave quarters were built right straight on down so that the master could look right down the avenue when he would walk out. little houses one right after the other." food "the niggers had anything to eat that the master give 'em. he would give plenty such as it was. certain days they would go up and get it. give it to 'em just like they go draw rations now. but they'd give it to you not you say what you wanted. so much meal and so much meat, and so on. some of 'em raised flour. you had to take whatever you could get." father and mother "my father was a soldier (confederate). he got sick with the scrofula and they sent him back to his old master, dr. harris, in enfield, north carolina. [hw: he was a field hand at first, but after he come back with the scrofula, they just made him a carriage driver.] that's how i came to be born in . my father married betsy judge right after he came back. they didn't marry then as they do now. just jumped over the broom." patrollers "a slave couldn't go nowhere without a pass. if they caught you out without a pass, they'd whip you. jus' like if i wanted to go to a girl's house, my master would hand me a pass. if he didn't, they'd ketch me and whip me if i got out and wasn't able to run away from them." what the freedmen expected "when the slave was freed, he was looking to get a home. they were goin' to do this and goin' to do that but they didn't do nothin'. they let us stay on the place until we made the crop, told us we was free to go wherever we wanted to go. that is all they give us and all we got. some said, 'you promised to give us a home', and they said to them, 'well, you can stay here as long as you live.'" how freedom came "the old master called them together and told them they was free. 'peace declared. you all have to go for yourselves. won't whip no more now. you are all free.'" runaways and mean masters "my father's master was right smart mean to him. it was partly my father's fault. he wouldn't take no whipping much. if they would get after him he would run off. whenever there was anything they wanted him to do and he didn't go and do it just that minute, they wanted to whip him. jus' like a child, you know. he had to move when he was told. if he didn't do it then he got a whipping. he would run away in the woods and stay a week or two before he'd come back. sometimes some of the boys would see him and they would say to him, 'old master says for you to come back home; he ain't goin' to do nothin' to you.' nobody would go in the woods and hunt him. some of them would go in there and get hurt. "there was some masters that would go in the woods hunting their niggers. sometimes they'd carry bloodhounds with them. they never did run my father with the bloodhounds though. "my mother's master and mistress was good to her. they never drove her around. old man judge died and left her mistress and she lived a widow the balance of her life. but she never gave my mother no trouble." sales and separations "there was plenty of slaves being put up on the block and sold. my mother was sold. her father was a cooper and she was sold to judge. he bought my mother's mother and her both, so that made her a judge. he bought her and she had to go in his name. her husband was left with the coopers. she was put up on the block. 'who will give me a bid on this woman?' the old man was bid back. the coopers bid him back." school "my mother didn't get no schooling no more'n what i learned her after freedom. she never went to school in her life. still she saw she could read the bible, the hymn-book, and such things like that as she wanted to before she died." what the slaves got "they said that the president and the governor was going to give land to the niggers--going to take it off the owners that they worked for. but they never did get it." ku klux klan "i heered talk of the ku klux. i can remember once when they come through there (enfield). that was eight or ten years after the war. they would ketch some of the niggers and whip them. the young niggers got their guns and rigged up a plan to kill them and laid out in a place for them, but they got wind of it and stopped coming." mother's occupation "my mother was a great weaver. she would weave cloth for the hands on the place. some days she would work around the house and some other days she'd go out and weave. when they wasn't any weaving or spinning to be done, she'd go out in the field. the weaving and the spinning was right in the white folks' house." own occupation "i used to be a preacher. don't do much of nothin' now. ain't able. get a little help from the welfare--a little groceries sometimes. don't get any pension. you see, i can't do much on account of my blindness." opinions of young people "i can't tell you what i think of the young people. times have got to be so fast. it is just terrible to think how this life is. so much change from forty to fifty years ago. just as much difference on both sides, white and colored, as there is between chalk and cheese." praying under pots "when they'd go to have a church meeting, they turn up the pot so that the noise wouldn't come out. they could go to the white folks' church. but the spirit would come on them sometimes to have service themselves. then they'd go down to the house at night and turn up those big old iron pots and master never would hear. they wouldn't put the washpot flat on the ground. they'd put sticks under it and raise it up about a foot from the ground. if they'd put it flat on the ground the ground would carry the sound." voting "there weren't no voting at all in slavery times (in his locality--ed.) that is, far as the niggers were concerned. but after everybody was free you could vote up until they stopped the people from voting. they kept a republican ticket in then. there wasn't no democrat. none like they is now. i don't know how this thing got mixed up like it is now. "i remember once in north carolina a man named bryant got away with a lot of votes in the boxes. he was seen to go out with two boxes under his arms. and when they counted up the votes, the democrats was ahead. in them days, they counted up the votes before they left the polls. they wanted to kill him. they sent him to the penitentiary to stay five years. when he went in he was a young man, and when he came back he was gray. "there was some fighting down there that night. my father was a constable. it was the white folks got to fighting each other. they got to 'resting them and they filled the calaboose full that night. didn't have but one jail and that was in halifax. the penitentiary was in raleigh. raleigh was about miles from halifax, and halifax about from enfield. the jail was twelve miles from enfield." mulattoes "there were mixed bloods then just like there are now. them came by the old master, you know. they treated the mulatto a little better than they did the other slaves. you know you would have more respect for your own blood. my aunt rena was half-sister to my father. they had the same mother but different fathers and they always gave her a little better treatment than they give him. they didn't sell her. when slavery broke she was still with her master, old tom hollis. the old lady (her mother) was there too. they hadn't sold her neither. but they never give none of them nothin' when they was freed. "my father was a field hand at first. but after he went to war and come back with the scrofula, they just made him a carriage driver. but he wasn't no mulatto though." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: william hunter, brinkley, arkansas age: "john mcbride was my mother's last owner. his wife died in slavery. i never heard her name called. my mother come from abbeville, south carolina, a negro trading point. when she was put on the block my father went to mcbride and asked him to buy that woman for him a wife. he said she was a mighty pretty young woman. mcbride bought her. i don't know how they got to carroll county, mississippi but that is where i was born. my mother raised walter and johnny mcbride (white). she nursed one of them along with my brother may--may mcbride was his name. that was at asme, alabama before i was born. i heard my mother say she never worked in the field but two years in her whole life. it must have been just after the war, for i have seen a ditch she and another woman cut. when they cut it, it was  ft. ×   ft. i don't know the length. when i seed it, it was a creek ft. wide. i don't know how deep. i recollect hearing my father talk about clearing land before freedom but i don't know if he was in alabama or mississippi then. "my mother was mixed with the white race. she was a bright woman. my father was a real dark man. he was a south carolina gutchen--soft water folks, get mad and can't talk. he was crazy about yellow folks. "mcbride died fifty-one years ago. when i was a boy he carried me with him--right in the buggy or oxcart with him till i was up nineteen years old. he went to the saloon to get a dram. i got one too. when he went to a big hotel to eat something he sent out the kitchen door to me out to our buggy or wagon. we camped sometimes when we went to town. it took so long to go over the roads. "when freedom was declared mcbride called up all his slaves and told em they was free; they could go or stay on. my father moved off two years after freedom and then he moved back and we stayed till the old man died. then my father went to varden, mississippi and worked peoples gardens. he was old then too. "i never seen a 'white cap' (ku klux). i heard a heap of talk about em. the people in mississippi had respect for colored worship. "i farmed till we went to varden, mississippi. i started working on the section. i was brakeman on the train out from water valley. then i come to wheatley, arkansas. i worked on the section. all told, i worked forty years on the section. i worked on a log wagon, with a tire company, at the oil mill and in the cotton mill. i had a home till it went in the home loan. i have to pay $ . a month payments. i get commodities, no money, from the welfare. my wife is dead now." may interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: ida blackshear hutchinson orange street, north little rock, arkansas age: birth "i was born in in alabama in sumter county on sam scale's place near the little town called brushville (?)." [hw: bushville or brushville(?)] parents and grandparents "my father's name was isom blackshear. some people call it blackshire, but we call it blackshear. his master was named uriah blackshear. i have heard him say so many times the year he was born. he died (isom) in and was in his eighty-first year then. that would make him born in . his birth was on the fourth day of may. people back in them days lived longer than we do now. my grandfather, jordan martin, lived to be one hundred sixteen years old. grandpa died about nine years ago in sumter county, alabama. he was my grandfather on my mother's side. "my grandfather on my father's side was luke blackshear. he was born in alabama too, and i suppose in sumter county too. he died in sumter county. he died about five years before the civil war. "my mother was born in north carolina. her name was sylvia martin before she married my father. she was a blackshear when she died. she died in . the white people went out in north carolina and bought her, her mother, nancy, and her father, jordan, and brought them to sumter county, alabama. my mother's mother was an indian; her hair came down to her waist." luke blackshear (breeder) "my grandfather on my father's side, luke blackshear, was a 'stock' negro. "isom blackshear, his son, was a great talker. he said luke was six feet four inches tall and near two hundred fifty pounds in weight. he was what they called a double-jointed man. he was a mechanic,--built houses, made keys, and did all other blacksmith work and shoemaking. he did anything in iron, wood or leather. really he was an architect as well. he could take raw cowhide and make leather out of it and then make shoes out of the leather. "luke was the father of fifty-six children and was known as the giant breeder. he was bought and given to his young mistress in the same way you would give a mule or colt to a child. "although he was a stock negro, he was whipped and drove just like the other negroes. all of the other negroes were driven on the farm. he had to labor but he didn't have to work with the other slaves on the farm unless there was no mechanical work to do. he was given better work because he was a skilled mechanic. he taught isom blacksmithing, brickmaking and bricklaying, shoemaking, carpentry, and other things. the ordinary blacksmith has to order plow points and put than on, but luke made the points themselves, and he taught isom to do it. and he taught him to make mats, chairs, and other weaving work. he died sometime before the war." isom blackshear "isom blackshear, luke's son and my father, farmed until he was eighteen years old, and was a general mechanic as mentioned when i was telling about my grandfather luke, for sixty odd years. up to within seven months of his death, he was making chairs and baskets and other things. he never was in bed in his life until his last sickness. that was his first and his last. never did he have a doctor's bill to pay or for his master to pay,--until he died. he worked on the batteries at vicksburg during the war. "isom ran away three times. he was a field hand up to eighteen years. the overseer wanted to whip him. isom would help his wife in the field because she couldn't keep up with the others and he would help her to keep the overseer from whipping her. he'd take her beside him and row his row and hers too. he was the fastest worker on the place. the overseer told him to not do that. but isom just kept on doing it anyway. then the overseer asked isom for his shirt. when they whipped you them days they didn't whip you on your clothes because they didn't want to wear them out. isom said he was not going to take off his shirt because his mistress gave it to him and he wasn't going to give it to anybody else. then the overseer stepped 'round in front of him to stop him, because isom had just kept on hoeing. isom just caught the overseer's feet in his hoe and dumped him down on the ground and went on hoeing his own row and his wife's. he called his hoe 'one eyed aggie.' "the overseer said, 'you think you done something smart' and he went for his master. the overseer was named mack hainey. his master came out the next morning and caught isom. isom has often told us about it. "'first thing i knowed, he had his feet on my hoe and he said, "isom, they tell me you can't be whipped." "i'd be willing to be whipped if i'd done anything." "huh!" said my master, "right or wrong, if my overseer asked you for your shirt give it to him."' "he held a pistol on him. they made him pull off his shirt and tied him up to a gin post. the overseer hit him five times and kept him there till noon trying to get him to say that he would give his shirt to him the next time. finally isom promised and the overseer untied him. when the overseer untied him, isom took his shirt in one hand and the overseer's whip in the other and whipped him almost all the way to the big house. then he ran away and stayed in the woods for three or four days until his old master sent word for him to come on back and he wouldn't do nothing to him. "when he went back, his master took him off the farm because he and my father was nursed together and he didn't want isom killed. so from that time on, my father never worked as a field hand any more. and they put isom's wife as a cook. she couldn't chop cotton fast enough and they couldn't handle isom as long as she was in the field; so they put her to washing, and ironing, and cooking, and milking. "the second time father ran away was once when they missed some groceries out of the storeroom. master asked him if he took them because he made the keys to the place and not a person on the place but him could know anything about getting in there. he didn't own it, so they tied him up and whipped him two days. when night come they took him and tied him in his house and told his wife that if he got loose they would put the portion on her. he didn't try to get loose because he knowed if he did they would whip her, so he stayed. at noon time when they went to get the dinner they poured three buckets of water in his face and almost drowned him. then after dinner they came back and whipped him again. finally he said, 'i didn't do it but nothing will suit you but for me to say i did, so i will say i did it.' so he owned up to it. "a few days later mr. horn who owned the adjoining plantation came over and asked him if he had missed anything,--any rations he said. old master told him 'yes' and went on to explain what had been taken and what he had done about it. then mr. horn took mr. blackshear over to his house and showed him the rations and they were the one he had whipped my old father about. then blackshear came back and told my father that he was sorry, that he never had known him to steal anything. he turned him loose and apologized to him but he made him work with the bloody shirt that they whipped him in sticking to his back. "the third time he ran off he was in the army working on the batteries at vicksburg. he worked there till he got to thinking about his wife and children, and then he ran off. he got tired and hungry and he went to mopilis and give himself up. the jailer written to his master, that is to his mistress, about it, and she got her father to go and see about him and bring him home. they'd had a big storm. the houses were in bad shape. the fences was blown down. the plows was broken or dull and needed fixin'. and they were so glad to see isom that they didn't whip him nor nothin' for runnin' away. "isom's mother was named winnie blackshear. she was luke's wife. she was a light brownskin woman and weighed about one hundred fifty pounds. i have seen her, but luke was dead before i was born. grandmother winnie has been dead about twenty years now. she labored in the field. "my mother's mother was named nancy martin and her father was named jordan martin. we kept a jordan in the family all the way down. both of them farmed. they were slaves. "there were fourteen children of us,--eleven sisters and three brothers. the brothers were jordan, prince, and john. the sisters were margaret, eliza, nancy, tempy, bell, abbie, caroline, frances, dosia, mattie, lucy, louisa, ida." suicide "they say negroes won't commit suicide, but isom told us of a girl that committed suicide. there was a girl named lu who used to run off and go to the dances. the patrollers would try to catch her but they couldn't because she was too fast on her feet. one day they got after her in the daytime. she had always outran them at night. she ran to the cabin and got her quarter which she had hid. she put the quarter in her mouth. the white folks didn't allow the slaves to handle no money. the quarter got stuck in her throat, and she went on down to the slough and drowned herself rather than let them beat her, and mark her up. then patrollers sure would get you and beat you up. if they couldn't catch you when you were running away from them, they would come on your master's place and get you and beat you. the master would allow them to do it. they didn't let the patrollers come on the blackshear place, but this gal was so hard-headed 'bout goin' out that they made a 'ception to her. and they intended to make her an example to the rest of the slaves. but they didn't get lucy." death of sixty babies "once on the blackshear place, they took all the fine looking boys and girls that was thirteen years old or older and put them in a big barn after they had stripped them naked. they used to strip them naked and put them in a big barn every sunday and leave them there until monday morning. out of that came sixty babies. "they was too many babies to leave in the quarters for some one to take care of during the day. when the young mothers went to work blackshear had them take their babies with them to the field, and it was two or three miles from the house to the field. he didn't want them to lose time walking backward and forward nursing. they built a long old trough like a great long old cradle and put all these babies in it every morning when the mother come out to the field. it was set at the end of the rows under a big old cottonwood tree. "when they were at the other end of the row, all at once a cloud no bigger than a small spot came up, and it grew fast, and it thundered and lightened as if the world were coming to an end, and the rain just came down in great sheets. and when it got so they could go to the other end of the field, that trough was filled with water and every baby in it was floating 'round in the water drownded. they never got nary a lick of labor and nary a red penny for ary one of them babies." experiences just after the war "mother had been a cook and she just kept on cooking, for the same people. my father he went to farming." patrollers "my father said that the patrollers would run you and ketch you and whip you if you didn't have a pass, when you was away from the pass.[hw: place?] but they didn't bother you if you had a pass. the patrollers were mean white people who called themselves making the niggers stay home. i think they were hired. they called their selves making the niggers stay home. they went all through the community looking for people, and whipping them when they'd leave home without a pass. they said you wasn't submissive when you left home without a pass. they hounded lucy to death. she wouldn't let 'em get her, and she wouldn't let 'em get her quarter." ku klux klan "i have seen the ku klux. i have washed their regalia and ironed it for them. they wouldn't let just anybody wash and iron it because they couldn't do it right. my son's wife had a job washing and ironing for them and i used to go down and help her. i never did take a job of any kind myself because my husband didn't let me. the regalia was white. they were made near like these singing robes the church choirs have. but they were long--come way down to the shoe tops. that was along in the nineties,--about . it was when they revived the ku klux the last time before the world war. in the old days the patrollers used to whip them for being out without a pass but the ku klux used to whip them for disorderly living. "way back yonder when i was in alabama, too, i can remember the ku klux riding. i was a little child then. the republicans and democrats were at war with each other then and they was killing everybody. my brother was one of them they run. he could come out in the daytime, but in the night he would have to hide. they never got him. he dodged them. that was 'round in . in , him and my uncle left alabama and went to louisiana. they called him a stump speaker. they wanted to kill him. they killed tom ivory. he was the leader of the republicans--he was a colored man. his father was white but his mother was a negro. his father educated him in slavery time. he had been up north and was coming back. they knew he was coming back, so they went up the creek and waited for him--his train. they flagged it down, and some one on the train commenced hollering, 'look yonder.' ivory stepped out on the platform to see what they were hollering about, and all them guns started popping and ivory fell over the end of the platform and down on the ground. he was already leaning over the gate when they fired. then they come up and cut his tongue out before he died. they said if they got him that would stop all the rest of the niggers. you see, he was a leader. "niggers was voting the republican ticket 'long about that time. they just went in gangs riding every night--the ku klux did. ku kluxing and killing them they got hold of. "the police arrested all the men that had anything to do with tom ivory's killing. the leader of the killers was a white man they called captain hess. i never knowed how the trial came out because we left there while they was still in jail." how freedom came "i heard my mother say that when the refugees came through sumter county, alabama, she wasn't free but was 'sot' free later. the refugees came through along in february. then the papers was struck and it went out that the niggers all was free. mother's master and my oldest brother who had stayed in the war with his master four years came home. the refugees was in there when he got home. they went on through. they didn't tarry long there. then the papers came out and the next day, master called all the hands up to the big house and told them they was free. mother was set free in the latter part of february and i was born june , , so i was born free." leaving alabama "we left alabama in the same year tom ivory got killed. more than fifty colored people left on the train and come off when we did. people was leaving alabama something terrible. i never did know what happened to tom's killers. i heard afterwards that alabama got broke, they had to pay for so many men they killed." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: cornelia ishmon w. second avenue pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in mississippi and i can member seein' the yankees goin' by. i was a little bit of a girl and betsy hardy, that was old miss, she kep' the yankees from gettin' me. she told me many a time if it hadn't been for her i'd a had my brains beat out against a tree. when i didn't do to suit her, she'd tell me bout dat. i stayed right in the house. "i member when they was lookin' for johnson's brigade and when they saw it was the yankees they just flew. the yankees was goin' through there doin' what they wanted. "i never got no further than the third grade." folklore subjects el dorado district name of interviewer: mildred thompson & carol graham. subject: uncle jack island--ex-slave. story--information (if not enough space on this page add page) "yas'm ah membuhs a lil'l bit bout slavery days. ah wuz jes a chap den. ah'm now. ah wuz such a chap dat ah didn' do much work. day use tuh cook on de fiuh place an ah'd tote in bark an wood fuh em tuh cook wid an git up de aigs (eggs) an sich li'l things as dat. "mah ole marster was marse bullock an we lived in de lisbon community. "mistress' baby chile wuz a boy an he wuz jes six months olduh dan ah wuz. ah wuz de only boy chile in de whole business uv slaves. evah evenin bout a hour by de sun dey would feed us an by sundown we bettuh be in baid. dat wuz tuh git us outn de way when de grown fokes come in. dey wuz six uv us chillun an dey would feed us in a big wooden tray. dey'd po' hot pot liquor in de tray an crumble braid in hit. den dey'd give us each a spoon an we would all git roun an eat. dere wuz lizzie, nancy, sistuh julia, sistuh lu and martha. der wuz six uv us. aftuh dey fed us we would go tuh baid an tuh sleep. dey had ole fashion wheels. some nights de women would spin. we wouldn' heah dem when dey come in but when dat ole wheel started tuh goin hit'd wake me up an ah'd lie der a while an watch em spin den ah'd go tuh sleep ergin, an leave em spinnin'. sometimes we wouldn' see our mamas fum sunday night till next sunday mornin. mah mistress wove cloth. bout de biggest thing ah done wuz help huh wid huh weavin. ah would pick up de shickle (shuttle) an run hit through fuh huh. dat bout de biggest thing ah'd do sides feedin the chickens an bringin in bark. in dem days wuznt no buckets much. we used hand gourds dat would hold two or three gallons uv watuh. an ah'd carry one uv dem gourds uv watuh tuh de fiel' tuh em while day was pickin cotton. one yeah de cotton worms wuz so bad an ah hadn' nevah seen none. ah'd started tuh de fiel' wid de gourd uv watuh an saw dem worms an oh, ah jes bawled. mah mama had tuh come an git me. ah didn' know nothin bout dem worms. "de nearest battle in de wah was at vicksburg. ah membuh one day hit got so smoky an ah could heah de guns. ah thought hit wuz thunderin an said tuh ole missus dat hit wuz gointer rain soon but ole missus say: 'oh lawdy, dat aint thunder. ah wish hit wuz. dat's guns and dat, dat yo sees is smoke an not clouds.' aftuh de wah wuz ovah we stayed on wid ole marster. soon aftuh de wah wuz ovah marster died an missus mahried ed oakley, a spare built man. dey lives in arcadia, louisiana now. ah stayed on thar till ah wuz bout fo'teen an ah lef' dere. wuz gone bout a yeah an ah learnt sumpin too. when ah got off ah had tuh go to work. bout all ah had tuh do at home wuz tuh take keer uv de stock aftuh ah got big nough tuh but ah sho nuff worked den. ah stayed way bout a year den ah went back an stayed dere too till ah was bout twenty-one. ah been mahried three times. ah had five chillun by mah fust wife an dem is all de chillun ah evah had. one uv dem lives in town, one in texas, one dubach, la., one is daid an ah don' know de where-bouts uv de othuh one. de las' time ah heerd anything bout him he wuz in hot springs. mah present wife's name is talitha. we has one gran'chile livin wid us. he bout fifteen an is at school ovah dar crost de road wha yo sees dat house. oh missy dem times we been tawkin bout wuz de good times. dese times are hard." # form a _circumstances of interview_ state--arkansas name of worker--mrs. carol graham address--el dorado, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave . name and address of informant--jack and talitha island, route , el dorado, arkansas. . date and time of interview--december, . place of interview--route , el dorado, arkansas. . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant-- . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you-- . description of room, house, surroundings, etc.-- # form b _personal history of informant_ state--arkansas name of worker--mrs. carol graham address--el dorado, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave name and address of informants--jack and talitha island, route , el dorado. . ancestry-- . place and date of birth--talitha was born april , in arcadia, louisiana. jack was born in . . family--talitha had three children and jack had three children. . places lived in, with dates--talitha lived in arcadia, louisiana until freedom. jack and talitha now live in el dorado. . education, with dates-- . occupations and accomplishments, with dates-- . special skills and interests-- . community and religious activities--goes to church in schoolhouse across the road. . description of informant-- . other points gained in interview--they tell some of their childhood days. # form c _text of interview (unedited)_ _talitha_: "howdy, chillun, come in. naw suh, jack ain't heah right now. he down tuh the thicket back uv de house gittin' some wood. naw suh, he won't be gone long. he soon be back. you all come in and set on the gallery. here's a cheer, missy. he be back in no time tall. "you wants to know how old i am? i was born april , before the niggers was freed in ' . "my mother was a field woman (worked in the field) and had seven chillun when set free. her mistress raised her from three weeks old. her mother burned to death in a house on the plantation. our home was 'bout four miles east of arcadia, louisiana, or rather miss sarah given's house was, and we stayed on wid her until i was a big girl, plowin' and hoeing. "no ma'am, i never did go to no parties. i was never 'lowed to go. i been a member of the church since i was ten and now i'm seventy-three. "i first married a man by the name of williams and had three chillun by him, two boys and one girl. then i was a widow fifteen years before i married jack. we ain't never had no chillun, but jack had three chillun and i helped to raise them and i've helped raise a bunch of his gran'chillun. "i believes i hear jack back there now." _jack_: "howdy, howdy! so you is back for more tales 'bout long ago. i'se seventy-three and i been in this world a long time i tell you." _talitha_: "now, jack, you knows you is heap older 'n me and i'm seventy-three and i was born jes 'bout a year befo the war closed and you say you was a big chap then." _jack_: "well, i guess i was around six years old when the war started. i was a good big chap. i 'member one evening 'bout three o'clock i was settin' out in the yard playin' with a mate of mine--johnnie cook. i guess you would call him my mate; he was my mistress's boy and 'bout my age and we played together all the time even if i was black. i was the only black boy on the place, all the other cullud chillun was gals. us chaps was out in the yard making frog nesties with our bare feet in the sand. they was fightin' in vicksburg then. they was doing a whole lot of shooting. you could hear it one right after the other and it got so smoky. i thought it was thunder and said something 'bout hit. mistress was setting on the gallery sewing and when i said that she said, 'aw lawd, that ain't no thunder,' but she didn' tell us what hit wuz." _talitha_: "course i wasn't old enough to know anything 'bout hit but i heard my mother say it got so smoky the chickens didn't get off the roost while they was bustin' all them big cannons." _jack_: "all us chillun was just as fat and healthy as hogs. warn't never sick. they'd feed 'bout this time every evening ( p.m.) and by sundown i was in bed. my mother worked in the field and i've heard her say that sometime she didn't see her chillun from sunday to sunday. old lady hannah banks done the cooking for everybody and she cooked on a big fireplace. they didn't have no stove. _why, i got here before the stoves did._ ma and pa and all the grown ones would get up at four o'clock and eat breakfast and be in the field workin' by sunup. they had a box with shelves drove up on the side of the wall to the cabin where we slept and old lady hannah banks would put our breakfast in that and when we woke up we would get it and eat. one morning i woke up before the other chillun did and 'cided i'd git my breakfast first 'fore they did. i clem up, rech up and got holt of that box and i was so heavy i pulled it down and broke all the old blue edge plates. that woke the other chillun up all right, and i can jes see them old blue edge plates now. for dinner they would give us boiled greens or beans wid bread and for supper they would save the slop (liquor), cram it full of bread, pour it in a tray and give it to all the chilluns and me, sister julia, nancy, lizzie, marthy, and all the little nigger chillun." _talitha_: "huh! old man givens had so many little nigger chillun couldn' feed 'em in no tray. had to have troughs. they'd take a log and hollow it out and make three tubs in a row and put peg legs on it and a hole in the bottom of each one with a pin in it. they would use these tubs to wash the clothes in and pull the stem up to let all the water run out, clean 'em out real good, fill with bread and pot-licker or bread and milk, and feed the nigger chillun." _jack_: "you say our nephew wants to come out and bring a bunch of young folks and wants me to take them 'possum hunting some moonlight night? sho, sho, i'll go." _talitha_: "i don't know how he'd go lessen we totes him. why, he got the rheumatism so bad he can't hardly git 'round in the daytime much less at night. why, the other day he was out in the field follerin' the boy that was plowin' up the potatoes and we was goin' on pickin' them up. first thing i know i hear somethin' behind me go 'plop' and i looked roun and there lay jack jes stretched out. fell down over his own feet. so what would he do out nights? and you sees that knot on his ankle. hit was broke when he was a boy an' hit still gives him trouble when his rheumatism starts up." _jack_: "you say how did i do it? i was jumpin'. a bunch of us boys was jumpin' 'cross a ditch jes to see how far we could jump. i was a young chap 'bout seventeen or eighteen then. i was doin' purty well with my jumpin' when i made a misjump an' jumped crooked and hit my ankle on a big old iron rock. my but hit hurt bad. i didn' do no more jumpin' that day. the next day i was down in the woods getting a load of lider. had put on a few pieces on the wagon when i started to turn aroun and down i went. i jes lay there and hollered till someone come an' got me. that was in the winter just before christmas and i didn't get out no more till in the spring. the woods looked right purty to me when i got out. the leaves was great big. and that ain't all, i ain't jumped no more since. 'sides that i ain't never been sick to 'mount to anything. had the whooping cough at the same time that joe and tom snyder had hit. still got my natchel teeth, lost four up here and got one that bothers me some, 'sides that i have 'em all. yas suh, that the schoolhouse 'cross the road there. we has preachin' there sometimes too. does ab preach there? he, he, he! sometime he do. did i ever tell you 'bout the time ab was preaching out here at ____ and got to stampin' roun wid that peg-leg of his'n an' hit went through the rotten floor and we had to pull him out? he, he, he!" _talitha_: "now, jack island, you knows that is jes 'nother one uv yo tales. i is been to hear ab preach lots of times and he does storm roun mighty bad and i ain't got no faith in his religion tall but i warn't there when he fell through the floo'." interviewer: pernella m. anderson person interviewed: mary island nelson street, el dorado, arkansas age: "i was born in union parish, louisiana in the year of , so the white folks told me, and i am eighty years old. my mama died when i was two years old and my aunty raised me. she started me out washing dishes when i was four years old and when i was six she was learning me how to cook. while the other hands was working in the field i carried water. we had to cook out in the yard on an old skillet and lid, so you see i had to tote brush and bark and roll up little logs such as i could to keep the fire from one time of cooking to the other. i was not but six years old either. when i got to be seven years old i was cutting sprouts almost like a man and when i was eight i could pick one hundred pounds of cotton. when it rained and we could not go to the field my aunty had me spinning thread to make socks and cloth, then i had to card the bats and make the rolls to spin. "my auntie was a slave and she lived in the edge of the field. of course i was born a slave but didn't know much about it because my aunty did the bossing of me but i had a pretty hard time. our wash tubs, water buckets, bread trays and such were made out of tupelo gum logs dug out with some kind of an axe and when aunty would wash i had to use the battling stick. i would carry the wet clothes to a stump and beat them with that battling stick and we hung the clothes out on bushes and on the fence. we used water from a spring. "in my young days all we wore was homespun and lowel.[hw: ?] we lived in a log house with a dirt floor and the cracks was chinked with mud and our bed was some poles nailed against the wall with two legs out on the dirt floor, and we pulled grass and put in a lowel[hw: ?] bed tick. my aunty would get old dresses, old coats, and old pants and make quilts. "i never went to school a day in my life. no, the back of my head has never rubbed against the walls of a schoolhouse and i never did go to sunday school and i never did like it. and i didn't go to church until i was grown and the church that i did attend was called the iron jacket church. now they call it the hard shell church. i believe in foot washing. i don't go to church now because there is no hard shell church close around here." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: henrietta isom, biscoe, arkansas age: "i was born in mississippi. it wasn't far from memphis, tennessee. i heard em talking bout it then. when i first knowed anything we lived way down in mississippi. it was on a big farm not close to no place much. my ma's and pa's master was named thornton. seems lack it was jack and her name was miss lucretia. they show did have a big family, little ones on up. i have three sisters and a brother all dead--ma was a farm hand. she left us wid a real old woman--all the little children stayed right wid her. we minded her lack our ma's. she switch our legs if we didn't. she carded and sewed about all the time. "i don't know much about master and mistress; their house was way over the field. they lived on a hill and had the finest well of water. it was so cold. they had two buckets on a chain to pull it up by. the cabins down closer to the creek. there was two springs one used mostly for washing and the other for house use. "i don't know how many cabins they was scattered. he had a lot of hands about all i remembers--on saturdays we get to go up to the house to fetch back something; some provisions. they tell us if we be good we could go. they done their own cooking. when they work their dinners was sent to the shade trees from white folks house and the childrens was sent too. we would all stand around miss rachel (white) when she bring it then we go sit on the steps and eat. we show did have plenty to eat. we wear the dresses new in cold weather then they wear thin for summer. they be lighter in color too when they fade. "i remember when the white folks left an went to war. they worked on. they had a white man and a colored man boss. when freedom was declared nearly all of them walked off so glad they was free. i don't know where they all went. my folks went to another big place. we had a hard time. we all farmed. i don't know what they expected from freedom. nobody didn't ask for nuthin. i remembers when some new hands was bought and put on the place. i think they sold em off in town. "after de war at the church they talked bout if they didn't get freedom they would clang together for der rights but they never did do nuthin. times was so hard they had to work harder than before. "the yankees nor none of the soldiers ever come to our cabins--i seen them along the roads. they show did clean up miss leucretia's calves and hogs. took em all off at one time. rations show did get mighty scarce. "they sing, i recken they did sing, go off to work singin and the men whistlin. mostly sung religious songs. master thornton had a white man preach sometimes. down in front of the cabins in the shade. sometimes somebody get to go to white church with the family. they held the baby. they didn't have no school. "i seed the ku klux klans in the road light nights--when they pass we all peep out the cracks. they didn't bother nobody i knowed. we was scared they would turn in an come to the house. "i farmed all my life, hoed cotton and corn. no maam i aint never voted--i jess lives wid my children here and my son in memphis and my other daughter at helena. my daughter do farm work and my son railroads. he works in the yards. "i don't know what to say bout the generations comin on. they is smarter in their books and sees more than older folks, but they ain't no better. you kaint depend on what they says. i don't know what to say would make the country better lessen the folks all be better. "i never heard of no rebellions. i jess lived in mississippi till i comes here and memphis and stay around wid the children and grandchildren. they all do fairly well for the fast times i guess."